'The Bump story'

“Scary!”

Till a year back, that’s exactly how I would describe the bump of an expectant mother she so proudly flaunts. Be it in shopping malls, offices, restaurants, and even theatres, they pop up, expectant mothers, with their full protruding belly, and scare you! I would get imaginary cramps and feel a tug in the stomach at the sight of one, and would make failed attempts at keeping steadfast eye-to-eye contact with the person concerned. I cannot tell you how guilty I feel now, for each time I felt that way in the past. Till I figured there’s a whole club out there who shares this with me.

Few months back my brother said the idea of seeing me in that avatar is making him reconsider his visit during my pregnancy. I was annoyed at first, but then I reasoned and thought of the many occasions on which I might have said something to that effect so callously, surreptiously vanishing from scenes where a pregnant belly is seen or discussed. That, when I am a woman myself, married, and sure about having kids, no matter how much the thought of the ordeal had bothered me in the past. This one I am talking about is my poor brother, a man who recently tied the knot, has a wife who wouldn’t spare a single detail relating my pregnancy to slap on his face, reasoning, “he has to get used to it.” Ok boss!  No arguments there. But my heart goes out to any such soul who resonates with me on this. I find a personal connection with them. “I have been there, folks.” I want to tell them. It’s alright if you maintain a minimum of 10 feet distance from me when we meet, and refuse to look into my eye and carry on a conversation. Hug? Are you kidding me! It’s totally fine if you gawk at me and wonder at how bloated I look, and my transformation from a human to a water buffalo so complete! I get you, kindred soul. I really do.

In my defense I just have to say that I have had very limited experience of spending time around expecting women. A lack of an elder sister makes it an obvious miss, but cousins, I have plenty of them. But I managed meeting just one, just once, during her entire pregnancy. And forgive me saying this, but the image of a sister bloated up to such proportions, kind of left a certain image in my mind. It would suffice to say that what I witnessed was anything but far from appealing.

When me and my husband were based in Qatar, we saw an alarmingly great number of pregnant women in public places, with kids prancing, running, falling, flipping all around the pregnant mothers, lost in conversations, leaving their Indonesian or Pilipino maids to attend to their kids, and they themselves being monitored by the husband they share, with hawk like attention, when not fiddling with his smart phone. They are a happy lot, can afford to have as many, with a population that doesn’t even make 30 percent of the entire population of the country, they have nothing to worry about. (I don’t know why I am talking about Qatar’s population here. You see I digress.) Anyway, the point I am trying to make is that, sighting pregnant women in Qatar must have somewhat prepared me for it. The fact that they would have layers of clothes worn under their flowing abayas, must have helped too, making the bump appear less obvious, hence not triggering the creeps in me. I was finally flirting with the idea of a child of my own.

Coming to my own story now, the quirky, confused and sensitive one that I am, no matter how much I appreciate my bump with wonder in private, I initially did not like the cursory glances at it by strangers. I would often seek a second opinion on the shirt I am wearing, “Is it making it so obvious?”, I would ask the husband; but if a close one dared to say it’s still not showing ‘enough’, I will take it as a challenge  and prove otherwise. To such behavior, the sane husband’s response would be, “About time you decided what you like to hear.” I could not agree more. To such a curt and practical reaction, all I could do is chuckle, flash a stupid grin and leave it at that.

Now coming to a somewhat unrelated yet an inevitable topic  – ‘social media.’ Such a mighty phrase!  As we live two lives today – the real and the virtual one, I think we all will agree that we are somehow burdening ourselves with the virtual one way more than we think we control it. Especially when it concerns a topic as personal as pregnancy, I found myself negotiating between what and how much is personal and how much can be comfortably shared on these platforms. To my credit, till my seventh month, I resisted posting images of my pregnant belly on Facebook or Instagram. Resisted is probably the wrong word. For once I did not feel the need to ‘announce’ it. Those who need to know have been informed about it. But the rest of the world can wait. Someone mentioned to me the other day about how another couple posts a minimum of four to five pregnant pictures every week! They believe in celebrating their newfound happiness every single day! On social media! Too bad I do not feel any such urge. I wouldn’t however pretend that the thought did not tempt me at all. If privacy relating personal matters is sacrosanct to me, I also do not believe in living in an ivory tower. People I interact with over these spaces on a daily basis, do matter to me. Therefore, it’s bothersome to think what if this behavior is a breach of the unwritten rules of social media that are so revered and solemnly practised by all. Probably I am old school, probably my personality has this duality that still needs settling. Or may be I care for people’s opinion too much to drown them with images that might not necessarily concern anyone, and to the faint hearted ones, even a little unsavory may be. Or make them feel obliged to care about everything I post relating my pregnancy, like I must have felt a few times while doing for others. In my bout of happiness I do not want to choke them with overflowing emotions and sentiments about by unborn baby. And I did not even think of the ‘superstition’ or the ‘bad omen’ part, till someone pointed it out. Hell no! I might sound supremely ancient at times, but I am, at the least, superstitious. So I did want to declare I am expecting, I did want, like all excited first time mothers, to flaunt my pregnant belly, but a part of me was still unresolved. Should I go click click on my phone and share a picture of my bump in a silhouette created while standing against a sunny Buffalo afternoon?  Or should I just share a smart-ass image and ‘break’ my pregnancy news, without quite showing it? But does not posting a picture make me appear like I attach some superstition to the grand revelation? Not sure. While I was fiddling with these thoughts, I came across some very creative revelation ideas. The Internet has no dearth of it. The wackier, the better, probably  a bit too far fetched at times, but when a trend hits the bull’s eye there is no stopping the herd. But then think of this, what if you have placed two safety pins next to each other and placed a small one inside one of the two, and mention which week of pregnancy you are at. I thought that was minimalistic and fun, probably very common, but interesting never-the-less. Till someone pointed out; “What if no one gets it? What if it gets trolled, and a matter that holds such sentimental value to you, takes a nightmarish turn?” Good lord! Imagine the anti-climax! I shuddered at the thought.  So brushing aside all negative thoughts, some more procrastinating happened. And when I reached my wit’s end, and something as banal as this was turning as challenging as deciding a name for the baby, that’s’ it I thought. Enough is enough.  I made up my mind. The brother and the sister-in-law were arriving the following week for my baby shower. And I concluded what better way than simply posting the shower pictures and letting the world know! But no touching and holding of the bump while doing a photo session please. Ok probably the husband is allowed, but only when I am ready. No close-ups of the bump, no awkward poses, no creeping out the kindred souls. Just happy, joyous photos of us please, I can handle that.

If you are still curious to know, the brother and his wife did arrive, he did look at me nervously, no hugging, just greeting and saying I look ‘normal’. I pulled out the most pregnant friendly clothes from my closet to keep things normal for him as much as I could. Either sister-in-law went though this with him several times before they flew down, or he did a pretty good job faking it. But he did seem normal; he did not always maintain the 10 feet distance he would famously do. Opening the car doors, and doors in public places were done more promptly, no speeding while driving was followed dutifully, a 'mommy in car' sticker was ordered, based on his own judgement, without any prompting. The shower turned into a lovely sunny event. I was very pleased with the way things turned out. And the week they stayed with us must have been the most cheerful and happy days for me by far in Buffalo.

Leaving you with some photos from the shower. Hope you enjoy going though the pictures :)

[This post was written for the First Moms Club, hence the photos once again]

Of flutter kicks and playful nights...

                                                           

Yesterday night baby kicked, kicked and kicked some more. Must have been around 10. Hubby was away on a short trip to New York. And I gushed about how he missed feeling, seeing it (not sure if that’s possible) yet again! So far he had been pausing and stopping for it to start happening when I ready him for it. And that’s exactly when baby decides to act pricy and wouldn’t nudge even if I try ingenious ways, like slowly rocking myself to get it started again. But, zilch! No luck! Stubborn baby! But then any experienced mom will tell you, rocking only puts baby to sleep (that explains the late night active life of a newly born, when momma finally calls it a day, but baby says, “Good Morning world!”) Phew! No end to such dreadful stories!

Anyway, that moment reeled me to few weeks back, when another expectant mother, a friend, casually talked about her baby kicking on her 16^th week! And that’s it. I patiently waited for my 16^th! Honestly, not to be woken up in the middle of the night or being kicked in the middle of a nice meal, but just to make sure baby’s doing fine. That’s all. And when I realized I didn’t feel any such thing, how could have I not worried a little? Not panic, but just worried, like several other times when my heart would skip a beat at some imaginary mishap (and what crazy images I tell you!) So this time, unlike other Doc visits, when I am mostly listening (since most of my queries would have already been answered by blessed Google), I was armed with few questions for the Doc. No prizes for guessing the first one, which I tried to place very casually between conversations, making sure hubby doesn’t hit the panic button. But docs being docs (a sprightly one at that), said, “ah! Don’t ya worry, sometimes they are lazy till the 28^th week!) For someone whose entire existence revolves around the thing that is growing inside her, those words came down like a burst of cool breeze on a humid day, must have been the most comforting words I heard, immediately putting me back to the swing of things. So I went back to waiting some more, often remembering what the Doc. also said, which was, that, “it will feel like a soft tingle, a flutter”, not even a ‘poke’, “just a tiny reminder that baby is renting out inside you.” Which made me wonder, what if in that case, being the self-absorbed, meditating person I am, I missed it the first time? Or first couple of times for that matter? Not entirely impossible! Not like I was not going to forgive myself for it or something, I mean come on! But still! Frankly and honestly, I was actually dreading the thought of something growing inside me, ‘kicking’ (Good Lord!), when my friend had mentioned it to me at first. Now lets face it, I am far from being one of those sentimental women who would melt and wallow at the idea of a baby pushing hard enough against your tummy to qualify as a kick. Not judging, but not my fault if I do not see any excitement in that, curiosity, yes! But no psyching over it. Sorry to disappoint. But hey! That’s me! However, the Doctor’s teasing reminder that it’s not a football player’s, but a certain vegetable-sized human’s kick, kind of eased me sheepishly. And within few days from the day we had that conversation, lo and behold! Baby decided to make up for the loss time, and yes, loss kicks! Wonder what it was trying to prove! I get it, you like taking a little hike at night, but bungee jump? No baby, hell no!

I don’t know how other women have reacted to the first time they felt the baby move or felt its tiny kick, but each time it did inside me, I would pause, if between conversations, I would trip and start to wander. But it also gave me a selfish sense of victory over the husband, who would never ever know what that feels like. But for now, I can only hope that as baby grows, I will probably find a rhythm in the movements and not be taken by surprise each time; hopefully baby will grow gentler as it gains more weight, even if without a sense of gravity. And who knows, if Gods are kind, even sleep during nights (Prayers can do wonder they say!) But I do realize that, for now, baby needs to be left alone to do as it pleases. While I am just supposed to make room for more antics and drama, and wait, and wait some more, for the miracle to unfold.

Honey, I caught a fish!

                                   

Yesterday night a strange thing happened. Although I’m not usually the type to jot down all the unusual and strange things that happen to us, but I thought this one deserved a mention. It also meant I would be doing what I keep promising myself – Write! And write more frequently! So what better excuse than to revisit a dream that I had on two consecutive days, and yesterday, it was husband’s turn – same dream, with different ambiance. Although I am not great at looking for signs and signifiers or interpreting dreams (even if for the sake of a good story), I sure am an obsessive-compulsive analyzer. So I just couldn’t have let this pass. Might have been disappointed even, had it not whetted the Mrs. Freud in me, and had the images been dismissed as just incoherent dreams that play on like a bad flick. But these ones lasted for just few minutes and were pretty coherent for me to have remembered it rather vividly (I’m not known for remembering dreams). So here I go.

For a husband who sleeps like a log for most parts of the night, it was strange for him to have woken up in the middle of the night (2:30 or so) yesterday. There was no question of me not knowing since for the last few days, my sleep cycle has gone for a toss, for yet another time! So while I fiddled back and forth with my phone and the ipad, I caught him mumbling something at first and then in his usual boardroom meeting voice in the dead hour of the night, he declared, he had a dream! I turned to the other side since I did not want to encourage a minimum of 10 minutes long story around some dream he had had that wouldn’t make sense anyway (famous for telling long, winding stories, kid you not!); but this time he just said, “I caught a fish,” “a tiny one” but a fish! And there, with those innocent words, he curled back to sleep, leaving behind a riddle for me to solve for as long as I could remain awake. It got me curious for precisely two reasons; firstly, this must have been his shortest and the most coherent dream, and more importantly, for two consecutive nights, I have been “catching fish” myself!! Not eventually frying and eating them, as I would have liked, but catching! Not bad, eh? Come to think of it, I must have played with a fish rope and a stringer for just once or twice in my insignificant life, if my wobbly mind is not failing me. But in my first dream, I was catching fish with a big ass fish net! Don’t ask me how I got the assembling and the technique part of it right, but the point is I was a true blue fisherwoman in my dream for all I care! And the following night, somewhat gory, unpleasant images of fish, and an assembly of them, lying on a beach of some sea. To avoid any discomforting thoughts I quickly concluded I have seen such images on social media, and it has always left a disturbing image in my mind, so must be the residue of some such picture. And after those two dreams, the husband’s. So without much adieu, Dr. Google, in the absence of Dr Freud, was summoned in the middle of the night for a session on psychoanalysis! Hope Dr G. forgives me for such unwarranted demands. But I had no choice!

It is not unknown that animals like the fish, the snail, the cat, the mouse, are interpreted as genital symbols in mythology and folklore and they imply similar meanings in dream interpretations. But since we were “catching” ‘fish’ (God Forbid! ;) I sought to dig deeper for meaning, and I came across many interesting takes on it. Below are the copy-pasted comments of experts and people who have interpreted it depending on their cultural backgrounds and qualifications. One even went to the length of interpreting it based on what type of fish you caught; now that was something! I had a hearty laugh and quickly skipped that page. In my first dream, I at first caught a baby penguin for the love of God! My friend, behind whose house in California we were catching fish in a stream, asked me to let go off the penguin. Wonder what I was going to do with it! Horrible! Anyhow, here are the interpretations:

Fish is a very powerful and positive image in many world traditions: - To the Babylonians, Phoenicians, and Assyrians, it was honored as a symbol of fertility. - In Native American tradition, the fish is a symbol for mystical secrets, for it can swim to the deepest regions of the ocean and explore its hidden knowledge. - In British lore, it was believed that eating fish before lovemaking could enable a couple to conceive a child. - To dream of catching a fish represents important insights about yourself and your life, which have been brought to the surface. - When you dream and discover you were catching fishes in a river or stream, it depicts prosperity in your business or in any area of your profession. As an evangelist, it signifies soul winning. As a businessperson it indicates breakthrough. - To dream of a fish-net, portends numerous small pleasures and gains. A torn one represents vexatious disappointments (I hope mine was brand new! ;) - Chinese interpretation: You catch fishes with fish net, you’ll soon win your own prize. There are, therefore, many possibilities if you dream of a fish – all good, even if the fish was a greatly feared one like the shark. If there is a possibility of a pregnancy, dreaming of a fish could mean that a child is on the way, and the pregnancy and birth will be uneventful and result in a healthy baby (AMEN!) :)

Just like my mind today – Random

                                   

From my first post on motherhood to the second, I have made considerable progress - both on a mental and a physical level. I have reluctantly moved from resistance, to finally submitting myself to the oh-so-mighty ‘hormones.’ Considering I am writing this post after a gap of almost two months, you should understand my first trimester adventures are not just tall stories of human endurance and resilience in the wake of ridiculous hormonal changes, but they still read like annoying riddles to me. They were incomprehensible by my sane mind, which, by the way, did not give up on me even in the worst of times. Alright, I might be exaggerating a little bit here, it did slack a few times, but little exaggeration didn’t hurt anyone, did it? And like I always say, I have earned it, so let me jabber a little please.

Like it was expected, when the hormones started showing its true colors in the second month of my pregnancy, it slowly dawned upon me that my lifestyle needs immediate reform. Sluggishly I introduced few new items in my diet – fruits for one. My fruit-loving husband has always wondered how can someone be so disinterested in a topic that he can talk so passionately about, eating them with great passion is a whole different story altogether. So the bananas would change color from yellow to brown to black if the man in the house did not come to their rescue. The impulsively bought apples and oranges would sit unattended in the fruit basket till a cursory glance would prod me to pick one and leave half of it to be treated with the respect it deserved, by who else but the man! Introduced more fish, more fluids, and more fiber to go with the pre-natal vitamins that the doctor prescribed. Slowly my body was adjusting to these dietary changes, and was taking it all well if I may add. But who said good intentions will always yield good results? Even before I knew it, the dreaded morning sickness crept into my life like a stubborn parasite that would not leave for the next whole month. Added to that was my fruit intake that started giving me acidity. So much so that any attempt at keeping a count of how many times I threw up seemed futile. During the peak of the ghastly exercise of running to the washroom to relieve myself, to my credit, I always made it on time to the pot or the basin. If the husband were around, he would be my support and strength, who made it a point to remain stoic and throw in just the right amount of sympathy and strength. That helped immensely, it got even better, sometimes when he broke into the corniest of Bollywood songs from the God-forsaken 80s era, and shook a leg just to drive home the point that the dance probably made the songs of that era way more ridiculous than they really were. Anyhow, such attempts have passed the litmus test way back in our marital partnership, and are full proofed to have ever failed to break me into hysteria and forget about the problems at hand. Bless Bollywood! Bless this man-child of mine! There! It amuses me how I always manage to wedge Bollywood even into the most unrelated of topics! Or probably not! Remember the standard lines such as, “mein tumhare bacche ki maa banne wali hoon”, “mera ji ghabra raha hain”, “khatta khane ka man kar raha hain” and numerous such lines that even the Hindi cinema or pregnancy novices would associate with? Not surprised that these lines would be used generously in the next few months whenever we were looking for some mirth and humor. “Khatta khane ka man” was taken rather seriously by most of the people I knew, especially the Bollywood binging husband who would offer anything sour and pickle-ly at the drop of a hat, till I made it clear once and for all that, “no, I do not want to have anything remotely sour, spare me.”

Anyhow, coming back to fruits again (living up to the randomness of this post), it must have been around this time when I suddenly started taking to bananas. Oh that beautiful and slender yellow fruit with no over powering smell and just the right delicate sweet taste was my guiding light during the lowest of my lows and highest of my throws. It saved me from going hungry by choice for the fear of throwing up; saw me through the long nights of grumbling stomach that would be half-filled with potato and runny overcooked rice, and about its goodness, who doesn't know! But then again, nature seemed to have pledged to overturn everything that seemed settling down in my life. How boring life would be otherwise, isn’t it? So an overdose of iron gives you bowel troubles like constipation was a known fact, but I had just decided to go with whatever seemed to be working. It would suffice to say that the next few days were challenging with a capital ‘C’. Don’t worry, I wouldn't take you through details you haven’t done anything to deserve a listen. Thankfully and eventually, I found a tandem switching between bananas and apples, also got added melons, strawberries and mangoes to the fruit diet. Oranges however were still a distant thought. And one afternoon, I craved for pineapple.  And boy! Crave I did! It was so bad that I just ignored any ill association it might possibly have with pregnancy and just promised myself that this will be the only time. The sinful taste of this sweet and sour juicy fruit was all I needed at that hour. It instantly took me back to Shillong Peak on a rainy day with Ma, Deta and hubby, adjusting the mildly spiced up plate of world’s best pineapples in one hand, and the umbrella, on the other. Ah! Memories you live for! While l let myself lose in a reverie I didn't realize when I polished off a major chunk of the fruit. Thus began my journey from a total non-fruit person to an almost all-fruit eater. And I love it so far. They say you crave for those things your body was lacking for long, guess they are right. By the way, did you know our very own Junior Bachchan is allergic to fruits? So much so that you can scare him away with a mere strawberry? Holy Christ!! Did I land there again? Sorry folks! Will try harder next time.

  

From the top

                                   

Alright, let me begin from the beginning. I have been married for almost six and a half years now, as my small, yet tight group of people would know. Period long enough to attract enough eye balls and whispers surrounding my pregnancy - its possibility, its denial, its choosing or of not choosing etc.

To be honest, till very recently I had not felt the need or the desire to spare a single thought in that direction. It was quite clear between us two partners that we will go for it when we feel like it. As simple and plain as that.

So when we finally made up our minds, one fine morning, the much-revered pink line in the life of an expectant mother closed the deal for us. Hid the pregnancy test result under my pajama pockets and held out two candies to the husband who was still at his breakfast cereals. That’s all I could think of to mark the special moment. Okay I admit I could have been tad more creative, but probably the excitement got the better of me. Clueless, he accepted the candies and no matter how hard I tried, my unusually wide smile just gave it away. It was reassuring to see he was as happy and excited. But men being men, it quickly followed with a, ‘Really? So soon? How come?’ And before I could adjust my throat for the sarcasm that was frothing to be spitted at his direction, he grabbed his coat and ran to save his day, with a congratulatory kiss, which kind of made up for it. 

With him gone, the house retrieved to the pleasant morning quietness, I positioned myself comfortably on the bathtub beam and kept staring at the pink line for whole 5 minutes - pretty pink line that was going to change our lives forever! Once I was done staring, it was rightfully saved in an image on my phone for memories’ sake. I realized this was just the beginning of strange and unusual images that were going to get saved in my phone’s memory. Things for which I could judge myself later, but who cares about that now! My sanity and judgment can go take a walk.

But then don’t we just get extra sensitive and nervous over such matters till the expert has pronounced it, and not just go with our own instincts and intelligence? So the next obvious step was to look for an ob-gyn who seemed agreeable to both of us. With the husband’s neck dug inside books and presentations, I took upon myself to do the marathon web research for a doc. Finally and eventually, after few phone calls and suggestions from friends, we landed with a gynecologist and got an appointment for a date that didn’t seem like a long wait. I have to admit I rejected a few based just on their unfriendly faces, cold vibes and bad front office behavior. Who cares about professional degrees and experience! Faint-hearted people I suppose. Not me! I simply went with the doc who had the warmest smile on her professional website. Hah!

So 10^th of February was blocked in all possible calendars we could think of. As the days rolled by, and the date was nearing, my anxiety levels reached crazy heights. Lots of ifs and buts blurred my already clouded mind. It was followed with losing focus on things, simple thing as typing and reading got difficult, as I couldn’t concentrate on most of the regular chores. So it was almost a relief when we finally geared up for the doctor visit. It was quite nerve wrecking to see how much they rely on the accuracy of the home pregnancy tests in the US, probably in other countries too that I am not aware of, but I have to admit, it did make me a little worried, till they checked me up from head to toe and all symptoms were positively concluding that, I am, going to be a mother after all! Gosh! A mother! Wonder what that feels like! O wait, I don’t need to know already.

For now let me just sit and soak in the news, allow me little time to wallow and gaggle in the joy it brought, don’t become the aunty who tells you exactly what you need to know, tell me not about the heartburn and the backache that would follow, let me live under a beautiful delusion as long as it lasts, help me postpone the one-on-one baby talk please, don’t sit me down and patronize me for I am a first time mother who knows nothing! Let me bask a little in this bliss like ignorance, keep the pregnancy books at bay, let me pretend it’s going to be a cake walk raising a child, show me only the fabulous side, save the ghastly midnight poo and pee tales for some other time. Allow me just this little while to bask, sigh, smile, dream and sleep over it tonight.