Any middle class household, which has witnessed a new baby in their house recently, will relate to the extent of transformation a house undergoes to make room for the tiny soul. Diapers, wipes, towels, sheets, cradle, crib, feeding chair, stroller, bathing chair, bottles, etc. are strewn across the whole house. Every piece of furniture is scrutinized and measured on a strict scale of child safety. Based on security ratings, furniture which has otherwise belonged in the house for decades is often unceremoniously dumped to make room for the little crawling being. Each visit to the market, is often focused on what new items can be purchased to make the little one healthier or happier. I remember being on the lookout for just the right clothes, toys, books, vegetables, sippers, tooth brushes, creams, bottle brushes, …. whenever I got the freedom to step out. Someone recently mentioned that the baby goods market in India is the fastest growing market and I would of course believe them blindfolded.
It was just a few days back, that I went to a popular baby shop near my home. I used to frequent it ever so often when Yog was an infant but slowly, over time, my visits have tapered off. As I stepped into my once favorite shop, my motherly instincts made me again search for something that could be of use for dear Yog. I scanned clothes, toys, bottles, books, but didn’t find anything that Yog really needed. Deep inside, I was disappointed. I had planned, prepared, and saved for a long time, to ensure that Yogs first few years were beautiful. Even before I could completely soak in these years, they were gone. Yog was no longer an infant in need of diapers, wipes, and bottles. He didn’t need those baby toys or the feeding bibs. He could walk, run and eat on his own. He didn’t need the walker or the feeding chair. I remember days of research I had put in to buy the most comfortable car seat for him. Before I knew it, he has outgrown that too!!
In the good old days, when I used to reach home after office, blocks, cars, and crayons would welcome me on the living room floor. Now the house is clean. There are very small signs left in the whole house which indicate that this house proudly hosts children. All along these past two years, we have worked hard to make Yog learn the ways of toddler hood. From potty training to eating with a spoon, we have patiently guided him each step of the way. We have celebrated his first pee inside the potty seat and congratulated each other as he finished his first meal on his own. Every day, we have worked hard to make him be more responsible. And now that he is, I cannot help but feel sad that he has already moved on. I feel hollow knowing that he doesn’t need me anymore.
Pavan was teasing me the other day on being too emotional about our children. He sometimes thinks that I am not able to take rational decisions related to their upbringing because I think from the heart in place of my mind. Sadly, I agree with him. But no matter how much I try, I cannot stop being emotional about our children. I tend to be happy about their new milestones. But at the same time, I am sad that they have already moved on. I reprimand everyone in the family for spoiling them, but at the end of the day, I take them to late night ice creams myself. I understand they need to fall in order to learn how to stand, but I cannot see them fall and get hurt when I know I could have protected them from the fall. This is the sad truth about a mothers heart. I strongly feel, when it comes to a mothers anatomy, the brain just does not have any control on this other vital organ.
You can call it my justification for all my illogical deeds but this is the way it is! Sometimes I wish fathers could hold a mothers heart, even for a day, so that they could understand the complexity of emotions that it goes through. I am pretty sure all fathers reading this post, will laugh at me. But I am also pretty sure, all mothers reading this post, will relate to this.
We were once a daughter, a sister and a wife
But now we are a mother for the rest of our lives