Mamma, why are girls beautiful?

There is something about preschoolers, isn’t it? The questions fly quickly, sometimes too fast for a baffled mom to keep up; ‘Why shouldn’t children watch too much TV mamma. What is “too much” TV?’ ‘How did that building get so tall Mamma?’ ‘How does Santa know if we have been a good child or a bad one?’ and so on and so forth.

I recently read an old article about a story from France where a 52-year-old mother took parenting to different pinnacles. Wearing Converse boots, tight flashy jeans and excessive makeup, she impersonated as her 19-year-old daughter and tried to take the English exam on her behalf. She got away with this for whole 10 minutes! (* slow clap *).

I'm dismayed by parents who get disappointed when their children don't become engineers or doctors or whichever career they had wished for them. I also know that we all have aspirations for the kind of personality our children will become. We want them to be compassionate. We expect them to be intellectual. A sense of humor would be nice perhaps.

What triggered me to write this post however was a casual conversation between a few of my friends recently. I was mentioning to them about how my son is very curious and asks too many questions – which actually have answers. For instance “Why are girls beautiful mamma? Why should boys tell them that they are beautiful? (Well, yes! He has heard my husband compliment me several times). One of the lady from the group sarcastically remarked made an impolite and not-so-nice comment, “Really? Thank God, my son is “shareef” (a Hindi terminology for being naïve – and not daring to ask “such” questions). It had me thinking. Not that, the comment affects me in any way - I know my child, trust him and happy for what he is.  

When Ahaan was born, my husband and I contemplated what his traits will be. But we cared less about what he will be. However, to be honest what I was conscious about was – what if he is incurious? What if he doesn't want to explore what an alpine mountain looks like or what sun, moon and stars are made of? What if he remains obstinately uninterested in why skies are blue or where did Dinosaurs go? What if he regards all that "Why" and "How" as, principally futile? Yes, I do agree that sometimes too many questions to get exasperating, but I'd rather my son asked too many questions than too few?! The only thing worse than explaining you child about how babies are made would be a child who didn't even want to know?

But if Ahaan’s curiosity level is high, that doesn't imply it always will be. Curiosity is an impulsive quality, which increases and decreases throughout our life, depending on where we are, what we are doing and who we're with. This is both comforting and intimidating. Comforting because it turns out that we, as parents, play a big part in the development of our kids’ curiosity. Intimidating because doing so includes a constant and cognizant effort. I wonder why some parent discourage questions from their children? “Shhh... That’s not for your age”, “You’re too young to know that” or just “I don’t know!”

Luckily, my husband and I answer everything that our son asks us. The reason being that by the time children from curious families go to school, they have an edge on their peers. Having immersed themselves in more information from their parents and family, they obviously know more, which implies they find it easier to learn and absorb more. Parent play a pivotal role in early years of children in determining whether they will become curious youngsters and curious grownups.

Part of the magic of childhood is the capacity to get lost in the realms of discovery and imagination. Nurturing our children’s curiosity will only fortify our connection and help them grow.  I am glad for my son’s curiosity for it compels him to connect with the world, reach out and test its frontiers, discover where they end and everything else starts. 

I am still a parent in preparation - I don't know what constitutes the stars, or why Dinosaurs disappeared after the Big Bang. I'm not even sure I know why the sky is blue to be honest? But I do have some answers. So yes, Ahaan – It’s good to, once in a while,  tell a girl that she is beautiful. But say it only when you really mean it, my son. Just like your dad.

Happy Growing Up, My Curious George! Mamma is geared up with answers.

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And He Turns 2!

To My Dearest Son - Ahaan,

You are my rockstar and you turn two today! Your daddy and I can barely believe it. Your 2^nd year has been full of outstanding transformations for you, as this denotes the year that you grew up from a "baby" to a "child." As you arrive at the end of your 2^nd year on this earth, it is astounding to see how you have grown to be "you."

You have reached the stage in your life where I can no more confine you to overviews like "joyful," "shy or "peaceful" for the reason that you are a full and round boy. You are bursting of contradictions and distinctions. You are concurrently keen to gratify and extremely obstinate (just like your mom). You love helping your mom in the middle of her busy days, and have also comprehended the power of your favorite word - “no" and being adamant. You are both tranquil, observant, carefully watch what goes on around you, and untamed, opting to unleash and free at the drop of a hat. You are courageous, but still preserve that swift requirement for consolation and comforting words at even the slightest of wounds – “Mamma, Aaana hurrrt”. ‘Aaana’ is what you call yourself.

Here are some of your personality traits which I love about you -

Bright: I am astonished at how much you are familiar with at your age. You can count to 20 and till 10 (in Hindi). You also know ABCD very well. You pick up everything we say and repeat them with amusement and dexterity. You already know letters and their connected sounds (thanks to all those Phonics videos!). As and when you are lucky to find a pen or a pencil, you sketch abstract scrawls – even on Walls- and then spurt off lists of what those scribbles are--all of which really look like your fine art.  You also know most of the rhymes and ‘Johnny Johnny yes papa’ seems to be your favorite of the lot. You have started attending various Toddler classes like Tiny Tots and First Time Friends and enjoy most of them, discovering a new thing to learn each time.

Affectionate: The delight I feel when I hear you yell out for me, or your daddy, is inexpressible – “Mamma, I waaant dis” or “Daddy, come soon”. It’s all so magical as we never get tired to hear you say that. There is a glow in you and it nurtures when you share it with everyone who comes within your aura of love and warmth. You liberally give love, which is only just beginning to convert from open-mouthed greeting of kisses to crumpled up smacks. You incessantly pass on your “Hii Aaan-tee” and “Hi Un-kal “ ( uncle) to passing by people. They have no option but to respond back to you with love. You generously pass on your hugs to everyone and did I tell you how that makes it better for all of us?

Amusing: You have already started making your own funny stories, playing pranks on mamma all day long, and communicating your understanding of your humor. You have totally picked on your Daddy’s gene pool in this regard, as most of your humor revolves around catching mamma off guard, breaking down things, hopping, leaping, and jumping from things. Infact I am amazed at how you treat mamma’s tummy as a trampoline?!

Beautiful: This splendor and beauty is beyond just exterior beauty, although you have always had the capacity to attract people of all genders and age on their ways just by looking at them with a smile that steals their hearts. You own a smile that is nothing short of astonishing--it is the same smile I knew and noticed when I first saw you look at me: natural, pure, candid, and full of that metaphorical beam which words fail to explain. When you smile your bursting OF glee and purest smile, it is almost like a glance of a little heaven for us – your mommy and daddy. We pray that the world is kind to you, and you forever have that gift to unwrap a glimpse of heaven to those who see that beaming smile. That smile has almost saved me from so many of my life’s setbacks – more than you’d ever know.

In your 2^nd year, you have learned to run around, to chatter, to have fun, to abide by, to oppose, to count up, to scribble, to skip, to dress up ( yes, you already have color preferences and you never step out o your room without a smile and neat clothes!) , to request, to be grateful, to smack, to say sorry, to forgive and forget, and to pray ( I love the way you bow your head in the little Pooja corner of our house , just after your bath – pretending to recite mantras fro your Elmo book!) .

Although, mamma never says it often and infact frequently cribs about how you are a handful for her and also how you drive her nuts all day long. But, what mamma feels for you is pure and deep within her heart – for you are a part of her heartbeat and she loves you more than she has ever loved anyone/anything in this world. You also know, that the number of times Mamma yells at you through the day can never surpass the number of kisses she gives you while you are asleep.

Every day you discover more, and every day I am so thankful for the incredible gift I have been bestowed with, to see that development, growth and your upward learning graph, albeit it flies by all too rapidly. Every day you explore and learn, and every day we learn from you. For we grow, when we raise you.

Thank you, dear son. Daddy’s ‘Kucchu’ (as he lovingly calls you) and Mamma’s rock star. You add the ‘extra’ to our ordinary lives. Thank you for being – you.

Wishing you a very Happy Birthday, Son.

Love, Always and Forever

Mommy and Daddy.

Being A Mommy Suits Me

Off late, many of my friends have been telling me that “Mommyhood really suits you Manasi”. Does it really? Let me think...

Some odd 22 months have passed since I graduated to becoming a mother – that’s a gigantic, gleaming new designation that’s been prefixed to my name, must say, that as a around the clock mommy, it is the most demanding occupation I have ever had. What makes it more complex is that I feel an equivalent requirement to yet be a good wife, and not renounce my zeal for writing, photography and art. So how do these functions muddle up? Are they even intended to jumble?

I used to classify these responsibilities and divide them in a manner that felt like a planned formation to me. I try to invest all my energy to have a routine and planning in my life, and would tell myself when my son wakes up, “Okay, so now I am a Mom and must do what my baby wants” and then when my son is napping again and I am with me I’d tell myself , “Okay, now I’m a writer, and this is my time to invest in work, churning out words, reading etc ” or when I’m with my husband I’d tell myself , “Okay, so now I’m a wife and must do what my husband wants.”

After some time, I grew weary of this school of thought and performing my duties so mechanically for the reason that they can’t (and shouldn’t) be entirely categorized.  With this mode of thinking, my necessity  to generate as a writer would wind up getting perturbed and consecutively I would long away the time spent with my child, in anticipation of his next snooze so I could undertake my pending writing assignments.

I comprehended that every primary role I have, overlie and interlock together to shape the person I am at the moment. Now that I’ve had this clarification, it makes my life fairly simpler. I opt now to utilize my imagination to procure significant, innovative and fun ways to spend our times together. We build blocks, we play with ball, we read books, and we discover outside, we dance together on all sorts of Jawaani Item songs together. I now believe I am contented when I’m with my son and I don’t ever wish any time away from him, considering that after a few years, he’d be too busy with other things in his life to be spending quality time with his mother. I long for his grown days ahead, when he gets grown-up and we can do all types of school assignments, fun things together. However, I will miss these carefree days, when we can do all giggling and tickling and laugh about it, acting silly in public, making faces etc.

That said, now I no more gaze at the clock and breathe for his subsequent snooze time. I’ve distorted the strokes of creativity and mommyhood just by starting to love my time with my son and emphasizing on where my job as a mommy and as a writer traverses. At times I can begin an assignment when he’s wide awake and then conclude it when he’s sleeping. Eventually, his snooze time turns out to be my active work time. I constantly have a psychological listing of things I need to do when he slumbers and I try to do whatever  I can in that time frame.

Creativeness and mommyhood are not detached units. One does not devaluate from the other and there is no evaluating one by reducing the other. It is not about pilfering time for creativeness from being a mommy and vice versa. Creativeness suffuses mommyhood, and your mommyhood paints everything about your imagination.

Bear in mind, creativeness is a universal outlook to life. It is not simply about that cooking, drawing, knitting, writing etc. - it is about the manner in which you view things. It is about being broad minded to the escapades. It is about seeking new-fangled uses for old stuff. It is about suggesting resolutions to difficulties that do seem tough. It is about perceiving splendor and significance in the humdrum. Creativeness is about learning to express what comes to your heart and mind. It is about seeking and fostering prospects. It is about nourishing your spirit with what cultivates and about sharing with people who are close to you, effectively, nourishing them too. I guess this is what it means to raise kids, too.

I guess mommyhood actually suits me.

What do you think?

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Dealing With A No Baby

Toddlers are incredible little people. They are learning and discovering at such a rapid pace that we- as parents - can hardly stay even with all the new words flying out of their vocabulary books. There’s a presumption that toddlers make use of their favorite “no” word more than any other word for the reason that it’s the one word they take notice of and perceive most frequently! 

This is exactly what’s happening with my 22 month old toddler. He seems to be going through a stage of saying “Naww” a large number of times and implementing a very divergent attitude to the world around him – most considerably towards me and my husband - his parents so to say. Last night I asked him, if he’d like to have some milk in his Sippy cup and he started to shake his head and say "Oh no no no no no no no."  - Yes, that is 7 no's one after the other for those of you counting.  I was in splits since it was adorable and surprising.

“No” is a miraculous word for my son. It is fundamentally his first way of brandishing some authority over us. By retorting “no!” he is making a choice and articulating his freedom. Since, my son has only recently explored and found out the influence of “no” , he takes it to extreme limits – at times, even declining something he evidently wants– “Do you want some chips?” “Naw!” “Are you sleepy?” “Naww” “Are you intelligent?” “Nawwww” “Do you want a spanking?” “Naww”– Just for the heck of it.

My son furthermore loves the impact that his musical ‘nawww’ has on us, particularly when it incites an outburst of annoyance, or, even better, a string of option of the kind he would never have dreamt of before he found out the power of “no”. What do you want for snacks– carrot?” “No!”, “pudding?” “No?”, “yoghurt?” “Nawww”.

So the question is – how do we deal with a No Baby afterall? Here’s what my take on this is - The primary thing to bear in mind is that the originality will soon subside, principally when they comprehend that saying “no” to everything ultimately bears out to be counterproductive. I usually strive to understand if my son is communicating a legitimate desire not to have or do something, or whether it is purely for outcome. When he says “nawww!” to any of his favorite activity, or declines a treat he loves, I now take them at his word. I hope he will consequently soon understand that “no” should be reserved for times when he actually means it, and that the thrill and dismay that it leads to isn’t in fact worth it.

Also, one thing to keep in mind is that “no!” is a blind alley – it fails to provide any optional strategy. So, if junior is playing once more with daddy’s fragile specs, rather than saying “No! “For the 100th time of the day, I use an optional activity (like playing with blocks which is his favorite) to divert him. Though, only limited to a few times, it does avert him from having a complete outburst of anger and tantrums, as it repels the situation for him instantaneously.        I usually try to follow up “no” with a rationalization as to why what he wants isn’t doable, or reasonable, and persuade him to make constructive choices instead of negative ones.  I feel as kids grow up, they will soon discover that this method is far more efficient in acquiring them what they really want.

Although I fail many times, but I also try to make certain that my son follows a steady schedule, for example that he eats something every two hours and takes his naps timely. This gives him a sense of constancy and protection and acts as a reassuring impact on him, managing his mutinous conduct to an extent.

Nonetheless, I’m no specialist. Being a first time mommy, I am a novice who is learning the tricks of the trade gradually as I am growing up as much with my son – as a mother. Some of these things mentioned above work for me, sometimes they don’t. But I felt it was worth sharing them, also inviting a few suggestions from any new mommy reading this post.

So what are your ideas to deal with a No Baby?

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For I Grow When I Raise You

It's not just the kids who grow up. We parents do the same. As much as we observe to see what our kids do with their lives, they are also looking at us to see what we do with ours. I can't tell my son to reach for the sun, moon or stars. But least I can do is reach for it, myself.

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A Long Night of Anguish

Those dehydrated, painful, gasping coughs carry on as I search for his little sippy cup kept on the bedside. In the gloom of his sickness and mine too, my hands nervously hit beyond what seemed a zillion bits of paraphernalia on the table kept by the bed. Tylenol , Ibuprofen, Vicks, Napkins, Humidifier - My armaments against the battle on my son’s ill health. I’d noticed the indications timely and promptly and tried my best to strengthen the barricades, excavate channels, and fortify the guard. Alas! It was of no use. My son’s resistances survive little chance compared to these painful plunderers so pervasive to his gentle age. I feel kids put up a great combat but are unfortunately the first to get knockout. Like a soldier without his armed forces.

Drier, excruciating coughing follows. The spell lasts 3 minutes this time with more howling. Its 2am at night and with an anxiously helpless mind, I look at his face as he looks on to me, seeking help. His face is distressed, despairing, fatigued. My sleep-deprived mind yells atrocities. Irrational, unreasonable squalls of fury focused at nothing particularly; best restricted within the curbs of my brain for fear that they tangibly damage something or somebody. My fury against the sickness, is making me call it names- but its in vain, because it goes on desolating my son’s health, taunting at my vulnerability. My incapacity to slit my son’s pain out of him is making me more miserable. I wish I could cut a part of myself, if that meant to ease his pain in some way. Sadly, these are meager imaginations. His anguish isn’t. This is actual.

More coughing. More crying follows. His petite, tender body staggers, tugged from its condition of respite by an invisible power. He climbs on my chest, close to be to breathe better. I hold him tightly; assuring I sooth his back whenever the cough spells strike again. He finally gets 5 minutes of breather. That’s almost like 30 minutes of relief to me.

As I hold him close to me, on my chest, he is still hot. I begin singing him his favorite lullaby with shaky voice and teary eyes. His warm arms were spread out around my neck tenderly. For a moment, he held his head up high to look at me, as if he is saying “Mamma, this is toughest thing I have done in my life. Can’t you make it all okay for me?” and then — in one instant, vivid gesture — he rested his head again on my chest softly.

That painful warmness of his complete body seemed like holding an enormous hot water bottle; the absolute dependency he had on me in that instant; and my heart just shattered into pieces.

I understand that I possibly can’t stop my son from getting ill. I can’t avert his growing up and going through the pain himself. But what I can do is - when he needs me at 4 am in the morning, I can pat him until he falls asleep again, and softly whisper in his ear – “it’s okay, Betu. It will be fine soon. Your mamma is here with you.”

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The Bad Mommy

Okay, so just before you get all enraged over the contents of this  post, and begin contemplating if I require to go in for some kind of assessment or counseling, let me prelude this post with the fact that, I do not in fact believe I am not a good mother or I am an evil one. Sure, I don’t essentially think I am a super mommy who is winning any “Mother of the Decade” awards either

I try to do my best in whichever way I can, although. And regardless of the latest stints of sleepless nights, I believe I am in fact composing it all together pretty much nicely and in best of my abilities. Also I’m the solitary mother Junior Seth has. So even at times when I don’t do that well, I can at least take comfort in the fact that he doesn’t know any better and that in spite of those recklessness, he seems to love me anyhow.

I love my son with every ounce and degree of my soul, and I would die for him in a heartbeat or split my right arm if it meant he never once had to go through any sort of pain in his whole life. I invest most of time of the day trying to come up with fresh and thrilling ways to amuse him.  So while I am cooking, I find myself doing funny things I NEVER would have imagined I’d do. Yes- So I am one of those moms who will elevate my son’s butt to her nose to find out if he has pooped. I sing A LOT regardless of being just another out of tune bathroom singer, and ever since he was born, buying my own clothes, my parlor sessions have all taken a backseat. Instead, I keep filling his closest to the rim. I kiss him no less than 50,000 times a day, which is far more than the times I yell at him. No matter how tired I am, if he wakes up – its morning for me – even on a Sunday. I love the way I always put his needs ahead of my own as he is my priority.

The sine qua non is, I wasn’t born a mother- my son made me one. And I do feel, I am a rather good one or so my husband tells me. My child is contented almost always. He is hale and hearty. We spend good times. We play and we do silly stuff together. However some days, there are feelings that go up my head which direct me to assume “I’m a bad mommy”.

And in the courage of being all truthful and candid and palpably insane to all of you out there, I thought I’d share. I know I am not the only one here.

So here are some honest Mommy Confessions

§  At times, I stare at my son and tell myself “What did I do to give birth to such a naughty kid?”

§  It’s letdown when I can’t get something to function properly (these days it’s the sleep deprived hours.)

§  I have the nerve to crib about the bumpy days, when there are plentiful people out there who are eager to be in my place and can’t

§  When he was younger, he has cried – and cried a lot, hysterically and I have not only let that go on, but have been completely unable to stop it (good mothers can fathom how to make their babies stop crying, can’t they?)

§  I own up that many days, I feel like I have no clue about what I’m doing. Everybody feels I have it all in place — great wife, great mom, great everything— but I actually don’t.

§  If I have to watch Kolaveri di one more time, I may have to fuse a fork in my eyes. In fact, then I’d be noticed. Perhaps not such a bad idea, afterall, eh?

§  At times I pretend to be ill, just so I have a reason to go to sleep till late in the morning.

There are a zillion paradoxes in motherhood: The very same day you choose to change the bed sheets will inexorably be the day your child chooses to wet the bed. With a zillion toys you spend your hard earned money in and bring for your child, your child will indisputably choose to play with all the kitchen utensils from the cabinet than with any exclusive learning games.

We always love to coat motherhood as a flawless experience, overflowing with heavenly kids and glowing mommies. An angelic infant is quietly sleeping on his mother’s chest. A toddler is happily taking his faltering first steps into the affectionate and inviting arms of his mommy, who is smiling pompously and wipes away tears of happiness running down her cheeks. A mommy’s long, black, flowing hair sprawling in the wind as she hold her children’s hands and runs together with her good-looking, perfectly dressed kids

CUT TO REALITY.

Motherhood isn’t a series of astonishing little moments compiled together in one flawlessly arranged power point slide show. It’s soiled and daunting and lovely and tough and phenomenal and fatiguing and unacknowledged and blissful and exasperating all at once. It’s all of that and more. All those mommies who argue that motherhood is just the goody - goody stuff are plainly in rejection or denial (or they are on some sort of drugs). Accepting that this work isn’t always painless doesn’t make anybody a bad mommy.

Being the Perfect Mommy is like preparing for the perfect holiday: the more complex it gets, the less fun you are probably going to have. I'm not certain where I squeeze in but I can sure tell you this: there's been more food on my carpet than one can imagine and even baby poop, sometimes and I'm damn good cleaning that. At times being a perfect mom is all about staying in your lousy pajamas, your child piled and jumping and ruining your bed while you watch the latest movies on Netflix.  It certainly may not be refined and sophisticated and polished and pretty, but the smile on your child’s face will be.

So how about you? Are the Perfect Mommy or the Bad Mommy.

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First Words

I wondered it would be decades before we’d meet this “milestone.”

I wondered maybe it would be after you’d learned to poop all by yourself in the pot, or maybe when you could have chopped pears without making a mess, or by the time you could wash your chocolate smudged face on your own.

“Mo-mee!” you call out my name from the bathtub today, eager, I guess, at the meandering pace I walked to get ducky towel and there you were saying it again with a broad smile on your face .“Mo-mee!”

“Yes Baby,” I retorted in glee.

And as I patted you dry, there – it took time to sink what I’d heard – “Mom”?

I’m a Mommy.

Watching you grow up this past year has been a vague impression because it zoomed by so fast .You’ve grown up so much, so quickly! It’s been tough for me to sustain everything in the memory bank. One moment you were wobbly on your feet and the next you were running through the house like the naughtiest boy ever. It’s so tough to recall the days when you were still or in a stationary condition.

You went to your bed one night, hardly uttering any words and woke up the next morning with words blowing up from your mouth like you will never stop. “Atta”, “Chuchu”, “Kaakku”,”MeeMee” “Naani”,”Daadu”. You said it all – except for “Mom”. You eagerly want to know everything – what’s this called, how do we operate this and thereby how do we break this! You won’t know, how pompous, we - as parents, feel to see you repeat the words we tell you.

With these pristine words of yours has come a serious case of tot‘tude. Now you say “No, no” while doing something mommy daddy would not like you to do, teasing us in the effort. You say “Daa-ddy” pointing towards the man you enjoy being with – your father. And now, I know you’re just exploring your little world, seeking to find your own sense of balance over the petite things, so I cut you some slack sometimes.

You need abundant of hugs during the day. You are most happy playing on momma’s tummy or jumping on daddy’s shoulders. Many a time you also need some middle of the night hugs, especially when you are unwell like these days. It breaks my heart to see you in pain.

In the past one year you’ve made me a mother and even taught me how to be one. I’m gratified that you love me unconditionally and the way you love me more than I love myself. Even when I have had a chaotic, tiresome, awful, no-good, really bad day, you still come running to me saying “Maa-mee!” waiting for me to take you in my arms and snuggle you tightly.

I wondered in case I forgot to tell you that in the middle of the “don’ts” and “no’s” and “stop’s” in our hectic day with each other, I must say, “I love you” to the boy who makes my world more livable, and being so special as my first-born.

Ahaan, I love you. Much more than you can ever imagine. And I will forever love you. Regardless of anything. There is absolutely nothing you could do in this life that would make mommy not love you. Ever.

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Coz it’s only human to err

The old age clichéd dialogue “ jab tum khud maa baap banoge, tab samjhoge” ( when you yourself become a parent, you will realize) makes much more sense now. What also makes sense is…

Your parents aren’t forever correct.

They are not perfect. They’re not always righteous. They won’t always be there when you require them.

They are sometimes dishonest.

They make mistakes – lots of them sometimes.

They brawl.

They sometimes aren’t the perfect role models.

They are difficult to deal with.

They are demanding and pushy.

They are needy.

A lot of times they’re plainly self-centered.

However at most of the times –All times infact— they’re only human.

For its only human to have all these follies.

Like most of the kids, I placed my parents on a plinth for the longest time ever.

Until I turned into a rebellious teenager.

I recall evaluating them a bit more significantly. Pointing and complaining about all their “misconducts.” Not taking their word for everything.

Having respect for them devoid of worshipping them and following everything they told me to do.

I was cynical, you could say.

But I also understood later on that they were just trying to do their best for me.

Coping up with their jobs, their own relationships, their ambitions, their dreams, and their two daughters and their education.

Parenting is no straightforward chore.

As a parent, I struggle everyday to bring up my son, in the finest manner ever, taking care of his needs, his food, his playtimes, behavior , habits, belief – everything

But just as I went through a phase where I realized my parents aren’t perfect, he will to sometime.

It’s tough when the myth splinters.

I recall the phase I began seeing my parents as just two individuals with all their wrongs.

It hurts you.

Why couldn’t they be ideal?

Why aren’t they just perfect?

And why did I have to go through a guilt trip for thinking about them like that?

They had so many hopes from me.

In turn, I had more hopes from them.

I disliked them for being who they were — thinking what was wrong with my family.

Until years later I realized there is nothing like a wrong family.

All families consist of people — and people aren’t always right – they aren’t always perfect.

The displeasure washed out.

I began understanding them — as a grown-up. An imperfect, inadequate, individual.

They were infact just like me?

Unfortunately, it is too late to let my father know about this, but my parents now are my mother and elder sister – who I look upto and think the world of

It’s been a smooth ride since then. I started connecting with them on a totally different intensity later.

I now realize that in their mind, I will forever be their 5-year-old mischievous kid.

And they will forever be my parents, advising to not do this, to do that in a better way, getting anxious about me, cheering me on my little challenges, overflowing with pride at my negligible achievements.

Well, few things will always remain the same.

But few things have changed.

I listen more often, expect less.

And try to reasonably comprehend.

I see them impartially for who they are.

I can now say “it’s ok.”

They are sure my parents. But they’re also individuals – deciphering their way about life.

Just like the rest of us.

Parents are individuals and they are not perfect.

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PS - Photograph by Michael Nichols – Tiger carrying cub, India

Perfection is Passé - Let the Mess Stack

Life has been busy and regular, small hiatus from blogging, writing and online work are a routine now and I am not complaining as it’s worth all the time spent with my son and family. However, being a Super mommy and with strenuous hours of multi tasking, I feel distinctively eligible to hand out handy tips for stress-free parenting to all the new parents. Read On.

Be incompetent. Parenting is not a bystander sport. It’s infact more of a party game. Don’t aspire to do everything yourself. No one assists the super competent.

If you are a new parent, who is trying to make all ends meet for your child, you may be unaware on how to be incompetent. Let me help out. Leave toys on the carpet/floor, soiled hand imprints on the wall, and snack boxes in the car. Keep going with life, things will remain precisely where you left them last. They’ll be easier to locate. I understand a house once like an art gallery previously will now turn into a toy museum. Let it.

Be gorgeous, since there is no time for manicures, facials etc anymore. There are women with well manicured nails, colored hair, prim and proper strands of hair and then there are Moms. Looking after you takes a backseat on arrival of kids, because it’s a tradeoff between changing nappies and changing lipsticks/nail color. However, kids love good looking parents, don’t question why. Just be.

Indulge in speedy baths, and then overlook speeding up completely. Take chilled out showers. You deserve them.

Be scatterbrained. I know it makes you feel idiotic, but small attention spans have become trendy. Forget about upcoming sales, discount coupons, flea markets etc. Be Zen regarding it. Invest more funds in less time. You have been promoted.

Be erroneous. Make plenty of mistakes for they are helpful. They don’t have to be brand new or strange, just your own. Those are the only ones with great learnings in them.

Indulge in an affair. Yes, you read it right. An affair. Does that charming, caring man you once married now appear like an unfamiliar person – a complete stranger? When you feel up to it yet again, that unfamiliar person may be just the right man to fall in love with - have an affair with. Yet again. And this time there will be strolling obstacles between you. More escapades than before. Go on, relax and let your imagination run riot about the prospects.

Be the concurring types. Concur with the kids. Eventually we have to be in agreement with them anyhow. Agree with all the people who pass on free suggestion to you. You don’t have to do anything, just nod pleasantly. Apply now.

Be dominant. All parents are required to modify and confront their world. Their risks are so high and individual. All of us have undergone the feeling of utter subjection that convoys new parenthood. There is just one way out of that trench, and that is in the direction of the light.

Parenting is not synonymous with perfection. Becoming a Mommy and Daddy might come easy but being a parent is uphill struggle. We make regulations, draw limitations and direct by example. We pour antibiotics down blaring throats and clean their spit off our gloomy faces. We go to the corner and swab our teary eyes as we give away a piece of our hearts – our babies - to nurses and teachers. It’s perplexing and it takes an eternity to fathom.

Once in a while, we sit back and question the rationale of it all. My 9 month old son is in his dreamland, snoring away to glory as I type this post. Why do we have kids? My son’s constant chuckles have an answer, “To learn funny things”. It’s about an affectionate, fluffy feeling that sprints through me and I get the answer – We have kids so that they can love them. We have kids so that we can learn to love ourselves.

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