Best buddies always... the two loves of my life! |
There have
been several firsts in the four decades I’ve been around here. Numerous occasions
when I clutched my churning tummy, pasted a rehearsed smile and walked ahead.
This morning
was one such. “Mama going…Cornflakes on the table…Please wake up on time.” I whispered
into by baby’s ears, kissed her good luck before I left for work at 5.45am.
Mornings have
been papa-daughter’s playfield since years, as I leave home around 5.30am.
Today, as the husband is out of town and I can’t afford a day off, I sat my
girl down for a chat last night.
“Hello, locking
the door is not rocket science. Catching the school bus is not a marathon,
either. Is that clear, mama,” chided my 14-year-old.
“I understand.
But you are doing it for the first time, baby, don’t oversleep…you have your
exams, and I can’t be returning from work to….”
“Chill, mama.
I am not a kid,” my grandma threw in, hurt at being instructed.
I reset the morning
alarm, re-ran the chores over in my head again. That is when I realised how
much of my morning tasks the husband silently does without seeking a word of credit.
All I do is pack lunch boxes and hop into the car. The kitchen is spic n span
when I return at noon; the plants watered, the geezer and lights switched off, the
beds made, laundry basket emptied, milk and essentials replenished…most
importantly, our girl is in school on time.
As I pulled
the covers over, she snuggled in to ask: “What time do you actually leave, like
actually leave,” before quickly collecting herself, “O am just asking because I’ve
never seen you go. I’ll be fine mama, don’t you worry, I’m an independent girl
you see!”
Was my baby being
strong? For me?
As a
toddler, when I left her for the first time with a house help, she screeched her
lungs out, flaying her arms at me. I vividly remember the moments that day. I plucked
her off my bosom and into the maid’s arms and ran out without turning to take look,
banged the door shut and plonked myself on the door mat. I sat outside the door
for about 30 minutes, until she stopped crying and fell asleep before I left for
work.
There was
yet another first before that. The most painful to date. On the 56th
day after the Divine gifted us our beautiful baby, I had to leave her with
my mom in India and take a flight to Dubai for lack of social support.
My baby’s first
step, I didn’t see.
My baby’s first
babbly word, I didn’t hear.
My baby’s first
hug, I didn’t feel.
My baby’s first
toothy smile, I didn’t see
My baby’s
first solid food, I didn’t feed…
I was
marching on to fetch a decent job that would allow our baby to legally stay with
us – as a family. Even when well-meaning friends suggested I go back. I was determined
not to. If it’s hard for a mother, isn’t it hard to the new father?
I’ve had colleagues
ask, “If I had really given birth to her?” A friend asked, “Are you a woman?”, “How can
you stay away from your own child?”
I am. I am a
woman, who chokes on words to forgive.
I am a mother,
who stifles tears to smile.
I am a wife,
who hides fears to let my man do his duties.
I am a woman
who is proud to be an inspiration for my girl. I saw her last night – battling her
fears to take another new step.
A humble
request to all women folks – Stop cribbing. Now!
You can never be courageous enough. Do only what
you 'FEEL' is right.
And please!
Never ever seek your worth and value in others!