The first three months of the year 2015 were a blur. I can only remember being very pregnant, and finding it difficult to fit into my old outfits. Honest to God, I want to pop as quickly as possible, but it was freaking the hell out of me too. The thought of a person coming out of me was not easy to digest. If it wasn’t for my mom, I can’t even begin to imagine what the two of us might have done. Like blind lambs being led into the slaughterhouse, we would have fumbled all the way.
I can recall very vividly when my mother had woken up my husband, on the eve of the 23rd of April. Even though my water broke, I was really cool and didn’t fidget at all. Again, my mom handled the situation like an S.W.A.T team leader. Screaming out instructions to my husband, she took control of the wheels only to find him shaking like a birthday piñata.
Five hours in labour, the pain felt raw and then she arrived! At four twenty in the evening, I stared at her tiny body and her squiggly eyes. I high-fived my midwives, all that pain and exertion forgotten, it was worth every damned second. Nothing bore significance after she was born because it felt futile to even think about anything else. Clichéd as it may sound, the feeling of holding another human, whom you could care about more than anyone in the world, fascinated me. I understood what unconditional love really meant.
Post-partum episodes were pretty old school because of my mom and her “rules”. It was shortly followed by my first birthday with Safreen and not to forget the wedding anniversary. My husband didn’t cease to amaze me with his surprise presents and treasure hunts.
My mom left us in the month of August and only then did I experience the actual antics of handling a four-month-old, first-hand. I learnt so much in a span of one month, but it felt like I had lost a limb in the process.
In September, Safreen and I travelled to India for our first vacation. The “relatives” were going to see her for the first time and it was kind of a big deal. They were all hypocrites, throwing in lessons on “how-to-handle-your-freaking-baby” at every given opportunity. My blood had reached its boiling point, but I had to contain my rage for the sake of my little munchkin. It was that typical vacation where the in-laws give you crap and you pretend like it doesn’t bother you. But you actually want to tear everything down and wreak havoc.
Coming back home, it felt peaceful as winter settled in. The holiday season began, lights and decorations parading on every porch and window. Christmas was a splendid affair at Safreen’s playgroup, all of us danced around the adorned tree and sang songs in Swedish. She loved it all! That wasn’t even the best part, I happened to meet a Scottish couple who spoke with the accent and everything. It was a dream come true.
That sums up my #talesof2015, what about you?
“I’m sharing my #TalesOf2015 with BlogAdda.”
Ruminations of a Raven 