Celebrating #YummyMummy!

Pregnancy is a beautiful period of exploring the new phases of your body will endure and also, that of your baby. The feeling of giving life to another human being, to take responsibility for this new person is truly overwhelming. When I took the test first, I was thrilled beyond belief. I ran out of the bathroom, screaming my head off. But here’s the funny thing, apparently, I was already two and a half months pregnant and I didn’t even know! Thinking back to the point when I might have gotten pregnant, I was rock climbing and hiking in the vast fjords of Norway.

Having cruised through the first trimester effortlessly (or recklessly unaware), the second one rolled in. Since I was decked up in Sweden throughout my pregnancy and delivery, I had to prepare anything that I wished to eat at that time. I recall waking up one morning at around 2 am and cooking chicken majboos (An Arabic dish, where the rice is cooked with exotic spices, tomatoes and chicken stock, topped with charred and baked chicken). And how can I forget the southern fried chicken, along with southern buttermilk biscuits? Not to brag or anything, but I have gobsmacked myself as it tasted scrumptious!

Sadly, that was not always the case, I slept through most of the day, as winter had the longest nights (sunset was at 3:30 pm). I didn’t entirely follow the midwife’s orders, so naturally, I did not bother to squeeze in the healthy routine! My meals usually constituted toasted brown bread, corn/chicken/broccoli soup and boiled veggies. And I am talking about all the three meals, devastating, I know! My husband would take pity on me and make biriyani every week or something new and excitingly fun. Really, though, he was like my literal rock, massaging my aching back and toes.

In between all that misery, came a moment which I cannot describe to this day. She nudged me from the inside and I can still remember the feeling, like when you are in the elevator and it drops all of a sudden (or something like that?!). It is that indescribable intimate connection that the mother and child share.

Towards the end of my third trimester, my mother arrived and suddenly, the air was breathable, the rooms were cleaner the food was tastier and I didn’t have to thrive on leftovers after she stepped into my elaborate apartment. She would cook anything and everything I wanted and what more could I ask for? And like that, days rolled by in a gleeful haze.

The D-Day arrived on the 24th of April, I remember the entire procedure- the breathing exercises, the long strolls near the hospital lake, the amazing bunch of midwives and nurses who took care of me and pampered me like a child. The whole experience was effortless and incredible.

After five hours of panting, huffing, puffing and pushing, fast forward to the moment the nurse placed Safreen on top of my chest. She was a little dirty as she was smeared with some blood on her tummy. I could hear the rapid heartbeats of hers. It felt like her heart beat entwined with mine, just like how it used to be when she was inside of me. And at that moment, when you hold her in your arms, NOTHING MATTERS. The pain would be an alien concept to you and you will realize the true meaning of happiness and love.
My hubby was quaking with fear as the midwife handed the scissors to cut off the umbilical cord. I mocked him by clapping mutedly. Honestly, I was chilling out with my delivery crew, throwing away high-fives to the nurses and midwives. In my opinion, that is what you should feel, VICTORY.

Through this post, I want to tell you that you must worship your body, tend to its every need, celebrate it and live life to the fullest without the slightest worry on your shoulder (let your hubby do all the worrying!). Being pregnant is nothing but beauty, so you are beautiful no matter how you look! Just stop for a second and feel.

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“I’m writing about my wonderful journey of pregnancy for the #YummyMummy blogging activityat BlogAdda in association with Marico Bio Oil.”

 

 

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F is for Façade – #atozchallenge

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This poem is titled Façade. It reflects on old wounds and betrayals, long healed but remains as a dark mark. Enjoy.

 

Your face,
pallid,
Your soul,
corrupt,
Your ears,
burn red,
Your eyes,
brim with lies,
Why do you,
Conceal the truth?
Why do you,
pretend to care?
Why do you,
project love,
for passersby to see?
Why do you spindle,
on my emotions?
Why do you even try?

#10 POETRY 101 REHAB : FRIEND

 

Telepathic communication,
knowing glances,
partners
who don’t judge,
who (actually) give a damn,
who sticks up for you,
voluntarily
getting their hands dirty,
who knows
what to say,
when you feel worthless,
who screams that song
along with you,
and it doesn’t matter
if you both
are out of tune,
partners in crime,
comrade in arms,
that
(real) friend,
knows you better,
than you
know yourself.

 

This week’s Poetry 101 Rehab prompt is, Friend. I would like to dedicate this poem to all those beautiful people, who’ve given me abundant memories, sufficient to last a lifetime. Thank you, my lovely jerkfaces!

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This post is a part of Andy Townend’s Poetry 101 Rehab.

Sheikh Zayed Masjid

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I miss

the cold marble floors

of the Masjid,

The intricate patterns on the ceilings

and walls, so blue

so serene,

A small fountain

spurting cool water

where I can slump my hand in,

A place where I can reach out

To HIM

And feel his presence,

Solacing my woes

calming my nerves

in his no nonsense way,

He is All-Knowing

All-Seeing

and All-Hearing,

The ONLY one

who knows what writhes

in this dirty heart of mine,

Blackened by sins

so awry

and incapacitated?

For a thousand years

KlausCrying

 The scent of a new-born

His arms strap around

A farewell so afflictive

Tears don’t fight at the brim,

A proud father

After so many years

He’d lost count

Drinking away in misery,

His progeny changed everything

The second he laid his eyes

On the wailing infant,

Screeching for comfort

Finally, he had a reason

To exist

To care,

Protectively, he gripped her

With unknown tenderness

An instinct to lay out his life

For his blood.

KlausBaby