She is a bag of surprises. Has been, right from the very beginning. She made her way into me without any kind of signalling. Bam! Just like how she wants to play in the park and she does, just like that by hook or crook.
Nine months and one final bumpy tuk tuk ride later, she seemed to have had enough. She wanted out, even when I wasn't ready. So she did make it out, after a cut in my tummy. It's funny that my gut, while so close to the womb was wrong all along. While I very much wanted a girl, I made peace with the idea that I might be birthing a little penis. But again, that's where I was surprised, I had birthed a girl in all her naked glory!
After the first few harrowing months of sleeplessness, milk allergy, possible nut allergy, add to it the gluten allergy, I grew allergic to all babies. In the midst of all this, we made plans to come back to Holland. She was half a year old and I was half dead already.
Holland again. But with a new family member and brand new ground floor house (yippee!)
What surprised me was the attitude of the Netherlands to babies and mother. While back in India, mothers are given a superior title that they sacrifice themselves to uphold, Holland seemed to be empathetic to the mother. Don't want to nurse? Feed her formula. Child with milk allergy? Major changes to the mother's diet might do more harm, so doctors are happy to prescribe special formula. Unable to sleep with the baby kicking your face? Put her in a crib. Better still in another room. Because a sleep deprived parent is more a monster than a mother. Baby seeks comfort? Push a pacifier into her mouth.
Back home, I was harassed and guilted into nursing my child, all the while foregoing major chunks of my vegetarian( or junkarian) diet. Baby cries? Feed. Cries again in 30 mins? Feed again because her stomach would have emptied after weeing. Fussy baby? Feed her again, she probably wants comfort. This happened all day and night, every day and night. Everybody seemed to have opinions and judgements on what and how I wanted to feed my baby. Right from the lady-doctor who 'advised' me to the males in the family who thought my boob is my baby's right.
Holland makes way for the mother to feel supported. Primary caregiver needn't necessarily be the mother when the baby isn't dependent on her for the most basic needs. Extendable paternal holiday to ensure that the father also enjoys a mother's role (pun intended).
The next difficult part of bringing up children - food. Feel like cooking? Go ahead. Don't want to? Then just make a sandwich. Easy meal is the shortcut to happy parenthood. Formula and purees to simple sandwiches. All you need to do is not to judge yourself or let anyone do it.
And just like that, I didn't miss India anymore! And this is my `Ira“ of happiness!!
Beautifully written!
ReplyDeleteThank you, o mighty cleric 😋
Delete