one step farther
than I wanted to go
spring wind
Jim Kacian
The haiku has been chosen with care this time. The lines, as a good haiku should, seem to be trusting minimalism to convey overwhelm. Propelled as if by the spring wind or the madness of the season itself, you go a step farther than intended and not unhappily; exhilaration propelled by happiness tinged with moonshine, that's what the poem tells me -- a not unwelcome loss of control.
And that in a nutshell is how I felt often in these weeks. I have already stepped into the 26th and somehow, have been postponing updating the blog. Maybe the psychological barrier of 25 had to be passed for the words to get unstuck. Or maybe I am again finding excuses for laziness.
Be that as it may be, the giddiness is now firmly inside, right above the pubic bone. It is unnerving how much he or she (oh dammit...he it has been for me and I am not going to be politically correct here... if he turns out to be she, most welcome darling, but for now, he it is. There, I said it.). Ah, back to what I was to say. It is unnerving how much he rules me already. No more fluttering, now he rolls and kneads and turns over and he feels like a wayward rolling pin beneath my tummy skin. I complain to husband about it not striking him to move up a bit...he can you know, there is lot of space in my ever-growing belly but nope, the cheek wants to stick to above the pubic bone only except for the occasional tingling kick at my poor sore ribs; but then, when he is quiet for an hour, I fret. I get slightly cranky and seek attention. I yearn for a hubby-pamper session. If that is not forthcoming, I sulk and admonish, 'come on goatu, move it!' He obliges and often, and that is enough for that rush of renewed happiness -- aaaaaaaa I am pregnant, aaaaaa there is a baby in there, moving, eating, hiccuping, crapping and aaaaaaa I am all ready to forgive the entire world again.
Meanwhile, I have updated my knowledge about the actual labour session (means I have read and reread obsessively) and the more I read, the way it has always been with me, the more intricate my imagination gets about the pain, the more ready I feel...I was always a sucker for pain porn I tell you, despite all my moans and growls for all my little aches and pains. I sometimes think I would have made a good nurse.
And meanwhile, I also got the all-important scan done and there were no surprises there... all my daydreams of cleverly figuring out the he and she business were nipped in the bud as the over-polite but nice, rotund doctor simply did not take the probe between the legs.
And meanwhile, I continue to eat or plan to eat or think about food and if nothing else works, dream about food. I am getting more and more carnivorous by the day -- my tongue tingles at the thought of beef and mutton rounded off by a rich Indian dessert. Kababs, curries drowned in cream and floating on oil, marinated for long, chewy but not rubbery, releasing its juices at the right time, juices that I can swing around the tongue before swallowing the morsel in. And then round off with a thick, creamy rabdi. See, food porn too. Crap. Sigh. Utterly propelled by forces unknown to me... is it a wonder I keep stumbling? I did say, the haiku was chosen with care. Spring winds may blow hard but always smell good. :)
And that in a nutshell is how I felt often in these weeks. I have already stepped into the 26th and somehow, have been postponing updating the blog. Maybe the psychological barrier of 25 had to be passed for the words to get unstuck. Or maybe I am again finding excuses for laziness.
Be that as it may be, the giddiness is now firmly inside, right above the pubic bone. It is unnerving how much he or she (oh dammit...he it has been for me and I am not going to be politically correct here... if he turns out to be she, most welcome darling, but for now, he it is. There, I said it.). Ah, back to what I was to say. It is unnerving how much he rules me already. No more fluttering, now he rolls and kneads and turns over and he feels like a wayward rolling pin beneath my tummy skin. I complain to husband about it not striking him to move up a bit...he can you know, there is lot of space in my ever-growing belly but nope, the cheek wants to stick to above the pubic bone only except for the occasional tingling kick at my poor sore ribs; but then, when he is quiet for an hour, I fret. I get slightly cranky and seek attention. I yearn for a hubby-pamper session. If that is not forthcoming, I sulk and admonish, 'come on goatu, move it!' He obliges and often, and that is enough for that rush of renewed happiness -- aaaaaaaa I am pregnant, aaaaaa there is a baby in there, moving, eating, hiccuping, crapping and aaaaaaa I am all ready to forgive the entire world again.
Meanwhile, I have updated my knowledge about the actual labour session (means I have read and reread obsessively) and the more I read, the way it has always been with me, the more intricate my imagination gets about the pain, the more ready I feel...I was always a sucker for pain porn I tell you, despite all my moans and growls for all my little aches and pains. I sometimes think I would have made a good nurse.
And meanwhile, I also got the all-important scan done and there were no surprises there... all my daydreams of cleverly figuring out the he and she business were nipped in the bud as the over-polite but nice, rotund doctor simply did not take the probe between the legs.
And meanwhile, I continue to eat or plan to eat or think about food and if nothing else works, dream about food. I am getting more and more carnivorous by the day -- my tongue tingles at the thought of beef and mutton rounded off by a rich Indian dessert. Kababs, curries drowned in cream and floating on oil, marinated for long, chewy but not rubbery, releasing its juices at the right time, juices that I can swing around the tongue before swallowing the morsel in. And then round off with a thick, creamy rabdi. See, food porn too. Crap. Sigh. Utterly propelled by forces unknown to me... is it a wonder I keep stumbling? I did say, the haiku was chosen with care. Spring winds may blow hard but always smell good. :)
*** The title has been borrowed from A K Ramanujan's poem 'Connect!'
I leave you with the song for the occasion...the ever trippy Dev Anand catching butterflies and concocting a recipe for heady love.
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