Weeks 26 to 32: All the reasons to believe

in tickly-toe grass

a buttercup offers up

yellow nose kisses

                     

                               Betsy E Snyder

I often wonder 5 to 10 years from now, how will I recall these past months? I suspect my eyes will swim with the memory of impending motherhood with its particular enmeshing of anxiety and hope -- indescribable really.

I might recall the inexplicable peace that comes with the responsibility of another being inside you and grasp in air for memories, so many of them micro moments....think too much, hold too hard and they vanish. If English has a word for it, am unaware of it. Urdu sure has. Kasak. In the very word is a sense of gossamer; a sublimity that demands respect. Indeed,  this blog is me simply exercising my boy-scout tendencies to help me grasp those inevitably elusive butterflies, tighter, later.

I will remember Sippa pacing up and down discussing nappies and flannels and baby wools; I will remember his warm heavy hand on my lower back, its gentle pressure reassuring, guiding and loving whenever we went out -- the best kind of pampering is always unspoken.  I will remember being woken up with divine back massages and an amused but resigned smile whenever I demanded and got a massage. I will remember the chaat sessions, the mutton and fish cooking on Sunday mornings and most of all, the joy on his face to see the joy in my eyes not wavering from the food on my plate.  I will remember the sweet treats, some demanded some bought as a surprise...the bikajis' laddoos and jalebis, the introduction to kachoris, the pastries....the Foodworld aisles jokes about Nutella and Milkmaid-consuming behemoth (nevertheless, they went inside the trolley without much protest :p)...

Seems we are (again) getting lost in food. I will also remember the many admonitions, the many discussions about parenting, the planning of the new flat...a happy coincidence we will be welcoming the baby and the flat at the same time!

I will remember my parents' extreme anxiety, their eagerness to make me do nothing, their compulsion to cloak me in their protection, their spilling-over love that in these months seem to have turned more blind than ever...but can one really complain about being loved? Not within me, I cannot. Maybe I will understand it all a bit more once I become a full-fledged mother myself, at least that's what my mother keeps telling me. I will also remember her amusing efforts at appearing experienced and wise and trying really hard to recall her long-forgotten pregnancy; and I will not forget my father rushing out literally at my command to get me badam halwa, jalebi, laddoo, sapota...there we go again!

Whatever I had dreamt of pregnancy and impending motherhood, reality has been one up on it. It makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time. It makes me feel inordinately blessed. It makes every ache, every throb, every impending pain, everything worth it.  It makes me feel like a woman, all woman. 

 

I leave you with two songs this time... the first one's poetry describes it all and the other because it totally 'gets' kasak.