Now the tattoo is more than a year old. It is still gathering all kinds of reactions from people around us. Not many people at my husband's office knew about it since he mostly wears a full sleeved shirt. A few days back when he wasn't, the tattoo caught the eyes of his co workers. To say that they were flabbergasted, is saying the least.
It seems they were all amused that he would go through all that pain to get his wife's name inked on him. One of them (a non-Indian) also went ahead and asked what if we were to go through a divorce. To which my husband said that he wasn't thinking of since he loved me and, moreover we are happy together. It seems she still insisted in asking what if later in life we were bored of each other/ found someone else and wanted to split. My husband still maintained his reply albeit he threw in something extra to quench her thirst for an answer. He told her what I usually say to him playfully. He said that I have threatened to kill myself and return to haunt him forever. I guess that co worker is used to having a last word to every conversation, so she adds, "Try that. Let's see if she will go ahead with her plan."
I was not done laughing with this whole fiasco when he came in yesterday with another episode. It seems the word had spread and those who hadn't got a chance to speak their minds about the tattoo in discussion, did.
One said I was an expert manipulator. Who else can get her husband to tattoo her name onto his arm. They were not done pulling his leg yet. Other asked if it was done before or after marriage. On hearing the answer, they were sure that I was a dictator. It seems everyone laughed it off. Fortunately, they didn't just call me a conniving, evil predator. :)
Well, we both are still finding it funny at how people get goosebumps at the site of the tattoo. It probably would have been a safer bet to get a burning skull or a 3D spider. But a wife's name???!
One would think I am fuming with rage, but the truth is I love being the center of attraction even when I am not in the room. I, hereby, title myself the "Go-Get-The-Tattoo-Bitch" ;) ;) ;)
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
28! Is it a big number?
I don't think so. I celebrated my 28th energetic year yesterday and loved every minute of it. And no matter how old I am or will be, I will always love gifts from near and dear ones. I'll let the pictures do the talking 'cause I am busy loving them. :)
After a relaxed hamburger lunch at Red Robin, saw Special 26 (which of course, I loved). Aa allowed us to watch the movie in peace. :)
*I do not believe in shying away from your age. Shout it out loud. Let everyone know how many years you have been awesoming people around you. :)*
On the birthday eve, I got chocolates from V and the family...
which were first claimed by
First thing on the birthday morning got flowers from the husband. I have told him it is ok if I do not get a gift from him, but flowers are a must. I think flowers enhance good moods. Their presence makes me happy. What do you think?
After a relaxed hamburger lunch at Red Robin, saw Special 26 (which of course, I loved). Aa allowed us to watch the movie in peace. :)
Evening we decided we need a cake and some friends to celebrate...
...that's what's remaining of it now!
and the friends bought me this - Perfume and photo frame! Thanks, Alam, Arti and Vishal! - I LOVED them!
Just when I thought my gift quota for this year was over, I received this from my parents today...
chocolate covered strawberries! yummmm.....
Tuesday, 5 February 2013
The Untold Horrors of Breastfeeding
Again let me remind you of some disclaimers
1. Perverts - BUZZ OFF!
2. Breast feeding is a sensitive topic. Some might even consider discussions on the subject, shameless. For what it is worth, I have decided to put away the shame and hence the stigma revolving around this topic.
3. Again, the following is what I experienced. You may have a totally different tale to tell. If you are already a mother AND did not have to face whatever I had to, please do not try to sell me how wrong I am. I know what I went through. If you are a mother to be, I suggest you read and do not obsess over it. This might be an eye-opener and for your mental preparedness.
4. If you are no where near mothering, read for entertainment! Hope it'll help you in your future. What else can I say?
5. If it is some husband reading this, please continue doing so. It'll help you get a better understanding of why your wife might be ready to throw things at you every time you speak. (Or, if she is not preggy yet, you'll know where to come when she gets there)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was sent home with strict instructions to strictly breast feed my baby. Formula was to be used only in case the baby wasn't satisfied with the b-milk.
My knowledge about breast feeding was limited to what and how it is shown in the television ads. Let me tell you, that those ads are grossly misleading. They were for me. The pain that I experienced in the hospital during the initial trials of b feeding was supposed to wear off. The milk was supposed to come in and I was supposed to be able to enjoy the whole thing. That was the ideal picture.
Like I said, I was to b feed every time Aa was hungry and not give the formula. This meant that I had to offer b feed much more frequently than I did at the hospital. The feeds were 1.5-2 hrs apart, each session on each side lasting for 15 minutes. All that latching, de-latching, re-latching and unlatching led to some cuts on me. They did not bother in the beginning.
It was at the end of the day that I became sore, red and bruised. The suckling on a raw bruise led me to cry. I would cry throughout the feed. Not only did the bruises keep getting worse during every feed, but also my ability to bear the pain. Imagine a scraping an arm and someone gnawing at the cut at regular interval. Well, this pain was much worse. Post partum women's breasts and nipples are a very very sensitive area.
Anyone who heard of my problem were kind enough to tell me that suffering was a part of the package. This is perhaps the last thing you want to hear from a bunch of ladies who seem to have taken on pregnancy and childbirth by its horns. What would shock me was their standoff-ish attitude and inability to empathize.
Guests had started coming in to stay for Aarnavi's naming ceremony on the thirteenth day. Instead of getting any easier, it was getting more and more difficult for me. The pain would be so unbearable that I couldn't let her finish off the feed, which invited some earful from my mother and my aunt. I wondered how my tears, my clenched fist and teeth failed to communicate to them how much painful it was for me. And, I wondered how my swollen eyes would look to the guests, wondered what would they think might be the reason behind them.
At such times, even a casually spoken comment hurts a lot. Like the time my mother said, if you cry for this pain, I can't imagine if you had had to go for natural birth. All I could think of was, natural birth happens once, but here I am bearing excruciating pain every day at every two hour interval and for god knows how long! It makes you feel like you are the worst mother ever, who cannot bear a simple pain. I started blaming myself for being selfish and thinking about my pain instead of feeding my baby with all that nutrition and immunity booster filled b milk. I couldn't free myself from these on shuffle, on-loop thoughts.
All this was not without drama from my little one. She would howl every time she latched on. She would howl every time I detached her from myself because obviously she was not satisfied. I even tried to express milk manually (tried the pump later) so that at least my scars would heal and my baby would still get what she needs. That did not seem to be working either.
Things got so bad that one day while feeding, my scars on one side bled and my nipple on the other side tore. Not a cut or scrape but a tear! The doctor did prescribe application of ghee and an ointment for the dryness, soreness to go away. None provided relief.
The only person who saw the pain and spoke it out, was my husband. One day he sat next to me, held my hand and cried saying, "I cannot see you going through this." Even though my aunts and my mother might have understood, they used the reverse psychology. My mother believes in firm words instead of soothing touch. I do too. It gives courage. But not this time. This time I did not need courage. I wanted to be let to be weak and break down.
Crying was now my daily routine. I was in tears for both the reasons - for suffering the pain and for not being able to provide for my daughter. The mental torment didn't cease. In addition to that my doc was hell bent on getting the b feeding done.
Well, a major player in the confinement period is the woman who comes for massage et al. She is one knowledgeable doctor who has gathered all that not from books but by experience. Her expert diagnosis told me that my milk wasn't getting expressed in a way that it should and that is why the baby cries so much when I offer her the feed. Of course, being newbie myself, (and do not forget the mind tends to fog at such times) I believed her. And it made sense, since my baby was not getting it as easily, she was trying hard at suckling, which meant more scraping on my nipple.
My mother got another reason to obsess. She started to worry continually on why this was happening. We tried every trick to boost the milk supply. Most suggestions were related to me eating right. Some said I needed to eat rice porridge, some said mutton curry would do the trick. My cousin insisted methi kheer (sweet pudding made of Fenugreek seeds) would help. Still someone else suggested I eat jowar bhakri (flat bread made of Sorghum grain). And of course, the doctor increased the dose of Satavrex (natural galactogogue) added milk from two glasses to three a day. Again none of which worked in a way it was supposed to be. The only thing increasing was my weight and going down was my self esteem.
Seeing no results, my mom started getting tenser by the day. By now, I was totally done with b feeding. I struggled to find that special bond. It was not something I looked forward to. I hated b feeding with gusto! There I said it!
The last straw was when the masseuse commented that I did not try hard enough - I break down soon and bearing pain is not my cup of tea. According to her, I gave up too soon too easily. I was not offended by what she said because it was true. Every person has different tolerance level and perhaps mine is really low. I know I gave it my best shot. I know how much I have wished to be like one of those ladies on the television ad - feeding their baby with a contented look on their face. But no one tried to understand that I wasn't doing it on purpose. No one seemed to care that I wanted to try and failing each time was a resounding slap on my face. The guilt, the shame, the failure coupled with sleep deprivation was stressing me out. And that is perhaps why I wasn't able to give my 100%.
I hated it to an extent that I prayed my milk run dry. I was sick of the physical pain. I was no longer in a position to accept anything said against me. All my efforts to be the ideal mom seemed to take so much of my energy that I stopped enjoying the experience altogether. I thought if only I did not have to b feed! And I couldn't, for the life of me understand why my mother was getting all paranoid about "not enough b milk". The baby was getting some nutrition. Why should I feel guilty? I am not doing anything purposely. Nor was I starving her. If there was an option to b milk, why not adopt it because this fiasco was going nowhere, except put me through pain and keep the baby hungry!
The trials for successful b feeding were still on. On doctor's suggestion we bought silicon nipples to be attached over. They too proved futile. Also with the breast pump I couldn't gather enough milk, although my breast felt pretty heavy and full. This inability to completely empty my breasts gave me a sore spot on one side. It was hard to touch and I feared if it was a formation of a lump. It was backed by fever too. My mom had to experience this and she said it could be a possibility of a lump.
I saw the doctor for confirmation. She said it was not a lump but a breast abscess symptom which has happened due to blocked milk ducts. I was given oral medication to treat it. With that not only did the hardness disappear but also the milk supply to that side. With some pain taken off, I was relieved but I knew better than to let my thoughts be heard.
From that day onward, the b feeding pain went down many notches. Because of the lesser milk supply, I was not obligated to feed for long or so frequently. This gave my cuts time to heal and I had longer breaks in between pains.
By the time Aa turned 3.5 months, the b feeding had completely stopped. Although everyone else seemed to grieve about it, I was feeling happy. My torture had ended. If today I were to choose between a year more of sleepless nights or a month long b feeding, I am ready to sacrifice my sleep.
1. Perverts - BUZZ OFF!
2. Breast feeding is a sensitive topic. Some might even consider discussions on the subject, shameless. For what it is worth, I have decided to put away the shame and hence the stigma revolving around this topic.
3. Again, the following is what I experienced. You may have a totally different tale to tell. If you are already a mother AND did not have to face whatever I had to, please do not try to sell me how wrong I am. I know what I went through. If you are a mother to be, I suggest you read and do not obsess over it. This might be an eye-opener and for your mental preparedness.
4. If you are no where near mothering, read for entertainment! Hope it'll help you in your future. What else can I say?
5. If it is some husband reading this, please continue doing so. It'll help you get a better understanding of why your wife might be ready to throw things at you every time you speak. (Or, if she is not preggy yet, you'll know where to come when she gets there)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was sent home with strict instructions to strictly breast feed my baby. Formula was to be used only in case the baby wasn't satisfied with the b-milk.
My knowledge about breast feeding was limited to what and how it is shown in the television ads. Let me tell you, that those ads are grossly misleading. They were for me. The pain that I experienced in the hospital during the initial trials of b feeding was supposed to wear off. The milk was supposed to come in and I was supposed to be able to enjoy the whole thing. That was the ideal picture.
Like I said, I was to b feed every time Aa was hungry and not give the formula. This meant that I had to offer b feed much more frequently than I did at the hospital. The feeds were 1.5-2 hrs apart, each session on each side lasting for 15 minutes. All that latching, de-latching, re-latching and unlatching led to some cuts on me. They did not bother in the beginning.
It was at the end of the day that I became sore, red and bruised. The suckling on a raw bruise led me to cry. I would cry throughout the feed. Not only did the bruises keep getting worse during every feed, but also my ability to bear the pain. Imagine a scraping an arm and someone gnawing at the cut at regular interval. Well, this pain was much worse. Post partum women's breasts and nipples are a very very sensitive area.
Anyone who heard of my problem were kind enough to tell me that suffering was a part of the package. This is perhaps the last thing you want to hear from a bunch of ladies who seem to have taken on pregnancy and childbirth by its horns. What would shock me was their standoff-ish attitude and inability to empathize.
Guests had started coming in to stay for Aarnavi's naming ceremony on the thirteenth day. Instead of getting any easier, it was getting more and more difficult for me. The pain would be so unbearable that I couldn't let her finish off the feed, which invited some earful from my mother and my aunt. I wondered how my tears, my clenched fist and teeth failed to communicate to them how much painful it was for me. And, I wondered how my swollen eyes would look to the guests, wondered what would they think might be the reason behind them.
At such times, even a casually spoken comment hurts a lot. Like the time my mother said, if you cry for this pain, I can't imagine if you had had to go for natural birth. All I could think of was, natural birth happens once, but here I am bearing excruciating pain every day at every two hour interval and for god knows how long! It makes you feel like you are the worst mother ever, who cannot bear a simple pain. I started blaming myself for being selfish and thinking about my pain instead of feeding my baby with all that nutrition and immunity booster filled b milk. I couldn't free myself from these on shuffle, on-loop thoughts.
All this was not without drama from my little one. She would howl every time she latched on. She would howl every time I detached her from myself because obviously she was not satisfied. I even tried to express milk manually (tried the pump later) so that at least my scars would heal and my baby would still get what she needs. That did not seem to be working either.
Things got so bad that one day while feeding, my scars on one side bled and my nipple on the other side tore. Not a cut or scrape but a tear! The doctor did prescribe application of ghee and an ointment for the dryness, soreness to go away. None provided relief.
The only person who saw the pain and spoke it out, was my husband. One day he sat next to me, held my hand and cried saying, "I cannot see you going through this." Even though my aunts and my mother might have understood, they used the reverse psychology. My mother believes in firm words instead of soothing touch. I do too. It gives courage. But not this time. This time I did not need courage. I wanted to be let to be weak and break down.
Crying was now my daily routine. I was in tears for both the reasons - for suffering the pain and for not being able to provide for my daughter. The mental torment didn't cease. In addition to that my doc was hell bent on getting the b feeding done.
Well, a major player in the confinement period is the woman who comes for massage et al. She is one knowledgeable doctor who has gathered all that not from books but by experience. Her expert diagnosis told me that my milk wasn't getting expressed in a way that it should and that is why the baby cries so much when I offer her the feed. Of course, being newbie myself, (and do not forget the mind tends to fog at such times) I believed her. And it made sense, since my baby was not getting it as easily, she was trying hard at suckling, which meant more scraping on my nipple.
My mother got another reason to obsess. She started to worry continually on why this was happening. We tried every trick to boost the milk supply. Most suggestions were related to me eating right. Some said I needed to eat rice porridge, some said mutton curry would do the trick. My cousin insisted methi kheer (sweet pudding made of Fenugreek seeds) would help. Still someone else suggested I eat jowar bhakri (flat bread made of Sorghum grain). And of course, the doctor increased the dose of Satavrex (natural galactogogue) added milk from two glasses to three a day. Again none of which worked in a way it was supposed to be. The only thing increasing was my weight and going down was my self esteem.
Seeing no results, my mom started getting tenser by the day. By now, I was totally done with b feeding. I struggled to find that special bond. It was not something I looked forward to. I hated b feeding with gusto! There I said it!
The last straw was when the masseuse commented that I did not try hard enough - I break down soon and bearing pain is not my cup of tea. According to her, I gave up too soon too easily. I was not offended by what she said because it was true. Every person has different tolerance level and perhaps mine is really low. I know I gave it my best shot. I know how much I have wished to be like one of those ladies on the television ad - feeding their baby with a contented look on their face. But no one tried to understand that I wasn't doing it on purpose. No one seemed to care that I wanted to try and failing each time was a resounding slap on my face. The guilt, the shame, the failure coupled with sleep deprivation was stressing me out. And that is perhaps why I wasn't able to give my 100%.
I hated it to an extent that I prayed my milk run dry. I was sick of the physical pain. I was no longer in a position to accept anything said against me. All my efforts to be the ideal mom seemed to take so much of my energy that I stopped enjoying the experience altogether. I thought if only I did not have to b feed! And I couldn't, for the life of me understand why my mother was getting all paranoid about "not enough b milk". The baby was getting some nutrition. Why should I feel guilty? I am not doing anything purposely. Nor was I starving her. If there was an option to b milk, why not adopt it because this fiasco was going nowhere, except put me through pain and keep the baby hungry!
The trials for successful b feeding were still on. On doctor's suggestion we bought silicon nipples to be attached over. They too proved futile. Also with the breast pump I couldn't gather enough milk, although my breast felt pretty heavy and full. This inability to completely empty my breasts gave me a sore spot on one side. It was hard to touch and I feared if it was a formation of a lump. It was backed by fever too. My mom had to experience this and she said it could be a possibility of a lump.
I saw the doctor for confirmation. She said it was not a lump but a breast abscess symptom which has happened due to blocked milk ducts. I was given oral medication to treat it. With that not only did the hardness disappear but also the milk supply to that side. With some pain taken off, I was relieved but I knew better than to let my thoughts be heard.
From that day onward, the b feeding pain went down many notches. Because of the lesser milk supply, I was not obligated to feed for long or so frequently. This gave my cuts time to heal and I had longer breaks in between pains.
By the time Aa turned 3.5 months, the b feeding had completely stopped. Although everyone else seemed to grieve about it, I was feeling happy. My torture had ended. If today I were to choose between a year more of sleepless nights or a month long b feeding, I am ready to sacrifice my sleep.
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