It starts with innocent childhood milestones. Does your kid sit up? Does s/he crawl? How many teeth does s/he have? Oh, mine is a fast learner. My baby has 16 teeth. Mine walks unsupported at 8 months, what does your kid do?
Don't they sound familiar? That is because at some point each parent has compared their kid to another of the same age. Are they slow? Are they lacking skills? Is this how it is supposed to be? Probably, the parents fear if or not their kids are developing the way they should.
Even long after they are convinced that everything is fine with the kids, they do not stop comparing. Even if the parent doesn't do it, someone else is always ready to strike up a match. Yesterday, a friend pinged me for a heart to heart, where comparison was discussed.
Every child, every individual is different. I have realised that over and over again in the past year. A lot of my friends had babies almost the same time that I had mine with some weeks here and there. And no two of them had the same developmental path. To say, Aarnavi has been a classic example of baby center emails. Her milestones were bang on. Every week I used to be surprised to read emails that looked like they were custom-made for Aarnavi. Yes, in a certain manner, life was easy for me. I did not have to obsess over if this was normal or that was not normal. In no way does it mean that my child is perfect or even that the others are below par. The faster parents learn to embrace their child's every aspect, whether good or bad, the better for the child.
The reason why I start with infancy milestones is because everything starts right there. The need to compare children with one another just keeps growing and stems well into their formative years. Comparing is unfair. Comparing can hurt. And comparing can result in low self esteem / bloated ego in kids, depending on which side the kid falls. No one deserves to be compared.
I know it because I have grown up with my share of being compared to others with my part of the balance always on the sad side. I know how it feels to be constantly measured by a yardstick and not living up to the standards. I have lived at the receiving end of not being perfect compared to others. Trying to be like someone else when you cannot be is an insurmountable task. Hence, the frustration of not being able to, despite trying hard is unimaginable.
From physical attributes like height and weight, to grades in school/ college, to finer skills like cooking. I have been, and even today am, compared. Today, it doesn't matter much to me. I do what pleases me and such comments pass by without affecting me. But it was not so earlier. Every comment was a stab. Every put down felt like being stomped upon. Relatives are meant to do it. One of my aunts has never passed an opportunity to look down upon me in some way or the other. Her child has always been superior. I hated having to visit them or having them over. I always wished we could avoid them, but never could as they are close relatives. Sadly, my parents didn't react much to it. They have also at times compared me with V, which of course I hated and made me sad. I never thought of complaining for the fear of others thinking I was all sour grapes.
Comparing makes one angry and rebellious or vain and egotistic, again depending on where s/he stands. That anger and rebellion can go in two extreme ways. One it can give you the will and strength to prove everyone wrong and overcome all obstacles. For others, like me, will learn to give up, sometimes too easily. It is a major bog to ones self esteem. Imagine being reminded repeatedly of others' achievements and lack of yours. Unfortunately, this tendency to give up early and easily stays well into your life. (To give up giving up requires a lot lot more hard work). Till date I haven't been able to get rid of my habit. I won't even give it a try.
I can explain why it feels better to abandon the battle. Basically, it is a battle. You may have heard of the saying "Try but don't cry" or even "You shouldn't stop trying until you get there." There is also "Barking up the wrong tree." and "If you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing it is stupid." I believe in the latter. It is so much easier to say "No I cannot do it." than try and fail and be reminded about it, humiliated and written off forever. There is no appreciation for having tried hard despite not wanting to/ inability to do so. Making someone understand about your abilities and inabilities is not worth your time. It is best to avoid such comments and shut them out.
Each one has a different design. If one can do something well, other might just not be able to wrap it around his head. It doesn't mean one is superior and other is useless. Again, I say that comparing is unfair. It is wrong to pit one individual against another. For a child growing up constantly being compared, it causes immense stress and harsh mental effects. (I have not researched on any, but it is my experience). It stumps free and healthy growth.
Why as parents do we want to be a cause of mental abuse to kids. Why does looking down at someone else so inviting? What kind of thrill we derive out of it? I have friends who compare their kids with Aarnavi, saying she is this tall, my kid isn't, or when did she start eating solids, mine is this older than yours and still refuses to. I take the opportunity to tell them that their kid might not be ready for it, or maybe they haven't yet experienced the growth spurt and they should wait for it. I have problems with my kid too, and I discuss them when I feel the need to/ when I feel something might not be right. But instead of turning a discussion into a raving comparing debate, I try to make it more into how to deal with it session.
Comparisons creep in mind. Call it maternal instinct or basic human nature. It is there. It is important to nip it in the bud and make conscious effort not to do it. If someone else does it, telling them right in the beginning should avoid further attacks.
I do not know how what skills my child has. Whether she'll be good in studies, or she'll prefer sports over fashion. I do not know. But one thing I know for sure is I will not be comparing her with peers. I will not stunt her mental growth by telling her she is too stupid to do something. I do not think it is the way to get the best out of someone. It certainly did not work for me.
Thursday, 28 March 2013
Thursday, 21 March 2013
Rough Around the Edges
When my husband made Aloo baingan (stir-fried eggplants with potatoes, if you must) for the first time a couple of weeks ago, I was all praises. I just couldn't stop raving about how wonderful it tasted and how lucky was I to have him in my life, every time I went in for a helping.
Yesterday, upon request, he made it again. This time, I gulped my entire portion without a single word. Even a while after dinner, I did not say anything about how it turned out to be. Only when he openly asked me about it, did I realise that I'd given no reaction whatsoever. It was good as it was previously. What was missing this time was my excitement to acknowledge the same.
I am like that. A lot many times than I want to be. I forget to acknowledge. I forget to speak up even though that is exactly what I am thinking. I do that so many times only to realise a tad too late. Like in this case, I was admiring the meal with every bite, but it never occurred to me that I should speak up. It may not seem such a big issue right here, but there are times when I should say something and I do not. It is preposterous, if you ask me.
Lately, I started to reflect on why I do this and I did come up with a possible explanation to my dearth of manners to acknowledge something. I think, I am so over stuffed with a certain emotion, that they block out all my words. There is so much to react to that I do not react at all or I react later/ lesser than expected. Rather I forget some essential things; like the formality to do or say something. I am going to quote a few examples.
Whenever any of my friends come home, I (have) never, never offered them a glass of water. Even if they come walking in the hot summer sun, I have never sat them down and offered them a drink of cool water. My friends tease me that I have no manners and do not know how to treat guests. This happens only with my friends. If it is any other person, I'll be the first one to jump up and do the needful.
I always get an earful from my mother for this. Knowing my lack of "Atithi Devo Bhava" spirit, she makes it her job to look after my friends. In fact, a close friend of mine and my mom exchange looks on how long I take to realise my blunder!
I am actually so happy to see them that I instantly launch into a charade and forget all about carrying out basic formalities. (Also in this case, I think my close friends are welcome to think of my house as theirs and help themselves to the kitchen. Of course, it doesn't always work that way!)
It was a few days before Aa's birthday that another of our close friends offered to help us in the preparations. Although they have a kid of Aa's age, they said they'd love to come over a day before and help. All I could manage to say was, it wasn't required since somebody else had already agreed. I did not thank, nor did I say I was sorry that I couldn't use their help at that time. They are very close friends and I had no intentions of hurting them or even being mean to them. But there I go, without Thanks or Sorry and just firing an explanation. I was very much humbled by their offer and my ignorance to accept that and communicate it to them hurts me even today.
Likewise I forget to congratulate, offer sympathies, be enthusiastic or wish someone. On a few occasions, I do not want to do them consciously, but these are not those. I genuinely feel happy or positive about something and I fail to execute the same in words/ reactions.
I need to work on it!
I need to work on it!
Monday, 11 March 2013
The Sushi Bit
Some crazy weeks are behind us. There are a lot of things immigrants like us won't tell. The one thing that keeps hanging on our heads like a sword is the visa thing. Especially when it is nearing its expiry date. All the action begins then. Application for extension, mental preparedness to leave the country in case of rejection, selling out all the gathered stuff, dealing with the leasing issues...
Fortunately, as I write this, I realise that everything is sorted out. Well, at least for the time being. We have moved to another apartment. It was a difficult task considering I have this active toddler who wanted to supervise and screen every item that was to be packed. It's just a matter of time before we start packing again to haul ourselves back to India. :)
To celebrate a little, which we hadn't in all the time that we were involved in planning and packing, we decided to eat out leisurely. My husband has been going ga-ga over this Sushi place since last year. Knowing that sushi is raw fish, I never had the courage to try it out. However yesterday, I managed to get over my reservation.
We went to Sushi Ai
I ordered a drink called Saki-Tini, which was vodka and saki, garnished with strips of cucumber
and these were what we ordered
This was Dragon something. Although the snap doesn't look all that impressive, when it came on the table, it was covered in blue flame, looking brilliant.
and the orange one at the back was crispy rice sushi, with Tuna. The yellow one was called Mini Me. It was spicy tuna rolled over Octopus.
I apologise if that killed your appetite. I like to try out new things and octopus was on the list.
Sushi is served with soy sauce and wasabi sauce (the two to be combined). The spotlight was the wasabi sauce. It is highly pungent. There is no other taste or flavour to it. Or rather, the pungency hits so hard that you concentrate hard not to choke on it. Once you bite into a dipped sushi, it's like mini nuclear bombs go off in your mouth, climbing up the nasal cavity. It was super duper pungent.
Having said that, I have no recollection of how the Sushi itself tasted. So whether it was tuna or octopus or crispy rice, all I can gather is the small puffs of steam that left my ears.
I wanted to try some more and enjoy the experience a bit, if not for Aarnavi, who decided to be unusually fussy and irritable. Even after being fed, she was in no mood to let us eat in peace. We managed to gobble up the rest and head home. Sigh!
All in all, it was something I will never forget. Honestly, I don't know if I'll try another sushi for a long time now. ;)
and these were what we ordered
This was Dragon something. Although the snap doesn't look all that impressive, when it came on the table, it was covered in blue flame, looking brilliant.
and the orange one at the back was crispy rice sushi, with Tuna. The yellow one was called Mini Me. It was spicy tuna rolled over Octopus.
I apologise if that killed your appetite. I like to try out new things and octopus was on the list.
Sushi is served with soy sauce and wasabi sauce (the two to be combined). The spotlight was the wasabi sauce. It is highly pungent. There is no other taste or flavour to it. Or rather, the pungency hits so hard that you concentrate hard not to choke on it. Once you bite into a dipped sushi, it's like mini nuclear bombs go off in your mouth, climbing up the nasal cavity. It was super duper pungent.
Having said that, I have no recollection of how the Sushi itself tasted. So whether it was tuna or octopus or crispy rice, all I can gather is the small puffs of steam that left my ears.
I wanted to try some more and enjoy the experience a bit, if not for Aarnavi, who decided to be unusually fussy and irritable. Even after being fed, she was in no mood to let us eat in peace. We managed to gobble up the rest and head home. Sigh!
All in all, it was something I will never forget. Honestly, I don't know if I'll try another sushi for a long time now. ;)
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
I'm the "GGTTB"
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" ;) ;) ;)
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" ;) ;) ;)
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.
Monday, 28 January 2013
Motherhood - The Beginning
Previously written Pregnancy - Finding out, Pregnancy - Middle Ground, Pregnancy - The Last Leg and The Awaited Childbirth
It took me few hours to come out of the heavily induced sleep. That day, I did not get to hold my baby at all. Anyway she was asleep for most of the day.
That night I got the shock of my life. My girl decided to turn on her lung power. The screeching was only too loud for the small room. Her cry seemed to resonate throughout the hospital. I was worried and a bit embarrassed too. My mother was with me and she called in the nurse. It was time for her night feed. It was just an hour and a half, when we experienced another wail. This time it was soiled diaper. The nurse came up again and gave a refreshers course to my mom on how to hold, handle, change and wrap the baby. The cries continued at an interval of 30 minutes to an hour, depending upon the situation. I still had all the pipes and IVs in me; hence I was only an immobile observer of this night scene.
I was getting frustrated being so tied down. I could hardly move. And in spite of the IV, I was feeling hungry. The nurses said it was impossible, but truly I could feel my stomach growling and I wanted something solid to keep it in. Not to mention the added irritation of not being able to hold my little one being unable to sit up.
On the third day, I was made to sit up and walk around. Thankfully, I did not pass out. Maybe it was my keenness to be able to be mobile again, but I didn't feel faint or didn't stagger my steps. I had a lot of heaviness where I was cut and stitched up. Though there was no pain. I walked over to my baby and took her in my arms. The moment was surreal. Till then, anytime I wanted to be near her, my mom would bring her and let me see her from close quarters.
I was, however, given strict instructions not to sit for too long and strain myself. It was also the day I would begin breast feeding. I was looking forward to it and all that famous "special bond" thing. What I encountered was excruciating pain, soreness and heaviness. All this while I was thinking, rather made to believe that breast milk starts coming in as soon as you deliver. But things seem to be different with the C section cases. It is said that the contractions trigger the milk glands and hence your body gets a clue to supply milk. In my case, I never felt a single contraction.
The nurses came in to aide in the feeding. While one was teaching me how to hold the baby so that she latches on the right way, the other one was educating me on how to massage the chest in order to effectively express milk. Although the entire thing seemed to go the wrong way, the nurses insisted that I keep doing it till the baby latches on properly. They were sure that it would get easier with every feed.
My baby had no problem latching on. It was the lack of milk supply that made her scream. It was an equal nightmare for me (and for many days to follow) that I was getting bruised each time she latched on and tried to suckle.
I was still not flexible or fast and wasn't even allowed to be. That night when my mother cleaned her up again after a potty episode, I cried. I was much too obligated and felt like a burden to my mother. There she was, doing everything for me and the baby and I was hardly even helping. I stood there and cried as I watched my mother do what she did so swiftly.
You feel bad when you can't do what you would have given anything to do. Like holding the baby, rocking her to sleep and even changing potty diapers for numerous times. It felt like I am missing on some precious moments. And from being so lean and bouncy to suddenly feeling tied down and heavy, emotions were on the loose!
The fourth day was as good as the previous ones. We both howled during the breastfeeding sessions; each one louder than the other! There was no pain, either the stitches or the cut, but a lot of heaviness. It felt like my bottom half had suddenly transformed into lead. I needed assistance to get up and down from the bed.
The whole day the baby slept and being alone, I would be worried. How can this girl sleep so soundlessly during the day when at night time she is a banshee? Isn't she hungry? I used to get scared that something has happened to her and would summon the nurses citing one reason or the other to check up on her.
As the clock struck 11 PM, she would start all over again, which is when I would wonder why she couldn't save the drama for during daytime when there was ample background noise to mask her screeches and everyone was wide awake and had the energy to deal with her!
Formula feeding was left to the nurses as they were used to feeding babies as small as she. They would always come by sleepy eyed and we would worry constantly if she was feeding correctly. My mother kept them awake by chatting about sundry details of their life.
I was supposed to be discharged on the sixth day. I was already getting bored staring the walls and being confined in such a small space. I wondered if they would let me go any sooner.
The next day, when my gyn came for the routine visit, I placed my humble request before her and she gave me a thumbs up. She said everything looked fine and I could be going home that evening. I was elated. I called up my mom and told her that I was ready to be home. She panicked as she was not expecting me until the next day. She was planning to cleaning our room, take out some old baby stuff and get the room baby friendly.
... will be continued
It took me few hours to come out of the heavily induced sleep. That day, I did not get to hold my baby at all. Anyway she was asleep for most of the day.
That night I got the shock of my life. My girl decided to turn on her lung power. The screeching was only too loud for the small room. Her cry seemed to resonate throughout the hospital. I was worried and a bit embarrassed too. My mother was with me and she called in the nurse. It was time for her night feed. It was just an hour and a half, when we experienced another wail. This time it was soiled diaper. The nurse came up again and gave a refreshers course to my mom on how to hold, handle, change and wrap the baby. The cries continued at an interval of 30 minutes to an hour, depending upon the situation. I still had all the pipes and IVs in me; hence I was only an immobile observer of this night scene.
I was getting frustrated being so tied down. I could hardly move. And in spite of the IV, I was feeling hungry. The nurses said it was impossible, but truly I could feel my stomach growling and I wanted something solid to keep it in. Not to mention the added irritation of not being able to hold my little one being unable to sit up.
On the third day, I was made to sit up and walk around. Thankfully, I did not pass out. Maybe it was my keenness to be able to be mobile again, but I didn't feel faint or didn't stagger my steps. I had a lot of heaviness where I was cut and stitched up. Though there was no pain. I walked over to my baby and took her in my arms. The moment was surreal. Till then, anytime I wanted to be near her, my mom would bring her and let me see her from close quarters.
I was, however, given strict instructions not to sit for too long and strain myself. It was also the day I would begin breast feeding. I was looking forward to it and all that famous "special bond" thing. What I encountered was excruciating pain, soreness and heaviness. All this while I was thinking, rather made to believe that breast milk starts coming in as soon as you deliver. But things seem to be different with the C section cases. It is said that the contractions trigger the milk glands and hence your body gets a clue to supply milk. In my case, I never felt a single contraction.
The nurses came in to aide in the feeding. While one was teaching me how to hold the baby so that she latches on the right way, the other one was educating me on how to massage the chest in order to effectively express milk. Although the entire thing seemed to go the wrong way, the nurses insisted that I keep doing it till the baby latches on properly. They were sure that it would get easier with every feed.
My baby had no problem latching on. It was the lack of milk supply that made her scream. It was an equal nightmare for me (and for many days to follow) that I was getting bruised each time she latched on and tried to suckle.
I was still not flexible or fast and wasn't even allowed to be. That night when my mother cleaned her up again after a potty episode, I cried. I was much too obligated and felt like a burden to my mother. There she was, doing everything for me and the baby and I was hardly even helping. I stood there and cried as I watched my mother do what she did so swiftly.
You feel bad when you can't do what you would have given anything to do. Like holding the baby, rocking her to sleep and even changing potty diapers for numerous times. It felt like I am missing on some precious moments. And from being so lean and bouncy to suddenly feeling tied down and heavy, emotions were on the loose!
The fourth day was as good as the previous ones. We both howled during the breastfeeding sessions; each one louder than the other! There was no pain, either the stitches or the cut, but a lot of heaviness. It felt like my bottom half had suddenly transformed into lead. I needed assistance to get up and down from the bed.
The whole day the baby slept and being alone, I would be worried. How can this girl sleep so soundlessly during the day when at night time she is a banshee? Isn't she hungry? I used to get scared that something has happened to her and would summon the nurses citing one reason or the other to check up on her.
As the clock struck 11 PM, she would start all over again, which is when I would wonder why she couldn't save the drama for during daytime when there was ample background noise to mask her screeches and everyone was wide awake and had the energy to deal with her!
Formula feeding was left to the nurses as they were used to feeding babies as small as she. They would always come by sleepy eyed and we would worry constantly if she was feeding correctly. My mother kept them awake by chatting about sundry details of their life.
I was supposed to be discharged on the sixth day. I was already getting bored staring the walls and being confined in such a small space. I wondered if they would let me go any sooner.
The next day, when my gyn came for the routine visit, I placed my humble request before her and she gave me a thumbs up. She said everything looked fine and I could be going home that evening. I was elated. I called up my mom and told her that I was ready to be home. She panicked as she was not expecting me until the next day. She was planning to cleaning our room, take out some old baby stuff and get the room baby friendly.
... will be continued
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