(Image credit: Google Images)
“Hello?” I snap into the phone, finally putting an end to its persistent ringing, as I simultaneously answer the door. A groggy two year old wails at the top of her voice, and in her agitated state, manages to knock the glass of milk on the carpet. I open the door wearily to find the internet guy I had been calling for ages. “Ma’am, I’m from Etisalat. I’m here to sort out your internet.”
I hear a faint voice from earpiece of the phone (over the crying). I lift the baby into my arms, tell the person on the line to please wait a second, and usher the internet guy inside. Next I divert my attention to the phone and find that the doctor’s office has finally called back and wants me to take down a number. “Please take down this number. The dentist will be available between 4pm and 8pm. An appointment – yes sure, Ma’am. Please wait a moment.” There is music at the other end of the line and I take the few precious seconds to smile at the baby and play with her, in the hope that her mood will improve (remember I’m still holding her). I pick the pen which is miraculously still in the pen-holder (the kids forget to replace it even after repeated reminders) but I can’t seem to find the yellow post-its and I scribble the number on my palm. Then I finally hear what I’ve been waiting for: “Ma’am, your appointment is fixed. Have a nice day and thank you for choosing our wonderful hospital.” Click.
The internet guy is working conscientiously at making my connection operational again and I hope he’ll get it working soon because there is some research I need to do. I put a rag over the milk and try not to get mad – that carpet had been spotless until the split milk. I make a half-hearted effort to wipe it off, because there is a strange smell emanating from the kitchen. Great.
I scrape the little one’s burnt breakfast (oatmeal porridge) gingerly from the saucepan, but soon realize that there is no point in doing so – it’s been scorched quite badly and I’ll have to prepare the porridge anew. As I pour the milk in a new pan (and realize I will have to go for groceries because we’re almost out of milk) I rub my eyes drowsily. I’ve been up since ages for sending the older one to school, this after I stayed up late last night working on the above-mentioned research. Welcome to a typical day in my life.
Obviously, I’m not quite so caught up every day, but there are days when I want to storm and rage at everyone. Days when getting out of bed my body feels like lead but I do it anyway. Days when nothing goes right – the food I make tastes insipid (or umm.. burns), the colours run on his favourite shirt in the washing machine, or the house looks like an earthquake affected zone, but I love being a part of the madness, and wouldn’t want to change it for anything.
There is something incredibly refreshing about the smell of a baby – and any mom will tell you that that has nothing to do with baby care products, but is in fact a special fragrance that you associate with your child. There is something mind-blowingly wonderful about the smile of a child who’s just woken up, a smile meant only, especially for you. There is something profoundly touching about the hug that you get from a bounding kid getting back from school, trying to condense the day’s events into one sentence, tripping over her words and her feet. The satisfaction that you feel when the milk is drunk and gooey khichri devoured (however unwillingly) makes you want to go on. I know no other way a woman can feel so wanted, so cherished and most importantly – loved. I’ll sign off now – I need to make a school run in a bit – but before that, a diaper needs changing – and oh, did I tell you I’m preparing fish for dinner?
Note: This was written a few months back, only just remembered it and decided to publish it.