Sunday, April 26, 2015

Mostly Mamina...blogging from A to Z ...Q

Q is for Questions

These days it seems as though I'm always in a conversation.
With myself.
Deciphering my child's state seems to me like an endless game of twenty questions. Parenthhood is good training grounds for a detective. So when I see some strange squirming, I begin my interrogation.
"Are you hungry, my sweet pea?"
"Aaw. Grk."
"Really? You looked like you're hungry. Hmm. Do you need a change of diaper?"
Sniff. Sniff. "Bua! Affafa?" Squeals.
"Doesn't smell like it. Is your tummy hurting?"
"BUUA! AFFAFAFAFA!!" A rattle missile zips past.
"What's happening? Why'd you look so discontent?"
"Bruka. Faaaffa. Mmma."
"You must be sleepy. Are you sleepy?"
At times I feel like the engineer who pushes all the buttons of an equipment randomly. At some point one of the combination of buttons works and the machine comes to life.
Some days are better. I don't need too many questions and I can read the signs well. Other times, well. It's usually a long night then.

Mostly Mamina...blogging from A to Z ...P

P is for Parenting philosophy.

Some years ago, I was not a mother and I had definite views on parenting. I had ideas the way things should be. I was more likely to roll my eyes at tantrums and say "These parents!"

Now I'm a parent. And now I know the true meaning of the phrase 'Dont knock it till you've tried it.'
There's nothing in the world that prepares you for the changes when another life enters the equation. The thing is that parenting philosophy and ideas are all fine and dandy until you have another living, breathing and more importantly, thinking human in the mix. My daughter is peeling off all my so called ideas of parenting one little pinch at a time. Every day seems to be square one.

Now I am more likely to shake my head at tantrums and say, "Sigh."

Its lunch time. With her head shaking vigorously my daughter lets out short wails every couple of moments. Seated on the high chair, she is ready to throw a tantrum. To fling her toys and cheerio puffs on the floor. I breathe deep, steadying myself to invoke my inner firm mom. Lessons from yoga and meditation flash into my mind in quick succession.
I steel myself and bring the spoon of gruel to her, with visions of it being plastered on the walls from a quick shove with her tiny hands.
When she smiles her sweetest and opens her mouth willingly.
"What, me? I'm the sweetest kid on the block!"

Mostly Mamina...blogging from A to Z ...O

I have been remiss in posting regularly, I know. This year is quite unlike other years. 
Of course. 
I'm afraid it has almost become weekly 'catch up' posting these past days. I figure, however, better late than not.

O is for Onesie.
google search image
Having grown up in hot tropical India, I never knew what a Onesie was. I've seen babies dressed in little cool cotton clothes that looked rather like a tube with holes for the head, hands. And the babies did look comfortable.

google search image
But of course that would never work in the cold climates closer to the arctics. I suppose, hence, the Onesie. It's practically the outfit my baby lives in and most other peers of hers.  Pretty convenient, that.

Monday, April 20, 2015

Mostly Mamina...blogging from A to Z ...N

N is for nursery rhymes

One of the most valuable gifts that my daughter received was a Mother Goose book. During her first months, I spent some nostalgic moments flipping through pages of nursery rhymes and jogging my memory. 
These rhymes have certainly transformed over the years. It also definitely makes a difference if you're in the UK (or any of the Commonwealth countries I suppose) and  the US. 
Here rhymes have morphed into snippets that can be molded into the fabric of political correctness and niceness. So Humpty Dumpty no longer can end up not being put together by all the king's horses and men. He has to somehow get back on that wall again. (Though why someone would  want to be on the wall, is beyond my comprehension.)
Then there was a version of  'Twinkle twinkle' that I saw on You Tube. It started something like "Twinkle twinkle traffic light". I cringed and hit the stop button vehemently, so I can't tell you how that one went.
Not all rhymes have been transformed, though. One that clung onto its macabre verse is 'Rock a bye baby', which still ends in the bough breaking and the cradle and baby falling down to earth.  
I guess it's only a matter of time when the Political Correctness and Niceness Squad will bring down their truncheon on the rest.

Mostly Mamina...blogging from A to Z ...M

M is for me time
I never thought much of this concept, always attributing it to Ayn Rand quoting elitists. Don't get me wrong, I admire Ayn Rand's writing. But the idea of a completely self oriented life was never my cup of tea. 
But constant thinking about another life that one is responsible for, is immensely draining. Some days it is merely the physical activity that gets one down.
What time did she eat last? Do I have the next feed ready? Her next doctor appointment... Activities at the day care...
The list lengthens every waking moment of mine. Between my day job and home, I seem to be on autopilot.
So some days, in the short moments between my head touching the pillow and my spiraling into deep slumber, I find myself wishing for longer me times. Some days I'm able to steal some out to write. Or if I'm incredibly lucky, drift into blank thoughts of quiet and peace.