Shantanu sleeps as I type this. The day is a rush. The responsibility is gigantic – physical and mental. It is like developing two people at the same time. Me and my son. I am familiar with me – the person, me – the employee, me – the wife. However, me – the mother is something that I am yet getting acquainted with. How is that going to be. For all the others, there is a chance and possibility of forgiveness if you go wrong. But being a mother is a responsibility of the highest order. Nothing else comes close. And there is no scope for mistakes. My mistakes would directly reflect on the type of person he would be. It’s rewarding and scary at the same time when you know that you are entirely responsible for a tiny being and the decisions that you make will influence your child’s personality. How do you then guarantee that you always make the right choice for them.
I miss the “me-time”; growing up as an only child didn’t put me into the habit of having a constant companion and I am habituating myself to it. Reading books, watching movies, and listening to songs – all have a taken a back seat. He will be all of four months in a few days and he already has a bundle of activities about himself to boast of. His latest one is squealing at his toy when he gets excited. Cooing and blabbering is another. He is trying to verbalise his feelings now and he feels that I perfectly understand what he is trying to say.
Greenery and trees are his favourite things to looks at and I can only fantasize that he will become an artist or a painter – the nature lover. But on second thoughts, he may also become a speaker if his cooing is any indication of the volume of his talks. He is also highly impatient and brings down the house with his high pitched shrill every time he is hungry or needs a nappy change. The rare bliss moment is enjoying my solitude with a cuppa tea in the afternoon while he sleeps.