About Mumhood
Mumhood is like no other thing on earth in terms of intensity of feeling and commitment to role. It is a journey that even the excessively organized planners have no control over. In my opinion, in this adventure called life, parenting is the ultimate adventure; taking care and bringing up a human being to survive and excel in a world that resembles a mad man's imagination because of other human beings is no mean feat.
So these are chronicles and thoughts on my journey as mother and father to the ball of energy that is my daughter, who we'll call Kiddo.
Two years ago, after the usual high drama and trauma associated with childbirth, I held my daughter for the first time. The excruciating pain and screaming of just a moment before instantly forgotten as for a moment the world stopped and was introduced to Kiddo. I was giddy with happiness. It was too incredible that the source of kicks and elbowing, the reason I started taking chilli and hated onions, the reason I had elephant sized feet and high blood pressure the baby bump and subject of the abstract ultrasound photo, now had a face never mind it bore no resemblance to mine. She cried in a throaty soprano and as I soon found out, had quite the appetite. She was perfect. At that moment, a mother was born too.
I would spend hours on end gazing, inspecting and marvelling at this perfect little person that came from me. Her perpetually closed little pink fingered fist, tiny legs that sprung back to a fold as if she had springs for knees, tiny soft feet that every sock swallowed would move me to tears sometimes. I smothered her with kisses constantly making all sorts of promises, saying little prayers and trying to contain my heart that was bursting at the seams with love. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a dream.
I was lucky to have my family around me. They fussed over baby and I with a litany of do’s and don’ts, taking over when I got overwhelmed by fears and insecurities not least of which was the terror of giving her a bath or worse, cleaning her umbilical cord.
Flash forward to now, the tiny little helpless being isn’t that way any more. In fact, she is quite the spirited little girl. Everyday has its own surprise for her and for me. Sometimes she is hard to keep up with. It feels like she walks, runs, sings, explores and gets into trouble at least a dozen times more than the average two year old.
I am doing well too. I since convinced myself that I had gotten the hang of this motherhood thing and left the watchful eyes, helpful hands and loving company of family. It came a time to not be just mother any more but working mom. Scratch that, working single mom. So this is me. This is my version of Mumhood.
So these are chronicles and thoughts on my journey as mother and father to the ball of energy that is my daughter, who we'll call Kiddo.
Two years ago, after the usual high drama and trauma associated with childbirth, I held my daughter for the first time. The excruciating pain and screaming of just a moment before instantly forgotten as for a moment the world stopped and was introduced to Kiddo. I was giddy with happiness. It was too incredible that the source of kicks and elbowing, the reason I started taking chilli and hated onions, the reason I had elephant sized feet and high blood pressure the baby bump and subject of the abstract ultrasound photo, now had a face never mind it bore no resemblance to mine. She cried in a throaty soprano and as I soon found out, had quite the appetite. She was perfect. At that moment, a mother was born too.
I would spend hours on end gazing, inspecting and marvelling at this perfect little person that came from me. Her perpetually closed little pink fingered fist, tiny legs that sprung back to a fold as if she had springs for knees, tiny soft feet that every sock swallowed would move me to tears sometimes. I smothered her with kisses constantly making all sorts of promises, saying little prayers and trying to contain my heart that was bursting at the seams with love. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a dream.
I was lucky to have my family around me. They fussed over baby and I with a litany of do’s and don’ts, taking over when I got overwhelmed by fears and insecurities not least of which was the terror of giving her a bath or worse, cleaning her umbilical cord.
Flash forward to now, the tiny little helpless being isn’t that way any more. In fact, she is quite the spirited little girl. Everyday has its own surprise for her and for me. Sometimes she is hard to keep up with. It feels like she walks, runs, sings, explores and gets into trouble at least a dozen times more than the average two year old.
I am doing well too. I since convinced myself that I had gotten the hang of this motherhood thing and left the watchful eyes, helpful hands and loving company of family. It came a time to not be just mother any more but working mom. Scratch that, working single mom. So this is me. This is my version of Mumhood.