Off my chest

As a new mom...oh wait! Am I technically a 'new mom' when The Implet is already 10 months old? Whatever.

One of the worst aspect of being a new mom is fielding all those questions thrown at you...by family, friends and random strangers who pop from the woodwork at every party/get-together.

And one of the irritating questions is about breastfeeding.

Conversation 1 with Random Stranger(Mom of toddler)

RS: How old is she?

Me: 9 months

RS: So you are breastfeeding her right?

Me (perplexed) : Yes.

RS: Aah! No wonder. Give me your chubby cheeks.

Conversation 2 with Friend after 2 years (Mom of toddler, mom2be of second child)

F: So how old is your daughter now?

Me: 10 months

F: Are you nursing her still?

Me :Yes. 

F: Oh really?. I stopped by 10 months. My doc said i should stop by 8 months.

Me: Good for you.

First, I can't understand how where my daughter puts her mouth is anybody's business but mine and hers. Second, as much as I am open to volunteering information to my good friends and family, I draw the line at 'breastfeeding' being the conversation starter with complete strangers.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with a more generalised, "What does your baby eat now?" It gives me the opportunity to either open or close the door on my nursing expeditions.

(I still can't get over the fact that RSMom's first question after being introduced to me was on breastfeeding.)

To me breastfeeding is personal. It's not easy and I don't want to be judged as either a bad or good mom based on somebody else's parenting ideal. A mom who doesn't breastfeed is NOT a bad parent. And one who does until the kid is 2 ain't cuckoo either. It's their kid, their time and their decision. I am not in their house and they are not wearing my shoes.

Sigh.

Maybe I am making a mountain out of a molehill. But this whole Motherhood shebang is too darn tough I tell you. One moment you are all euphoric having been bestowed the cutest 4-teethed smile for a piece of wafer. Next moment you realise you've turned extremely sensitive, bordering on hallucinating that every person talking to you is judging you as a mom. 

I am irritated and downright angry that no one is around to talk about something completely inane as books or movies. I don't want to talk about The Implet simply because she is my everything. She is ALL I see, breathe and live every single day. And I don't want it any other way. Maybe it makes sense to you or maybe I'm just a crazy idiot.

Sometimes as I close my eyes during the wee hours of a new day, I silently pray I never think of Motherhood as only a synonym for sacrifice. Of all things held dear.

And then they stopped listening...

Last November this blog crossed the third year mark. A day to be fondly remembered and celebrated was eclipsed by a tummy. A really BIG tummy. After all, one does claim to have a real life, right?

Er...um...yeah.

Truth be told, this blog was more an escapist's refuge than an artist's studio. I wasn't anonymous, so I didn't really bare it all. But at times, under layers of fiction and verse, a few home truths did peek out. Some of you might have read the undertones but most of you decided to keep your thoughts to yourself. I thank you wholeheartedly for it.

It made me reconnect dots to form a newer, better picture; it provided a laugh track for my lame jokes, a punching bag for my rage, a sponge to soak up the tears and open arms when silence said it all. This blog turned out to be the best friend, when my best friends couldn't be by my side at that moment. Well, why shouldnt it do so? After all, I've been wonderful company too, right?

Ahem.

Unfortunately, I shared only my disappointments and delusions with the blog. When things were stressed and beyond salvageable, I wrote funny stories and depressing verses. When things were sunny and joyful, I was outside living it; the blog a figment of my imagination. Why should I justify myself to a blog? It doesn't really exist, right?

Wrong.

The other day, I found myself free of chores for a couple of hours. A gold mine, under the given circumstances. But instead of taking a nap as I should have, I sat reading through my archives. I laughed, cried and laughed some more and I thought to myself, 'Darn it! This woman writes really well. At times.' (Well, i don't fish for compliments. I just dish them out myself :)) I can be a narcissist in my own blog, right?

Right.

Thanks to this blog I made some really wonderful friends. Most of whom I haven't met but who I know are just as wonderful, beyond all this ether. Thank you. You know who you are, so I am not going to list names. (Truth is I am scared in my current sleep-deprived mode, I'll miss someone and they'll stop visiting the blog to write lovely comments). I also thank the the few invisible friends who drop by now and then.

Most importantly, thanks for supporting me all these years. In this age of 15 minute fame, 3 years of virtual existence is a huge milestone. Especially for a little girl who refuses to grow up. I've dusted the bike for a whole new ride but it's going to be shaky start. Hoping you'll stay with me even if I meander a little bit.

Here's to another edition of The Midget Diaries.