Balancing Act

Mesmerized by the turtle at the aquarium

How magical it seems, the way last two and a half years have flown by, how quickly Vrinda is growing up, from a three months milestone, to six months, reaching her first birthday, to her second, and now in the midst of her most extreme toddler times. These last two and a half years have been limitless in all forms - sweet, sour, at times bitter  when the screams took over, and savory in all ways possible. We are going to be three in a few months, and I am only hoping that this little bundle of joy only gets sweeter and sweeter.

Time has fluttered past us, beaten forward by the wings of birds we cannot touch. I see her every day of my life, waking up to sleeping with her. Taking note of the incremental changes in her features, only slips by. When people see her after long gaps of time and tells me “oh she is all grown up!”, I invariably reply “oh really? I don’t notice the change.” It is only when I look through the photographs of days gone, milestones reached, unimaginable activities done, that I can fully grasp just how much Vrinda has transformed.

Many times throughout the course of a day, she would reach for me or mostly shout on top of her voice so that I run to her as if she eeds to be rescued from some dangerous thing. Then with her head tipped back she would plead, "godi godi." This happens all of a sudden - in the middle of meal times, or play time, or coloring sessions or Tv time. I recently read a poem, the one about how 'babies don't keep', and the housework can wait until the next day, and so on and so forth. But does that actually work in real life? This is easier said than done. Yes I am supposed to be picking her up each time she asks me to. Yes I am supposed to be dropping all my work and go running to her at the moment she calls out for me. Yes I am supposed to be giving up all things, no matter how important they may be, when I hear her say “mummaaaaaaa”. But I am sorry that does not happen. I miss catching on those precious moments, innumerable times, but to be honest that is too perfectly scripted. That can be done for a few moments in the day, but not on a daily basis and definitely not all the time.

 

My version of reality with Vrinda involves waking up in the morning and taking my own walk, making breakfast for us, lunch for Anuj and then preparing her milk and breakfast. It’s a marathon run. Once she is up I can practically do nothing, no matter how much I try. She wants me all for herself. And if that doesn’t work and she cries and cries. I struggle to feed her that one glass of milk and keep getting tensed up for all the meals post that. I am always struggling to keep her occupied, as she doesn’t melt down when I say no for picking her up or just sitting with her while doing nothing. None of her toys ever suffice. They don't last for more than 3 minutes at any point of time. Sure the cooking and house organizing could sit, and I could oblige my daughter's appeals to just be with her and play play play, but as certain as Murphy's Law, we'd tumble through the door at the next meal time, as between requests for chips or crackers or bubbles or Tv, I'd need to make lunch and dinner, and inevitably, the only tool that I need to work is ‘my time’, which she is always tying to imprison.

I'm not interested in wishing away her childhood. There is no way. Of course I look forward to her independence, but I'm also painfully aware that one day she won't grab my hand. She'll no longer reach up and ask to be lifted into my arms. It's the ceaseless contradiction of Motherhood. You are constantly at odds with a desire to fast-forward time, and yet desperate to stop it altogether for fear of missing something and never getting that moment back again. While at her playground she walks a low level wall everyday; but so do I - mine is the big girl version, the proverbial plank of wood I'm nearly falling off with every step forward. So I compromise. I give her attention, then I get back to my work. Most of the times I try to explain that mumma has to work, otherwise who will cook lunch? Or mumma has to make the bed, or how will she sleep?  She asks for me, for my presence, requests things of me, demands too and I attempt to explain that I'm busy. Sometimes she whines, sometimes she finds something else to do. At times I yell too. I am not denying that. When there is too much to do and too little time coupled with too much screaming from her, then I also add in a bit of yelling. That sounds insane and cruel but then I apologize to her, hug her and try to make more time for her.
 
There are times when there’s too less to do, but at times there's just too much, too much that stretches her nearly complete inability to be patient, so I take breaks to chase her around, snatching her up, blowing bubbles while she catches them, and reveling in the marvelous music of her laughter. Momentarily, I beg the birds to stop flying. And then I get back to my work.

For those who have not read this beauty…

"Babies Don’t Keep" 

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

Author: Ruth Hulburt Hamilton