Baby and I

 Even if they hold your head firmly and gaze deep into your eyes to say, words cannot describe the initial days of becoming a parent, and then repeat it a million times, at the end of the day, words cannot describe that feeling of becoming a parent.

When you are finally home with a baby in the car seat that you bought months ago, not realising that life was going to soon explain what it really means to not have enough time in the day.

The first night home when your  body is battered still and your mind at 1/100th of its capacity. The utter overwhelming love overpowered by a thick gray fog of fear and heart-stopping anxiety-  what is going on and how am I going to do this?

Nobody can explain that it is not just the sleepless nights that are suddenly so long, cut into hazy portions by two hourly feeds, it isn't the sleeplessness but the cresting waves of anxiety that rise higher and higher and then when you finally lie down and close your eyes, they come crashing over you in slow motion - is he breathing okay, is that a whimper, is this my life now, I am not strong enough. Nerves on edge, heart palpitations, cold sweats, numbing feet. Waking up with a start, terrified something is wrong, stumbling into the guestroom where you gave baby to the grandparents an hour ago yourself, just to make sure he is okay. Everybody's body reacts differently but needless to say, it is incredibly intense and all consuming.

The complete dependence of a frail new life and the complementing insecurity and lack of belief in yourself, the lingering pains from an operation that you have to recover from within days instead of weeks like other similar procedures ask for and allow for, the first days passed in a gray daze with pockets of bright sunshine and amazement at this tiny little creature that days ago was snug inside and is now suddenly in your arms, perfection in miniature, from round earlobes to fingernails the size of punctuation marks and the lines on their palms matching those on yours.

Sticky eyes, pooping difficulties, flaky skin, feeding troubles and worries -  tiny problems in the grand scheme of things magnified and blinding all your vision because of inexperience, love and anxiety for this very small creature that cannot even lift his head.

Fortunate enough to have the support and love of grandparents and daddy, the daze was swept away around Day 10, anxiety levels slowly draining like soapy water in a sink, hands a little more assured changing diapers and getting onesies around small heads, the realisation that life has definitely irreversibly changed but accepting it and not panicking. Welcoming it slowly. Gratefully.

Confidence will build slowly, brick by brick, easily knocked over like bowling pins, like life, a constant struggle to rebuild and grow and rebuild.

So much to say and narrate and tell myself but such little time, even during quarantine. After all, nap time is ending and the on edge wondering if it will be smiley time or cranky whimpering or soulful staring on waking up...

The journey is different and the same for everyone in so many ways, and as the days go by and you delight in hand gestures (he pointed both fingers in the air today, a kind of sleepy Shoaib Akhtar wicket celebration!) and stretches and mewling sounds, pouty mouths and whimpers and gummy half smiles starting in their sleep and then taking over your heart when they direct it at you with their intense eyes open, even if it is 3 am and you've just changed their clothes twice in the last hour because of leaked diapers, even if it is after an hour of feeding and rocking to sleep and appears on a tiny cheeky face just as you put them down in their crib.

Words cannot describe this new journey and the mountain of emotions -  love fear worry panic gratitude love delirium sadness tiredness joy love love love.

The intense new respect and love for your parents, especially mothers, and for all mothers in the world. I am awed by how one of the most common things in the world is also one of the most beautifully difficult things anyone can do and somehow even with the prospect of more months of aching bodies and stained shirts and messy hair, somehow knowing you wouldn't change a thing.

Except perhaps having a remote control that you can use to translate baby's crying. And prolong a nap or two.