"THIS TOO, SHALL PASS", THEY SAID.

And, so, it did…

  “Don’t bend mama, let me fetch it for you”, she says, every time I try to maneuver my pregnant self to pick up the pen that always chooses to slip through my fingers. It is unbelievable how fast she has grown up, how much she has grown up, to turn into my biggest fan, my greatest lover, my unconditional supporter, my enthusiastic partner, my extension, my reflection.

Minha, my daughter, is almost 6 now and I started expecting her just 2 years after my marriage. For some couples, that may not sound like ‘just’ as khushkhabri ki dua starts on the suhaag raat by the whole mohalla. But with us, there was absolutely no family pressure. My husband and I were still honeymooning - taking 3 trips a year, progressing in our respective careers, hardly seeing the sight of our apartment on weekends and making spontaneous purchases.  When the stripes on the home test turned red in Dubai, just one day after I had screamed my lungs out on the fastest roller coaster on earth in Ferrari World, I was stupid, care free and completely unaware of the meaning of a child.

Soon enough, Minha came about in my life, and I confess it was not love at first sight. It was a close attachment, at best, and nothing like the insanely intertwined relationship we share today. When she was an infant and those diaper or baby shampoo ads appeared on television, I thought they’re a hoax – because my diaper-changing and bathing moments were never the epitome of maternal bliss. I hated waking up during the night for her feeds. I hated cleaning poop in the middle of my meals. I pitied myself every time my hot cup of tea became cold for the 4^th time because she just wouldn’t sleep for more than 5 minutes during the day. I cared for her, I did the best I could for her. I made her feeding and sleeping schedules, took her out to play, dressed her in the best, read to her, meticulously decorated her baby book, did all the things that all mums do. But it was mere acceptance, not embracement.

I went back to work when she was 2.5 months and enjoyed those few hours away from home thoroughly, while she went to the day care with my husband at his office. I waited for her to sleep for the night so I could get an hour or 2 of ‘normalcy’ with my husband. For months after her birth, the both of us didn’t go out for dinner because ‘ye kaisa dinner hooa jismein sara time mein minha ko god mein le kar kharhi rahoon aur wo roti rahey’. When our parents visited Karachi from Lahore, the height of delight was going out for a movie while they’d babysit. Our expenses naturally shot up and our trips reduced to 1 per year – and she wasn’t a part of those trips till she was 3. I missed my long stretches of sleep, I felt mentally exhausted and the idea of a second child was nothing short of a nightmare.

But as they say, motherhood is strange. I don’t even know when my love affair with her began. I started feeling different about her without even knowing. Today, struggles of being a mum remain – there’s still never a quiet moment at home for me to work in peace. Meals are still not a pleasant experience. Bad dreams still disturb our sleep at night. But what I see now is her growing up fast. So fast that sometimes I want to pause time and breathe her in a little, smell her a little more, kiss her a little more, feel the warmth of her hugs a little more. I don’t know when it happened, but I look forward to our bedtime conversation. She is my confidant, her hugs are soothing. We go out for lunches together after school; we cuddle up in bed and watch movies with junk food.  I no longer want any time away from her or dream of her sleeping over at my mum’s. On days she has play dates, my afternoons feel empty. We have become so close. We are so in love. The teary eyes she gets when I tell her “I am not speaking to you” show me the love that no one else in the world can. When she asks me before she sleeps “mama, is the baby okay? Can I get you anything? Water? Medicine?”, I know this is the person who is always going to love me unconditionally, my baby, my daughter.

She got her ears pierced recently and I gave her little baalis that my dadi gave to me when I was 5. I thought to myself, “Oh my God, is she so old now that I am already passing down heirlooms to her”? And now that she is a little miss-capable-of-going-to-the-bathroom-herself, I miss those diaper-changing times when she would laugh hysterically if I touched her nose with mine. I wouldn’t say I lost, and then found myself. In fact, I clung to myself fiercely, never letting go of my own identity. But I think that I just discovered a part of myself that was hiding somewhere deep down inside.

There is not an iota of doubt that the process whereby infants metamorphosize into something close to human beings is a tough one, but once those tiny little feet move into shoes, leaving behind the booties as a sweet smelling memory, you will miss it. So, pause, breathe, cherish. Now, I just fear that sooner than later she will be more interested in her music and headphones than my bed time stories.  A few years ago, when senior mums said such things to me, I thought they belong to another planet. And today, here I am, saying the same to the new ones in the hood. “See flowers, not weeds”.

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The quote “See flowers, not weeds” has been taken from Handsfreemama.com.