Mum On A Roll: A Fortnightly Column by Sujatha Rajagopal

Sujatha Rajagopal, work-at-home-mum to 4-year-old Ajay, informs her new neighbour, an expectant mum, about the grey cells, heartbreak and thankfulness.

Dear Rae,

Welcome to the club.

You asked what it really feels like to be a mum.

It feels wonderful. In fact, I wish I had more kids. I see families in MPVs—infant carriers and car seats galore. I see men and women pushing twin strollers. I see mums with babes in arms and a toddler in tow. I see dads throwing their sons or daughters in the air then hugging them tight. I watch Malcolm in the Middle and cry silent tears of joy when Malcolm’s mum learns she is pregnant again. Okay, maybe that’s going a little too far, (but I did feel a little tug somewhere inside).

And I realise how I have changed. How maternal I have become. I wonder, how did I get here? Why didn’t I see this coming? How did it happen so quickly?

When I learnt I was expecting Ajay, I wasn’t ready to have a child. I was ready to grow a career but not a screaming, pooping infant. I was ready to sleep later to achieve deadlines but not to sacrifice tranquillity or forego sleep altogether.

But of course, when a baby arrives, nothing else matters…at least for a while.

And what a baby he was!

Like you said, there are so many things baby care books don’t tell you. They give every detail about feeding and colic and teething but there are all the little things they leave out about what to really expect. And as you know, it’s the little things that count.

No one told me I was going to have brain surgery.

I swear that after Ajay’s birth, I have developed a second sight, a sixth sense, a third eye that has popped magically out of the back of my head.

You marvelled at how I know all of Ajay’s little quirks. Such as how he forgets to rinse his mouth even if he washes his hands like a surgeon. Such as where he hides his cereal spoon so that he can lick it afterwards (usually between the cushions of my sofa—you might want to check the next time you sit down on it). Such as when he is going to slip and fall in the playground even if he looks sure-footed. I can tell you that he is going to have a meltdown even if at that time he is laughing without a care in the world. And that his occasional hyperactivity is actually a sign of sleepiness.

But there are so many other things I can’t tell you. Such as where I left my favourite earrings or my house keys, what we had for dinner last Monday and why I can’t remember to buy ketchup (we’ve run out for weeks) but can’t forget to buy milk.

Expect it to happen to you too.

My heart’s a little out of place now.

For a person who couldn’t get her breakfast down if the morning newspaper wasn’t in front of her, it’s mind-boggling that I now shun these pages of black and white.

It began right after Ajay was born. With my hormones circulating like a Formula One race car, any news about kidnapped, abused or molested kids, abandoned newborns and dying children would make me weep for hours on end. And wish for utter damnation on the perpetrators. At times like that, I would scuttle if an innocent bystander made admiring remarks about Ajay on the street. I felt the world had transformed into a violent, child-hating cesspit.

Yes, since Ajay’s birth, I have been literally wearing my heart outside my chest, open to the slightest hurt.

Yet just five years ago, I would have shrugged it all off as the ways of the world.

Expect to be as watchful, worrying and protective as a lioness.

I didn’t know I would yearn for plastic surgery.

Rae, the woman living next door to you was once a size 10. Yes, motherhood has almost doubled my dress size. Given me more, in so many ways, some unwelcome. I doubt it will happen to you, thanks to your blessed ethnic heritage and leaner genes. Considering my own genealogy, I have a feeling my battle of the bulge is going to last a while.

But motherhood also makes me smile more. And I think that makes me a little prettier in some ways.

Let me rephrase a well-known adage. A child is the best medicine. For kids don’t judge. And they are a laugh a minute!

Where I see soft, flabby arms, Ajay sees a lifelong supply of warm, comforting hugs.
Where I see self-consciously hunched shoulders, Ajay sees the perfect piggy back launch-pad.
Where I see work-worn fingers, Ajay sees the best sniffle wipes.
And where I still see suspiciously friendly strangers, he sees a smiling face and smiles—no, grins—back.
When I wonder what I have achieved in my life, he articulately mentions what the major bones in my legs are called.

And I wonder, is it only him learning from me? Or am I learning from him too?

Expect to be amazed!

Yes, I wish for more kids. But mostly, I am thankful for the very special one I have.

What the books can never tell you is how much your life is going to change. And how much you are going to love it.

By the way, did I say these are the little things? Sorry, I think I was wrong. Perhaps, they are the biggest of them all.

Take care, my friend.