11 years.

I realized today that our relationship is real.

From the outside we appear to be a tight unit.  We laugh and joke and make fun of each other’s bad habits in public.  But inside, we have been reduced to chores and running our household.  Making dinner, laundry, diapers, bottles; everything but us.

We are connected via instagram, facebook, snapchat, text yet we aren’t holding each other’s hands. We check into places together but we aren’t checked into each other.  Life is really taking its toll on us.  The last year, it’s been a challenge.  A struggle to keep from unravelling.  Lack of communication, disinterest, the feeling of being overwhelmed by responsibility has attempted to knock us down.

Has it been successful?

I don’t think so.

It’s been close, oh God knows, it’s been painfully close.  But that’s what I mean.  Real relationships are not cupcakes and unicorns and date nights and hashtags.

It’s the constant struggle to follow along as your partner evolves.  It’s the attempt to stay relevant and to keep up as everything around us changes.  It’s the challenge of learning how to tweak our priorities when we have a new life to take care of.  It’s also dealing with raw emotions because at some point in the last decade and a year, all the walls come down and you are the most vulnerable to the other person.  More so than you will ever be, to any other person in life.  And that is scary.  To know that this one person you are attached to knows you so deeply that they hold the trigger that can either uphold you and nurture and cherish you; or break you completely.

This decade and a bit has taught me that our relationship  has weathered many storms but it has also seen many happy times, times I would not have shared with anyone else but you.  But as we look at our relationship and reflect,  it’s more important to realize that we have been through a lot – and survived , and we will thrive because our relationship is real.

 

 

 

One month of missed moments…

In the last month I’ve missed so much sitting in my cubicle. Every day I’ve called to check up on you during my fifteen, half and fifteen.  Each call gave me an update of your daily routine. 

“He’s eating his oatmeal now”

“He’s making a huge mess of my kitchen now… Oh.. He dropped a potato”

“He won’t step on the grass, he doesn’t like how the blades of grass prick him”

These little status updates keep me going from one break to another, sometimes making my day go by at a snail’s pace because I want to get my next update.  5PM hits and I fly out of my chair and down the elevator like I’m about to miss my train… 

Like I predicted, I missed the first time you walked, and got to watch it later in a video. I missed spending your birthday with you because I was too new back at work to take the day off. That was the day you walked. 

First Birthday Pic

You spent the day with your Naantush and NikiMa and probably didn’t even notice I wasn’t there. But I missed every single second of that day… choking back tears at my desk and hardly being able to concentrate because my heart was with you.


You have 4 new teeth and can confidently get yourself around on your two cute little feet.  You’ve established your reign in Naantush’s house and have your Nana Bhai wrapped around your chubby fingers. 

You eat a variety of things now, even freshly squeezed juice from clementines! You’re more hipster then I could ever imagine.  I wish I was the one introducing you to all these things… But I’m not. 

You also know how to communicate what you want. You’ve figured out how to show empathy, joy, sadness, excitement and even remorse for when you know you’ve been up to know good. 

And today, your Naantush taught you how to say “Allah”

MashAllah I’m so proud of you Baba. 

And I missed it all. 

These missed moments make me question the value of the work I am being paid to do and I can’t seem to reconcile the fact that the unpaid job of a Mother is so much more incredibly rewarding. 

I miss you so much every day… And the only thing that keeps me going is that sleepy side smile  as I leave you in the morning and that excited crazy waddle as you come running to me after work. 


I love you Azu. 

Mommy has to go to work.

How am I supposed to leave you behind? How will I ever get through my day not having your nubby little fingers grasp at sweatpants as you try to take big boy steps? Who am I going to share my morning oatmeal with? How am I going to concentrate on daily tasks when you are not my feet getting in the way? How? How am I supposed to go to work? To a job that doesn’t even compare to the one I’ve had for the past year? How am I going to work at a job that isn’t even worth the time I have to spend away from you my Jaan Pakhi? Nothing will feel like it’s worth being away from you… This is about to be the hardest twenty four hours of my life… Apparently it gets easier. One thing that will help me get through the day is knowing that you’ll spend your days with your Naantush. She will feed you and clothe you and soothe you when you miss me… She will sacrifice her time to herself in favour of walking you around the garden or picking up after you. You are in good hands, I know. But I can’t help feel like a rotten mom. I’m probably going to miss your first unassisted walk, only to see you do it on a video or worse… I’ll catch a subsequent walk…But oh well. What must be, will be. Being a mother is probably the single most challenging and yet far more rewarding then any other role I will ever play in life… I know I have made the best decision for you my baby boy. I just want you to know that I love you very much and I wish I could have spent more time with you. But Mommy has to go to work. 

Six months of Azan

Wait a minute. Has time just sped up or did I miss a train or something because it cannot have been six months since my son was born. 

You mean, I have watched him sleep every single day for six months? You mean, I’ve kissed his squishy little cheeks a hundred times a day, for six months? You mean, I’ve fed him, and clothed him and hugged the living day lights out of him for six months? 

I have managed to care for a child for a WHOLE SIX MONTHS! MashAllah, the gift of nurture that Allah gives to a mother is truly unimaginable.  I know that motherhood was a chapter in life I always wanted to experience, but to imbrace it the way I have, I didn’t expect. I just want to sit here and watch his sleeping face… I want to count the number of lashes that feather his beautiful eyes. I want to stare at this face till he involuntarily smiles in his slumber. I want to mirror the rise and fall of his breathing. I just can’t get enough of him. 

Azan can roll over, sit up and grab at balls and small toys now.  He recognizes the faces of his family. He especially has a total soft spot for his Nani, my mom. He gives her his toothless squinty eyed smiles and can’t seem to take his hands off her face while she is talking. He responds to my dad’s duck quacks with his million dollar smiles and he loves reading and playing with his NikiMa. But the way this little guy lights up when his dad walks in the door after work is crazy! He throws up his rollie pollie arms and bops up and down in excitement. But my most favourite thing he does is when he intently watches me eat with a longing look on his face like “when do I get the eat that?” And when he tries to drink water out of a mason jar like a big kid.. Sippy cups? No thankyou, he’s going straight to the jars! 

  
He’s growing up too quickly. He jail breaks out of his jungle gym and his jumperoo can barely contain his energy. At this rate, I’m not sure how I’m going to keep up with him in the coming days…

I am enjoying the snuggles and the opportunity to stay home with him because I would have such anxiety if I didn’t get to see him all the time. I haven’t always been feeling like myself, but I am coming to realize that the reason why I can’t seem to recognize myself is because I am fundamentally changing. I am going a little easier on myself because of it. But I hope that as I get deeper into motherhood that I don’t doubt my decisions and choices. I hope that I am fair to myself and don’t let guilt swallow me whole when something doesn’t pan out as planned. 

I’ve gotten just a ways into parenting and it’s crazy how amazing and demanding it is at the same time. I just hope that Azan thinks I’m a good mommy. 

Happy Half Birthday Azu. Ammu loves you! 

  

2015 ~ an unforgettable year

2015. In one word – unforgettable.This year brought me so much that I can’t even put it into words. 

This year gave me a new identity. I became a mom to the most perfect of babies… He lights up my world. 

I am simply awestruck by his personality, his infectious smile and his giddy laughter. He defines to me the epitome of my own strength and growth and sheer ability to love unconditionally.  

He also defines the struggle that a woman can face to bring new life into the world and how you are brought on a journey so varied that there is no possible way to be prepared for everything. 

He taught me that there is nothing more humbling than the experience of taking care of an infant. To be the only person biologically responsible to make sure that his needs are met. 

Every year there is a sense of “new year – new me” and that never really pans out for me.. But this year was definitely the definition of new me!! 

I don’t know what the next year holds for me… But all I know is that it’s going to be a continuation of 2015 because in one word, it was unforgettable.

  

motherhood mom nye   

My first month with Azan

I’m a mom. Let that little tidbit sink in a bit. Yep. A month ago today, I birthed a tiny human being in the early lights of dawn and since than, my life has never been the same.  

A short month ago, I was preparing to bring life into this world , not really realizing how this choice I had made a year ago, would leave me so incredibly altered. 

Baby Azan, born 6.6 lb with a full head of shiny black hair and the most beautiful set of eyes I have ever seen was put into my lap at the crack of dawn. He came into the world with a bang, given my very short, albeit excruciatingly painful unmedicated labour. Azan had no idea but from the moment the nurse put his tiny body on my chest, I felt a brand new emotion that was never part of my spectrum of feeling before. 

This seam-bursting, overflowing, heart swelling kind of love that cannot be described as anything other than the love that Allah put into a mother for the sake of an innocent soul that was once a part of your body and now is practically your whole entire world. 

Wow.   

My days are long, they consist of only focusing on two things; my baby and myself.  Being fortunate enough to have my parents so close to me, the latter has been easy. My meals are made for me, and my sleep is aided by a group of over eager grandparents, aunts and uncles and friends who are only ever  a hallway away. The former – my baby, has left me feeling capable, yet clueless; strong yet emotional; patient yet fretful; the roller coaster that is motherhood.

Never in my life have I felt such a dicotamy of emotions and realized how normal it can be. I have no idea what I am doing when I feed him, but I am sure, more than anything that he is full. My surety in the way I want to raise my son is often punctuated with bouts of emotional breakdowns where all I want to do is cry. I want everything to come naturally, and when it doesn’t, it’s frustratingly obvious how open to interpretation motherhood really is. Every mother is doing it right and not right at the same time. The shear patience that I have seemed to develop overnight is incredible. A girl who thrived on doing everything on a whim, short notice and quickly, I now wake up planning how I am going to tackle simple tasks in just my daily life. It’s just not about me anymore. And I am okay with it. 

Since baby Azan has entered our lives, the outpouring of love and support from those around us has left me speechless. So many people are visiting, bringing essentials and just being wonderfully present in my baby’s life. I can’t believe the smiles his little face brings to people. I knew I would love my own child, but when you see others feeling that love for a kid that’s not their own, it’s crazy amazing.

In a month Baby Azan has changed physically the most. He has gone from bluish tinted newborn (they don’t tell you they come out blue) to a rosy cheeked, bright eyed, calm as a cucumber little man, mashAllah. He can tell me when he is hungry to when he has a poopie diaper just by the difference in his cries. He is a good sleeper and does not cry unnecessarily. He is an amazing eater and completely a party goer. 

I thank Allah for giving me the most perfect child for me Alhumduillah. With the right amount of ease at times and challenge as well, I couldn’t be more humbled that I am blessed enough to be a mother.  In a short month, I have realized that it’s not going to be easy. Not one bit, but it will be worth more than anything I could ever do with my life.