Deja Vu, Once Again

It feels like I've been here before. And yet it doesn't.

I was so enjoying parenthood with L who has grown into a beautiful, entertaining little girl that I totally forgot the time leading to this phase. The late nights, the incessant breast feeding, the pumping of milk, the hormones, the worries about the baby's growth, the night sweats, the tears, the pain. Oh yes, the pain.

Pregnancy for all its discomforts is an enjoyable time. You feel a baby grow inside you, everyone is extra nice to you and your life is pretty normal except for a few physical setbacks. The actual arrival of the new baby on the other hand is a whole other thing.

Going into the C-Section last Sunday, I had a feeling something would go wrong. And it did.  At the end of it both the baby and I are alright, but there were a couple of days there where I thought I just wouldn't make it through. And there was one terrible hour after the operation when the baby was in the ICU which neither K nor I ever want to experience with our children ever again. I don't want to relive the details because they were truly the most horrible things that have happened to our family and we want to put it behind us.

I just want to rejoice in the fact that now, barely a week later I sit here with my painful battle scars and can be thankful I have something wonderful to show at the end of this ordeal. My son.

Looking Back (and Ahead)

Its been a strange sort of week. I woke up on Saturday morning to a text informing me that a friend from B-school had a heart attack and stroke which has left him paralysed on the left side of his body. He is 37 years old. Back then we were pretty good friends. We studied together, drank together, hung out at college fests and generally had a good time. After school, we drifted apart the way men and women often do when they are "just" friends. We stayed in touch sporadically, birthdays, weddings that sort of thing, but nothing that preserved the camaraderie we once had.

Then another friend who I hadn't from in years sent me a Whatsapp message. He was from high school and we were in the same "gang." We never related on a personal level, but he was fun guy and always looked out for me in a brotherly sort of way. We met a few times after high school with the others in our group, but after R killed himself I just couldn't bring myself to keep in touch with anyone from that group (except my friend U of course). I found during the course of our hour long texting, that he had gotten my number from my mom who he bumped into at the market, that he was going through a messy divorce and that he was back in Cochin running his parents shop. It was all very surreal and out of the blue for me.

I realized that in a way I have a habit of discarding people from my life, even good friends. I thought back to all of the people I have known and I was close with it for a time. Only a handful have made all the way to this point of my life. Others I have just let go of and they have become fuzzy memories (if that). But once in a while things like this happen that make me wonder at my own callousness. Or is it that? Friendship does work both ways after all. So if I didn't make an effort, they could have (well, in some cases they did).

All this has left me in a ruminative state. Which honestly I don't have time for. With just 2 weeks to go to D-day (yes, this time its going to be a planned C-section), I am actually overwhelmed with all the things I need to wrap up at work and all the last minute things I need to get done at home. The baby's room, his clothes, even his name. Nothing has actually been done. With the second child, everything becomes so last minute. There is no time to think and rethink and plan. It all sort of just happens.

And it happens all at once.

Tantrums

Immediately after I wrote my last post, I regretted it. I know I was throwing a mini-tantrum about things that I should be grateful for. Of course I know my life is good and easy and very blessed. Everyday I see examples of why I should stop complaining about the littlest things. L's nanny for instance, who left her two kids behind in the Philippines in a village 3 hours away from the nearest doctor. How stoically she bears her lot and how well she takes care of a child who is not even her own. In the news everyday are reports of kidnappings and rapes and murders that makes me question again and again why anyone bothers to believe in God. I am reading a book right now called "Behind the Beautiful Forevers" about life in a Bombay slum that makes me feel guilty and horrified at the same time.

Closer to home, a friend of mine just discovered that she is carrying a baby who most likely will be born with Down's Syndrome. Another friend lost her father and broke her spine in the course of one year. Yet another had her mother die of cancer, discovered her son had dyslexia and that she was going to be laid off in a space of 3 months. We take for granted the most basic of things - like our health, our relationships and our relative prosperity, until something goes terrifically wrong. Why does it have to be that way?

The truth is we live in a beautiful little bubble. Our worries are about stupid things like we make less money than the other guy or why someone else got promoted at work. I worry about my daughter and my unborn son, about sending them to college, an event that's 18 years away and who knows what the world will be like then. In our worrying and pushing to get ahead, we often forget to enjoy the small things. At least I do. Like my daughter making tea for me in her plastic kitchen set and climbing on my lap while I eat dinner so she lick the crumbs off my hand. I forget how much I loved the smell of a new baby, the softness at the top of the head, that overwhelming rush of love that comes with breastfeeding.

I watch my daughter grow right in front of me. She is no longer a baby, but a head strong toddler who wants everything her own way. I empathize with my mother now and understand why she got so upset when I refused to wear a dress she lovingly bought for me or rejected the jewelry she had worked so hard to buy for me. L does the same with me at this young age. Part of me is angry and the other half thinks I deserve it for what I did to my mother. I cant help be amused by the situation. Its a cliche to realize this I know, but we cant really change our children, can we? We can only accept them in their beauty and their terribleness. Just like we accept everything else that's uncontrollable.

Its not wrong to want more from life, but it does seem a waste not to appreciate what you already have.

Turning a Corner

2013 brought with it an unrelenting feeling of restlessness. There is something in me that struggles with being too rooted and then there's a part that just wants to belong somewhere, anywhere. I turned 35 which in itself felt more significant than I thought it would. I found myself doing that which I had promised myself I would never do - questioning my choices. I went back to the farthest reaches of my childhood, my youth, my adulthood and wondered what if. What if I had taken a different path? Not taken that exam, done better in that interview, stayed in Singapore, moved back to India, never gotten married.

And then there is the pregnancy, which this time hasn't really felt like one. With Baby L, I was so careful, slowing down and not doing so many everyday things. This time, life seems like a whirlwind, albeit a familiar one. I cannot afford to slow down and I don't seek any one's help. Some days I don't even feel like I am pregnant (except for the gas, the bloating, the constipation, the unending ache in my legs).

There is L who overnight has gone from being a sweet baby to a stubborn toddler. She demands my attention unceasingly (when I am home, which isn't much). She wants to eat what I eat, do what I do and never let me out of her sight. Its flattering and sometimes annoying (and then I have to remind myself that 10 years from now she wont want anything to do with me). She insists I carry her even she knows I cant. But I do and bear the back pain with more strength than I thought I possessed.

There is work, which is hectic. There are days when I am so busy I don't realize its time to head home. I am not sure I enjoy it exactly, but it keeps me busy and intellectually stimulated. I wonder fleetingly about the future and what will happen when there are two demanding children running around. And to push those thoughts away I work even harder. There is a house to manage, which I am realizing is more and more my realm. I spent the better part of my adulthood not bothering about things like regular meals and a clean house. Now, I have to plan for it, make sure the fridge is stocked, dinners planned and the floors kept clean.

There were guests at home, my in-laws. Watching them I worried about the future. How long would we have to work? Would old age and retirement be like this? I couldn't picture myself rotating between my children's houses like they did. Days spent watching TV and taking walks; waiting for them to come home. I want my old age to be about the things I wont have time to do while raising children. Travelling, learning something new, expanding my horizons. Other times I see myself in a small house by a body of water. A wrap around porch, a comfortable chair, books and good friends.

There were social events. Parties, play dates, days at the zoo, random goings and comings. I did them to fill my days, enjoying some and forgetting most. I made some new friends, but more and more I felt a separateness, a need to be free from the binds of routine and a predictable future. The next 10 years keep flashing before my eyes and giving me cold sweats. We would buy a house, fight to get the kids in a good school, put them in "extra activities," go to work, socialize, travel to India twice a year. We would worry about money and work hard to sustain that lifestyle. Just like everyone else around us.

I rebel against this conformity. I know I should take pleasure in the small things, but I want more from life, I am just not sure what it is. 

Family

As K and I get ready to welcome our second child in May, I have been thinking a lot about the importance of family. Yes, that's right we (or rather I) are pregnant again. Which the readers of this blog will know is a completely unplanned and unexpected occurrence. We always planned on adopting our second child and had started the process for this over 8 months back. About a month ago I started experiencing weird symptoms - nausea, tiredness, stomach pain. Thinking it was food poisoning I went to my GP and an hour later walked out of his office with a positive pregnancy stick and a dazed expression on my face.

To be honest I didn't count on going through pregnancy again. I had packed up the breast pump and given away my maternity clothes to my friend L (she returned it to me last week **sheepish grin**). Yes, I wanted to be a mom two or three times over, but I was mentally done with the idea of birthing a baby with my body again. The memory of the aches and pains and the nausea culminating in unexpected surgery was too fresh in my mind. Besides I wanted to adopt, I really really did (do). But hey, its not just 16 year olds who get knocked up if they don't use protection. Apparently almost 35 year old married moms do as well. For now we have put the adoption plans on hold (3 kids at once is a bit much), but will revisit it in a year or so when (and if) we are ready for a third child.

So here we are again. It feels like deja vu only slightly worse this time. Maybe its because I have a toddler scurrying around me, but for some reason my first trimester (which only just ended) has felt worse this time. I spent almost every day of the last month throwing up. I was dead tired by 3 pm and hit the sack along with Baby L by 8:00 pm. My social life was zero, I hardly blogged or wrote and I have this constant metallic taste in my mouth that doesn't go away. Between work (which I cant miss) and my daughter (who I cant ignore) and my husband (who also I cannot ignore) and a house to manage, this has been no cake walk.

Don't get me wrong. Now that I actually believe I am pregnant (took an ultrasound and hearing the baby's heartbeat for it to truly sink in), I am happy about it. I look at this as a gift from God, something unexpected that has come careening into our life. And this is really where family comes in. As I grow older I truly realize the value of the stable, loving family I grew up in. My mother and father would do anything for us children (and now for Baby L). My brother and I are from different generations, but he has always come through to me.

For instance, I had a week last month when my nausea was at a peak and I had to work 12 hours a day. I felt emotionally and physically exhausted. It took just one phone call for my mother to come and stay that week with me. It helped so much just to have her there. K is great and so helpful, but sometimes you just need to be cuddled by your mom (not to mention eat her cooking). And then the other day I was talking to a friend who said she was really thinking that she wouldn't have a second child because neither her parents or in-laws would help in anyway. Her mother was, she said, "on principle" against taking care of her grand children. I certainly don't believe in dumping your children on grandparents, but the first 2-3 crazy months is when you really need family around. And I cannot imagine not being there for L someday just as my mom has been there for me.

As we think ahead to child care and how to manage two toddlers (yikes), my parents (and in-laws) have already committed to spending a month each with us after I go back to work. Without that surety, I would be dying of stress already. As for my brother, since Baby L was born he has been a help par none. Whether its entertaining her when she is sick or picking up groceries when we are harried or just this week taking me to lunch for Thai food when I had a craving, he has been there for me.

That's not to say family is there for the using. Its just that its comforting to know that there are some people in the world you can just depend on and sometimes take advantage of without being misunderstood. Just knowing that emotionally makes life so much better. As I read about broken homes and parents who lose touch with their kids and siblings who never talk, I feel both gratitude and determination. Grateful that I have been given so much and determined never to let it go wrong. And to pass the same on to my kids. 

Four Years

As we enter into yet another round of the US Presidential elections, I cant help but think to 2008. Back then, I was working 12 hours a day, travelling on work every week and partying on week nights with my girlfriends. In my spare time, I campaigned for a candidate for President who inspired me and made me believe in better things, a candidate for a country that wasn't even mine.

Fast forward to now, I feel more jaded, a little disillusioned with the President I rooted for and certainly not as passionate for his cause. I still work hard, but come home at 6:00 every day. I am a mom (!) to one beautiful little girl and considering having another child. My social life consists of play dates, birthday parties and low key dinners with our couple friends (after putting our kids to bed).

I am lucky enough to live in another vibrant, beautiful city. But how things have changed in our choice of a home. Four years ago, we had artisan bakeries and gay night clubs jostling for space in our neighborhood. In the night we could hear drunken singing and police sirens. Now, I live 10 minutes from the CBD, but it might as well be the suburbs. Our sheltered apartment complex overlooks the sea and is set away from the hustle and bustle of the city. At night, we hear babies crying and dogs barking.

I am getting used to this life and finding that I like it. There are times I hunger for more, but my work and occasional travel scratch that itch pretty well. While I love my work, I find that I unexpectedly struggle with my choice to not stay at home. There is a reason for this. In the US, its de rigeur for most women to work, whether they have kids or not. Singapore, on the other hand, has a strange social structure. There is the rarefied world of the expats who are sent here for two to three years. Mostly men, they come here with their wives who give up their jobs to accompany them. They end up having children taking advantage of the really great child care system in Singapore. Then there are the locals who have lived here for ever. Mostly working couples, they work very hard to achieve the high flying lifestyle everyone wants. Many choose not to have kids and those who do end up leaning heavily on parental support to help care for them. We fall squarely in the middle.

Our apartment complex is an interesting study in the hierarchy of moms. Its 70% Indian - mostly because many landlords in Singapore refuse to rent to Indians and we tend to congregate in places where we are accepted. Since I spend half the day at work and all my spare time with my daughter, I have very little time for the intense social life in the complex. I have a couple of friends, mostly working women I share transportation with. At the top of the social ladder are the women who don't have to work because their husbands are on expat packages. They organize get togethers and play dates and lots of other activities that I couldn't even begin to have the time for. Then come the women who work from home or have their own businesses. Then come women like me who work outside of our homes.

The thing is sometimes I feel guilty and resentful and unhappy that I have to assign the care of my child to a stranger. That I too cannot spend my time organizing classes for L and going for yoga and enriching my life. Part of me wants that. The other part of likes my financial freedom, the fact that I help support my family. I like to work and awful as it sounds - I like that I don't have to spend 24 hrs a day with my daughter. However, as the prospect of another child becomes more and more real I wonder. How much of a disadvantage are my kids really going to face? Will they have worse grades and resent me for not baking cookies for them everyday? Or will they become independent and resourceful and look up to me to as a role model?

I struggle with this more and more everyday. I know that if I stop working we will have to cut back on our lifestyle. I know things will be different. I may begin to resent my situation. As I type this I know this is such a cliche. Hundreds of books have been written on this topic. The grass is always greener on the other side. At the end of the day economic necessity will always win over. But I will always doubt myself. That is never going to go away. 

Driving Under the Tuscan Sun

After our stop at Pisa, we picked up a car for the last leg of our journey. The idea was to stay the night at Crespina, drive through Tuscany to Siena, onto to Orvieto and finally back to Rome airport. Crespina is the edge of Chianti country, just 30 minutes from Pisa airport. We stayed at Poggio Al Casone, a beautiful 18th century villa now converted into a hotel. Its usually booked months in advance, but we were lucky enough to snag a last minute apartment because a family was arriving late. Set amongst vineyards, its the last word in luxury. What I enjoyed most about this sojourn is a glimpse into how some families holiday. The other guests were all wealthy Europeans with families of 3-4 children staying a week or a month here. For them this seemed a matter of course, the thing they did in their summer break, like my parents used to take us to Ooty or Kodaikanal to get away from the heat of the city.

For us, however this was a real treat. The property manager, a gracious lady called Michela went out of her way to make us feel comfortable. One of the best things she did for us is set up a reservation at Osteria La Gattaiola in the little town of Fauglia. As you drive through Tuscany, you go drive up and down vineyard strewn hills, picture postcard perfect with neat rows of grape trees criss crossing the landscape. Once in a while your drive is punctuated by little towns, all very a like, with ochre colored houses, a little church and a piazza where old people and children soak up the sun. This restaurant was in one of those little towns called Fauglia.

We got there at sunset and felt like we were in the midst of a neighborhood block party. Children ran around, families sat on brick walls eating gelato and an old man sang a haunting song in a gruff, broken voice. The restaurant overlooked the Tuscan hills, hidden away in a vine covered terrace tucked away from the town. On our way in we bumped into a Malayalee nun, here of all the places in the world! We drank Chianti, ate a garden fresh fava bean salad, followed by roasted wild boar and rabbit. All the cliches about Tuscany are true. The food is divine, the wine (even mediocre labels) is fabulous and you are surrounded by a everyday kind of beauty that feels like a miracle.

Our three days in Tuscany felt like floating through a hazy dream. Everything felt too good to be true. The driving was smooth, though sometimes intense in places where the roads got narrow and bumpy. The second day we drove from Crespina to Greve, the center of Chianti where there is a huge wine shop called Cantina de Greve. Here you can buy a 10 or 20 Euro card and walk around the shop zipping it into machines and sampling wines. Wine isn't really my thing, but I enjoyed sitting in the shop and reading my Kindle while K drank more good wine than he ever had in his life.

I enjoyed what came next, a diversion way up in the hills to a little town called Lamole where we stopped for lunch. We ate at Ristoro di Lamole, where we were served by a Srilankan waiter. These life journeys fascinate me, people displaced so far from their homes. This man came all the way from Colombo to Italy and ended up in this obscure little town in the Tuscan hills serving food to Indian tourists. What twists and turns life takes one through. The other patrons were all regulars who owned property in Lamole. The food like always was fresh and locally sourced. Grilled beef, guinea fowl and fresh mozzarella salad served the local Lamole wine.

From Lamole to Siena where we spent the night. The next morning we drove first to Montalcino famous for the Brunello wine. We had scheduled a tour at Poggio Antico, a lovely estate two miles away from town. Here we saw how a modern winery is run. Even with all the gleaming machines that pump wine up, most of the work is manual. Grapes have to be sorted and bruised ones discarded manually. The tasting and mixing is manual. The packing is manual. This is why a really good Brunello can cost anywhere from 30 Euros on. But they are great wines. Not as dry as Chiantis, but with a nice chocolatey flavor that even I could appreciate.

Our last night we spent in Orvieto, which is a fascinating place. Its high up in the hills and you can go up by a funicular (like a tram). Its famous for its Etruscan remains, a maze of caves that runs below the city. We went on a tour of three of the caves that are open to the public. Basically as space ran out above ground, most of the work (like making olive oil) was done in these caves. In times of war, the Etruscans dug wells in these caves enabling them to draw water from the valley floor and survive the Roman siege for 2 whole years. They also have rooms with hundreds of little cubby holes where they bred pigeons, a primary source of food especially in times of war when other supplies ran out.

Which was what our last dinner comprised of. We ate at Trattoria La Palomba  a highly recommended restaurant just off the central Piazza. We ate pigeon (tastes like a gamy version of chicken) and homemade pasta with a generous helping of truffle shavings capped with the dry white local wine. A perfect end to a perfect holiday.