How about a mother blog as, first, a person

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Without looking at my age, why am I already 100? One of the reasons is of course the mirror, a cruel and cruel friend. The second is what I’ve been telling myself since Prime Minister Narendra Modi wrote an ode to his mother’s century and all of motherhood.

And ever since I watched a streaming show where a mother of two young children elopes with an ex-boyfriend — as part of a pact they made in college — for a few days to ‘take back his life “. In a desperate plea for help, she says she loves these tiny, adorable beings, but never realized having them meant that “she just had to give her life.”

And, she’s only this side of 40.

If that didn’t make me think of motherhood and all that it is endowed with, almost always by other people, came the judgment of the Supreme Court of the United States telling women that they had no virtually no right to decide whether they wanted to have a child or not.

So, in case my two adorable ones are blogging about their elderly mother, and in case anyone is interested enough to read the same, I’m offering some pointers on what motherhood looks like from that side.

You children, you may have heard me say this before, but I want to say it again: no, no one “likes” staying up at night tending to a crying child, managing their tantrums of anger or separating two bickering siblings as one struggles to compose a thought at work. . We do it because, well, who else will. And, because, you know, it’s you.

Most nights I dozed off eagerly patting you, too tired to sing lullabies, forgot to read a bedtime story. And yes, after a day of dealing with reality, getting excited about a fairy tale that you read with enthusiasm the first two or three times can be difficult, even if it is heartbreaking to have little hands opening the eyes, or just watching his young ones eventually fall asleep.

Your friends are always welcome, but I wish more of them turned the music down, drank slower, and rinsed their glasses. Modi’s description suggests a much simpler life. Since I can’t aspire to that, this is where you can start.

Next, forget about all those smiling, immaculate mothers on TV. The species does not exist. There is nothing a mother wants or needs more than a little time for herself. Undoing her hair and putting her feet up, both before being treated by an expert beautician on call.

Cooking elaborate meals, keeping the house, kitchen, and closets clean, letting dirty clothes go, and smiling, smiling, is all very well. We all try to be supermoms, before realizing we’ve been fooled: no one makes a movie about them.

The moral is that if you kids write this blog, go ahead and tell all the things I’ve done for you – I can always jog your memory – but I also hope to remember the things I don’t. I did that for myself. As a person with not only needs, but also wants. Like sneaking around alone and enjoying it, guilt-free, locking the door to watch non-family TV (politely said), discovering “Me Time” as a thing, and choosing Maggi over a full dinner. An unhealthy meal never killed anyone and Maggi, not a warm phulka lovingly raised to a perfect moon, is every mother’s secret joy at the end or start of a tough day – and let no one tell you. opposite.

Let it be above all a story that I wrote for myself, not that of a head of state or a supreme court. Should I be around 100, and until a party, or even a blog, dress me up in something sunny, drive me to the park, put some music on, and let’s all say well done, let’s toast and dig into unwholesome delights. Don’t let my fake teeth get in your way, respect my well-aged nostrils and soon to be shriveled tongue. Don’t rock them in a bowl of water or bow down to them, but just help me up.

I even planned a bhajan when I meet the Creator: “All the sexy girls raise their hands and say Om Shanti Om”. Let me reminisce a bit about the girl who loved the Khan. And his family – of course.

This column first appeared in the print edition of June 26, 2022, under the title “How about a blog of the mother as, first, a person”.

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