AndI stopped complaining.....

 "This is taking a toll on my peace now", I murmured, annoyed. "How do I balance this routine? Should I put him in daycare? I can't take it anymore. Maternity leave is over and yet I'm here at home, changing diapers, cleaning potty, feeding, singing lullabies, cooking and entertaining my baby. Don't I have a life of my own? I know it was my decision to have this baby, but my husband is back to work, just after few days of my delivery. Moms are the ones who have to do all the work. I'm exhausted", I let out my anger speaking to myself, as there's no one else, other than my baby and me. And the baby isn't in a position to understand my woes.

I stare at him, he is happily flipping and tossing in his bassinet. I hold a toy over the bassinet and make a jingling sound, and it is enough to make him go "Gurrgurr", giggling.

I see his innocent smile and for a few seconds forget my agony. But then he poops and again I return to my orbit of complaints.

I get ready and also get him ready, and we leave the house to hunt for a good daycare centre. I had got some contacts from my friends but I decide to visit the short listed ones personally, before enrollment.

I adjust the car seat and tuck him inside safely, belts on. His favourite toy hanging at the centre of the seat handle. His milk bottle, water bottle, diapers, bib, banana, everything is packed in the badasa mommywala thaila. And we are good to go. I put on my sunglasses. Turn on the GPS and put the car on drive.

I stop the car at the signal, at the crossroads. There's this construction of a new gigantic mall in progress. I look around there are so many workers, men and women working in scorching heat. I take out the sunscreen from my bag and apply it on my tired looking face, glancing at the rear view mirror.

The signal is green and I take a turn to the said address, which is just opposite to the construction site. "This area seems dusty and noisy", I make a note to myself.

I get down and open the other door to bring out my baby from the car seat. I put on his cap and make sure he doesn't get exposed to direct heat. I carefully pick him up and start walking towards the building. I do the needful, talk to the centre head, properly inspect the rooms and the hygiene, ask the necessary questions till my soul is satisfied.

When I leave the building to get inside the car, I saw a woman, my age, working at the site. She was carrying a mortar pan on her head filled with bricks. She made atleast five trips to and fro, until I walked up to the car. She then put the pan down and walked swiftly towards a tree. She pushed the jhola tied to tree and it swung back and forth. As it swung, she made some gestures with her hands and smiled, looking into the jhola.

I knew what it was. But I was curious, so I drove the car to the other side to watch her closely.

She was entertaining her baby sleeping in the jhola while she was working in this scorching heat. I switched off the car AC for sometime and lowered the windows. The blast of heat hit me at once. I started sweating in few minutes, just sitting inside my car, doing nothing. And this lady, carrying heavy loads, barely managing to wipe her sweat, was smiling away at her young one. And this young one was lying in that jhola made of some worn out cloth, not hygienic, nor safe, hanging in the dust, by the road.

She also made time in between to feed her baby under the tree, in the open, covering with her saree pallu. I looked at my baby playing with his toy in the car seat, holding his milk bottle with the other hand.

This lady had no sunscreen, no modern amenities, yet was doing her best. I wondered whether she had got some rest after her delivery atleast? The massage, the special and hygienic care, clearly no.

She must be more exhausted than me for sure. I was complaining about how drained I was sitting in a AC room of my comfortable house and I felt utterly embarrassed.

Yes, motherhood is fatiguing, backbreaking in literal sense. But when a mom equally or more exhausted than me is doing her best in worst conditions, is it okay for me to grumble, having everything I need to my dispersal?

PC: Herviewfromhome.com

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This isn't my own story, it's a fiction. But I'm sure, it's a story of thousands of mothers who experience so many difficulties while bringing up their babies. Yet, not giving up is what makes a mother so special!

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