I
must be a bad mother.
I
have had a baby inside/outside of me for 20 months now. But am yet to feel those sweeping
insurmountable surges of love for my son every now and then. Am yet to know instinctively how to tackle his painful
bouts of constipation, disturbed sleep, fluid intake level, introduction to
solids and other such countless decisions that are best left to a mother’s instinct.
But
I am not a bad mother. I know that now.
I
have stood by and let my life be turned upside down in unimaginable ways. I
have endured, mostly smilingly, the sheer monotony of being with a small baby
day in day out without a single night away, without a single night of
uninterrupted sleep. His smallest discomfort agitates me till I can make it go
away. I have made those countless decisions for him based on tiresome
iterations, research, networking and doc consultations, no thanks to an elusive
father and the even more elusive instinct.
I have seen the dynamic of my marriage
change oh-so-quietly in a way that makes me uncomfortable.
And
yet.
Life
without him is no longer an option. He is a part of me. He smiles and
everything seems a bit brighter. He poops, and my body feels a bit lighter.
I
have consciously taken up the responsibility of bringing him into this world.
And I will play my role well.
But don’t
try to con me with the maternal instincts bullshit. It’s just a term this male
dominated society has coined. To keep
women feeling perpetually guilty and striving harder to be that perfect mother
who does not and cannot exist.
I
have waited patiently for my maternal instincts to surface. They haven’t come
knocking yet. I am no longer expecting the doorbell.
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