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We would like our kids to learn things and become independent, but at the same time, we don't want them to grow up too fast, and slip through our fingers too early!
We would like our kids to learn things and become independent, but at the same time, we don’t want them to grow up too fast, and slip through our fingers too early!
“Mom, I will do it myself. Don’t help me,” she repeated assertively.
“No, but…”.
Before I could debate any further, she exclaimed in an unparalleled state of excitement.
” I did it, Mom! I did it all by myself.”
She had indeed done it. My 4-year-old had donned her night suit all by herself with zilch assistance from me and it was a huge accomplishment for her evidently. But, why was I not able to match the ecstasy and feeling of contentment of my little one? Why was my heart sinking as if I was being pulled away from a string that I was desperately trying to cling to?
We locked each other in a warm cuddle and a silent tear trickled down my cheek. Even though I tried to hold back, it couldn’t escape the keen eye of a child.
“Why are you crying Mom?” she asked concerned.
“Nothing sweetheart. I don’t want you to grow up so soon. Stay this small for a while,” I responded in a choked voice.
“But yesterday you said that you want me to grow up soon so that I can clean my bum on my own after pooping.”
Hearing this retort from my daughter totally left me in splits. I couldn’t stop laughing because I was actually guilty of making that comment the previous day when I was bone-tired. But, even though unintended humour had transformed the mood of the moment, realisation had already hit me hard.
It hit me that with every milestone, my child is taking a giant leap towards independence. It hit me that the clock is ticking rapidly and she is growing up fast; too fast for my liking. It hit me that this phase will never come back and I may be having little time remaining to make the most of it.
Caught up in the daily grind of our lives, at times we forget to pause and savour the seemingly quotidian moments. And more often than not, it is our children who remind us inadvertently to breathe, reflect and soak it up to the fullest.
All this impels me to puzzle over the conundrum that is parenting. I randomly keep swinging between conflicting thoughts and oft-times end up contradicting my own statements.
But, therein lies the beauty of this role I guess. Because, the more experience I gain as a parent, the more I realise how much is left to be discovered about it. The more I understand parenting, the more I recognise what I don’t understand about it. It’s indeterminate, yet so defined. It’s simple, yet so perplexing. It drains and fulfills. It agitates as well as soothes.
And while I am all emotional as I end this piece, my daughter has woken up and is refusing to go back to sleep in the middle of the night. This, when I have a submission pending and can’t wait to crash on the bed after turning it in. There goes the intense mush out of the window!
A version of this was first published here.
Image source: unsplash
Multiple award winning blogger, influencer, author, multi-faceted entrepreneur, creative writing mentor, choreographer, social activist and a wanderer at heart read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Being a writer, Nivedita Louis recognises the struggles of a first-time woman writer and helps many articulate their voice with development, content edits as a publisher.
“I usually write during night”, says author Nivedita Louis during our conversation. Chuckling she continues,” It’s easier then to focus solely on writing. Nivedita Louis is a writer, with varied interests and one of the founders of Her Stories, a feminist publishing house, based in Chennai.
In a candid conversation she shared her journey from small-town Tamil Nadu to becoming a history buff, an award-winning author and now a publisher.
Nivedita was born and raised in a small town in Tamil Nadu. It was for schooling that she first arrived in Chennai. Then known as Madras, she recalls being awed by the city. Her love-story with the city, its people and thus began which continues till date. She credits her perseverance and passion to make a difference to her days as a vocational student among the elite sections of Madras.
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