Third time Grandma!!!!!
The euphoria that one feels on becoming a
grandparent is indescribable, and to be honoured three times is simply beyond
description.
The summer of 2017 turned out to be exceptionally
special as it marked my 60th birthday and my younger daughter presented me with
the best gift ever—a grandchild—and that too in my birth month. I have been a
grand mom twice before—of two wonderful grandsons. Yet, this time it was a
different excitement as it was my first granddaughter.
Before my elder daughter had had her first kid, I had
hand embroidered a set of baby bedsheets. I had copied the design from one of
the bedsheets worked by the nuns in Chennai. Their work is exquisite. I mustn’t
have reached their level of perfection, but I was mighty pleased with the outcome.
However, I could not use it because she had a son and my bedsheet set was pink—bogged
down by gender typecast! Then again, the sheets skipped seeing daylight three
years later as she gave birth to another son.
This time, I told my daughter that irrespective of
the baby’s sex, the pink sheets will be used. In fact, they were one of the
first things packed in her hospital bag.
Conjure up the height of anticipation!
When at 04:21 hours we were told that a miss was
born, we were ecstatic to say the least. Finally, my sheets saw the light of
the day and were appreciated (stereotypically too).
The little bundle of joy that was placed in my hands
soon after birth looked like a porcelain doll—frail, delicate and vulnerable. I
marvelled at her perfection. A rhyme we had learnt in our childhood popped in
my head:
“Ten little fingers and ten little toes
Two little ears and one little nose,
Two little eyes that shine so bright
And one little mouth to kiss mother goodnight.”
I was marvelling at the seamless little nails on her
tiny sculptured fingers and toes, the eyelids that were lined with whisper of
lashes, the rosebud lips that were pouting alluringly. Even an atheist would be
spellbound by this flawless workmanship of nature/God. I could have continued
with my bewilderment on this phenomenon till a shrill shriek from the tiny being's mouth that was meant to cherubically "kiss mother goodnight" brought me out of my stupor. Here was this little person announcing her
arrival in no uncertain way, with her distinctive needs and demands.
Since I have two girls of my own and am a hat-trick
grand mom; top it all with a post graduate in child development, I am supposed
to be a champion in bringing up babies, especially girls. I could see all this
in my daughter’s naïve motherhood eyes. And in no uncertain words, she expressed
herself quite explicitly in front of all and sundry.
The dependability of the new mom on me was overwhelming.
No doubt the above was all true, yet each experience is exclusive to each child
as she chalks her own story. My task was not going to be easy because of all my
previous experiences. I kept reinstating that each child is an individual and
child development theories and techniques have to be applied keeping this
uniqueness in mind. But I could have been talking to a wall, given the reaction
I got from my daughter.
How on earth was I going to handle her? The
expectations from me were enormous….how was I going to live up to them?
While in the hospital, we had the help of the staff
which was reassuring. The helplessness of my daughter gave me courage to
conduct myself with confidence.
Once at home, I got cold feet. The baby was so very
tiny. On the fourth day, we decided to give her a bath. She was squirming and I was sure she was going to slip from my hands. I rang up my
friends to find an easy way to bathe the babe. Suggestions poured in from
placing the baby on your outstretched legs to placing a towel in the basin—each
more precarious than the other. My elder daughter had used a sling tied over a
bathtub, a neat little apparatus that served the purpose well. I tried looking
for one in vain. I was getting sleepless nights thinking about the next day’s
bath till I got a brainwave.
We had brought fishing net from Goa to keep the
pigeons out from the balcony. The shopkeeper had said that the net was strong
enough to hold a whale. I decided to tie the net firmly onto a shallow tub. Very
gingerly, we placed our baby in it, and voila! It held up and the baby had an
awesome bath. I felt like Einstein.
I would never have had the guts to try these stunts
if I were younger or with my own kids. Firstly when you are younger, there are
many things you want to do at the same time and there never is any time to
indulge in experiments. Also with age, one gets the confidence and
responsibility gives you the courage. And on top of it, when others have faith in your capability,
you feel self-assurance. I realised quickly that if you give a novice life-shattering
responsibility, he will rise to the occasion and surprise even himself at what
he is capable of performing. The best way to empower the underdog is to display
confidence in his abilities. It was a lesson for life that I learnt as I was
simply amazed at my own competence in managing the little one.
The previous two times when I became a grand mom, I
was with my elder daughter no doubt to help out. But she was herself a hands-down mother. I
was in her house in the US and constrained in many ways. I needed her help to
organise the groceries and find my way in her household, especially the
kitchen. This time, my daughter was at my place with me. I
could function much more effortlessly. Also since the baby was born after a C-section,
my daughter was not as fighting fit as my elder one. Her personal vulnerability
and dependency left me with no choice but to rise to the occasion as was
expected of me. And to my own surprise, I did. So much so that my daughter
started telling me that the baby thinks that I am her real mother, while she
was just the milk provider.
I actually started feeling like the mother…scary
thought! The wailing baby when put into my arms would stop crying instantly as
if by magic. She would lie comfortably on me for hours while I would coo sweet
nothings into her ears. The one thing I really enjoyed was singing to her. I
have never found such a rapt auditor to my musical aspirations. As a result, I
memorised the lyrics of many songs—a feat that was unthinkable for me. It was a
case of sublimation, where instead of feeling inoperable and inert with the
baby in my arms for long spells of time, I actually enjoyed singing songs. The
baby, in turn, loved the “kangaroo care” time which according to the latest
theories is extremely important for the baby’s emotional growth.
Also, summer in the north of India is a terrible
time. Temperatures shoot up and touch 46 degrees Celsius. The only respite is
rain. However, intermittent rain makes things much worse. The humidity becomes
intolerable. My hair attracts humidity as a magnet attracts iron. In no time my
hair becomes frizzy and voluminous, making me resemble Golliwog. Staying
indoors is the only option. In normal circumstances, it is not feasible as
there are essential commitments that you are obligated towards.
But now, I was
in forced confinement along with my daughter. I regretted all invites and was
excused without a grouse. On top of that, my angelic granddaughter would look
at me with adoring eyes disregarding my dishevelled and bad hair-day look. She
made me feel on top of the world. I simply wanted to put her on a pedestal,
just for that. I actually heard myself say that the summer this year didn’t
seem so uncomfortable.
Unlike my previous two experiences, the doctors
insisted that the baby sleep with the mother as a great emotional bonding is built
between the two. Moreover, the baby feels snug, cosy and secure resulting in better
sleep especially at night. Our apprehension for this for the longest time was
that the tired and still feeble mother from the trauma of birth might roll over
the baby. The doctor assured us that an eventuality like this was extremely
unlikely, as long as the mother doesn’t have her back towards the baby. This
proved really true as the baby would sleep between me (proxy mom) and the real
mother almost the whole night through. In fact, the baby was so snug and secure
that we had to actually wake her up at night to feed her. On the other hand, I
remember my elder daughter used to wake up at least two or three times at night
to soothe/feed the baby. As a result, she was sleep-starved most of the time,
which is the common grouse with most new moms.
Sleeping next to the baby was the best thing that
happened in this case. She slept through most nights and even if she stirred
slightly, my daughter would feed her and she would doze off easily as she was
still in the sleep mode. Prior to this, the theory was to put the baby in a
separate cot. It was argued that when you sleep-train your child, it will be
easier. What is the logic of stressing yourself and the baby for 7–8 months
(210–240 days) before sleep-training begins? It is a long time and very exhausting
for the mom. When you finally sleep-train the child, you have to go through the trauma of wails and screams anyway, so what purpose would be solved by going through a similar agony everyday? My take from this is that babies are very sensitive to human touch
and feel reassured by a human presence as early as the day they are born. At
least this little one was shrewd enough to sense this from day one. From the
first day in the hospital, the baby would sleep snuggled up to me as her mother.
My daughter was still overcoming the delivery distress. The most tender and
warm feeling envelops you when you hold a helpless infant in your arms for the
first time, especially if it is your grandchild. You pledge servitude for life
and happily slave away even beyond your capacity. I don’t remember the same feelings when I
held my own kids in my arms for the first time. The euphoria on seeing your own
baby deserts you rapidly and is replaced by anxiety and nervousness. Your
naivety, the sense of responsibility and the overwhelming amount of work in the
following days keeps you miles away from any kind of ecstasy.
This was a good time for me. My daughter was my
understudy. The first few days, I was the prime caretaker while the mother
assisted me. Gradually, she took over completely and I was left to enjoy the
baby.
Looking back, when my two daughters were growing up,
there was very little choice in clothing for kids. I remember designing lacy, bouncy,
fancy dresses for them for special occasions like birthdays. Not that I was
exceptionally talented or enthused, but the need surfaced due to lack of
availability. It was almost impossible to find anything agreeable. If the
design was good, the fabric was all wrong; or if the fabric was acceptable, the
colours were deplorable and if all was right (rarely), the product’s finish was
disgraceful.
On the contrary, nowadays stores for kids are full
of beautiful clothes. The girls’ collection is simply breath-taking. There are
specialty malls gearing exclusively to kids’ wear. It is mindboggling to see
such a wide variety of clothes on display. A lot of thought has gone into these
to ensure high quality with style.
Nobody in their right minds would ever venture out
trying their amateur and clumsy attempts to create anything, especially when
these flawless ensembles are available to suit all pockets and occasions. I am
already looking forward to explore this new segment with my little
granddaughter. We as grandparents have that prerogative to spoil her silly.
Having said this, I must be really out of my mind
because when the baby was 34 days old, she had to attend a traditional
festivity at her paternal grandparents’ house. The “Teej” festivities required
her to wear a green dress traditional dress. We used to design clothes for my
children’s Barbie dolls and this little moppet was no less. I was reliving my
childhood through her. I pulled out a green muslin cloth (suitable for the
sultry weather) which had some gorgeous applique work on it. Half an hour later
with the aid of a pair of scissors, needle and thread, I had designed the most
adorable dress (lehenga). This was created without a sewing machine, as I don’t
possess one anymore. I simply did not feel the need for one after the girls had
grown up. This little pixie was rekindling some of my flaccid passions.
And
thus, I realised that with each grandchild a star grandmother is born.
