Although we never planned it that way, the moment of finding out we were going to have a baby happened in one of those dramatic, fairy-tale magical settings. We were on vacation in Meghalaya to celebrate my 30th birthday, and on my birthday morning I took an off-chance doing the test very prematurely, since we had some strenuous activity planned for the day. As we stared at the stick in the bathroom of the B&B, there were one bold and one faint line. The textbook thing to do may have been to burst into tears of joy (or shock), but I think my mind was numb, followed by frantic Googling on what a faint line could mean. And the answer wasn’t clear — it is likely positive, but could be otherwise as well.
The remaining four days of the trip was suspense — should we be thrilled? Should we be anxious? Should we feel anything before it’s even confirmed? We were in a remote place where further confirming wasn’t an option, so all we did was buy a bottle of folic acid syrup from a village pharmacy on the advice of my then soon-to-be gynecologist cousin, and continue the trip lighter than we planned, with occasional disbelief- is this really happening?
At the airport in Guwahati, we had a moment of reckoning from the universe- the airline staff at the check-in counter casually asked if I was pregnant. Apparently I was going to be assigned the seat next to the emergency exits and she wanted to confirm. Never had I been asked such a question and didn’t have a straight answer the first time it was asked. So it was probably true?
The next instalment of the suspense was going to a local hospital for a test after reaching Chennai, since my gynecologist was not in town. Just when the results were to arrive, the lab technician went out to lunch. We went back home, ate some unexciting rasam and rice, fidgeted, made small talk and went back in a couple of hours to meet the duty doctor. Even before I could sit down, she said without looking up, ‘Oh yes, your test is positive’. And nodded to the door to indicate that I should leave.
And just like that, things suddenly moved over a few days from a dramatic setting to the most mundane setting for the confirmation of the arrival of a new life into our lives. And I think throughout pregnancy, and later labour, these big moments were never quite what I thought they may be. There may never be that one magical, overwhelming, overflowing with love moment. And that can be hard to accept when popular culture tells you otherwise.
Through the next nine months, we went through all the big ones — hearing the heartbeat for the first time, seeing the ultrasounds where the baby moved, the first kicks. At the first ultrasound, the doctor told me the baby was a size of a rice grain. It all felt incredibly amazing. But for a lot of time, I was also thinking will it all be okay? Is this a kick or just indigestion?Will I manage to handle labour? Could I really take care of another person? Does it all take this long to sink in? What was I going to do?!
While we talked about parenting and babies and how our lives were going to become, we faithfully followed an app every week to see what size our baby was (now an avocado, later a coconut). Months sped by (at one point, bigger than a watermelon), the next big moment had arrived — labour.
I had always been terrified of labour, made worse by an underlying medical condition I have. Two weeks before my due date, the physical examination alone was enough to make me consider asking the doctor for an elective c-section, and she kindly said ‘let’s wait and watch’. So while I was supposed to be waiting to hold the baby in my arms, so much of my mind was fixated on how to get through this supposedly natural phenomenon which seems physically, practically, biologically and mentally impossible.
In most movies I’ve watched, the water breaks at the most inopportune of moments- at a high school prom, at a board meeting, midst a heated courtroom trial. This element of our journey was very low drama, as the doctor had suggested I be induced due to certain medical reasons, and we slowly packed and repacked our hospital bags and drove to the hospital at 11PM on a Thursday. After being induced three times, I was only in pain and discomfort but with and no real progress, and I was quite convinced that I will have that c-section after all. But while I hooked onto a non-stress test machine and sitting and replaying the playlist that I’d been listening throughout my pregnancy, there it came- so that’s what a contraction is!
The machine beeped and the contractions went on, but were mild and bearable. I tried to do some colour therapy meditation that a friend had suggested, and thought I’ll walk around and do some squats. And suddenly there it was- the mythical water suddenly splashing. After that then it escalated very quickly- in less than an hour, I found myself being wheeled to the labour room, screaming in agony out for the epidural which never came. It was happening.
All the Lamaze breathing techniques flew out the window, and my calming music lay forgotten. The nurses and doctors were frantically telling me to ‘co-operate’ but all I really wanted was for them to cut open my abdomen, take the baby out and stop the pain. I finally got a spinal injection at the very last stages of the pain, most of which was a blur. All I can recall the doctor asking me suddenly- who is your favourite god? I started at her blankly — this was not the time to discuss how I don’t have a ‘favourite’. When I didn’t answer, she followed it up with ‘Don’t tell me you are an atheist!’ V then told her the first which came into his head- Ganesha, and the doctor asked me to think of Pillayarappa and push. For some reason, I remember thinking of the other brother Muruga instead.
My cousin had told me we don’t know where the strength comes up, but I guess it just does. In that daze of pain, with plenty of encouragement from V, suddenly he said — the head is out, I can see the hair! After that, I knew it was going to be easy. And little D slipped out — the tiny baby that she was, bawling with her eyes scrunched up, just around two hours after that first contraction. That picture is certainly ingrained in my head, though my mind was still pretty blank.
The nurse laid her on my chest, and had to actually ask me to react and look at the baby. I couldn’t believe I’d done it. It was surreal and amazing. As they took the baby away, it hit me that I didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl and I demanded for the information indignantly. Apparently she had mentioned it, but it was drowned out by the screams- and I felt at that moment as if I always knew it was going to be a daughter (although I frankly had no such intuition until the very last week, mostly because we couldn’t agree upon a single boy name!).
These moments during labour, followed by the first two days in the hospital and later at home really were all about ‘doing’ than ‘feeling’. It was a wonder to see those tiny fingers and toes and soft hair and delicate little body that you want to protect and do your best to take care of. But where was that sudden famous overwhelming feeling of being a parent?
A wise friend reassured me that it sometimes takes time- weeks, a month or even more to actually ‘bond’.
So I waited — meanwhile learning the hundreds of new things to be done. The first time in a few weeks when I went to the hospital for my check-up without the baby, it felt so liberating but also like a part of me was missing. And when I told my doctor that, she said that’s how it will always be. She also told me, now on you will hardly have questions for me and they’ll all be for the pediatrician.
And bit by bit that’s how it sort of happened — all this care and emotion for the little baby who was actually the same one the size of a rice grain all those months back, slowly beginning to learn her way in the world, starting to smiling and recognising you, and who would one day become a unique adult with a personality and life.
There may never be that magic moment. Realising that each person’s experience of parenthood may be completely different and that’s okay was something I had to learn.
But all the experiences in the following days and months did start coming together to form that one big magic moment — that final realisation that you are part of this new journey. One that seems full of self doubt, lack of confidence, guilt, anxiety, but that is and will be fulfilling in a beautiful and inexplicable way.
