Motherhood doesn’t come naturally to all women, no matter what society would have you believe. Reem Rashid remembers the first few years of her child’s life — which left her feeling confused, frustrated, and decidedly un-maternal

NOTES MADE BY A TERRIBLE MOTHER

Motherhood doesn’t come naturally to all women, no matter what society would have you believe. Reem Rashid remembers the first few years of her child’s life — which left her feeling confused, frustrated, and decidedly un-maternal

From the moment I held my baby post a frantic C-section delivery, I have been happily terrible at being a mother. I have fed and clothed my baby, but thought little of it. How did it feel to watch a pair of eyes engrossed in suckling me for the first time, a friend asked recently. Err, I hadn’t paused to think about this much-talked-about experience. Is this what happens when a young girl with a sore eye for conventions gets thrown into marriage and immediate motherhood? Does she then not register these ‘true’ joys? Or is it just a pathetic excuse? How did I sleep disregarding screams? If you have gone through childbirth, you’ll know that sleep can be an intoxicating affair. I would always bite its bait, choosing it over the little mass screeching for reasons beyond my comprehension. Now I am aghast at my thoughtlessness, but then — I chose to sleep. I learned soon that babies have a startling way of growing up. They are minuscule for days, substantial soon; and who really notices the inch-by-inch progression to something that can run faster than you and out-shout you at screaming matches? Baby beds shrink, and it is time to change that new pair of shoes which got tighter overnight. I spent countless days soaking up her soaring fevers and sneezing colds while my mind was wandering the corridors of my high school — when days where filled with carefree zest and silly feats. Oh, that’s criminal. Such behaviour goes against the principle of maternal instinct. When your child is ill, all of you — mind, body and soul — have to remain by her side. The straying mind has to be reined in mercilessly. I am reminded of these cardinal rules only when fever vanquished; my little one ogles at me. An array of inexplicable emotions invades my senses then, and I am suddenly shaken. More tests arrive with the toddler. She deserves more than my rebukes, but I test my vocal possibilities nevertheless. Her quick, exploring feet leave me in shambles; sitting still is not an option anymore. Even a crude piece of stone enchants her, and she subjects them to a scrutiny akin to how merchants grin and examine glimmering diamonds. She stumbles, she leaps, she falters, oh damn — she trips. I just had to let her be, let her grow. Muddy prints on my pristine walls, food crumbs in the oddest of spots, I am a futile, shrieking heap. It was beyond me to outthink her or foresee her moves. It never made sense anyway. Before long, the baby I held within my arms is gone. A version of her stands before me in a stubborn stance and my eyes gape in bewilderment. What went amiss? Where exactly did I go wrong, the mother-me woefully asks at times. Was it my unrelenting tiffs, or yours, that made you go wild?Maybe my methods were flawed. Maybe the child in me was still lurking behind for a long time, and you, another child, became an infringement somehow, a responsibility too big to grasp. But now, I feel no qualms about the vases you demolish or the gowns you tear. I take it to be another event in an emotional journey called motherhood. I took my time to arrive at this semblance of tranquility, but I am not sure if I am too late. You opened doors to a world I didn’t know existed. Exasperation, enchantment, and exhilaration take turns.I derive strength from your young face that bears no malice, no spite or resentment for it wasn’t just you who grew up, but me with you.