I parted the curtain slightly to judge the weather. Is it going to rain? I wondered. At 6 in the morning, my body told me to sleep, but my mind was lit up like a thousand fairy lights. It wasn’t a special day. Or maybe it was – the feeling of a chain meant to haul ships being tied to your heart and legs – was chipping away slowly. The pus-festered sadness of sinking into motherhood was walking itself out of the room, leaving me, my baby, and a tired husband behind. 

The morning darkness didn’t tell me much about the weather. I closed the drapes and walked out of the room, smiling for the first time in 4 months postpartum. The dogs pitter-pattered with me into the kitchen. How I had missed their furry tails brushing against my legs for no reason. I stood there, mixing my gaze with the boiling tea and the trickling morning outside. 

The tea tasted a little bitter. But I sat on the couch on the cloudy, monsoon morning and opened the phone. As tiny threads of silvery water dripped down from the sky, I let the happiness melt into the cushion and wrote 10 things I wished to return to or start anew. There were painting leaves, going back to the piano, walking the dogs, muttering to the dogs, telling the money plants I was back, swimming, kayaking (?), and making aloo parathas. Oh, the joy of kneading a soft dough, going for the longest walks alone, working, and watching the baby grow.  There was so much to do, but I had time. While thinking of more things to add, a message popped up on my Whatsapp. 

It was from a relative I loved. ‘How’s the baby doing’? 

I could hear her singing it as she did for most of her greeting messages. ‘Now your whole day, night, and life is going to run behind the little thing, just wait and watch.’

As the day seeped into the afternoon, more such messages writing my entire life started pouring in. The messages punched my face before I could answer. 

You’ll be running behind him all day. 

Babies need their mothers the most.

They won’t eat if you don’t feed them. 

They’ll want you all the time. 

You’ll be tired, but that’s the joy of motherhood. (My all-time favorite)

I felt pulled in by the same lonely sadness again. A few days passed by, me marinating in the thought of how my life was now not mine. The cold, dementor-ish feelings started to make their way back in.

But as the days passed, the struggle to not let my life drown in motherhood became stronger too. I didn’t want my life to blend into a trail of chores for the baby.

I wanted the list. 

As a desperate attempt to hold onto my individuality, I searched for the next day’s kayaking trip and booked it. I was 40 and too old to be a rebel, but I did. 

The next day I was gone for 5 hours, leaving the baby with my husband alone. The crackling sun shone slightly brighter. The backwaters lapped up to my toes as I just stood there, listening to birds, whistling leaves, rather persistent water rolls, and silence.

There were no baby cries, no cooing, no babbling, and no cute bursts of laughter. And I did not miss listening to it.

As I paddled through the marshy waters, my heart remained present in the loops of branches, driftwood, flickering light, and shadow. I kayaked for the first time in my life and loved every moment of the quiet adventure.

Two hours later, we headed back. The heat was stronger, and my mind drifted to the situation back home. Did he miss me? Did he cry? Am I cruel for leaving him alone? I brushed these thoughts aside and took in every frame passing me on my way home. 

The Goan uncle sitting, almost dozing off on his crumbling Portuguese verandah. The sexy Russians wearing colored tatters look blissful. The newly married honeymooners show off the red bangles and undying romance. I let every sight enter from my eyes and settle into my heart. 

Soon I was home. The door opened, and I saw my baby with my husband. And looking at them, I smiled and realized – a happy person makes a happy mother. Happiness that I had so much for myself that I could share with my baby and my husband. I laughed more with them, played more, and let the minor tantrums slide; I was gentler. 

I realized being a present parent is not about being around. It is about being there from the heart. It isn’t about thinking a child needs ONLY the mother. It’s about trusting the husband, the friend, the in-laws – the village. Yes, there are days of sadness, exasperation, and defeat. But then tell me a relationship that doesn’t have equal highs and lows?

So I promised myself I’d keep my cup of joy full to fill my baby’s tiny glasses to the brim.