It has been 4 days, since I gave you a body wash.
and that divine smell of your Baby Skin feels so real in this fake boardroom.
The only real thing, is the smell of your soul and the tenderness of your morning breath, in this ‘real’ fake world.
The smell that peeps through my kurta, the smell, a reminder of a beautiful baby boy I gave birth to.
I had no time left to wash off, when you threw up on my face today morning, and that sweet smell is a nasty reminder of the ways I have failed as a mother.
The smell of your cough syrup feeds my guilt.
The look on your tired face, as I washed your silly bummy this morning, was worth all the riches of the world.
And as you stood there clinging to my leg, begging me to not let go, I officially became the most helpless woman on earth.
You did not realise, that we cried together. You on the outside, I on the inside.
As you wrapped your fragile hands around my neck, the heat from your body, tired and tossed by flu was not something I wanted to pull away.
Your gentle body had the same warmth, the first time I touched you.
The first time I touched your newborn body;
You touched my old tired soul, and I was never the same inside out.
Today, as I held you, those heat waves from you ripped apart my guilt of being the worst mother.
And I vowed.
Vowed to Quit.
To Quit my fulltime career.
Vowed to not let go off you another second more.
Vowed that, I will never ever walk-up to the day-care and dump you there.
Vowed that I will send that email saying, I quit !
For to quit was an easy option than fight;
To quit was an easy way out than struggle;
To quit was a cakewalk than excel in the road less travelled.
To quit was a nice mediocre feeling.
I chose mediocrity. I blamed you for that.
As the company bus raced through the busy city roads this chaotic Monday morning, I just had one thing in mind. To Quit.
Except that I did not expect to witness this.
All along those rough roads, I saw women from all walks of life, standing, some walking, some clearly struggling.
They were not just women. they were mothers.
While others saw their shell, I saw their naked souls. For they were mothers like me.
Tired, bruised, loved, kissed, hugged, sleepless, breathless, hardworking mothers.
Who all have left behind little boys and girls like you.
Through pain, fever, hospital admissions, they have survived the worst and still dared to dream.
Those working mothers, who have the mighty strength to stop an adrenaline rush halfway, when their little one is still hugging and the time is running out to login.
Those working mothers, who refuse to melt in the moment, to finish priorities at work.
Those Sheroes, Those mothers, they inspired me to take a decision one more time.
To quit being mediocre.
To embrace struggle.
To face life, head-on and bang-on.
That mother, who stood in that hot sun, with sweat beads racing down her face, told me, to quit was not an option.
The mother’s make is such that she can crawl through those rough days, like a boss.
Those tired eyes, and dark circles are a medal of honour for the sacrifices she made.
Being able to juggle home and work is an enviable cell in her body.
Tough days, tough calls, through hospital visits, cough&cold, I will work through it all.
Rather, we will work through it all.
Let’s win this battle together.
For one day, when you look back, you will be proud of your ‘Working’ mother.
Till then, I leave you back home, in the arms of Jesus and lovable people.
A little boy’s amma.