I Am Human too!

So. Finally, back to my blog, after …how long is it? Nearly a year, I guess, if not more! And this long gap, I guess, exemplifies the very purpose of this blog: there is simply no time for anything!

I had, of course, originally started this blog out of sheer frustration and boredom: suddenly finding myself grappling with a pause in my career and dealing with something I had never dealt with; I had believed that penning down my thoughts would serve two purposes – give me some purpose, and also, maybe help other career mums deal with the same ordeal. But man, once I actually joined back in my work – I had NO IDEA what I was dealing with!

Obviously, I had known it wouldn’t be a cakewalk. What I hadn’t bargained for was the actual nature of the problem I would be dealing with.

You see, work is not the issue. The issue, and the universal issue plaguing most working mums (at least in my city or state) is the sheer lack of support at home. No, not at work. At least in my case, my colleagues have been the most wonderful of people – never complaining about my perennial late-comings, my brief leaves or early departures. It is the people around you who present the greatest challenges. People who seemingly mean well, but whose advice is neither feasible nor acceptable to you. People who have a whole lot of advice to offer, but scout off the moment you actually ask them to lend a hand. People dear to you, whom you don’t want to offend, but who don’t respect your boundaries. People who are going all out to help you, but tiring themselves out in the process and taking their anger and frustration out on you. While you, my dear girl, have simply no outlet for your rage and frustration except your blog, your diary, your faith, or your girlfriends. Ah, girlfriends. Will write a separate entry for you, my lifesaving medications!

Then, of course, there is the VVIP in the family. Not you, not your spouse, not even your kiddo. No ma’am, it’s THE NANNY we are talking about. When I first shifted back home from my mother’s place, I thought I was one of the luckier ones out there – with a loving nanny for my kiddo, capable and nice. Simple, naive me. *sighs*

The calm lasted exactly two months. That was when tragedy stuck, with a horrific accident at her place, resulting in her quitting work. So, I had to move back to mum’s place. For a few days, or maybe a week or so, before I got someone new. Or so I thought.

It’s been 10 months since that incident. I have lost count of the number of nannies I have had. 2 days, 7 days, 2 weeks, a month. That’s been the highest. Never had I ever had anyone lasting more than that. Two or three ladies – I had to let go. Rest – well, simply quit. Never any reason except “don’t feel like working anymore”. Every time there’s someone new, I invariably forget to explain some task or the other – because I don’t realize this is not the same person I had previously explained to! And that’s simply not the hardest part. The hardest part was for the kiddo to start another cycle of adjustment. When N, who was very well potty trained for quite some time, suddenly stopped refusing to sit at the chair in my absence, I looked it up and learnt, to my shock and horror, that this was not some random tantrum – this was the confused child feeling vulnerable and seeking reassurance in familiar presence. And of course, no-one else in the family had the time or the patience to provide support to the poor kiddo. Which meant bidding good-bye to hopes of finally reaching hospital on time for morning academics. As well as accepting the fact that my own presentation days meant a constipated day for the kid.

Even with all this, I thought I had settled into a routine. Yes, my heel hurt like hell if I didn’t have time for a warm foot bath. Yes, my back ached and my hands felt so sore from rocking the baby to sleep over an hour that I was afraid I might end up dropping him. But still, somewhere, there was a sense of familiarity, of knowing what to do next. That is of course until my father landed up with a stroke.

I have a very fudgy recollection of the weeks that followed. I guess I was more or less living on auto-pilot – arranging attendants, arranging physiotherapy, handling mum’s temper over unsatisfactory staff, changing nannies, and in general, getting shouted at by everyone – from nannies to mum to husband to patient relatives at work. My only outlet at that time was crying into my pillow at night, or in front of Krishna at the altar. Oh, even that was frowned upon – I was told I was a negligent mother because I cared more for God than my kid. And God forbid if I met a friend for coffee – literally all hell broke loose. It was like I was back to my college days – lying about my whereabouts if I was late by an hour from work. And you know the worst part of it all? It was the fact that no matter how well I knew I had to keep all this negativity at bay, the self doubts and the overwhelming guilt would invariably creep in. Guilt at prioritizing myself for 10 mins. Guilt over not doing as much as I should. Guilt at having to stay with mum, while the husband ranted over the challenges he faced at handling the household alone (only the household, mind you; not the baby!)

I guess it’s a wonder I didn’t cave in. For I was human, too. Even if no one seemed to even remember the fact. Caught between fragile egos and vulnerable kiddo, I didn’t even know where I was. And lost is what I would have been, if I didn’t have Krishna with me. But that’s for another time.