Hi, I am a mother.
Not sure when I was born.
Was it the day a stick dipped in pee decided my upcoming months?
Or the day you first kicked and turned, fluttering inside me?
Or was it the day you cried out loud,
Announcing your arrival to everyone
While I was still catching up on the operation table?
Hi, I am a mother.
Not sure what I’m meant to do.
What I thought was a natural process
Turned into a survival battle for two —
Complete with free nude portraits
And too many seasoned hands pulling at my breast
While I struggled to get you latched.
They commented on the shape of my nipples
As I sipped tea like it was a casual Friday.
Hi, I am a mother.
The past few months — two, or three, or maybe more —
Have been a blur.
Between night feeds and endless diaper changes,
Decoding cries, tracking colours of shit and pee,
Time somehow passed...
Long enough for my body to heal just enough.
Hi, I am a mother.
And I barely recognise the woman in the mirror.
Trying to get ready for a so-called break —
Lunch at a fancy place.
My old bras don’t fit my leaking tits.
My nursing bras don’t support my elegant dresses.
So I wear an oversized tee and jeans,
And stare at a warm plate of food served to me,
While guilt drips down with every bite
And phantom cries echo in my ears.
Hi, I am a mother.
My maternity leave is up.
I juggle my laptop with a pumping machine,
Schedule meetings between meals and meltdowns.
“Thank God you work from home,” they said.
Yes, a blessing — making 5 different meals with piling deadlines
Is everyone’s dream job description.
Hi, I am a mother.
And the world is my judge.
A thousand voices, each with advice.
Ten thousand minds, too quick to criticise.
Why is she sneezing?
Why is she coughing?
Why does she do this or that?
I’m expected to answer questions
I’m still deciphering myself.
Hi, I am a mother.
It’s been a year since we were both born.
I may have created you from my own bone and blood,
But you made me the woman I am now.
I am not who I used to be —
With a new wardrobe and a new title,
I was reborn.
Hi, I am a mother.
And I always will be.
I’m proud of my soft belly that carried life.
Proud of my sagging breasts that fed it day and night.
There were days I lost my identity,
Days I begged for just ten more minutes of sleep.
In the midst of all the swirling doubt and pressure,
Not once did I regret becoming a mother.
But would I do it all over again,
From the very beginning?
Ask me after a full night’s sleep…
And a coffee that’s still hot.
Edited by Christianez Ratna Kiruba
Image by Janvi Bokoliya
