You push me around to your hearts content. Each time, beyond my limits of endurance. Each time, I say, no more, no further, I cant take it any more. And still you keep at it. Each day. And some how, miraculously, I survive. I survive. A bit more jaded. More worn. More closer to total collapse. But as long as you’re still able to drag me through each day, you do. You ignore my pleas for rest. You deny me a break. Even a single day. This last stretch has by and far been the worst in my 30 odd years of existence.
For 9 months I nurtured a little life inside me. Fed him with my blood and soul. You said you loved him, and me. But even through those days, you pushed me more than I thought I could endure. I made it through those 9 months. Wondering each day if I’d make it through. Of waking early and cooking when I couldnt bear the smell of food. When I couldnt eat anything because of the severe acidity. Juggling housework and officework and a heavy pregnant belly.
You assured me things would get better once the baby was out.
But it took me two months to even start walking normally again. At 5 months, I still didnt have enough strength to get through the whole day. You pushed me to set up house and start office. And take care of a baby. All on my own. I wasnt allowed to fall sick. All those near-fainting spells were ignored. The on-and-off fever was brushed aside. I had to be the strong one, the brave one. The kiddo depended on me. Completely. Sorry, no rest for now. Maybe later. Tired feet that wobble each night, praying for rest, be strong. Wrist busted for months and months, oh well, get used to it. Hehe. I craved and I prayed for a full night’s sleep. Just one night. Uninterrupted. You’ll have to make do you said, because now you have a child to take care of, to watch over, to feed. Make do with 4-5 hours of intermittent sleep, you said, because that’s all that you’re permitted.
I made it through those days, and thought the worse was over. We’d get back to a normal life. But was I wrong. Again. An old demon comes back to befriend me. Fibroid. “Have to” schedule surgery per doctor’s advise. While its only 7cm..you know, before it grows again. It was 11cm dia at its largest last year. You told me it was a laproscopy. Quicker recovery. Not painful. And at Nani’s place. That I’d get that much much prayed for rest. And a good night’s sleep. That there will be loved ones to take care of the kid. And I fell for it.
I did get the rest. The day I was under anesthesia. Bless whoever invented that. The kiddo bawled his lungs out and I heard his screams filter through my sedated sleep. He brought the whole hospital down. He was Inconsolable. Nana, Nani, Daddy, all rendered helpless. He didnt know them. They didnt know him. The very next day, you pulled me up, back to me feet, to take charge of the kid. Everyone had taken a day off their hectic schedules for the surgery. I was given a day’s rest. And now it was everyone back to their own lives. Me to mine. Watching over kiddo. Running after him. Yes, I didnt have to do the housework. Or cook. And you call for someone to pick up kiddo for me and move him around, so that I dont have to bend. How ungrateful of me to still want more!
He’s made friends with the others now. But they have their own lives. Their own responsibilities, duties, chores. Kiddo, you remind me, is my responsibility. Just mine.
And I take a deep breath, and get moving. Back to the grind. Back to running after the energizer bunny. Dreaming wistfully, someday, maybe someday, I’ll get a full night’s sleep. Someday, someday, maybe… you’ll be easier on me.
– Your body.