Day 25 – Diary to my unborn daughter

This is a series of diary entries that I had maintained for you, Dhwani, written during my pregnancy. I am astonished that through all the things we have misplaced since then, this set of tattered pages has survived! That, in and of itself, should tell you how much you were and are loved!

September 8, 1999

Today I discovered I was pregnant! I feel a rush of emotions overcome me – joy, pride, doubt (Would I be a good mother?) and above all, an urge to share this lovely moment with your Dad who came home that evening with bouquets in both arms – fresh roses for his radiant and happy wife in one hand and longer lasting paper ones to mark that special day for years to come. I hope they will remain as sweet and beautiful when you are old enough to understand what it means to us, what it stands for, and how special you are to us. (Update - Unfortunately, we don’t have those roses any more – we have moved around so much in the last thirteen years though we did keep them for quite a long time. But the memories of that day are still as sweet as ever!)

October 10, 1999:

I go in for my first scan and see you for the very first time on the monitor – a squiggly little pulsating thing. I can’t begin to describe how I felt - a blue line on a pregnancy stick had been somehow transformed into a living, breathing (?) human being – ours – you! Once again, I wish that your father was there with me (What, he wasn’t there on our first scan, I am so going to kill him for this and you are welcome to help!) and vow that he would come along with me for anything that remotely concerned you. He is more than ready! (You bet, don’t ever argue with a pregnant woman!)

The next few weeks are ones of excitement and planning, telling thrilled grandparents about your existence, buying and reading books to find out more about this little miracle that is happening inside me, praying and enjoying even the tiredness and nausea that come with carrying you!

November 6, 1999:

We move into a bigger 2-bedroom apartment in Lonavala, Mumbai with bunk beds in the children’s bedroom though it would be years before you would be big enough to use it! (12 years to be exact!)

November 13, 1999:

Your Dad carefully picks out and cuts and pastes (the scissor and glue kind) photographs of the family in a montage photo frame that someone had given us, mentally reserving the space in the centre for you. (I have no idea where that photo frame is now! See what I mean about all the stuff that was misplaced?)

December 7, 1999:

Today, I felt you move and kick for the first time and I feel closer to you than ever! Late mornings and early evenings, I’d be rushing around busily, catching trains, attending to domestic chores and Bam! You’d kick me as if to say, “Hey, don’t forget me!” No matter how busy or overwhelmed I was, it never failed to make me smile!

Daddy is excited too, but I can tell by the look on his face that he is feeling just a little bit left out. You see, he couldn’t feel you, only I could! Perhaps in later years you’d team up against your mother and have secrets among yourselves and giggle together (or not!), but for now, we share something very unique, very special, just you and I.

December 16, 1999:

Today we got the second ultrasound done. (And Dad was there with me!) We saw for the first your little face (yes, you were facing us, posing for the shoot, camera-happy even back then!) I wonder if you were as curious to know what your parents looked like, those two people whose voices you heard all the time. The technician counted all your little fingers and toes and showed us your heart thudding rapidly away. We still don’t know what you look like, whether you’re a little boy or girl, but it gives us immense relief to know that you have ten fingers and ten toes, that your heartbeat is comfortingly fast and normal.

January 1, 2000:

By now I can feel you leaping around within me. We move on into the New Year and the new millennium together, all of us. I look at the pictures of all those babies born on New Year day, the first babies of the new millennium and wonder if, a few years from now, you would be upset that you weren’t one of them. (I’m glad that you have the sense to not care about all that – always knew you were a smart one, even back then!)

Maybe, in years to come, you will understand why I did not want you to be born in an over-crowded hospital competing with other super-babies, jostling for the attention of doctors and nurses who would rather have been out partying and praying and hoping that the computers would not crash, the whole Y2K hooha that never actually happened. No, you were far more important to us than that and far more precious even without being the millennium’s first baby. Because you were our first.

January 6, 2000:

Today I was grinding something in the blender. I must have disturbed you, because you protested vehemently with a few hard, purposeful kicks. I try to explain to you why I was doing what I was doing but you are furious at being woken up! (Yeah, I know, some things haven’t changed all that much!) Sorry sweetheart!

I’ve been hogging these last few weeks and raiding all the neighborhood bakeries. Your athai predicts you’ll turn out to be a real heavyweight. Sure enough the doc takes a look at the scales and freaks out! Well, of course I blame you for it (and still do, you and your brother, I hadn’t been fat a day in my life before the two of you came along, can’t be coincidence!)

February 14, 2000:

Valentine’s Day. This year, there is no time for a relaxed candle-lit dinner. Hectic preparations are on to travel to Bangalore tonight. And yet, it is a strangely appropriate way to celebrate Valentine’s Day for it is our first step in getting ready to receive you, the best gift of love that either of us can have ever receive.

February 15, 2000:

Midnight. After a 24-hour long journey by train, I am exhausted and visit to the bathroom and discover a single spot of blood. Apparently, that is a spot too many. For the first time I fear for your safety and realize how much a part of me you have become.

February 16, 2000:

The alarm is sounded. Phone conversations both local and long-distance run furiously back and forth. Prayers are said, medicines are taken and I am all but strapped to my bed.

February 17, 2000:

With no recurrences of the event, everybody is breathing easier. We celebrate the “Seemantham” function where you are the guest of honour though you don’t know it!

February 28, 2000:

After an uneventful journey to Chennai, I await your arrival.

By now, you have become so much a part of me that I have long since started referring to us as, well, “us”. I have been taking your kicks for granted but I rapidly realize that it is not so for everyone else who go into hysterics every time they touch my tummy and feel you moving.

I have noticed certain traits about you: that you are at your most active early in the morning (believe it or not, very unlike you now) and late in the evening. I have noticed too that classical music lulls you to sleep (as it still does!), but film songs and rock music get you prancing away energetically. I interpret it to mean that you don’t like the fast music but everyone else insists that you do and that you are trying to dance with the music! (I guess I was wrong there!)

March 02, 2000:

We visit Dr. Shantha, the gynaecologist who is in charge of my last trimester and would be responsible for getting you out safely. She declares that you are too small (believe it or not!) and order that I gobble up as much food as I can. Which I do. Faithfully.

April 6, 2000:

I have my third ultrasound. And see your little heart and bladder working away busily inside you inside me. The sonologist assures me that you are quite big enough. I am excited though you still look like ET. I am a little upset that no one can share this moment with me since the doctors in their infinite wisdom have ordained that no one be allowed with me.

April 7, 2000:

The doctor agrees that your size is not an issue and that you may actually be a rather big baby (make up your minds people!)She says I should prepare myself with physical activity and every once in a while I go down on all fours, sweeping, swabbing, mopping. Of course with doors closed – what on earth would the neighbours say?)

April 8, 2000:

Your Periamma arrives with your cousin Aditya (age 4 at the time). He sees me eating curd rice that he loathes and is absolutely disgusted and pities you as he imagines all the curd dribbling all over you in my tummy! He is very excited and makes plans to play with you as soon as you are born! Your Periamma has brought you a large blue comforter that she has made herself as well as a pink cloth mat with a cheery sun and rainbow stitched on. (You might remember those!) She has also brought a water melon pillow and carrot bolsters, all of which she has made herself. I am touched at her thoughtfulness and happy that we have introduced you to health food so early (unfortunately that didn’t quite stick!)

April 13, 2000:

Periamma and Aditya have to fly to Mumbai in a hurry as Aditya’s grandfather is taken very ill. We are all quite upset and worried.

By now we know it is only a matter of days before you make your grand entry into the world (or so we thought!) The house is gearing up. Walls have been scraped and painted, the fridge replaced as well as the water purifier. The lights in our room are made brighter and better, supposed to help allay any possible post-partum bluesJ.  A cook is appointed.

We pack a hospital bag, we go through baby names, we go shopping. Dad books his tickets. We do whatever we can to prepare for your arrival. And we wait. And wait. And wait. Finally on the tenth day (after all of Dad’s paternity has been exhausted without a baby yet) I storm into the hospital purposefully (a little hard to do when you look like a beached whale), and demand that you be removed from my womb. Pronto. Finally you are coaxed and induced to come out, and finally almost pushed out – so cozy were you in that little world that the two of us inhabited.

April 28, 2000, 9:14 PM:

You are out and about time! You gaze curiously at me and through the glass door of the nursery at your Dad and your grandparents. All 3.5 kgs of you, fair and pink and squashed and soft, you are gorgeous – a little loud but gorgeous!

So Dhwani, you were waited for, wished for, hoped for, prayed for, and loved. And still are. And will always be. Whatever you do. How could you not be, after all that we went through together?