Introducing Avik and Manika the big sister

It is 9:30pm on a Saturday night, and my husband is trying to feed my crying son in the other room. I am painfully tempted to go in and intervene, but if I do, I will just put off yet again my attempts to reclaim my brain and I am determined, to get at least one coherent something written before I settle in for another night of feedings.

It has been almost two months since my last posting, and this has been mainly due to the pre-Avik drama of being put on bed rest + living with a noncooperative two year old, and the post-Avik’s birth highs and lows of adjusting to a newborn. My son was born at 35 ½ weeks and he is all the things that newborns are – a joy, a bundle of hope and happiness, a lovely baby-smelling sweet package of innocence, a comical “toy” for my toddler, a pooping and eating machine that cries at things I don’t understand, the killer of my Saturday night date nights, and above all, the reason my boobs are two times their normal size and are busier than a cow during ice cream season. (A sidenote on breastfeeding: I didn’t breastfeed Manika and so I had no idea how utterly time consuming, painful and repetitive this whole process is, even with my newly devised pump and bottlefeed system that in theory, should eliminate like four hours of on the boob time. I soooo admire women who did not ever use a milking machine. )

In the meantime, I’ve been mulling over the way this new phase in motherhood has impacted my life. To be truthful, my thoughts haven’t really been all that deep. So far, Avik has met all my expectations, and this second time around, I know so much more that I’ve been able to relax and enjoy a more instant infection. But there has been an unexpected surge of affection for my daughter that I didn’t see coming. In fact, in the days leading up to his birth, I was tempted to ship her back to the US to stay with my mother. I was afraid that her adjustment period would wipe me out, mainly because she likes to take her stress out on me through sleep deprivation. The day I gave birth, my terror levels surged. She threw down an I-want-mommy-tantrum in the hospital that should’ve gone down in toddler stress books. The two weeks after were an exercise in dodging and neutralizing her no’s, refusals, meltdowns, incessant clinginess and attempts to nearly choke Avik with his bottle. On more than one night, I went from nursey to toddler room and back on regular hour intervals. I called my mother and convinced her to fly for her one week Spring Break to China. I was desperate, eyes held open by toothpicks desperate.

Then my mom came, repumped me full of positivity towards my children, and lavished attention on Manika. She left both of us recharged and transformed, particularly Manika who is a totally different girl now. I have my theories on the transition, but at this stage, they’re too watered down with exhaustion to delve into. The bottom line is, she’s suddenly agreeable, full of spontaneous requests to “Hug me”, blurts out “I love you” on regular intervals and is generally a package of sugar and loveliness. Her listening skills (ie, her willingness to do what I ask her to) have doubled, she actually plays by herself for half an hour or so at a time, and she is slowly taking an interest in reading. In other words, she seems to have adjusted and her amazing flexibility and general mature cheerfulness has suddenly made her my absolute favorite person to be around.

This change in Manika has been a wonderful present for my tired heart. I ache daily for my own family, particularly my brother who has been my best friend for as long as he’s been able to talk. I have even less time to write than I did before, and my mind is filled with thoughts of the parallels between my life as a young mother and that of my mother’s (both away from our families in countries that weren’t our own), what that means to my understanding of her, what this all means for my understanding of myself, and how much I sometimes see my life as the exact opposite of what I imagined for myself. I also now have two women helping me in my house during the day who are constantly looking for direction as to what I want to eat for the day or how much I want someone to hold my son. All of the threads of my own self-reflection, and worries of living in China spin in my head endlessly, their frayed edges sort of floating out untied between feedings. Having Manika wake daily so consistently happy to see me, ready to pee pee in her potty, have her bottle, get ready for school and watch Blue Clue’s has become my anchor to reality.

As do all things in motherhood, I know this too will change. However, motherhood is also teaching me to take things one day at a time, to appreciate the joys of your children for that Monday or Wednesday, or even on a smaller scale, to enjoy twenty minutes to type on my computer…which are now over as my husband just put my son back down in bed, my signal to go right to sleep now.

Goodnight readers!