As I look back, it indeed was an incredible journey.
Her journey, her journey from the womb to the world. Through me.
In return allowing me an unmatchable immersive chapter for this life.
The highs, the joy,
The growing and the glowing
Blessings’ bounty,
Dance through this journey,
Words, the works, everything, all of it, infusing itself into this journey.

My journey with this kind, beautiful child.
My kind, beautiful child.

Growing and Glowing

They did say, would grow, would glow.
Skin stretched. Thoughts taut.
With dreams soaring, joy brimming. Oh! Did grow. Did glow.
The throbs making up for the conversations. This constant companion.
Knowing every minute and at every stretch (quite literally :)), that what’s allowing this will be revered.
Inspite and inclusive of the residue, the remains: The aches, the scars, the shifted core. With that and all of it, this will forever be revered.

The carrier that was.
The one that grew for her.
The one that glowed with her.

Blessings’ Bounty

These two.
The two ends of my paddle.
Towing my way forward. My wayfinders. My home.
Every morsel, each movement, every minute monitored.
All sorrows, every shadow, all guarded from.
The child sculpted of her prayers and his dreams.
These two!

These two and an entire village.
The aunts, the sisters, the several and many with no Insta presence 🙂
My tribe, that came together for my child.
To raise her even before she was born, to guard her, to love her, and cherish.
Messages, calls, checking in, being by my side, day and night. All days. The good, the bad, the ugly.
As I drifted through this, in quiet happiness, knowing, acknowledging, and thanking the universe for the blessing.
My blessing. My people.

My Dance

Dance, the constant companion.
This celebrated companion, no chapter complete without it.
When one is constantly guarded, rather barred from pretty much everything that could potentially induce discomfort, here was this companion one could entirely trust.
For balance. For beauty.
For joy. Untainted joy.
As it always has been.

So we danced, danced together. Throughout.
Placing complete faith in this body, to lead, to accompany me.
First the feet stomping faded. Then the bends, the curves had to be relinquished.
Gradually, a few times, would just be the eyes.
Yet we danced.
Oh! We danced, till the very end.

To the World

Were to leave for the hospital in a couple of hours. Wrote her a letter, to her, for her. (But then of course, I didnt know if was her or him).

To thank her for being a kind companion, a beautiful one at that.
To remind myself of the kind of companion I was meant to be for her.
A reminder. The words that had once found me and had stayed.
“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.”

A day and 10 hours later, she arrived. On a bright Sunday morning in an OT enveloped with laughter and a lot of happy chatter.
With her faint feeble cries and sparky seeking eyes.
This kind, beautiful child!

What we go through, we grow through

Postpartum was, is hard. HARD. The first few days, weeks, felt like I was run over by a truck.
Mind mangled. Body beaten.
The neat controlled sense of my time, routine, all dispersed and strewn around.
The anxiety, the terrors spun by it, all shooting through the roof!
Worst, THE worst of it all, the disconnect.
Scathing sense of disconnect from her. The one I had cherished and carried so preciously the past few months.
The conversations, the dance, the reaction, the responses, all with her now detached from my sense of self. And here, she was.
Detached and so so delicate.
The struggle wringing me.

It was 3rd of November. A month and a week since. It was also the day the wrap arrived (Thank you, Universe for @mamacuddle). Tried it on hesitantly that morning. For a brief moment there, something shifted. A slight detour. This child back in my embrace, one with the skin, not so fragile any more, not to be feared.
My extension, my own. Continuing to be so.

So here we were, by the lake at Lalbagh the very same evening.
Watching as the sun was setting on one chapter, knowing it will be nightfall soon, it might be murky, will definitely feel unknown.
But a new day will dawn.
A continued chapter!
Of love, of light, of strength, of grace, and joy indeed.