Age is such a wonderful thing.

I am 33.
Little I is 1.5.

We are 31.5 years apart.

She is experiencing things for the very first time.
So am I.

Last evening she discovered that Cheerios stick to things – hands, shoes and clothes.
It was my first time too. A haphazard sticky design was waiting for me on my pjs.

She is growing up.
And I am growing down.

She is in a rush to conquer the world.
And I am slowing down.

She has discovered her love for the good old Marie biscuits.
So have I. It’s the best biscuit to have when on a diet.

She has fallen in love with water.
She is learning how to swim for the very first time. And she doesn’t even know it.

And I am falling in love with water all over again. My class of aqua aerobics is my new love. And I didn’t even realise it.

She is learning new things.
I’m going back to basics.

She dances to any tune.
I dance to hers.

She wants to do everything at her pace.
And I, have stopped hurrying up.

I am 33.
Little I is 1.5.
And we are 31.5 years apart.

Little I’s first abode.

Ever since I can remember I have hated my belly. No matter what I did or didn’t eat, it was never flat or toned or sexy. It was always a bit too round, a bit too wobbly. My mother always warned me, ‘keep that stomach in!’. And it only made me hate my belly a little more everyday.

And no matter what I did to keep it in, my only guaranteed test was, if I can see my toes my belly should be fine.

But you see, it was never my asset, I always felt it let me down. It was probably the only body part I hated the most.

And then I fell in love with that same wobbly belly.

Two years ago around this time I was eagerly waiting for a phone call to confirm my pregnancy. A microscopic speck was going to grow inside of me.
And I, was going to fall in love.
For the very first time.
With that bit too round, bit too wobbly belly.
Because now my belly was a womb, it had a new meaning to its existence, it was my baby’s first home.

I was dying to see it grow bigger and bigger because that meant that my baby had enough space to grow properly and healthy.

I caressed it gently everyday, secretly telling it to be strong because my baby is in there.

I watched my bulging naked belly in the mirror and I have never felt so beautiful.

I was proud that I couldn’t see my toes anymore.

Soon, long purple lines added a new dimension to my belly. Inspite of all my previous misgivings of why-can’t-I-ever-have-a-flat-stomach, it was still loving me back, loving my baby with all it’s strength and stretching itself to keep her comfortable.

The only way I could feel little I’s heart beat inside of me was when I touched my belly.
The only way H (for the husband) could feel those little kicks inside of me was by touching my belly.
The only way I knew little I is having fun in there was through this big round ball.

How could I have hated my belly which was to be my daughter’s first home?
How could I have hated something that was going to take care of a new life for nine whole months?
How could I not be proud of it?

Now, fourteen months later I am proud of every line, every wobble. Because each line reminds me that it was in there that little I took her very first breath.

My belly might never ever look perfect and flat and toned but it definitely looks beautiful because it has a beautiful story to tell.

The giddy life.

Little I has turned my world upside down.

Everything has changed.

How I eat to how long I take to eat.
How I sleep to when I can sleep.
How I spend the weekend. Did I just say weekend? Oh sorry, there is no weekend because everyday feels like a Monday to me.

Now I watch movies in three parts.
Part 1, when it’s shown on tv for the nth time. Sometimes after I have seen part 3.
Part 2, I often miss this part.
Part 3, sometimes on mute. If I am lucky that is.

I have a very busy social life, on watsapp.

I am never alone, not even when I go to pee.

Our restaurant visits last for max fifteen minutes. We book a table. We order food. Little I decides to run and survey the restaurant. We walk out with a takeaway.

I have learnt to speak and understand a new language – it’s called gibberish.

Also, my sense of achievement have changed drastically. Changing her diaper I think deserves an award.

I talk non-stop. Sometimes even in my sleep. One, two buckle my shoe and many more.

I can carry ten kilos in just one hand. And now, I have well-toned biceps, only in my left arm.

And then, the sound of those hearty giggles and her long gibberish pretend phone calls, using the remote or her podgy palm makes me want to stay indefinitely in this upside down world.

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