I answered my phone and the Brat’s baby voice floated down the line…
‘Mamma.. Didi’s not giving me pasta…. I don’t want to eat dal-chawal…please can I have pasta?’
I was so taken aback at the thought of him calling me to plead his case that I mumbled something about there being no pasta.
‘Yes, there is,’ said a determined little man. ‘I saw three packets in the larder.’
Call me a wuss, but I couldn’t say no. More so because I was taken aback by him calling me.
Sitting twenty kilometres away from your child and listening to his baby voice come down the line… the office sounds blur around you and you want to rush home to be with him.
He hangs up and you sit there staring at the phone in your hand, feeling quite lost. Someone else is nourishing my child, filling his belly, while I sit here writing about things that don’t matter for people who wouldn’t care if my byline disappeared and a new writer filled in my place.
This month’s Good Housekeeping carries an interview by Sonali Bendre where she says that she disagrees with the term of ‘fulltime mother’. She says that a mother is a mother all the time. While I dont like the idea of the midgets taking over my life entirely, I get what she is saying. I’m a wordsmith sitting at my desk pounding away at my keyboard to meet a deadline, but there’s a mother’s voice ringing in my head, telling me that time is flying and my son is old enough to pick up a phone, complain about lunch, plead his case for pasta and walk away with a piece of my heart in his hand. Was it only yesterday that breakfast, lunch, dinner and all the meals in between were breastmilk and taken without a word of complaint?