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Hi guys out there! Well, stories have been my first love because they make life. We all have stories to talk about, stories untold, stories locked in our hearts. I have been writing stories ever since they influenced me. Here I am with three fiction novels in my kitty. If you have a story you want to talk about, you can always write to me. Here you'll find my blog posts too which are sometimes funny and stupid because I choose to write what prevails within me. About me on a personal note: I love to write at any time. Some day, I want to be the person who creates a tiny difference in the book world. Apart from that, I do have common interests just like anybody else with an extra tint of passion for books. You can always write to me here chitalmehta1987@gmail.com or check my website here - www.chitalmehta.com

Saturday, December 10, 2016

My bluish black eye

There is so much that happens in a toddler’s world; if looked from the outside, it resembles something like a strand of web that weaves into forming a larger grid, with each passing day. In other words, a toddler’s universe expands almost every minute as he tries to explore, grasp, understand, react and surprises himself so often as he learns the ways of the world.

One of the things that my toddler has learnt to master is the skill of whacking. The first victim, being my husband who ended up with a bleeding finger after my toddler dug his teeth deep only to see what a bite into human skin feels like. (Must be fun because it has occurred quite often). My mother has often been attacked by sharp nails across her face by my toddler who finds it extremely funny when my mother makes a face. (Cut those nails, already – note to myself) Fortunately, I had been spared from the violence for quite a long time (Perhaps, he knows that I am the woman in his life). Alas, it didn’t last long.

Last night, I received what I call the badge of honor for being his parent. It was a little past his bedtime, which is usually somewhere around 9 PM. Husband, me and toddler were in bed, in an effort to get the toddler fall asleep. A few minutes into the ordeal, for some reason, the toddler decided to hit me – face to face. I felt a stinging painful sensation around my left eye, which I began to rub furiously. And then I reminded myself – Mommy law – ignore yourself, look at baby first. So, I began to rub my toddler’s forehead, assuming that’s where he hurt himself. Meanwhile, I called out to husband to nurse my left eye which was beginning to turn sore. Ten minutes later, the commotion came to an end. The screams and cries had died down, with the only sounds of two boys breathing soundly and of the air conditioning that filled the room.

Quietly, I tiptoed out of the room to examine my left eye which was now swollen like a small bag of air. I pressed it gently, hoping that it would disappear the next morning. I forgot all about it as I hit the bed, until next morning, when I checked myself in the mirror, I found my left eye bulging out like a marble with the color of bluish black. I was reminded of the men who get beaten up in the movies, who end up with sore eyes. So, that’s what a swollen blue eye looks like, I told myself as I squinted with my right eye. My left eye was, temporarily, not being very helpful to perform basic tasks such as seeing because of the swelling. Thank God for two eyes, one can be the backup for a while!

I began to wonder about the changes motherhood had imposed upon me since the time I carried the baby in my belly – hair fall that never ceases to stop (But I know, no mom has ever gone bald after delivering a baby, so I can relax), my jeans don’t make it past my hips (Yikes, the fluctuating weight gain challenges my desire to slim down), sleep has become a relative term (I wonder how does it feel to sleep for 7 hours, uninterrupted – such a distant dream, I say), the occasional forgetfulness (the time I discovered my phone from the laundry bag), the likes that have transformed to a playlist of rhymes and board books (I miss the smell of a paperback novel!) and of course a million other things which I won’t bothering describing here because who remembers, anyways?

I have been told this over and over – “stretch marks are the mark of a real mother” So true! But hey, so is the bluish black eye!

 I wonder if they’ll add it to the list. Hmmm. 

1 comment:

  1. A every mom's tale.Beautiful write up chital mehta