If everyone had a signboard in their hands…


If everyone had a signboard in their hands which described them in a few words, mine would read “Jealous Mother”. Written in a nasty, dark shade of green.

To my first-born,

People told me to look out for jealousy in you once your brother was born. But no. You surprised everyone and accepted
him. In your home, in your cot, in your stroller and in your mother’s arms. You took the situation really well.

I spent the first two weeks running to the bedroom if I left you two alone, checking up on the baby constantly, imagining
the worst and cooking up images of you hovering over the baby in a jealousy-induced rage. But no, except for the odd tantrum you have been good. Perhaps far too good.

Because I, your mother has behaved badly. She has turned into a jealous mother. One who craves for quality-time with you that she no longer gets. I miss you dear child, you who has turned
to others for your needs, you who has accepted this big change in your tiny heart with not a pang. I look on with a mixture of pride and bitterness.

Nary a cry or a whimper, you go behind your father ever the Daddy’s boy. You leave me with the baby in peace, and I
secretly wish for you to run back to me and cry, cause a scene. I know my wish would make things difficult, but just once?

I am lost in a day job, (which ends in the evening), and then a precious few hours at home. Where I spent feeding your brother, changing his diapers and rocking him to sleep. You run to thedoor, grinning as I come back home. You are happy to see me,but not clingy enough. I talk to you as I care for the baby. I
hold out my arms when the baby is asleep, but you wriggle away.
I try to be nonchalant when the baby cries and instead ofhurrying, I walk slowly, so you see and you know your place is
not lost.

Dear child of mine, who led me onto this enthralling, scary roller coaster ride of motherhood, who taught me to trust my
instincts and parent you, who smoothed out the rough egdes of my selfish youth, you of all people must realise, how much you mean to me.

You seem so much at peace with sharing your mother, that it scares me. Insecure, hormonal, crazy woman who I am.

Am I losing you?

“Of course not! He’s two and half years old, give him a break”
says my rationale.

“Hold on to him. Make him SEE you again” , whispers my
possessiveness.

These bitter-sweet feelings, they’ll fly away the following year and I’ll only remember the good times.

If everyone had a signboard in their hands which described them
in a few words, yours would read “IRREPLACEABLE”. In the colour
of the deepest shade of love. A fierce red. Remember that forever.

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