All in a day's work

It's been a long night. One of those in which your baby, troubled by teething, took ages to fall asleep, only to wake thrice at 1am, 3am and 5am, each awakening requiring an hour long session comprising a feed, rocking and soothing to sleep. Understandably, you're not feeling particularly perky the next morning. You're awake early nonetheless because it is the day you're having the Vile Female Relative over. The VFR, in town for a few days, has invited herself over for lunch and newly endowed with The Maturity That Comes with Motherhood, you have not avoided her like the plague, like you would have done otherwise.

So you're up and about, wanting to get yourself and baby ready for the visit. Its specially important that you get baby well fed and rested so that she's in a good mood during the visit. Not that you feel pressurized or anything, but the VFR has a habit of gloating about her 'model' three year old and you don't want any unpleasant comparisons. So you go about baby's morning routine- wash, feed and nap at the end of which she will awaken refreshed and cheerful. Having crossed the first two off your list, you commence the nap routine. Twenty minutes of rocking later, baby's blissfully asleep and you are making the transition from arms to cot. DING DONG! The doorbell startles both you and baby out of your collective wits. No sweat for you, but baby is awake. You bound to the door, handing baby over to your new maid. It's the person from X Bank, there in connection with opening your new bank account. Except that he's three days late and has arrived way past the clearly specified time limit of 9.30am. You tick him off and he goes on the offensive telling you how he's come all the way just to open YOUR account, so what if his timing sucks. You restrain yourself, what with The Maturity That Comes with Motherhood, complete the required paperwork and send him off. You commence the process of putting baby back to sleep. Ten minutes later, just as baby is drifting into dreamland..DING DONG! Friendly neighborhood chappie from X Bank again! He's forgotten to take your signature on one of the documents. With pursed lips you sign the doc and slam the door in his face. Meanwhile, new maid has tried to put baby to sleep and failed miserably. So you start rocking feverishly again with an eye on the clock. But as someone wisely said, time and tide wait for none, and in a matter of seconds the doorbell dings again.

The Vile Female Relative is at your doorstep, model son in tow. Your baby is still awake and understandably not cheerful, thanks to lack of nap. She lets out a howl as soon as the VFR takes her in her arms and continues in that vein for the next twenty minutes. You hurry into the bedroom, put baby to bed at last and hurry back to make polite conversation before lunch. You find the VFR gloating in your living room, while her son, you see, is running amok all over your previously neat house. You try and keep an eye on him as the VFR tells you how her son never, ever gave her any trouble with sleeping, he could just sleep anywhere, anytime and on his own. And he never, ever needed to be rocked. Um hum, you say, refusing to be provoked, now that you've got The Maturity That Comes with Motherhood. Instead you pounce on the model son as he tries to shred your favorite PG Wodehouse into bits and safely put your books away, as the VFR drones on in the background about how particular she is about her books and likes to maintain them in pristine condition.

A few nerve wracking hours later you've had lunch and the model son has finished massaging desert into your sofa cushions. Baby is awake too and attempting to crawl on her play mat. 'Doesn't she walk yet?' demands the VFR in horror. 'The model son was running at her age!' You ignore her, attributing the remark to a lapse in memory given that your baby is not yet 8 months old, and ask your maid to put baby down for a nap. She tries but being new needs help and so you intervene. 'You don't train your maids well!' begins the VFR right on cue, and proceeds to tell you how her maids don't even open their mouths unless she tells them to. She also adds that your baby wouldn't be so 'kamzor' if you'd trained your maid to massage her thrice a day to stimulate growth. Thankfully for VFR, coz by now you are beginning to lose it, her voice serves as white noise and baby falls asleep faster than usual. But just as you are about to put her down..DING DONG! You guessed it right, its the bank chappie again! This time he wants your photographs that he'd forgotten to take in the morning.

Baby, tired of all this disruption starts howling in right earnest. The VFR starts telling your maid how the model son was never clingy and cranky and never uttered a peep. You ignore all of them and start hunting for the photographs, realizing in the process that you need to get your papers more organized. You needn't have bothered of course, the VFR is peskily hovering behind you helping you realize the exact same thing, peppered with examples of her super organized home. You finally find the photographs and hand them over to bank chappie. 'Oh no Maydame!' barks he, 'We need snapes with white bakeground ownly!' You lose it. Deciding that The Maturity That Comes with Motherhood can go suck an egg, you send the bank chappie off with flaming ears and the 'snapes' that you'd found. You re-enter your living room to find the VFR analyzing the contents of your baby's diaper while ticking off your maid for baby's lack of potty training. The Maturity That Comes with Motherhood now a distant dream, you give the VFR a piece of your mind, and while you're at it also tick off the model son who is impersonating Spiderman on the wall with your favorite paintings. The VFR takes umbrage and says she may not stay for tea after all. You remind her that it wasn't on the anvil anyway, since she'd invited herself only for lunch. You part ways coldly with the VFR.

It's also time for your maid to leave, so you bathe and feed baby, read her a story and sing her a lullaby. Then you begin rocking her to sleep. She's just beginning to settle down when..atishoo..ATISHOO..ATISHOO! Your baby looks like the top of her head has blown off, as you sneeze with the worst timing ever. Must be the curse of the chappie from X Bank. Luckily, the husband walks in through the door right then, and as always, comes to the rescue. He rocks baby to sleep, orders your favorite pizza and spends the rest of the evening patiently listening to you bitch about the VFR. You begin to feel a whole lot better. The Maturity That Comes with Motherhood begins to seep back into your pores.

The next day you vent on your blog and seriously consider sending a link to the VFR. The husband dissuades you gently. You give in magnanimously. The VFR is still family after all. And then you sit the husband down and tell him all about the Maturity that comes with Motherhood.