SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!

I got my verrry first award!!! Yippeeeeeeee!!! Thank you so much Buzz!

The snappy headline notwithstanding- I read in the paper today that if you want people to like your blog the headline needs to be snappy. Crisp. Say it in as few words as possible, if you know what I mean.
Er, getting back to the post at hand, so where was I? Right, my very first award! GLOAT GLOAT GLOAT.
Ahem. I mean, you know how I normally handle these things with my trademark grace and equanimity, so after I had finished putting Nikki to bed (she got a tad frightened with all the whooping and war cries and running around the house yelling about my first award) I bounded up to P as he walked through the door, screeching that I'd been awarded.
"Really? How? Where?" he asked with a puzzled look, scanning the living room for signs of a trophy.
Bah! What does he know? I bet he's never been anybody's blogger buddy!
I think I need to pass this award on to my other blog buddies, so I am going to come back and do that properly, giving it the time and (mind)space it deserves. Am all out of both now what with the impending trip to the in-laws and the million and one other things I need to do for the upcoming mundan and ear piercing and first birthday party and.... aaaaarrrgh!

Thank you SO much again, Buzz, for the award, you've totally made my virtual day, and come to think of it, the non virtual bits of it too :)

The tag that never was and other random updates

I got my very first tag a few days ago from MRC and after dealing with this with my trademark grace and equanimity (SCREEEECH!!!!! I've been TAGGED!! Tell anyone with ears about it right from S to the elderly aunt in upstairs balcony!! Call the husband to GLOAT GLOAT GLOAT- bet nobody ever tagged you!!)I dithered and dawdled over it till I realized I had totally missed the deadline and now had the inglorious honor of not having completed my first tag. You can bet P is not going to let me live this down for the rest of my years of existence on this planet. You would win too.
Anyway, no point crying over spilt milk as they say, and the point remains that I got my very first tag and I feel like I belong in the blogosphere! Yayyyyyyyyyyy!!! Yes I'm very needy like that. Thank you MRC and please forgive me for not completing the tag. You will tag me again won't you? Pretty please?

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Nikki's first birthday is coming up soon and yours truly is in charge of organizing the budday pardy. Deep breath. Several deep breaths. Stay calm, STAY CALM. Oh God, I can't handle the pressure! I thought I had it all figured out at first. A simple birthday lunch with close family and friends, at a restaurant known for its lip smacking cuisine. Then I spoke to a few random people and found out that people go all out for these things. We're talking magic shows and puppeteers and tattoo artists and what not! Of course being the firm, decisive kinds this threw me into a right tizzy and I called P out of an urgent meeting to discuss the issue like two mature adults.
"I want a magic show!" I wailed like a banshee, "And puppets! And tattoos! And a dance floor with a DJ and dhinchak dhinchak music!"
"We can do all that if you want honey" said the wise husband "But there are hardly any kids at our party and I'm not sure the adults will enjoy a puppet show. Er, and what do you need a tattoo for?"
He has a point of course. About the lack of kids at the party I mean, I really don't need a tattoo. There are less than five kids I think and they're all around Nikki's age so they probably won't appreciate a magic show. And we have a pretty mixed group of family and friends, so there can't be a one size fits all as far as the entertainment goes. So I'm thinking we'll go with the original plan. A cake cutting ceremony, a lavish lunch buffet (the chef is going to hang up his chef's hat and take sanyaas in the Himalayas if I hound him any more), mood music, and hopefully a pleasant and relaxed afternoon spent with some of the people who care about Nikki. Any ideas about how I can make the day special for Nikki and the guests are most welcome!

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We're off on a short holiday to the in-laws next week for Nikki's mundan which I am totally dreading. This is a custom in P's family and ideally we would have liked to do it when Nikki was around eight or nine months old, but the swine flu bug (heh heh! just kidding bug!) had other things in mind and we had to postpone our trip. I hope its not too much of an ordeal for Nikki, but that apart I think it will be quite a relief to get her hair cut, given that it has grown all straggly and unmanageable and is always in her face. I spend the day following her around and trying to pin it back and stuff but the child will have none of it. The sad part is she won't have any hair on her birthday, coz straggly or not, it does look rather cute :) Oh well. I hope it grows back all nice and silky and then I can get it cut into a cute little bob and pin it up with some pretty clips and bows. If she lets me.
Note to Self: DO NOT turn into one of those obsessive parents always planning stuff for their kids. Yes, even the hair, it always starts with the hair. Just let her be. If she doesn't want clips and bows, drop it.

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Nikki seems to have developed a sudden fear of water these days. She used to be this complete water baby, but now just the sight of her tub is enough to give her the heebie jeebies. There go my plans of a half hour of fun water games every day. Reminder: Refer Note to Self again.
On a serious note I'm wondering what to do to make her comfortable with water. Any suggestions, anybody?
Oh and a few other things I had forgotten when I wrote the last Nikki-dom update.
Like the way she likes to jump out of my arms the minute I set her down on our bed and crawl very fast towards the headrest where all the pillows are stacked. Then she sinks her face into the pillows and giggles, totally blissed out :) These little things make her so happy. I wish we adults could be as uncomplicated.
I've taken to keeping her awake for five minutes extra whenever I know P is about to reach home so that he can spend a little time with her. These five minutes are probably the happiest five minutes of the day for both of them as they play some silly games and Nikki is usually in fits of giggles till she finally goes to sleep, tired out.
Oh and did I mention the rousing reception P gets when he's back from work? No such thing for me of course. I'm the ghar ki murgi all right, daal barabar. Stale daal, too. I get a cold glance thrown my way at best. The "Oh there you are, change my diaper will ya?" kind.
Anyway, getting back to Nikki-updates, her love for all things musical is just growing by the day. She loves music and starts jigging up and down the minute there's even the hint of a tune. I think she may grow up to be a great dancer. Maybe I should think about signing her up for some dance classes when she grows a little older.
Reminder: Just get the Note to Self tattooed on forehead, will be easier to remember that way.

Weekend Tales, Concluding Part: Nikki's First Holi

I've just realized that when one goes and writes a post titled Weekend Tales and then goes on to add Part One in a burst of impulsive inspiration, one better come back and finish it before the next weekend rolls around. So onward ho to the second and concluding part of the Weekend Tales.

Holi morning didn't start off too well with both the maids deciding to play hooky. My part time help, who does the cleaning has been systematically bumping off members of her extended family over the last fortnight, possibly in anticipation of the long Holi weekend. "Father in law's brother went poof!" she explained gracefully two weeks ago when I looked askance at her for having not turned up the previous day. Apparently the relative in question had kicked the bucket after a cardiac arrest, and she had had to take the day off. A few days later it was the maternal uncle's cousin, who smashed his head because the ceiling collapsed on it and then the paternal chachi who met with a road accident. Just when I had resigned myself to a maid who seemed to be blessed with more than her fair share of worldly woes, she turned up the day before Holi and said that she needed the weekend off because her father in law's brother had had a cardiac arrest.

"What?!" I screeched looking at her agape. I have my flaws, but a weak memory isn't one of them. "What do you mean he had a cardiac arrest? He just died two weeks ago!"
"This is the other one" she explained patiently, the way one does to an obdurate child. "There are five of them you know."
I would have believed her too if she hadn't gone about her chores humming under her breath and swaying her hips to Uff Teri Adaa on her mobile headphones (yes, they are like that only in these parts).

Anyway I was just about dealing with that when S turned up on Holi morning and said she wanted the day off too. Now I have nothing against the help taking days off, especially so on festivals, as long as they inform me in advance. I had told them as much a few days before Holi, asking them if they wanted a holiday and they had both declined. Clearly they are more in favour of springing nasty surprises. I was telling S as much when our friends S & K landed up at our doorstep armed with colors, and S used the opportunity to make good her escape, throwing a cheeky Happy Holi at me as I glowered at her retreating figure. I fumed and fretted for a bit, wearing the living room rug thin with my pacing, when I remembered that it was Nikki's first Holi and the least I could do was make sure she had a good time.So we bunged Nikki into her pram and donning some old tees and tracks headed downstairs where our society had organized a Holi party and a glamorous sounding rain dance.

The kids from the society were spread out all over the society lawns, looking like little warriors, complete with double bottle packs strapped to their backs and strategically aimed pichkaaris, but apart from a few menacing shrieks thrown our way they pretty much left us alone after catching sight of Nikki. Nikki on her part was fascinated by all the riotous activity around her and was looking this way and that, all agape. We passed a makeshift 'Holi stall' heaped with gujjiyas and thandai and made our way towards the dhinchak dhinchak beats emanating from the venue of the rain dance. This was clearly where all the action was happening, we realized as we got there and spotted the multitudes of revelers dancing in gay abandon. Now our society is full of expats, making for an interesting fusion of Koreans and Iranians and Canadians, and they seem to enjoy all the Indian festivals even more than the resident natives. I first noticed this during Diwali, as I watched a group of expats letting off a series of firecrackers with ear splitting war cries at 3 am as the rest of the world slumbered on. They were at it even ten days down the line, making it necessary for some society members to intervene and politely remind them that the festival had ended long back and could they please postpone the merry making till next year. Clearly, the ticking off hadn't dampened their enthusiasm any and they were all out in full force to celebrate Holi the way they thought fit. One enthu chappie, who'd probably had one glass of bhaang too many was running around with a box full of eggs, threatening to pelt the rest of the crowd and the security guys were beginning to hover around zealously. We watched safely from the sidelines, till our friend S, overcome with the Holi spirit smeared some color on a passing Korean. The guy looked stunned for a minute before shaking his head wildly and charging towards us with an ear splitting shriek, and we noticed that he had a bucket full of what looked like colored muck in his hand. The sight was too much for Nikki to bear and she promptly burst into tears, making me beat a hasty retreat towards the basement parking, from where I scurried into the safety of the elevators.

P & S were not so lucky and they turned up at home a little later covered in purple goop, startling the daylights out of Nikki who refused to have anything to do with them till they were scrubbed clean.
We spent a quiet afternoon at home, playing with Nikks and were joined by some friends later in the evening. Nobody was in the mood to step out for dinner and we were considering the various home delivery options when P decided it was time to don the chef's hat and dish up some P specials. Now P is a fabulous cook but I gently reminded him that the groceries in our home that day were running dangerously low. Clearly I had underestimated his culinary abilities. Give me some onions, tomatoes and garlic, a bowl of cooked rice and a can of baked beans, and I'll be on the phone in the next five minutes dialing Dominoes. Give the same stuff to P and he'll saute the onions and garlic, puree the tomatoes, blend them in with the rice and baked beans, garnish generously with grated cheese and bake the stuff till you get a mouth watering Mexican-ish dish. And he didn't stop at that. He took all of the leftovers in the fridge, including Nikki's khichdi, kneaded them along with some atta into a soft, pliant dough and made some amazing Leftover Parathas. It may not sound terribly appetizing, but they were honestly the best parathas I've ever eaten, and the rest of the group gathered at home thought so too! The dishes were licked clean till they sparkled and we sat around, content and stuffed, singing odes to P the Master Chef.

We were slipping into a gentle, food induced stupor when the doorbell clanged, and two more friends, A & A, breezed in. Now A & A are famous for their Holi parties, where the bhaang flows freely and where the venue of the party resembles a dormitory at the end of the day with stoned men and women sprawled out all over the place as far as the eye can see. This year though A & A had not hosted a party, choosing instead to party hop all over town and partake generously of the bhaang and other beverages that other people were offering. It was no surprise then that they were in rollicking high spirits and after wishing everyone a merry Christmas and a very happy Diwali they proceeded to smear us with colors, before making an exit as sudden as their entry.

"Oh I hope I didn't use that permanent color on you dude!" A called out to me gaily as he left, causing me to snap out of any left over stupor and begin scrubbing my floors valiantly. I was lucky and the floor was spotless in no time. "Thank God he hadn't used the permanent one!" I said breathlessly to P when I was done with the scrubbing. That's when he pointed out that A had used a different color on my face. Another half hour of scrubbing later I knew where the permanent color was. And so did the rest of society, when I went to the gym the next morning with flaming pink and purple cheeks looking like a Red Indian who had forgotten to take off the war paint.
Sigh. I told you my list of embarrassing anecdotes can top yours any day.

Weekend Tales, Part One: On The Trail Of Bacchus

We had a rather colorful start to the month this time round with the well timed Holi weekend. Saturday saw us pile into a car with a couple of friends and drive off towards Chateau Indage Vineyards on the trail of Bacchus. The road towards the vineyards is notoriously accident prone or so we were told and the highway we took was liberally peppered with nuggets such as these:
'Safety on road is safe-tea at home!',
'Better to be Mr Late than late Mr!',
'This is Highway not Runway!' and
'Make love not war, but nothing on the road!'.
I was itching to take a couple of snaps but Nikki, having taken it upon herself to declare war on her car seat, was in an exceptionally frolicky mood and not wanting to risk the digicam under the circumstances, I dropped the idea.The wacky road signs resulted in regular fits of giggles as we motored cautiously along and much fun was had by all including Nikki who was chuckling and nodding her head wisely in a 'I'm so totally getting this joke dude!' way.

We reached the vineyards in good time and hurried towards the main desk for the wine tour we had booked earlier during the day, only to be told in curt tones that we were precisely five minutes late, akin to heresy in these parts, and the wine tour thereby stood canceled. Luckily our friend S turned out to be quite the Bond at handling such situations, having had years of experience of dealing with recalcitrant distributors and some chest thumping and this is not done-ing on his part later, the vineyard guys finally agreed to give us the tour. We had an hour to kill before the tour started, and by now the innards were beginning to make their displeasure felt with the occasional gentle growl so we trooped towards the restaurant for lunch. I had read a couple of favorable reviews on the net about the Chateau Indage restaurant and as we looked for a table large enough to accommodate the brood, the gastric juices were beginning to rev up in eager anticipation of the succulent kebabs and melt in your mouth tikkas partaken of by the net reviewers. I paused for a minute to do a quick scan of the items listed on the large, glistening black board that was placed strategically at the entrance of the restaurant.

"Mushroom tikka, hara bhara kebab, dahi...." I read out "that's rather a strange item for today's special don't you think?" I inquired of P. "Dahi? Do you think they have a special kind of dahi here? Specially fed cows perhaps?"
"Err that's not the list for today's special honey" P replied eying the blackboard, "Its the list of what they don't have."
And true enough, a closer inspection of the blackboard revealed "Today NOT available" etched in minutely fine print at the top! Feeling a tad dejected I trudged towards our table, visions of the mushroom tikka quickly turning into dust in my mind's eye, but the menu looked promising enough and I had cheered up by the time a rather depressed looking waiter by the name of Gopal turned up at our table to take the order.

"We'll take the veg kebab platter Gopal" we informed the waiter who promptly began looking like he was on the verge of a having a coronary.
"Too long, too long!" he muttered "It will take forty five minutes Sir! You will miss the wine tour!"
"Oh all right get us the paneer tikka kebabs" we conceded and Gopal smacked his forehead and began wringing his hands despairingly "We are fresh out of paneer Sir! I was just about to put it up on that board there. I swear!"
"Err what about the corn cheese fritters" we asked a tad nervously but that made Gopal look like he was about to burst into tears so we just gave up and asked him to get us whatever he wanted. That seemed to cheer him up significantly and he buzzed off happily while my friend K and I, the two young, oh alright, the two NEW mums in the group got busy with shoveling some food into our respective offspring. Gopal was back by the time we were done with the shoveling, with some food which was just about passable, but we were ravenously hungry by then and attacked it as soon as it landed on our table.

Lunch done, we set off on the first leg of the tour which was at the factory where the grapes were sorted and crushed, post picking. The tour was conducted by an earnest looking chappie who obviously took his day job very seriously and he looked pretty disappointed at our apparent lack of seriousness. "Please do not make the Mary" he said to S in a beseeching tone as he ribbed me and K about something and we proceeded on the rest of the tour with reverential silence, half expecting him to turn around and snap "Finger on the Lips!" if we so much as uttered a peep. I was considering making side notes in my pocket diary to please earnest chappie as we reached the bottle corking machine when we were joined by another family, headed by a beefy looking chappie with a surprisingly girlish voice. This guy was taking the wine tour as seriously as earnest chappie would have wanted anyone to. "Ah the wine corking machine!" he squeaked in an awed tone and proceeded to ask earnest chappie a series of questions about its six sigma certification that would have put even the CP* kings from our b-school days to shame.
* Class Participation, we used to get marks for this. No prizes for guessing who would've aced the score at the wine tour!

Thankfully for the rest of us, that bit of the tour ended soon after and we were escorted to the vineyards where a plump crop of grapes awaited us. The guide showed us a few different types of grapes and then informed us that this year's crop was terribly damaged due to heavy rains around Nasik. Which means that the price of wines in 2011-2012 is expected to skyrocket. He left us with some kind advice on how we would be wise to stock up our cellars and we found ourselves free to roam around in the vineyard, chomping on the occasional luscious grape. Nikki, thoroughly bored by all the non stop lecturing and quiet trooping around in the wine factory was thrilled to be out and about again and was happy to sample a few grapes which she seemed to like. It was a quiet, mellow afternoon with a gentle breeze and the merry chirping of birds and we would have been quite happy to aimlessly loiter around for a bit if it hadn't been for S who suddenly started letting out blood curdling screams and hopping up and down on one foot. Further investigation revealed that overcome with the adventurous spirit, S had ventured further than the rest of us into the vineyards and had managed to disturb a rather busy ant hill. The angry denizens thereof had marched up his trousers in quest of revenge and had finally managed to invade the more sensitive areas of his anatomy, resulting in the afore mentioned hopping and screeching. K and I offered a fervent prayer to the Lord that it hadn't been us with Nikki and A in the line of the ants' ire and ignoring the vile looks S shot at us, we cut short the vineyard excursion and headed back to the Chateau Indage restaurant for the last and most important leg of the tour, the wine tasting.

Which is really the real reason we had driven all the way there of course. That, and the expansion of the mental horizons (yes, yes, Nikki's!) project I have taken on, inspired by Aneela. I mean it was bound to be a learning experience, all those grapes, what? Plus you have the potential for teaching colors- green, purple, red (the ants and S, after he had made his intimate acquaintance with them) and the learning possibilities are enormous!

Anyway, so we got back for the tasting which is full paisa vasool at 150 bucks per head, for 6 glasses (25 ml each, I think it was) of any wine the eye can see on the mind boggling menu and in some time we were perched happily on the bar stools making up toasts and cheers. A happy happy forty five minutes of swirling and sipping later we traipsed back to the cars for the drive back home. I fed Nikki her evening meal just before we hit the road and was congratulating myself on her model behavior all through the day (I am the primary caregiver aren't I? Why should P take any credit?) when she decided the calm before the storm had well and truly passed and started howling lustily. It took me a full forty five minutes of rocking, patting, crooning-till-croaky and attempting-to-feed till I finally figured out she may be thirsty and handed her her sipppy cup. It turned out the poor baby was thirsty after all and after a few large gulps she flung the sippy cup away, curled up in my arms and went to sleep, leaving me free to torment myself with thoughts of what an imperviously imperceptible mother I am.

Thankfully (for P) I was out of my blue funk by the time we got back and after a quick meal of momos, which was all we had place for what with all that wine still jostling around in the insides, we parted ways with our friends and headed back home. Nikki continued to remain blissfully asleep, barely awakening for a quick formula feed and change of clothes, and went right back to sleep when I put her in her cot, nodding her head reassuringly a few times in her sleep as I patted her.

Which brings me to the end of Saturday and I would go right on with recounting what we did on Sunday and Monday, for it was a rather packed weekend this one, except that I seem to have gone on and on and written an exceptionally long winded post, about what was really just a very short day trip. So I'll leave it at that for now and come back later to tell you all about Nikki's first Holi. And on that note, wish you all a very (tad belated) happy Holi and hope you had a great time celebrating!

Eleven months and counting!

Hello people! I celebrated my eleven months birthday this week and I decided it was about time I made my debut on the blog scene. That and the fact that The Mommy Woman doesn't look like she's up to writing a post anytime soon. Last seen she was wandering off, a glazed look in her eyes, muttering about how kids grow up on you all too soon and some such thing. She has also taken to sitting on the couch in a semi trance reminiscing with tears in her eyes about the days of exclusive breast feeding, now that we do that only once a day. The woman has me flummoxed I tell you! I mean all these months she was referring to herself as a cow and Mother Dairy and generally lamenting her complete loss of freedom and now when I'm all for giving her a free rein all she can do is moan and groan about it. She has even given up her morning gym session and hangs around waiting for me to wake up instead, so we can do our quick round of nursing.

Anyway, moving on, I thought I'd regale you with an account of what I've been up to in my last month of babyhood. Coz next month on, I'm all set to join the tantalizing toddler brigade, wooo hooo! I thought I'd begin by telling you all about the supreme oratory skills I've honed over the last one month. My superior linguistic abilities are lost on The Mommy Woman of course who insists on reducing my prowess to mere drivel with nick names like my 'cute little chatterbox'. Bah! There are other such embarrassing monikers too. Like the other day when we got into a cab and she insisted on referring to me repeatedly as her 'golu molu'. So much so that the goofy cab driver asked her if my name was Golu Molu!! The ignominy of it all! Anyway I got my own back by chewing the cab's rather nice looking, brand new upholstery, that had the desired effect on the two of them. Golu Molu indeed!

Speaking of chewing, I've been doing a lot of that lately. It seems to satisfy those sharp white things sprouting in various places in my mouth,that are causing me severe discomfort, especially at night. The Mommy Woman and Papa Man stay up with me trying to comfort me, but they haven't been doing a very good job so far and all this lack of sleep is beginning to make me cranky. The lack of shut eye hasn't seemed to dampen The Mommy Woman's enthusiasm for the sharp white, objects though; each new arrival is greeted with excited squeals and much poking and prodding around in my mouth. These days she has taken to shoving a cold, rubbery green thing in my mouth with loud cries of 'Chew Nikki chew, its a teether!', quite unlike the 'No No Nooo' that greets me whenever I'm peacefully chewing the bathroom mat or the carpet. Of course I will have none of this high handed behavior. Nobody tells me what to chew, and I make sure that rubbery green thing gets nowhere near my mouth!

I've been having great fun ever since I discovered I can get around everywhere using my hands and knees. It looks tough but there's nothing to it really, you just propel yourself forward using both hands and knees, moving them faster for increased speed. No more lying around on that boring play mat watching the ceiling, with the only change of scene happening when you roll over. Now I can zip around all over the house! I even play peek-a-boo with The Mommy Woman sometimes, hiding behind the couch so she can come find me. It helps keep her occupied. And then there's the fun playtime when The Papa Man comes back in the evening, we zip around from room to room chasing each other till I can barely keep my eyes open and then The Papa Man puts me to bed. Hey wait-a minit! Its a PLOY to get me sleepy, that tricky bugger! Wait till he gets back tonight, the slippery eel. Do I have a surprise for HIM, I'll stay up all night a-ha-ha-ha!

The other fun thing I like doing is rolling over and crawling off at top speed. I don't do this all the time though, just for select occasions. Like diaper changes. Or massages. Or clothes changing time. Great fun. Even more than the exhilarating feeling of freedom, is the effect it has on The Mommy Woman. No wait, actually its even more fun when she takes of my diaper to clean my bum and I put my hand straight into all the poop. Boy does that send her into a tizzy! She tried pulling a fast one on me initially by putting something in my hand to distract me, but I saw through that soon enough. I don't think she was terribly pleased when I shoved my hand along with her favorite lip balm into the poop.

Moving on to more fun things, my favorite time of day is when we go to the park, mostly in the evenings. I get all excited whenever the door to our appartment is opened and we step out, but sometimes its just to wave goodbye to other people who're leaving which is most disappointing. I so love going out myself! Evenings in the park are even more fun because I get to meet my friends, other people my own size. We even talk the same language and I have great fun babbling with my pal A and riding around the park in my pram. It'll be even more fun when I start running around, The Mommy Woman tells me. Hah! Little does she know. Anyway, at least she won't feel bad about missing her gym session then, I'll make sure she does enough running around herself.

My favorite place in the house these days is the kitchen. That's the best place to scan the ground for interesting looking things, take my word for it. Why just yesterday, I found a large red thing which crackled each time I pressed it! Mirchi Mirchi! The Mommy Woman screamed and made a big fuss about washing my hands after that, which I quite enjoyed too. I'm quite a water baby and love splashing around at bath time in my tub. I even have a book which The Mommy Woman reads to me at bath time. It really is about time she got me some new books though. I mean story telling is great fun but how many times can you listen to the same stuff over and over again? I've been trying to tell her as much by flinging away the old regulars that we read every day with a look of great disdain, and she finally seems to be getting the hint. She was telling The Papa Man something about getting me new books last evening. I hope they get me something interesting. Maybe something about 'How To Stay Awake, Seven Straight Days In A Row And Keep Your Parents That Way Too'. I have been doing a decent job of it for the last two nights, but then this pain with the sharp white things gets in the way and spoils the fun a bit.

Ooh here comes The Mommy Woman now with that sinister 'time for a nap' look in her eyes. Now that's something I detest! I try my best to wriggle and wail out of The Mommy Woman's grasp but she can be a real Nazi sometimes! Best to lie low for a bit, maybe she'll forget about napping. Specially if I coo and give her one of my sweet baby smiles, that usually does the trick.
Catch y'all later then, gotta go now before I'm packed off to the cot. Drop me a line or two if you'd like me to come by more often. The Mommy Woman has been threatening to do one of her long, rambling, sentimental posts to commemorate my first birthday next month but I can come back after that if you like. I should be able to manage it, given that I plan to keep her busy with learning how to watch me walk. Until then, buh-bye!

Mommy made a boo boo

Eeeps. I've just about recovered from the most Horribly Mortifying Experience (HME)this evening. Just about enough to write this post. I'll be taking myself off to curl up in a ball and whimper under the blanket post the post, a-ha-ha-ha.
Right. The HME seems to have damaged the killer sense of wit as well.

Getting back, so there I was taking my customary evening jroll (jog-stroll, its what I do okay?) in the park, while S watched over Nikki and tried to bung in some formula into her. I was jrolling absent mindedly, minding my own business when suddenly I spotted HIM. There he was, sitting in front of my helpless Nikki's pram FEEDING her formula, while S just stood there simpering. What the hell?!! I thought to myself, bubbling over with rage. How can this MORON just randomly feed my child like that? I mean he probably doesn't even know how to feed a baby! Even S has just about managed to get the hang of it after WEEKS of painstaking effort and training! And we've just started feeding her with the sippy cup, what if he tilts it incorrectly? What if the flow is too fast? What if Nikki chokes! Aaaaarrrghhhh!! I charged towards them like a raging bull determined to take their collective cases. Bajao them like there was no tomorrow. Or no bajaoing for that matter.

"WHAT THE HELL are you doing feeding MY child??!!!" I yelled and froze mid sentence, gaping like a goldfish as I locked eyes with P. My husband. Just sitting there, feeding his child. "Oh hi honey" P said mildly looking up from Nikki and the sippy cup "Err she's my child too isn't she?"

Quick flashback to some eighteen years ago when an impressionable twelve year old was told at her regular eye check up that the twin sources of sight on her face were about to get some company. Of the glassy kind. Being the impressionable kind the young lass thought back to the time when a wise friend had told her 'Guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses'.
Egad! said the young lass to herself, I shan't wear them either! Not unless its absolutely necessary you know. Of course the guys and the passes continued to remain absent, but the lass plodded on undeterred in her resolve of not wearing glasses. Unless it was absolutely necessary of course. What followed were a series of comic (in hindsight) events wherein the lass looked through some of her loved ones, gave the blatant cold shoulder to the closest of friends and waved or smiled at complete strangers triggering an assortment of unfortunate events.

And then one day something really embarrassing happened. The young lass trotted out one evening after college to a spot where a good friend was supposed to pick her up for a play. Good friend drove a white Maruti 800 and was often spotted wearing a red cap. As the lass neared the appointed spot she caught sight of a white Maruti 800 waiting. A figure in a red cap lurked behind the wheel. She dove right in with a loud and cheery HIII! only to freeze mid way and glance in horror at the complete stranger who was glancing back. In complete horror himself. "M-m-m-m-madam aapko kya chahiye?" the poor soul implored beseechingly. The lass jumped out as swiftly as she had jumped in, her face a fiery shade of red. Only to see her good friend doubled over with laughter a few feet away. He had been waiting for the lass and had been stunned to see her march past and jump into another car. Of course he recovered from the shock soon enough to find the whole situation terribly funny and made it a point to narrate the incident to every single person they met later that day, with a generous dollop of masala added for good effect.

To cut a long, agonizing story short, the lass decided that Enough was Enough and Something Had To Be Done. She launched a valiant search for the perfect solution and soon enough she discovered it. The wonderful world, as seen from the perfect, safe and not overtly glassy world of contact lenses.
Life was bliss. Life went on. The young lass even met a few of those guys who did make passes and she married one of them. They even had a baby. And then life got busy. The disposable contact lenses the not so young anymore lass used were used up quickly. The not so young lass didn't have the time to go buy new ones. Being a tired new mum as well as a lazy jackass she didn't go out to get new ones. Of course she didn't wear her glasses either. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. Even though she was blind as a bat, well nearly so, without them. Not that she wanted any guys to makes passes at her of course. No No No, she was so over that. *Smiles ingratiatingly at P* It was just, you know, force of habit.

As the observant reader may have guessed the lass (not so young anymore)is me and the long and agonizing (to narrate, YOU better enjoy reading it)story is mine. So there I was, a familiar shade of red, What The Hell'ing my husband as he looked back at me unfazed. After six years of marriage, he goes through these things unblinking. Comes with the territory.
In my defense, P was supposed to be traveling that day and return much much later at night so I could be excused at being caught completely off guard and thinking the male figure I saw feeding my baby was some random stranger. I mean my husband was supposed to be a thousand miles away. How the hell could I even have guessed that he would land up in the park of all places and that too at 5pm?

I was just telling myself as much and beginning to feel a tiny bit better. I mean these things happen right? It could have happened to anybody!
And then I heard her. My house help S, rolling over with mirth as she narrated the funeee storee to her gaggle of friends, who in turn took it upon themselves to spread the word, far and wide. Furtive amused glances were shot my way and I heard a few muffled giggles amidst S's brays of laughter, curse her blasted tonsils.

Gathering the few remaining shreds of dignity around me I picked up Nikki in my arms and looked her in the eye. "Mommy made a boo boo honey" I told her ruefully and marched off to the safe embrace of my home. Where I shall continue to remain for the rest of my blasted life.
Only stepping out under cover of darkness to purchase some new lenses. And a wig and some fake teeth while I'm at it to restart life with a new identity.

*Edited to add: Comments expressing sympathy and commiseration are MOST welcome. As are narrations of your own embarrassing experiences. Trust me, they can't beat my own.*

All about my baby...

...who's inching towards toddler-hood with a rather alarming alacrity these days. *Warning: Long barmy parent post ahead!*

Ten months, three weeks and four and a quarter days, 'Circle of Moms' wisely informed me as I logged on to Facebook last night. 46 weeks!!! screamed the thousand newsletters that regularly flood my mailbox every week (they would of course, given that 46 weeks ago, awash with the maternal hormones raging through my system I signed up for all the newsletters of all the parenting sites available like a perfect chump).
46 weeks!!! I repeated to myself in wonder. She'll be a year old before I know it! So I decided to do some serious introspection on whether this blog is doing justice to its raison d'etre, namely, capturing Nikki's babyhood and I've realized that if there is one area where I fall woefully short it is the updates.

I suppose ten months, three weeks and four and a quarter days is not the best time to do an 'update' update, but address this chink in the blog armor we must and I'm going to settle instead for chronicling a typical day with Nikki, given that we seem to have fallen into a rather nice routine these days. Dear God, please let me not hex myself by writing this.
Anyway, getting back, when Nikki was about five months old I set out on the path of getting her into a routine with an uncommon zeal and vigour. The well spaced out daily feeds, day time naps(we know how that went, but you can't blame me for not trying!) and evening bedtime routine were all given a valiant shot after extensive perusal of the omnipresent newsletters that were only too glad to tell me how it should be done.
It all blew up in my face of course, but you already knew that didn't you? After a few days of wiping Cerelac out of my hair at 11pm (which is when the baby was supposed to be in sweet slumber, nicely tucked in her crib) and being rudely kicked awake at 3am for a feed (which of course the baby shouldn't be demanding at all, having settled rather well into her new routine)I threw in the towel with a disgusted scheduling, schmoodling and fell back into the easy life, where days have no set pattern. And then, just like that Nikki fell into a routine! And with the exception of the occasional off day when she awakens at an unearthly hour or insists on not taking a single nap though the day, just to ensure that the old parents don't get too used to the easy life, the routine pretty much seems to have stuck on. Dear God, please let me not hex myself by writing this.

We begin the day to the sound of gentle coos and babbles if Nikki awakens with mild stirrings of hunger or more vigorous ma-ma-maas! if the hunger pangs are more pronounced, anytime between 6 to 8am. After a quick (sob!)nursing session, Nikki literally shoves me out of her face and gets on with the significantly more enjoyable activity of kicking P awake if he happens to be dozing nearby. Mission accomplished, she spends the next half hour playing with P while he gets ready for work and generally zipping around the house on all fours trying her best to get close to those fascinating objects worthy of only the most reverential pursuit: the shoe rack and the dustbin.
I try and get another nursing session in midway, more to soothe my own battered ego than anything else and am more often than not curtly told where to get off by an indignant Nikki, angry at being diverted from the riveting activity of attempting to chew the broom.

Humbled, I make Nikki's breakfast and at 9am she has her first solid feed for the day:a bowl of Cerelac with a mashed egg yolk. The twin onslaught of a well fed tummy and a feeling of tiredness, what with all the pre-breakfast activity, augurs well for the battle weary sleep fairy and Nikki takes her first nap soon after breakfast. The nap ranges for anywhere from twenty minutes on the tough days to an hour and a half on the truly blessed ones. Post nap Nikks is up and about again, so we either go down to the park for some lolling around in the sun or stay home and play with the ever growing collection of toys that is threatening to overtake our home. At noon Nikki's khichdi is served up for the midday meal and we begin the onerous task of feeding her; who wants to eat khichdi when you can instead explore the wonderful contents of the shoe cabinet? My household help S, who otherwise is remarkably competent at getting on my nerves, redeems herself each day at lunchtime by staging a (screechy, but helpful nonetheless) song and dance performance for a sulky Nikki while I quickly shovel in spoonfuls of khichdi. A bowl or two later, we're done and I plonk myself in the balcony with a well fed and content Nikki in my lap. We spend a blissful half hour in the mellow afternoon sun before heading inside for Nikki's daily massage and bath.
The massage bit is usually full of activity as Nikki rolls over as soon as she's placed on the massage mat and trots off speedily in the opposite direction, with me scrabbling around trying to get a grip on her, no easy task at the best of times and even more tricky with hands dripping with oil. The relaxing, warm bath that follows post massage is relatively easier with Nikki firmly ensconced in her bath seat (thank you Carter, how about a large bath seat for toddlers next?)and we follow this up with some fun time in her baby bathtub. Much splashing and giggling later I fish Nikki and her plastic fish and ducks out of the bath and attempt to towel her dry. I say attempt, because as soon as she's placed on the bed, Nikki does a replay of the roll over and trot off activity, protesting vehemently against all attempts at being dried and clothed. Did I mention that the bath is intended to relax Nikki to the point of sleep? Important point that, because it tends to have the exact opposite effect in Nikki's case. While sleep may be the logical next step for other babies after a massage and a bath, all it seems to do for this child of mine is make her bounce off the walls. It does have a lag effect though, for half an hour or so later we do manage to settle her down for a nap and this one usually lasts for an hour, sometimes two! Dear God, please let me not hex myself by writing this.

Refreshed yet again after all this napping, Nikki awakens to some porridge or a fruit smoothie at 4ish. Much excitement follows soon after as we wheel out the pram and Nikki figures we're going out and we make an appearance at the park amid much squealing and merry shrieking. That would be Nikki & S of course, I follow them at a respectable distance, maintaining only the highest standards of decorum. We spend some time strolling around the park and while we're at it try to bung some formula into Nikki from her new sippy cup. A few rounds of the park later we perch ourselves in a shady spot so Nikki can watch the other kids play and run around. I send my daily request to the Almighty that Nikki will start walking soon so that she and I can run around the park too, in spite of warnings from older, wiser and significantly more weary mums who insist I will look back fondly on the days before mobility descended on us. Then its time to head home again for some story telling or listening to music, before the last feed for the day followed by bedtime. Nikki has settled into the happy practice of going to bed by 8.30ish and these days is quite content to sleep though the night. Dear God, please let me not hex myself by writing this.
If P gets back before Nikki goes to bed he usually spends some time playing with her and puts her to bed himself, and we then pretty much have the evening to ourselves. This, combined with the sleeping through the night bit has significantly reduced the anti social, snappy behavior observed in these parts earlier and the 7-8 hours of sleep (hallelujah! I did live to see the day!)I've been getting has revived the rusty resolve to get back on the fitness bandwagon.

So all in all, with this happy routine we seem to have settled into, life in Nikki-dom right now is pretty darn good. Dear God,... um you get the drift right? Please let this last!