I am sitting in my office and straightening my back. I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath, check the time on the clock, and it’s only 8:45 am. Yes, It’s only 8:45 am, and I feel that I am already half way through the day.
There are hardly any people in the office at this hour. I can breathe for a while. My mind is just replaying the activities from the morning. An early start, morning walk to clear the head and then rushing against the clock to get the babies ready for the day. Simultaneously making sure that the rooms are tidy and soiled diapers are not fluttering around. All days are just the same for me, and I have forgotten the concept of weekends.The only thing which distinguishes a weekday from a weekend is: There is no office or a school on Saturday and Sunday.
Sometimes I wonder why all the mothers are so worked up? Is this because we are made like this? I live in constant worry and fear. If I am not around my kids, then the worry is about what they are doing, did they eat well, did they sleep and various questions. And if I am around them, I fear that they should not get themselves hurt, they should learn new and useful things, proper habits should be picked up, food should be finished and a zillion other things. I am a chronic worrier.
Recently I celebrated my daughter’s third birthday, and soon enough my son’s first birthday will come. The candles on the cake make me realize that time is flying by. I get goosebumps when the reality dawns on me that very soon they will leave the cozy nest and fly far off. It feels like just the other day when they started calling me mommy. My heart used to melt when their puppy-like faces would look at me, with arms outstretched, waiting to be picked up. After a tiring day, when they come crawling and put their head in my lap, I thank God for such precious moments.
There are times when I tear my hair and wish that I had Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak so that nobody would be able to see me. I do not deny that there are times when I would just like to pack my bags and just go somewhere. Yes, we mothers are humans too, and there are times when we do feel weak and wonder where exactly our lives are going. Do fathers also feel the same kind of pressure?
I open my eyes and check the time, It’s 8.50 am. My mind runs faster than the time machine! I visualize my kids reading my articles and the books which I have written. (They better read as that will be the only legacy which I am going to leave for them!) I bet they will classify me as a “Treadmill Mother,” and I will be okay with this title. I am sure they will say “Mom, some of your articles were so haywire. You were jumping from one end to another,” and I will say, “Welcome to my world baby. I have done enough of dancing around with two super hyperactive children around.“
I get back to my work, and this rhyme is humming in my mind.
Walking in the jungle, walking through the jungle.
We are not afraid, we are not afraid.
one step, two step, three step, four