I am a very private person and never like to share my personal life or photos with anyone other than family. But, that seems to be an another lifetime now.
When I joined this platform, never in my wildest dreams I had thought that I would present innumerable slices of my life here in a candid way. But as I opened up and bared my soul infront of many faceless but empathetic souls, I found out that writing was more therapeutic than visiting a 1000-bucks-an-hour counsellor. Thanks to the non-judgmental community of mothers who have faced myriad problems themselves in their lives, yet still find it in them to offer virtual love and hug to the grieving and guilty mothers equally. Reading those confessions, offering support and not expecting anything back. You all have made a difference in my life. So, I dedicate this series to all you wonderful mothers out there.
This happened in the year 2012 when my elder daughter was 2.5 years old and had just started with her play school.
I remember it to be a weekend. I was busy preparing lunch and had made my daughter sit on the kitchen slab.
I have to mention here that my elder daughter is extremely careful and patient. She had never fallen even once, not when she started out taking those baby steps, not when she learnt cycling. She has never gotten hurt nor gotten into any kind of trouble in all of her 12 years.
“Thud” There was a loud thump and before I could understand what had happened, I heard her ear-piercing cry. Picking her up from the kitchen floor, I first checked her head in case of any injury, as there was a sharp-edged cabinet close by. When I could find nothing, I felt relieved. Hugging her, I took her to the sofa to check again. She had just started framing sentences and mentioned in her broken Tamil that her leg was hurting. As I inspected, I saw no scratch, bruise or swelling. I thought she might be crying because of the shock.
I must say, she was the most pampered grandchild of the family then and she knew it. An adamant child, who many a times, cried inconsolably only for this anxious mother to realize later that it was just to seek attention.
Even after applying medicine and letting her sleep on it, she refused to walk in the evening. Inspecting and finding nothing yet again, her father and I took turns to try making her walk. She wasn’t really fond of attending her new school and cried habitually every morning to let her stay back home. So, we doubted that this might be an act to let her take an holiday.“No walk…No walk,” She kept repeating the same words like a parrot. We let her be and thought she would come to her usual cheery-self the next day and would have long forgotten about this. We took her to the paediatrician, just in case. Even he had the same thing to say. That, he saw nothing abnormal in her foot and it was just an effect of the aftershock that she was afraid to walk.
But even after two days, when she blatantly refused to take even a step, I was so pissed off. My husband was at office. I was determined to make her walk that day. Her fear was getting on my nerves.
I took her hands in mine, made her stand on my toes and started walking, which she did. Then I made her stand, took her hands again and pulled her towards me playfully in an effort to make her walk those steps to come hug me. “No Amma No” She started wailing, with me not even trying to raise my voice.
“Thud” This time it was my palm on her tender back that made a loud crackling noise. With her eyes brimming with unshed tears, she looked at me shell-shocked.
What happened next?
The second part of this blog can be read here: Part 2
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