Mine , all mine

I remember like it is all happening now . He was six months old then and I would play with him . Not as a mother who plays with her child but more as an adolescent girl play acting at being a mother. I would love to bathe him and massage him . His tender soft body would arouse a deep sense of belonging and of proving that everything was fitted perfectly in my female body to carry out the task of giving birth . The prime task . Later on I would begin to have serious doubts on such linear thinking and as I grew, so layers of complicated perception added themselves on my mind , making such innocent joys a thing of rarity. But at that time I was constantly astonished to witness the living proof of my being whole , complete.The simple pleasurable task of looking after him gave me a great sense of joy ..his heavy fragrant weight settling on my chest when he slept, slung lopsided on my shoulders.

It was the waking in the nights , his shrill colic pain cries erupting suddenly , the strange red nappy rashes that made him fretful , the washing of huge bundles of soiled nappies and putting them on the clothesline , one after the other , till the terrace resembled an arena of triangular fluttering flags , the heavy pungent smell of urine soaked dirty clothes and bed rugs , the mixing of the baby formula early in the morning , the crazy routine of the day and snatching sleep like a deprived depraved junkie ..all these made me go berserk. But amidst all this frenzy , one moment I would find myself looking at him and finding suddenly like a huge blob of sunshine , his face wreathing in such beautiful radiant smile of recognition . And my heart would twist. Twist in such a sweet melody of love , that it would lodge itself in my throat in a huge big lump of emotion and I would pick him up and gather him close to my heart. My flesh and blood. Mine , all mine.