Life is full of them. Mostly little ones, and I’ve been lucky to have more of the pleasant variety than otherwise.
I was travelling alone with a 9-week-old infant who seeks little else than regular feeds and a comfortable bed, and a 7-year-old being torn away from her grandparents, aunts and a great time.
Yet, everyone -- from the paediatrician and gynaecologist to my family and friends – was worried how I would cope.
Guess what? I had the most uneventful, peaceful flight back to Doha. My girls were absolutely angelic. They made sure the very first time their mum was alone with both of them would be a good time. O read, nibbled, asked me ever so often if she could help. N slept, fed, slept, fed…
Thank you, babies.
Well, I guess I did deserve a break after some nasty surprises that came my way earlier in the year.
Chikun gunya in the third tri, mismanaged diabetes (by my doc in the first 2 tris), a day in labour but ending up with a c-section, a spinal anaesthesia that wore of in the middle of a cut, slow recovery from a double anaesthesia dose, lack of proper domestic help, mum down with chikun gunya too for the better part of my stay in Madras… probably sounds more nightmarish than it actually was.
But it’s a totally different (and much longer) post recounting all that I am thankful for, and the luck that seems to surround and hover over me.
It is terribly indulgent to feel sorry for yourself – and boy did I indulge! Then it was back to business, getting on with life.
So here I am in Doha after 4 months. Not much has changed except that I have one more little person to cheer me up, forgive me my slip ups, make me laugh (and cry) and make me feel inexplicably high ever so often. O’s load has eased a bit I must say, with N taking on a bit of all this work of managing a borderline depressive/hyper/psycho mum.