An infertile outlook


 At an afternoon kitty, I gushed about how my eight year old son had written an entire essay, praising his multifaceted Mommy. The teachers had even pushed him to participate in an inter school competition, looking at his prolific writing skills. With my third book into publishing, I was dancing on cloud nine that my son, soon will follow suit. The ladies complimented my larger than life picture with intermittent 'huh' and 'haa'. I shared few pictures of the Mother's Day celebration we had at home, with hubby doing the cooking and son decorating. I delivered sermons on how motherhood was satisfying and an enriching experience. 

"I don't understand why women these days run away from motherhood like it was a ten-headed monster!" I passed a snide remark in oblivion. 

All this time Sheena, an acquaintance in the kitty, who sat like a piece of furniture in the dining hall, excused herself for freshening up before our orders arrived. I don't know whether I imagined, but I witnessed a glum shadow flit her dusky face. Something rustled within me. Was I the cause of that beautiful gloom? Why beautiful? Because it didn't spread itself. The glim of gloom kept itself restricted not letting the other happy moths fall in its agony. Sheena was back at the table with some fresh makeup and mascara. The jet-black eyes now clearly told me of the downpour they must have had in the washroom. How thoughtful of them to have not bathed others in its apathy!

I bit my tongue in sheer disgust of what I had mindlessly blurted.

"I don't understand why women these days run away from motherhood like it was a ten-headed monster!"

The harsh profanity played in my mind like a stuck cassette in the tape recorder. I pulled myself out from that party and dragged my way home.

I was blattering on the heart of a woman who was genuinely trying to conceive, only to be met with repeated failures. While boasting about my perfect ovulatory functions, I had forgotten to respect an irregular one. Who knows her cycles were cycling right while his didn't match the speed? Yet with people like me around she bore the burnt of humiliation. 

I wanted to hug her, boost her spirits, love her for what she was. Again, I couldn't empathize or emphasize with any. I wanted to shout loud and tell her, 

"Girl, it isn't the effort you are putting. The Mother's Day is only a day of all the 365 ones against you. It's the children's day, family day that roast the duck out of you. These day are the other 364 ones. It feels good to have a pair of innocent arms wrap around you. But believe me it feels ugly when these same arms point fingers at you asking, What did you do for me Mummy? Their trophies, their recognitions are all good till one day they fail to recognize you as a falling, failing individual. Crashing test tubes with no fertility are much better than crushing egos with no sensitivity. Getting lost in the innocent eyes till they stare back to you in shock, is something motherhood is not worth it. I may sound selfish and cruel to some extent utterly foolish but believe me it's not all that hunky-dory. You are more than your ovaries and uterus. Do not tear yourself up if those dwarfs are doing nothing to heighten your status in the family and society. You are tall anyways. Be proud of it. Cherish it. Bask in the glory of simply being a woman and nothing more. Mother, wife, daughter, are all tags or labels that worn out. They are baggages that eventually wean off. What remains is you, just you, the unpardonable you! You are a genius in your own way! For that you don't have to be a mother!"

I so wish I could say this to her. Maybe till the time I would have mustered the courage to do so, she would have fluttered her wings and left for better cloudless skies. If you happen to meet any look alike of Sheena, please extend these sermons to her. Not me, at least you will feel blessed. In a way, my guilt will be washed off. Then in the real sense, I will celebrate Mother's Day and motherhood. 

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