Pregnancy

It all started in those few moments of irrepressible lust. Lust for each other; lust for a new life; lust for a fleeting feeling. Lust.

It led to an expected, but convincement challenging companion. A companion, who would be with you for the next ten months. Ten months of… misery; pain; uncomfort; bearing; sacrificing; developing; happiness; love.

Something is growing within you. A new life. How wonderful that we are capable of making new life. That is indeed the  greatest creation humans are capable of.

In those ten months, every twitch and turn of yours modifies the growing life in drastic ways. The new life’s karma decides how you twitch, how you turn, so as to mould a human fitting the equation to the dot.

Meanwhile, during those months, every twitch and turn of the growth incites you with passion, care, and love. You are happy when you feel its leg softly caressing your belly in a cotton’s kick. Ah!

Those ten months. Mmm.

Every parent wishes for a baby who is better than her/him. Someone who will carry forward their name. Someone who will stand up to the test that time throws at them. Someone who is beautiful. Someone about whom, you can stand up and proudly announce, “Thats my child!” Someone who is moulded exactly like you, except without those few hollies hither and tither. And with a few more positive traits as well.

But poetry is only poetry, nothing more, nothing less.

The baby is a product of her/his karma, not of her/his parents’ desires. Thus the baby grows in her/his way, despite the parent’s influence.And finally, when the baby is born, the parents are eager for her/him to grow up. To see what (s)he is like. Does (s)he look like me? Does (s)he have my nose? And finally when the child does grow up, lets just hope its a child of their dreams, shall we…

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Ineterstingly, I’m pregnant. I have to go through this for ten months. And I wonder… I wonder what kind of baby I’m going to have. Better than me? Worse than me? Better how? Worse how? Will my ‘friends’ accept her/him. Why would they?

Would (s)he be able to do the work I’m doing today? To complete it?

I’m scared. I’m anxious. Just like any other parent.

Ten months… Ten months, which can either be made special and beautiful, or horribly killing self-esteem.

The only little difference is that, the child and the parent, both, am I.