The Bouncy Castle of Motherhood

My maternal instincts kicked in the minute my nephew was born 15 years ago. He was the cutest little baby, with a head full of curls and a finger always stuck in his mouth. He was the apple of my eye. I didn't know that a love like this could exist inside me. I bathed him, rocked him to sleep, and spent all my time with him whenever he visited Chennai. 

I knew immediately that I wanted to make a baby just like him—and lo and behold, I did. However, mine is a more devilish, naughtier version of him who drives me up the wall! Still, I think I was always meant to be a boy mom, or just a mom to begin with, because I love little girls too. 

My ovaries cry each time I take my son to the pediatrician and we watch a newborn baby boy or girl stumbling in front of us. My son immediately goes, "Aww! Can you grow another baby, Mama?" I sigh and reply, "Sure. We don't have a father anymore though, remember?" And we sit in that hospital waiting area hugging each other, yearning for another pair of little feet to join our family—a dream that will probably remain just a dream in this lifetime. 

Coming back to the point of this piece, perhaps I was always destined to be a boy mom and have a tiny human use me as his bouncy castle, fart on my face, and occasionally hug me super tight from the waist down saying, "Mama! You're home!" Tiny humans are those necessary evils in our lives that keep us sane and in check at all times. I am grateful for mine every single day. No complaints—except maybe five a day, six if he's particularly tantrum-prone after a hard day at school.