Last week was action-packed – filled with visits from old friends, and trips to the doctor. I had my post-partum check-up with my obstetrician, Dr. B. He delivered my three children, and gave me the most compassionate and skilled care I could ever imagine. I associate him with the three happiest moments in my life, and therefore, every time I am in his presence, I get very emotional and start to weep (when will those hormones balance out??)!
Walking into his office is hazardous. All around, from corner to corner, are beaming pregnant women, luxuriously displaying their round bellies. All my memories of pregnancy hell (and my pregnancies are indeed torturous – I have this theory that you either get a hellish pregnancy or a hideous delivery – mine is definitely the former, and I can’t complain) go out the window, and all I’m left with is a fuzzy, warm glow-y feeling about my three babies and how they came into this world. This is when I promptly called my friend, who reminded me thoroughly that what I was experiencing was historically-revised sentimental nostalgia and I should get out of that office as soon as possible!
So, just like that, I bade farewell to dear Dr. B. and his lovely team. With that goodbye, I closed a chapter of my life – that period of child-bearing that was fraught with so much discomfort and joy.
I had three friends in town last week, respectively from Atlanta, London (UK) and New York. It was particularly invigorating to see these wonderful women at this moment because they know me as who I was before kids and marriage. In this all-consuming time of imposed (but rewarding) selflessness, it was good to be reminded of that long-haired girl who still lives vibrantly in this worn-out body.
Here’s a picture of my friend who visited from London,
And another picture (totally unrelated to my post, but so cute that I had to post it!)…Doesn’t it just capture the essence of childhood summer fun?