Tag: The OM

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Has it ever happened to you..

.. that something you’ve read or studied gets clean wiped off your head when you try to recall it?

Yesterday we were watching the Delhi Marathon and Hrit asked me what a marathon was. All I could remember was that a Greek, with a name difficult to spell, with a P and D in it, ran somewhere and ran back and died. Good bless Google for coming to my rescue.

That’s a story I liked. How could I forget it? If I forgot something obnoxious like calculus or chemistry I’d not complain. If those were wiped clean off from my mind I’d only be grateful for the extra space. I do have to cram a lot in that brain of mine. What’s worrying me is not finding the other interesting stuff, things I read and enjoyed and had been really really good at during school.. tectonic theory, the Moghul Empire, the working of a pinhole camera.. I loved all that and remember knowing it so well. But now… nothing.

On the other hand there are things I remember so clearly.. speeches from The Merchant of Venice, poems by Wordsworth, Kabir and Rahim, pictures from my textbooks way back from when I was in Prep.

Weird it is.

It doesn’t help that I had a grandma with Alzheimer’s.

Today was the last straw — I couldn’t remember the name of Harry Potter’s school — Hogwarts.. for godsake! I need to install google in my head. Maybe they’ll come up with something. I hope it’s soon.

PS: He was Pheidippides. While on Marathons.. the gym is having a mini Marathon.. all of two kms, this Sunday. I’m still trying to decide whether I should go. What if I’m the last person walking at the finish line?

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The way I am

If you’re a regular here you’ll know my constant fight with the Voldemart in my life, the one I’ve battled for as long as I remember,  the one that has spawned many a post some funny, some sad, some jubilant and some motivational. It’s all been about that three lettered word ..

FAT.

I was a chubby baby and made for a pretty picture with my mum in her bouffant and a very dapper dad. However that cute little toddler turned into a fat preteen. And from then on life was just not the same.

When other kids counted dolls I counted my rope skips.
Each morning I’d pick up my skipping rope and a mat and go to the terrace for my exercise. I hated it. It was a chore, a chore I detested. I’d pick at my food and then binge.

When other girls counted boy-friends I counted calories.
I’d look in the mirror and see just a fat girl. I shied away from wearing certain clothes, sticking with the ‘safe’. I stayed away from most sports for fear of losing and becoming a laughing stock. Racing, running, jumping.. all a no no. I never danced. I hated formal occasions that required me to dress up. I’d look in the mirror at a face that never looked pretty. How could it? I was perpetually scowling at myself.

I wish someone had told me.. to love myself the way I was.

And the funny part… when I look back at my pictures I find I wasn’t fat. I really wasn’t. Of course it might have been because I was trying so hard most of the time. However, I never stopped to take stock. I never saw that I wasn’t fat fat. I never did enjoy the fruit of my effort.

What a colossal waste!

Later, much later, when I crossed 30 and really put on weight, I went to a gym. I loved it. I loved the exercise, the music, the instructor counting out relentlessly, the sweat trickling down my brow and finally, I loved how I MADE the weighing machine needle move the right way. Each kg that went brought on a delicious pleasure. A pleasure I learnt to savour.

When I had kids, Voldemort struck again. I let him be. I enjoyed my kids putting in the occasional exercise when I could. I loved being a mum, fat and all. Still do :-). Then it was back to the gym.

And the struggle continues. But I’m having fun. I run with the kids without worrying about who’d be laughing at me. I even dance sometimes. Oh I know I look ridiculous but now I know, it doesn’t matter. I often like what I see in the mirror and when I don’t I put on my smile and I look just fine.

Of course I still obsesses about my weight. I write about it constantly. I watch what I eat and of course I binge too. I still hope to become thin one day. But in the meanwhile my life’s not on hold. I’m in no hurry.. I’ve got my whole life to do just that.

I wish someone had told me … to love myself the way I am.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda
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Vote and Support

Okay people Blogjunta is looking for the best blogs. And surprise surprise obsessivemom has been shortlisted for the poll. We qualified, to state the very obvious, in the category on ‘Parenting’. Needless to say I, the OM, am thrilled to bits. Of course I would be more thrilled if I actually won the whole deal. So…

…If you’ve ever seen a friend, a sister, a neighbour, a mother, turning into an OM .. vote for us.
… If you’ve seen anyone struggling to survive as an OM…vote for us.
…If you’ve ever been bored to death by an OM’s kid treatise.. vote for us.
… If you think the blog deserves it … vote for us
… and if you think it doesn’t, well then, do it anyway… . … for a friend, a sister, a neighbour, the humanity at large… actually anything will do.

I guess you get it then… the bottomline is … VOTE FOR THE OM.

You can do it by clicking on the blog title in the upper right hand corner of this page or you can click here and vote for us on FB. See we’re giving you options.

Oh and do NOT get distracted by the others on the list. Click the correct button, aap ka apna — obsessivemom.blogspot.com.

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Why do I call myself ‘obsessive mom’

This is in response to a query in the comments section — Why do I call myself ‘Obsessive mom’.
And with that a can of worms has been opened!
The name is based on honest self-evaluation — I turned into one. In my defense I would like to explain how/why I became one while hoping I won’t remain one forever.
Tough beginnings
I had a tough pregnancy. I won’t bother you with gory details. Let’s just say that becoming a mom when you’re well in your thirties in age and well in your seventies in weight, is never easy. Add to that the fact that you are carrying twins and the odds are stacked against you… heavily.
That’s when the obsession started. I ate, napped, walked and took my medicines (including giving myself an injection every day) with the single thought of keeping my babies safe and healthy.
When they came
Once they were born at 1.9 kgs and 1.4 kgs, the obsession grew.
  • I obsessed about their intake of milk, counting ounces like Shylock counted his gold.
  • I obsessed about the ‘outflow’ making five-strike statistic stacks to keep track of the poos and the pees.
  • I guarded them with an eagle eye. If someone as much as tried to touch them I freake — ‘wash your hands’ I’d bellow, the ‘please’ lost somewhere in my anxiety.
  • I was up most nights burping them after the doc mentioned a baby dying because he wasn’t burped properly. (Much later I found out sometimes they just don’t burp.)
  • I monitored their sleep, eat, play routine like an army sergeant. Still do. (Why don’t they hate me?)
  • I made copious notes on ‘things to ask the doctor’ at the next appointment.
  • Once H slept too much, I went to the doc.
  • N didn’t do the big job for two days, I went to the doc
  • H went on and on having milk, I went to the doc.
The endless queries
This is embarrassing, but I’m in the confessional
And later, now, a thousand worries still.
Coughs, sneezes, running nose, wheezes — off to the ped
H didn’t start walking till he was almost 1. Should I consult a physio, I asked my ped? She laughed at me.
When there were fights in the playground, I went to the counselor.
At four plus H still has some speech unclarity (a little lisp), I’ve been considering a speech therapist.
However it’s not all worry and trouble
  • I do love being a stay at home mom (at least most times)
  • I love giving them a bath even now despite doing it everyday for four plus years.
  • I love choosing what they’ll wear, though they’re taking away that pleasure from me.
  • I love waving ‘bye’ to them after they board their school bus.
  • And I love being there to hold their hands as they get off in the afternoon.
  • I truly enjoy their school stories.
  • I love cooking for them, even though I’m cooking challenged.
You get the idea, I suppose
As a result…
  • I became a pariah among family and friends because I had time for nothing and no one.
  • I gave up the love of my life Shah Rukh Khan, no films other than MNIK in the theatre since they were born.
  • I have always loved shopping and now I find myself spending endless hours in the kids’ section. Thanks to my mom/sister I’m still clothed.
  • My monthly visits to the parlour have come down to a quarterly ceremony.
  • I gave up the gym and touched 80 kgs, this time without carrying any kids.
Don’t think I didn’t evaluate myself. I did. Check that post here .
Afterword
Most of this is normal new-mom behaviour.. I was perhaps marginally worse because I had two of them together and little support.
I am happy to add that as the kids grow I’m slowly getting over the obsessive disorder.
I go to the gym. My weight is down by 6 kgs.
I have started writing, (posts gone up from 5 in 2006 to 84 already in 2010).
I actually got a story published and made some money after five whole years (Yay! Though the cheque is still awaited).
I won the ‘Sporting memories’ contest on Blogadda which had absolutely nothing to do with kids… double yay.
In another few years I might look at rechristening the blog. What say?
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