~It's tough, despite the paediatrcian telling you to chillax, to not pull out your hair in clumps of frustration and desperation, when your mouth-bursting-with-blisters-elder-son is not eating ANYTHING. Anything folks, I mean not a drop, not a bit, not a bite. "Ok doctor, my son is disappearing in front of my very eyes. He's a pale skeleton of his former self. Can you prescribe a page of anti-depressants for me since you won't shove a pipe down his throat?"
~It's tough plastering a huge, fake smile on your face and screeching in your best happy voice when you go to pick up your little baby from school and see him sitting there with a sad little puppy dog face, eyes full of tears and lower lip turned out in a pout, between his two class teachers waiting for you to walk through the gate.
~It's tough being heart-crumblingly in love with your toddler when he's throwing a tantrum that will put the wrath of the Furies to shame.
~It's tough to stop yourself from rushing and picking up the same now-thoroughly-chastised toddler in a bone crushing hug, when you see him sitting in a corner, spent from the ferocity of his emotions and alternatingly emitting snifles and involuntary body shivers. Why do Time-Outs come first and hugs later?
~It's tough telling your boho spirit that "No, you can't put on a gypsy skirt, khadi kurti, and multi-coloured joothis and spend the entire day and evening roaming the various art galleries of the city and writing poetry under a shady tree. The luxury of time is not yours anymore."
Book Review: Leila by Prayaag Akbar
1 hour ago