32!!!

I turn 32 on the 26^th of this month. That’s a couple of days right? I love my birthdays! Silly I know. But I just feel so excited when everyone calls me, just my special day.

The last year was the hardest, most tiring, trying and FULFILLING year of my life. I saw Danny blossom into a toddler. Each and Every moment (even the sleepless nights, but that’s on hindsight) were amazing and magical. But honestly? The days I am most thankful for were the 3 days away I spent in city B. I had gone there to meet my best friends for college. It was pure heaven. I can never thank M enough for taking care of Danny, while my friends I had a blast! We drank ourselves silly. We gossiped. It felt like I was back in college.

What am I looking forward to in the coming year is definitely improved finances and my career to move somewhere. Right now the jobs I being offered are not ready to dole out the money I deserve.

I also hope the coming year is better on our marriage. I am leaving for Delhi on the 27^th (meeting family = HAPPINESS). Earlier I had planned this trip as a trial separation. I had planned to move to Delhi, get a job and live there for a year. See how things go. But the last month has changed that mind set. My marriage is better than ever. M is making efforts. Most importantly, I am not being ‘needy’.

Okay now to take care of some pending business. Laura at “SurlyMama” tagged me eons ago for 20 questions. Sorry for the delay Laura. I am lazy! And I am not doing the 20 questions, just the ones I like (again lazy me!)

Rule #1: The tagged person must write their answers on their blog and replace any question they dislike with a new question formulated by themselves.

Rule #2: Tag 3 people to do this quiz; they cannot refuse (ok, so nothing bad will happen if you don’t participate but I would love to see your answers). The tag-ee must state who tagged them.

1. If you could have a dream come true, what would it be?
I have this very silly dream. I want to visit Paris. Sit at one of those road side cafes and drink coffee. Wait. That’s not all. I want to do this wearing a polka dotted dress and a hat. Silly, ya I know.

2. What would you do with a billion dollars?
Build my dream house and a animal shelter

3. What helps to pull you out of a bad mood?
Music and books

4. If you are currently in a relationship, how did you meet your significant other? If you aren’t, what have you tried in the past few years to meet someone?
I met M online. Yup! We were chatting to our friends online on a site called Hi5. M decided to have some fun chatting with this girl with this weird name. The rest, as they say, is history.

5. What kind of books do you read?
I read everything! I'm currently reading “Who do you think you are, Michael Schumacher?” Hillarious.

6. What’s your fear?
Losing the people I love and cancer.

7. Would you give up all junk food for the rest of your life for the opportunity to see outer space?
Oh yes. I will give up much more for that opportunity! I don’t like junk food in any case.

8. If you could pick a new name for yourself, what would it be?
I LOVE my name – Chhandita. Its unique. But there was a time when I was dating this guy when I wanted to convert to his religion and change my name to “Zainab” I still love this name..

I am tagging A Year on, One Perfect Emby, and Lavonne from Our Wish

Why I call myself an infertile

First of all, thank you for commenting on my last post. I got Typsy when she was a just a few weeks old. I miss her. This post is a scattering of thoughts. Forgive my wayward brain.

A couple of well meaning people have recently asked me why I insist on calling myself an infertile. After all, I have a baby and my IF journey was a minor hiccup when compared with the battles women out their fight with this life altering disease.

This post is a reply to them.

First of all, my IF journey was just that - MY journey. It was life altering. It changed me, it changed how I viewed life. It was my journey, it was my heartache, it was my gut wrenching desire for a baby. Don’t claim to understand how I felt.

But there is a bigger reason why I am so open about our struggle to conceive. I openly blog about it. Anyone can Google me and reach my blog and read all about it. I do it so women out there who are struggling with IF silently may reach out. We have NO support system here in India. And I just wish I could reach out to some people and maybe help them a little. Case in point: My friend D had been TTC#1 for 5 years. When I told her about my struggle she opened up. She cried. We talked about it a lot. I had the knowledge which helped her to nudge her RE to move forward to an IUI. D is currently expecting he first baby.

Another acquaintance N was TTC#1 for 7 freaking years. After we talked about it, we realized that HSG was not a part of the tests she had undergone till now, She went ahead and got a HSG done. Guess what? Both her tubes are BLOCKED! I so wanted to go out and sue her RE or something. What if she had known this a little earlier? How many years of heartache might she been saved of? She is currently undergoing IVF.

I am not just talking about infertility, I am just paying it forward.

The questions are starting again "when are you planning on your second baby?" "An only child really gets lonely, you should have another"

Will this ever end? I thought that once I have a baby, people will stay off my case. Not the case. Recently M’s 80 something granny asked me that she so desires me to have a little girl. When I told her that the baby will be here in a little over 3 years (unless we get to do a private adoption before that) she said she won’t be around for so long, that I should get pregnant and have a baby all ready. I am not working after all. I have all the time in the world!

The worst thing is that all these people know that we had trouble conceiving the first time around, still they insist on being the expert.

My MIL recently asked me to get an HSG. Why? Because I got pregnant a month after my HSG the last time around. Wow, just Wow…

I am saving the best for the last. I was discussing our adoption with a very close friend of mine, I was just bitching about the long wait and how tough it is when she came out with this gem “But what I don’t understand is why you need to adopt when you can have your own” own? You mean an adopted child won’t be mine? When I told her that TTC wasn’t easy for me she came out with another gem “Don’t try. Just don’t use BC and RELAX”.

Are you chuckling yet?

PS: I don't want to jinx it but the CIO (or my version of it "fuss it out") method seems to working. We are not yet sleeping through the night, but we are getting there.

She is gone

Typsy is dead. My baby. She was 12 years old. Sorry baby I left you with Joy (my brother) after marriage. But I know you were so loved. There is not a single dry eye in Delhi right now.

I know some of you would say she was just a dog. But it hurts so bad. I can't stop remembering and crying. I want this pain to end.

Short and not so sweet

Trying to teach D to sleep through the night with the Cry it Out Method. In the process losing my sleep. Last 2 days = total 5 hours of sleep. Not giving up yet. In zombie land. Have so much to share. Will post when am more coherent.

HAPPY HOLY folks. Holi is my favorite festival. Am off to nap. Hope your life is filled with colours of love, laughter, adventure and whatever else you wish...Yawnnn..am off.

Where is my weight gain ticker?

So I see all these with this little ticker on top indicating how much weight the blogger has lost and how much more she needs to lose before she reaches her goal. Pretty convenient, if I may say so. But here is my pet peeve – where do I find a ticker which will help me keep tab on how much weight I have GAINED, and much I need to gain to reach my ideal weight?

You see, I have decided to embark on a ‘weight gain’ mission. I know it’s going to be very difficult, having spent all my life in this endeavor. For more info check this out)

Me as a 14 year old

In college

3 months after giving birth


Most recent pic



So you see, I have always been SKINNY

The best I did was during the end of 2008 when I reached 112lbs! I am trying to remember what I did different during that period so I can do that again. But the only thing that was different during that period was that we did a lot BD! We were TTC that time, remember? And obviously I have an 18month old to run after now, and I am sleep deprived. But still I am giving myself this challenge. I weigh around 101 lbs right now (got myself weighed today). My goal is to reach 110lbs by Danny’s 2^nd birthday – that’s 6 months from now. I will update you guys on my weight gain (or lack there off) every 12^th of the month.

What YOU can do to help me: Give me tips. I eat, so don’t tell me to do that. I love to eat. What else?

PS: I will post about the adoption fiasco in a couple of days. trying to get info on what exactly happened.

Remember the little girl we wanted to adopt?

I blogged about her here. Well, she is being sent to an orphanage. We cannot adopt her. They want her to through the foster care system.

I have nothing more to add to that, for today.

Help!!!

Help!!!!

Okay, before I start, let me declare that I truly love Danny, that he is my miracle, that I do not regret anything, that every moment with him is worth a million$ but…

I do need to SLEEP!!!! When was the last time I slept through the night? Okay, forget sleeping through the night. When was the last time I slept for more than four hours at a stretch? Danny has slept 8 hours a stretch THREE times. I count my blessings when he sleeps for more than 3 hours at a time. He naps once a day. I NEED TO SLEEP! Opps, am I repeating myself? You can’t really blame me girls. I am sleep deprived. I wake up every day, tired, grumpy, looking haggard, and more often than not, with a splitting headache.

I actually HATE it when I read other momma bloggers telling the world that their 18 week old is sleeping through the night. I am filled with a deep sense of envy. What am I doing wrong? Danny will be 18 months old this 16^th. I need him to start sleeping MORE. Is he waking up out of habit? Is he hungry? I do feel he wakes up hungry. Two reasons: Danny is a fussy eater he doesn’t really eat, he grazes. That maybe the reason? Once I feed him (yes he still takes his bottle at night.) he goes right back to sleep. Or is it a comfort thing? Danny doesn’t have his own room (the other bedroom is taken up by A and M’s granny). Danny does have his own bed. But he refuses to sleep there. I know, I know I have created a monster. Here is our daily schedule:

7am-wake up

7am-11am-eating, playing, bathing

11am-nap time (he generally naps for 2 hours)

1pm till 7.30pm-eating, playing (driving me crazy)

7.30 pm-bathing, reading, drinking his banana smoothie

8pm-go to sleep (I sleep at 11pm as M comes back from work at 10.30)

11pm-1^st drink

2am-second waking

5-6am-third feed

A little help please? Suggestions?

Its been more over 15 years, yet the memories refuse to age...

The man I called ‘Bapi’, my father, lost his battle with cancer. I was 15 when he was diagnosed, too carefree, too happy, to bother about my father’s illness. After all, I KNEW he would get better. He was my father, and things like these happened to others, never to us.

My 15th year was also the year of my first love, the kind of puppy love that blinds one to everything, even a monster called cancer, slowly devouring ones father becomes secondary.

But no love, no infatuation, could prepare me for the silence. To prevent the cancer from spreading, the doctors removed Bapi’s voice box. That booming voice, that melodious voice that sung us our favourite lullabies, was silenced forever. That was the beginning of the end. We were trying, fighting, to keep him alive. But Bapi just gave up and slowly slipped. He was soon bedridden, and could not eat. His food was made into a paste and fed through a pipe that was directly attached to his stomach.

The man who loved talking, singing, even doing that silly ‘duck’ dance, the man, whose love for food was legendary, had been robbed of the very things that made him happy. Even today, when I eat some special Bengali sweet, I remember Bapi’s expression of delight, after having eaten his favourite sweet. I still feel pangs of guilt, when I eat something really delicious, and wish I could go back in time and share this with him.

We knew that it was a losing battle, yet, my sisters, my 11 year old brother and I went to sleep each night, praying for just another day with the man who had struggled all his life, who had lost his father at 1 and started working at 14 to support his widowed mother. Bapi led a life of unfulfilled dreams, yet his love for life was infectious, till cancer came knocking. He would sit with the ‘kabadiwala’ and share a cup of tea; he would pick up stray puppies and buy feeding bottles for them, although his income was too little to even support his large family of 5 children. His pride, his garden, was full of bloom, and it seemed at times that he was trying to fill the garden with colours he longed for in his own life. He could not finish his graduation, but he had knowledge that would have put any graduate today to shame. His newspaper was his window to the world, and an unforgettable image of Bapi sitting in his garden, spectacles perked on his proud long nose, eyes glued to the newspaper…….

Cancer had robbed Bapi of his spirit, yet we wanted him to hang on. It was too soon. He was just 53! But a part of us, the unselfish part of us, prayed for his freedom, freedom from that wrecked his body and soul.

That’s how I felt one day, when I sat beside his skeletal body, filled with bed sores. I was reading my first poem to him. Suddenly I wanted to shout and ask him to listen, to understand, that his daughter, the daughter of a lower middle class man, who hardly had any knowledge of English, had written a poem in that language. I wanted him to feel proud. I needed him to be around, so I could make his life a little better…..

My 3 elder sisters were married, but they, along with my brothers in law, were our pillars of strength. I remember once when all the family was gathered together, Bapi looked at my eldest brother in law and then looked at my younger brother and me. It was his silent request, and it was understood. My Jijju took Bapi’s hand and said “Chaitali and Joy will make it”……

On 27th July 1995, around 9 at night, my mom said that the time had come. My sisters were called, asked to hurry and see their father one last time. One neighbour aunty gave me a copy of the “Gita” and asked me to read it to him. Bapi was sleeping peacefully. Ma gave my brother a sleeping draught, to spare him the pain of seeing Bapi go. All, but my eldest sister, were there when it happened. The tears broke out. I could not understand anything. I put my hand on Bapi’s chest but could not hear anything. Everybody was crying now. I was numb, I couldn’t feel anything. My friend rushed to hug me, yet I didn’t cry. It was just a bad dream…My eldest sister arrived 15 minutes late. She sat beside Bapi and sobbed, whispering, “why couldn’t you wait for 15 minutes”.

The rest of the night passed in a whirl. Morning came, and my brother was gently woken up and fed. They were unable to break it to the 11 year child, how does one tell a 11 year old that his father was no more? I, still in my denial mode, dragged him to where Bapi lay, draped in white. My brother shrieked and ran to a corner; he sat there sobbing….all for 5 minutes, then he grew up, never to shed a tear again. He then sat stone faced besides his father’s body, fanning, to keep the flies away. At that moment I realized what had happened. The flood finally broke. I cried as they carried “Bapi” away. The word “Bapi” had become part of memories now. The emptiness, the knowledge that a person who meant the world to you, the person who brought you your first bicycle, as all your rich friends had one, that person would no longer be there. That special smell, that special touch, it was all gone forever.

Bapi left us with bitter memories of that one year, but he also left a family who have stuck together through the worst storms, He left behind the thirst to make it big. We had to do it; for him. We, his children, his treasure, had made his existence make sense. We had to learn to value life. And we did. We made it, Bapi. I know you must be doing you “duck” dance now…..

Wordless Wednesday

Memories...