Guilty Until Proven Innocent

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Charge #1: I’m a sexist witch

It started during my pregnancy. I was dying for a baby girl and my first trimester was torture. I was so ashamed of myself. Did I have the right to pick a gender? What if it was a boy? Would I love him less? I hated it when I checked out that charming duvet with "Princess" embroidered on. I still hated it when I didn’t. Could I be so mean and inconsiderate to that helpless creature? It’s so unfair. Toss that bed-cover girl, it’s "The Incredibles" all the way.


Charge #2: Hot taste and a cold heart

Every mother can tell you the most bizarre cravings one can think of. Mine was chilly pickles. Dozens of tours to the kitchen and back took place everyday. Something pulled me each time to that treasure jar full of red, orange and green jewels. The burning fire taste wasn’t the problem, nor was the rash the day after. It was the sinfulness of the whole deed. Yes, “sinfulness” as my gynecologist named it with a knock on her desk. Yet, did I quit? No. I couldn’t. If I took cramps, heartburns and nausea to mention the least for my baby, she too could allow me my insy winsy chilly once every week.


Charge #3: The water–bed

Let’s agree on something, nappy changing is not as easy as it looks in ads, at least in the first month. If it’s too tightly fastened, you fear it’s hurting your baby. If it’s too loose you end up with a damp torso in the morning. It took me a lot of time and dedication to reach the happy medium. Until then, I entirely blamed myself for the diaper rash and the cold that my angel suffered from.


Charge #4: Grooming torment

With a chicken size baby as slippery as an active fish, who can say that bathing her is easy? Add to that, her shivers, screeches and total resistance to cleansing. I tried to help her and figure out what truly bothered her and play around it. Was it the temperature of the water? The sound of it? The shampoo? The scrub? The rinse? The bathroom? Me?! I checked everything. Water was lukewarm. No showers were involved; only politely running water from the tap. Baby shampoo with a bold red “No Tears” plastered on was used. Super soft sponge was picked from zillions others. No soaks. Gentle rinsing with enough breaks for breathing was my technique. I said goodbye to the pretty wood flooring of my baby’s room, so she would feel “at home” during the process. And I was the clown of the whole show. Waist up wet, I danced, sang and peek-a-booed and all I got was a one sided smile. After I survived the worst thirty minutes of mother-daughter relationship, I dress her up, brush her hair and… God! The nail clipper! Do I have to? My daughter, my own flesh and blood hates me.


Charge #5: I left her and it’s my right

For eleven months, my baby and I never parted. Following the “Hip Mother League”, I held my stuffed belly with grace. During my pregnancy, I wore the tightest frocks, enjoyed my hormone fed hair and never turned down an invitation. Now my baby is two months old and we were invited to the wedding of my husband’s cousin. Luckily, I was back to my perfect size 38. I pumped enough milk. My mother was euphoric to take care of her grand-daughter and I was set to go. Everything seemed flawless. As soon as we drove away, I burst into unexpected tears. I couldn’t believe I actually left my baby. I knew Mom was going to take good care of her, but what was I thinking? I couldn’t see, touch or smell her for a dreadful three hour period; minimum. I reached the wedding with panda eyes and sore breasts. Not to mention my husband’s sarcasm, when he recited William Congreve’s words, “Say what you will, ‘tis better to be left than never to have been loved.” At least he made fun of me in style.


Charge #6: The Milky Way

God suggested two full years. The pediatrician recommends nine months at least. My bra size screams NOW. But my baby and I couldn’t take the decision. Face it, weaning is the hardest step any mother can take at any point. You’ll face endless nights of crying, stares of disappointment from your child and aggression on both sides. Breastfeeding is by far the best link between mother and child in my opinion. We all love our babies. We all want the best for them. Unfortunately, one day no mater the date you pick, breastfeeding has to stop and the link will evolve into another level.



In spite of all of the above charges, you’re innocent. Bad news is that this pink and cuddly creature we refer to as your baby will always put you in a situation where you’ll believe you’re the big ugly monster. When you do, remember that all babies had wet nights, clipped their nails, fell off beds (at least once in their first year), had vaccines and will continue to spit medicines. You can’t run away from bath times, they’ll get used to them. “No!” has to be barked every now and then, even if they twitch their lips and start sobbing. You do need to go out alone with your husband and work on your romance once more, or you’ll start blaming the poor thing in that cot for the “what happened to us?!” arguments.    

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