It was only in the fourth month that I realised I was carrying my baby. Till then it was life as usual in Bombay -- running to catch the train, late nights, hectic journeys etc. Once the baby made its presence felt, I had to make a conscious effort to be more ladylike. This is when you also feel like sharing your experience with others. And once others know, there is no way you can forget it even for a second, especially if you are working. Well, there's no harm being reminded about the baby. But there's a bad side too. Your spur-of-the-moment outstation trips, movies, late nights, all will never be spur-of-the-moment anymore. Did you do the right thing? Aren't you losing your freedom? The poor thing did not force itself on you, you opted for it. So it is your duty to take good care of it... so your thoughts go. Anyway, it's an unparalleled experience being pregnant, despite the discomfort which you might have to put up with in your third trimester. Fortunately for me, the initial stages were very peaceful, without the usual nausea which young mothers-to-be dread. What I enjoy the most is the attention you are showered with. My hubby has been the best man one can ask for in the last few months. He has surpassed himself. Never has he been this attentive in the three years of our wedlock. Must confess that I made the best of it. Threw tantrums. Blame it on the hormonal imbalances one is supposed to have. Don't think I ever had it though! There were phone calls galore from usually-dormant relatives with expert advice on how to get through this delicate period. The moms and in-laws are the best, or worst, of them. They made me feel as if I was a heart patient: forget heavy weights, no carrying anything that even looked bulky. Even a pillow was prohibited! Then, I was ordered to read the Bhagawat Gita daily, listen to shlokas and mantras... Even the usually self-centred commuters on the suburban trains were generous when they noticed my bulging belly. It was kind of strange initially when people got up to give me their seat. The tough working women of Bombay too have soft corners, after all. Fortunately it's just me and my husband here in Bombay. So I generally have the final say on what I will do. My colleagues at office are very considerate. So much so that my friend Cleona claims that they are overdoing it. To tell the truth, it is she who is more considerate than the rest. My boss and I have much in common. Just a while ago, with moderate assistance from his wife, he had given birth to a baby girl, you see. So, naturally, he's my counsellor in office. I keep telling him to publish a book on his experience for the usually ignorant dads-to-be. Everyone invites me over to treat me to loads of goodies. Specially-cooked delicacies are brought to office just for me. And people around my lunchbox are generally very few now, so that I have enough to eat. That is a privilege only people like me enjoy at rediff.com. Suddenly you realise that you hardly have any option when it comes to clothing. Your husband's wardrobe suits you better than your own! Shopping becomes part of your routine. You either have something to buy for yourself or for the baby. For my baby it's unisex clothing for the time being. Oh yeah, there's a question you are asked all the time: Do you want a girl or a boy? Now, do you really have an option? This is one of those things that humans have still not been able to compete with the divine forces. Having a healthy one is what is critical. The anxiety increases with every month I complete. My baby is growing, its movements are getting more vigorous, and I can feel the hiccups, its head, its elbow. It's a great feeling. Wish I could speed up the process. The initial excitement of being pregnant has now given way to the urge to see my little one. All that's left of this great experience is the D-day. I am told that it's the height of pain a human can bear. Don't think that I will mind that for my bundle of joy. After all, it's a woman's privilege. That makes it more meaningful to me. The D-day is over and Prarthana Appaiah is the mother of a bonny girl. Tell us what you think of this diary
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