Working Mom

  The title of this write-up may make no sense and might seem whimsical to some. Yet, I couldn't think of any other, though I did try to run the horses of my mind for hours to replace it with a better one. Anyhow, its content, I hope, is worth reading. This may sound contrary to me,a language teacher who always guided  pupils to choose eye-catching and gripping titles for their work.

Yesterday, a phone call from my twenty-one-year-old daughter led to a discussion  about the parents’ rights over children. I, being a mother, feel that a mother—being the carrier of her baby in the womb for nine long months and then bringing the baby into this world with unimaginable pain has rights to advocate.

I told her about how difficult it is for a mother to stay away from her children, especially toddlers.

I shared with her the hardest choice I had to make when she was just one and a half years old and my elder child was  three. It was one of the toughest years of my marriage. Their father at that time had made up his mind to immigrate to Canada, and I was constantly pressurized to turn this obsession of his into reality. I was insisted upon giving IELTS, which I could easily pass with 7 bands, and to join a job since I was the main applicant. Though it wasn’t my first job, as I had already taught at a reputed school before marriage.Job at that time was fun, which of course I will take up in some other blog. Since my mother took care of everything, all I had to do was get ready and leave for work.

But once I became a mother, life was no longer simple. Within three years, I had attained motherhood twice and countless sleepless nights. If one of my babies slept, the other woke. I was exhausted. Though l had a maid, cooking was still my arena. When day broke and ended, I had no idea for three years. And then came this obsession of my kids’ father, whose many friends were settled abroad. My daughter was fragile, only one and a half years old, and my son had just entered pre-nursery. I was reluctant, but as wives often do in our society, if they want peace in the home,  comply and dance to the tune played by their husbands. I had to finally take up a job.

I remember being crying at the thought of leaving my little girl with a maid and not being able to receive my three-year-old son when he came back from his first year of school. But then I had no choice, being born to be dominated. Here, I must mention that my mother-in-law had passed away  before my marriage;  had she been alive, life might have been much easier for my children.

At work things went smoothly. I made friends, but my heart was always with my children. My mother’s instinct would say they needed me more than I needed the job. One day, sensing my despair a  graceful elderly teacher, told me this phase would pass and that every woman should earn for herself. She urged me to seek solutions instead of cribbing. Thanks to her, I continued working for almost two decades.

Still her words were only a temporary comfort to me. I was turning bitter. At home, whenever I would see the innocent faces of my children, I would trace questions they were unable to ask, and my soul would dive deep into a well of guilt.

The only solution their father could think of was that we should leave my daughter with my mother in my hometown. He believed it would reduce my "burden". Little did he realize that children were not a burden, rather the job he forced me to take was. It was Tuesday when, finding no way out, I agreed and by bus I traveled to my hometown. Since it was a weekday, their father had no time to drive us. My little daughter was comfortably sleeping in my lap, unaware of the brutal separation ahead. I was holding her little feet and begging forgiveness from her and the Almighty in my heart for my cruel, selfish act.

I still remember vividly how quiet my three-year-old was when I left him at home. It was the first time he was staying without me for a night. The moment he realized I had a bag in hand, he began to cry. My father-in-law was also annoyed and unhappy. He was against my job. I wonder why he never questioned his son for forcing me to work but would always make me stand in a prosecution box for taking up a job.

My younger brother received me at the bus stand. At that time, only my widowed mother and he stayed together. My elder brother worked in another city, and my younger sister was already married. My mother adored my children, after having supported me after both deliveries.Even she was upset asking me to speculate if the job was worth leaving my baby. I consoled myself more than her that it was only for a year and I would keep visiting.That night, my little girl slept peacefully on my shoulder as she always did. It was already difficult for her to understand where her mom would leave early every morning since a month. But at least after six hours she would be back in her mom’s arms. Next morning this comfort was also going to be snatched from her. She was at that time too young to express herself in words, yet her eyes spoke volumes. 

Next morning, I woke up at five, got ready, and left with my brother for the bus stand before my baby could wake up. Tears streamed down my mother's and brother's faces. Once on board the bus, I felt as if a piece of my heart was brutally torn apart. I cried bitterly throughout the journey back home. At that time I didn’t have a cell phone, so I had no idea how my children were coping. From the bus stand, I was picked up by the one my heart was blaming for this separation from my children and left at school for a half day.

Once back home, I got to know my son had developed high fever because of being away from me the first time. When he saw me, he jumped and hugged me and asked for his sister, looking around in anticipation. I told him she had gone away because of my job. He innocently requested me not to leave him ever and that he would be a good boy who he already was.

I was dying to call my mother who, when she picked up my call, burst in anger and told me my daughter had stopped eating and wasn’t even having milk. She had been crying for hours. My husband, when he saw me crying, scolded me to be brave and wait for a day. To my shock, even my son refused food, fearing he would be sent away too. My father-in-law was furious and stopped speaking to me. On Thursday, I heard my daughter had eaten just half a banana, spending hours silently by the door.All this continued till Saturday morning. My younger brother’s fiancée would visit every day to take care of my child so that my mom could complete her routine chores.

Saturday morning my mom asked why I had given birth if I couldn’t care for my child. She then cried bitterly. Her words pierced me. For the first time, l stood firm and told my husband that I was going to bring her  back after school, and that he should see to arrangements, otherwise I wouldn’t hesitate to resign. At three-thirty, I boarded the bus and by eight-thirty I was descending the stairs of my mom’s house. It was only the fourth day since I had parted from my child, and it seemed like three centuries. From outside, I saw her standing near the center table, fiddling with a cute doll like she herself was.

I softly called her name which she didn’t miss to notice. She froze, then dropped the doll and searched frantically. I sweetly and a little louder called her again and opened the door. The moment she saw me, she ran straight into my arms and clung to me, sobbing for half an hour. My mother and I were also crying alongwith her. My mom told me she hadn’t drunk a drop of milk. I asked her to get a bottle. It was so amusing to behold her. She drank milk from two bottles in a go while looking into my eyes, striving hard not to blink.

That night, she wouldn't let go of me even as my  shoulder ached. I was worried for my son, who was also forced to stay away from me the second time in four days. In the morning, when I came out of the washroom ready for the day, since we had to head back, I saw her holding my purse tightly and sitting on my bag. She took a sigh of relief when I readied her. I was surprised when a huge pile of toffees and chocolates she stuffed in my bag with her tiny hands. My brother told me he had bought those for her, which she hadn’t even touched—proving the only sweetness she craved was her mother. 

At the bus stop she was so happy to say bye to my brother, and once back home, another delightful sight awaited me when both the siblings embraced each other .That scene remains etched in my heart. 

My daughter, when she heard me, had tears last night. Now that my kids are miles apart in different time zones, I wonder. I took voluntary retirement thirteen years before tenure completion. It’s my sole decision. I wish I could turn the wheel of time and had stayed home until they were teenagers and worked later.But as they say , whatever has to happen, happens at its destined hour.