Six months

How do I even begin to write this post? I've now written and deleted the opening sentence eight times, and none of them seem to be saying what I want to say!

Six months ago, as the day dawned on the 26th of March, at around 5:30 AM, I was getting ready to go to a hospital in Trivandrum, and then on to the airport to catch a flight to Delhi, and take our baby home.

I'd been up most of the previous night, with a 14-month old with a congested chest who wheezed with discomfort if I tried to lay her down on the bed. So, I sat up against the headboard of the hotel bed, and hummed under my breath each time she moved.

Earlier that night, we had been at the hospital to nebulise her. After almost 3 hours and 5 bouts of nebulisation, the doctors had brought out a form for us me to sign if we wanted to take her home against their advice of admitting her. She was active, playful, and naughty; the nebulisation had made her breathing much easier, and we'd started her off on oral steroids and antibiotics. Also, we knew we could get her the best medical care once we reached Delhi after the 3 hour flight back. We talked to the senior doctors, and decided we'd bring her back to the hospital early the next morning for another few rounds of nebulisation before the flight. That hospital form, though...

I picked up the pen to sign my name, as Mom handed me this paper on which, I saw, she'd hurriedly filled all the other columns. The only space blank was the space for my signature. I signed above where it said 'Mother' in my mother's scrawly hand-writing. I remember my pen pausing above that blank space, just for a second, as the import of that word hit me. I was, from that day on, this tiny thing's 'mother'.

Her parents and grandmother had met this amazing little person for the first time just a day and a half ago. We'd had her with us for less than 24 hours. And, as of the 25th of March, I was her mother.

My best friend and husband was suddenly a father. I saw his panic-stricken face, his quick stress-induced cigarette breaks outside the hospital, his valiant attempts at entertaining his new daughter as one of us held the nebuliser as close to her nose as we could so she'd breathe in the medicated vapour.

My mother, my biggest strength, who could make everything in the world better; who came along with us even though she hates flights (and twice more after that) just for her grand-daughter; who could see how stressed I was and so filled out the form for me, and even wrote 'Mother' below where I had to sign -- she had become a grandmother.

Early that morning, six months ago, I'd handed the baby I'd held in my arms all night to her grandmother, and went to get ready and pack our last minute things. We left for the hospital, and had a scary bang-up as the taxi driver took a wrong turn and hit a group of young boys. No one was hurt, and as we quickly left from there, I thanked my stars we were in Kerala and not in an aggressive North Indian city. Who knows what that would've led to in Delhi, Haryana, or UP.

We spent another hour and a half at the hospital, nebulised her, and took a much happier baby to the airport. Novice parents that we were, we reached the counter to realise we needed to buy the baby a ticket too. Back again to the ticket counter, check-in, security, and we were finally in the plane, on the way back home -- with our baby daughter, Anaaira Tyagi-Sharma.

The gurgling baby, of course, hated the flight, and quickly turned into a screaming monster-baby. G and I took turns walking and singing to her for most of the three hour flight, while her Naani sang to her whenever she allowed us to sit down. We also had to change an extremely stinky diaper in the tiny(!!) airplane loo -- needless to say, the contents of the diaper were everywhere but in the bin, Anaaira had soiled her onesie, we had forgotten to pack a change of clothes, and we eventually had a baby in just a t-shirt and diaper, a situation that she did not at all care for, and made her displeasure evident in the loudest terms. By the time we finally reached Delhi, our ear-drums were exhausted with all the screaming, but the screamers lungs were definitely and evidently stronger.

Her grandfather, my Papa, was waiting outside the airport to meet his new granddaughter. The little cheater went to his arms, quiet as a mouse, and proceeded to fall asleep on the drive back home. He turned around from the front seat, looked at us exhausted parents and grandmother, as if to say, "I don't know what you've been complaining about this angel for."

We reached home to a room, and crib, full of balloons that the baby's Maasi and Maamu had organised with instructions on the phone to our housekeeper and driver. After a quick trip to a paediatrician, the rest of the evening was spent with Anaaira's first visitors -- my grandmother and cousin sisters - Siya maasi and Ketaki (who is not to be called 'maasi'), Neha maasi, Gaurav chachu, and my little monkey, Semara.

That night, after everyone had left, including my Mom, and Papa was in the bedroom downstairs, G and I lay in bed, with our sleeping daughter between us. We couldn't stop looking at her, and then at each other, with wonder, happiness, and excitement on our faces.

Six months on, it's the 25th of September, and the wonder, happiness, and excitement are still the same. The tiny baby has become her own person, with the loveliest curls in her hair, the softest skin, and the best hugs. She's also the bravest and kindest little person I've ever met. She loves books, dogs, aeroplanes, birds, splashing in the water, meeting new people, and choosing shoes to wear. She also LOVES cell phones -- any cell phone, but especially mine. She also knows just how adored she is, and revels in the attention and love. She also points to herself proudly when asked, "where's Mama's baby?", "where's Naani's monkey?", or "where's Dada's darling?"

The six-month-old mother of this almost-21-month-old little girl has fallen head over heels in love, and has no idea where SIX MONTHS went, because that night at the hospital in Trivandrum seems like yesterday. But it also feels like I've we've all had this baby in our lives forever, like she was meant to be with us, and we were meant only for her.