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Pravin Kumar
Age: 63 Zodiac: 
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 Posted: Thu Mar 13, 2008 4:28 pm |
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When I was a little girl, I loved looking through my baby book. I would sit nestled on my mother’s lap, while she carefully turned the pages for me. She read my name out loud. She read her name, my father’s name, my grandparents’ names. She read the date and time of my birth. She let me look inside the little envelope with a lock of my baby hair in it. My favorite part of the book was at the very end. It was three pages of photographs, and I was in every single one. The photos were slipping behind the clear plastic that refused to hold them in place and the plastic on one page was torn. This did not bother me in the least. I loved to look at the pictures of my mother holding the newborn me. When one photo slid behind another, my mother would pull it out, and I laughed in excitement as the hidden treasure was revealed.
Now I am a mother with a daughter of my own. As I put together a baby book for my daughter, I keep looking back into my own book. However, my baby book no longer looks the same. When I look at the photo of my mother bathing me, I notice that she looks tired—as I feel now. When I look carefully into the background of the photos, I see that my mother’s kitchen had cluttered counters—like my kitchen has now. I see photos of my smiling, happy face in a bathtub, oblivious to the clutter and my mother’s fatigue—just as my baby smiles now.
And I notice one other change in the book. There was always a section of pages in the middle of the book that were never written in. These are the blank pages that I hear my new mother friends complain about. I hear mothers guiltily complain that they have not filled in all of the pages of the baby book yet. I hear mothers criticizing themselves, saying that it will be depressing if their child sees blank pages in her baby book. But as I look back in my baby book, I see that all of the blank pages have suddenly disappeared. Where the blank pages once lay, I now see my mother cooking me warm, nourishing meals and giving me hot baths. I see my mother reading me books and taking me sledding in the front yard. I see my mother tucking me into bed and bandaging my skinned knee. I see pages full of love.
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