It strikes me on reading that last post below that I never did make it back to writing. Two years passed and I have nothing to show of their passing beyond a flurry of hastily blown kisses, lingering hugs, scraped knees, flu's, fevers, papers piled into report cards, Christmas songs, Eid clothes, Halloween costumes, trips back and forth between homes and GB's worth of disk space of pictures.
So many pictures. Will I revert to them in later years and will it all seem like a quickly run 35mm in a dimly lit space, my nostalgia and old-age melancholy partners for company? Because right now there is no time to slow the pace down and savour their collective childhoods.
Perhaps a disclaimer at this point is timely; at 36 weeks pregnant with a third child, the post may be laced with more than just plain old contemplation. There's a potent mix of heady hormones at play as well.
I find myself looking in a mirror and as the shadows of two little kids dance in the light and dark behind me, I find myself wondering if they are mine. If this face and body that look back at me are those of a soon-to-be mother of three (insh'Allah). Somewhere that sense of responsibility hammers like a bulldozer and simultaneously the heart defies and screams its independence; it's flights to frivolity. Time did fly. As quickly as that the decades jumped from 15 to 25 to 35, without a whisper to tell of their passing. And in truth, I guess, this is what the elders always said. It goes so quickly.
Their hands still retain that softness of toddler hood. Even Daniyal at six and a half. His cheeks still carry a hint of cherub. Even now I know it is stretching it. His feet are still supple without the hard calluses that come as boys age. It'll happen. I almost hear young boyhood lurking its head around the corridor corners. But till I am faced with it, his sweet innocence and wonderment in widened eyes is beyond enchanting.
And yes, Maliha in the throes of toddler hood, throws her mighty weight around. She is impervious to authority, defiant, stubborn, strong willed and opinionated. And I am happy for it. She will need it to go far in life. She is, in many ways, what I was not while growing up. Yet for all her hard exterior, she's a girl at heart. As a friend said eloquently, a princess who can kick some serious ass.
As we buckle down (these last two, insanely uncomfortable weeks) before the addition to the brood, one can't help but wonder what kind of personality will be joining our midst. Here's hoping he adds to the love and the congeniality of our lives. Brings his blessings with him. Normal and healthy.
Till it happens, here's me signing off. Flawed, critical and cynical, always grumbling. But hoping that in this moment of quiet contemplation, I've offered some version of thanks. Even if poorly articulated, a prayer, that as things stand, we are happy, content and blessed.
So many pictures. Will I revert to them in later years and will it all seem like a quickly run 35mm in a dimly lit space, my nostalgia and old-age melancholy partners for company? Because right now there is no time to slow the pace down and savour their collective childhoods.
Perhaps a disclaimer at this point is timely; at 36 weeks pregnant with a third child, the post may be laced with more than just plain old contemplation. There's a potent mix of heady hormones at play as well.
I find myself looking in a mirror and as the shadows of two little kids dance in the light and dark behind me, I find myself wondering if they are mine. If this face and body that look back at me are those of a soon-to-be mother of three (insh'Allah). Somewhere that sense of responsibility hammers like a bulldozer and simultaneously the heart defies and screams its independence; it's flights to frivolity. Time did fly. As quickly as that the decades jumped from 15 to 25 to 35, without a whisper to tell of their passing. And in truth, I guess, this is what the elders always said. It goes so quickly.Their hands still retain that softness of toddler hood. Even Daniyal at six and a half. His cheeks still carry a hint of cherub. Even now I know it is stretching it. His feet are still supple without the hard calluses that come as boys age. It'll happen. I almost hear young boyhood lurking its head around the corridor corners. But till I am faced with it, his sweet innocence and wonderment in widened eyes is beyond enchanting.
And yes, Maliha in the throes of toddler hood, throws her mighty weight around. She is impervious to authority, defiant, stubborn, strong willed and opinionated. And I am happy for it. She will need it to go far in life. She is, in many ways, what I was not while growing up. Yet for all her hard exterior, she's a girl at heart. As a friend said eloquently, a princess who can kick some serious ass.
As we buckle down (these last two, insanely uncomfortable weeks) before the addition to the brood, one can't help but wonder what kind of personality will be joining our midst. Here's hoping he adds to the love and the congeniality of our lives. Brings his blessings with him. Normal and healthy.
Till it happens, here's me signing off. Flawed, critical and cynical, always grumbling. But hoping that in this moment of quiet contemplation, I've offered some version of thanks. Even if poorly articulated, a prayer, that as things stand, we are happy, content and blessed.
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