In a quiet corner of Canada, far from the familiar chaos of home, Pushpa was living through the most beautiful and bewildering chapter of her life—motherhood. Her days and nights blurred into one long stretch of lullabies, burps, and bleary-eyed cuddles with her newborn, Aanya.
“She used to sleep for 3 to 4 hours at night,” Pushpa messaged one morning, “but since last night, she’s waking up every 30 minutes… sometimes even 10.”
A string of sad emojis followed, each one heavier than the last.
Me Ra, ever the calm voice of reason, asked gently, “Burping?”
“Yes,” Pushpa replied. “Burping done. But I’m so tired today.”
“Does she want food every time she wakes up?” Me Ra asked.
“No,” Pushpa sighed. “She wants to sleep but can’t. Gets irritated.”
Saroja jumped in with her signature humor, “That’s me! 🤣🤣”
Jisha added, “Saro… iska toh koi ilaaj nahi hai!”
“Exactly,” Saroja laughed. “Koi ilaaj nai.”
Later that day, Pushpa confessed, “I carried her the whole day. Now I have neck pain, shoulder pain… everything pain!”
The group rallied around her. Jisha even shared a funny video, “For Pushku ☝🏼😄”
Ramya offered practical advice, “Try getting her used to a cradle. It’ll get easier.”
Pushpa replied with a tired smile, “Will try that 😅”
Then, with a dramatic flair only a sleep-deprived mom could muster, she declared, “@Me Ra Chechi… a village is not enough to raise a kid 🤣🤣”
Me Ra sent a virtual bow and hug. “Kudos to all your efforts 👏”
Pushpa, half-joking, half-serious, pleaded, “Why don’t you all visit Canada one by one? You can meet Aanya 😍”
Saroja laughed, “We’ll come together, not one by one!”
Jisha teased, “Pushpa was looking for a nanny so she could sleep… and here you are planning a party!”
Pushpa grinned, “Aajao 😍”
Saroja added, “We’ll take care of Aanya… and if mummy needs a break, papa too! 🤣”
As the night wore on, the chat continued.
“All of us have been there,” Jisha said softly.
“Yes,” Me Ra agreed. “But the degree and intensity vary. Now I wonder… was Kumbhakarna depressed?”
Jisha laughed, “Both his habits were disorders—sleep, eat, repeat!”
“And he was cursed, right?”
“Yes,” Me Ra confirmed. “Not his fault.”
At 1:28 AM, Pushpa typed, “I don’t even know what I’m typing anymore. Sorry if there are spelling mistakes 😅”
Me Ra reassured her, “I make a lot. Auto-correct makes it worse. Jisha is my official editor.”
Jisha chimed in, “Auto-correct tests patience beyond limits!”
The next evening brought a miracle.
“Aanya slept almost 6 hours,” Pushpa announced.
“I got scared—why isn’t she waking up?!”
Saroja replied, “I still check Shriya while she sleeps. Every mom does. Sleeps too long—worry. Wakes too soon—problem. You’re doing it perfectly.”
Pushpa smiled. “This is going to be there always.”
“Yes,” Saroja agreed. “Even for Sambo, I still check. 🤣🤣”
The next day, Pushpa greeted the group again, “Good morning!!”
“Good day, Mamma,” Me Ra replied warmly.
Ramya popped in, “Hi dears, just got back from office.”
And so the village continued—scattered across time zones, bound by love, laughter, and late-night chats. Aanya may have been the newest member, but she had already brought them all closer than ever.
Would you like a visual to go with this story—maybe a cozy illustration of a mom holding her baby while chatting with friends on her phone?
"Cradled in Arms, Carried by Love"
The nights were getting longer, and the days, heavier. Pushpa, now deep into her journey as a new mom, found herself on the edge of tears one early morning.
“Bad… I almost cried,” she messaged at 4 AM.
Her friends were there in a heartbeat.
“Hayoo dear… crying?” Me Ra asked gently.
“What happened?” Jisha chimed in.
Pushpa poured her heart out. “She’s not sleeping unless she’s in my arms. I don’t want to let her down, but my neck, hands, back—every bone is aching. This has been going on since Monday. I’m so exhausted.”
Me Ra offered what she could. “You shouldn’t always hold them, or it becomes a habit.”
“I know,” Pushpa replied. “But when she cries, I can’t just leave her like that.”
The group listened, advised, and comforted.
“I enjoy holding her,” Pushpa admitted, “but now it’s painful. Bahut mushkil hai.”
Still, she found joy in the little things. “I keep looking at her photos from day one. I don’t want to forget her tiny face. It’s a beautiful phase, Di… but handling it alone is very challenging.”
“Kash koi hota,” she whispered. “I would’ve enjoyed this phase in the best possible way.”
“You are teaching us,” Me Ra replied. “We are learning and growing with you. Feeling blessed.”
Jisha added, “It’s okay to cry and crib once in a while. That’s what your sissy group is for. We may not have all the answers, but we’re here to listen, to laugh with you, and to hold space for you.”
Pushpa smiled through her tears. “I’m still enjoying… but ro ro kar 🤣🤣”
Later, she shared a photo of how Aanya slept—snuggled close, peaceful in her mother’s arms.
“I have a kangaroo bag,” she said, “but I think I can use it after she gains a little weight.”
Jisha recalled, “My dad used to walk around carrying the baby like that. He wouldn’t even sit. Babies don’t want you to stop moving.”
“Thankfully you didn’t have a C-section,” Me Ra said. “Or this wouldn’t be possible.”
“I know,” Pushpa replied. “I am blessed.”
"The Circle of Love"
As the days passed, the exhaustion remained, but so did the love—and the learning. Pushpa, in her quiet moments, began to reflect not just on her baby, but on her own childhood.
Ramya, ever wise and warm, shared a truth that struck a chord:
“Pregnancy, delivery, baby-sitting… we think that’s the main thing. But no, the real journey is parenting. Growing them. We learn with them.”
She paused, then added softly, “We begin to truly thank our parents—for how much they handled, suffered, and sacrificed for us.”
Pushpa replied with a simple, “Very true.”
Ramya continued, “I miss my parents every second. My kids missed their unconditional love. But thankfully, my achamma was there for me—during pregnancy, delivery… she was my biggest support. She’s 85 now. My kids call her achamma, though she’s technically their muthassi.”
Me Ra nodded, “No wonder they say girls start loving their parents even more after delivery.”
Pushpa, her heart full, whispered, “Life is so unpredictable. Nobody knows what’s going to happen next… but I loved them even before this.”
"The Weight of Love, The Strength of Mothers"
In the quiet hours of the morning, when the world was still and her baby finally asleep, Pushpa found herself reflecting on something deeper than exhaustion—her mother.
“I always prayed to God,” she whispered, “meri umar bhi unhe lag jaye.”
But now, after becoming a mother herself, the prayer had taken on a new meaning.
“How did my mom manage five kids with no support?” she wondered aloud. “And my dad… I’m sure he wasn’t as supportive as Aman.”
Her voice trembled with emotion. “My mom has gone through so much. That’s why I pamper her like a child now. The love she didn’t get when she was young—she deserves it now. I talk to her as if she’s a five-year-old.”
Ramya, listening quietly, shared her own grief. “I was very attached to my achan and amma. Their passing was a huge shock. They loved me and Soumya like we had lived with them for a hundred years.”
Pushpa nodded. “Women go through so much. And it’s become so normal that no one talks about it. As if it’s expected. As if being a mother means silently enduring everything.”
She sighed. “After the baby, everyone asks how the baby is doing. But only a few ask how I am doing.”
Ramya offered a gentle reminder. “At least now, husbands understand. Aman saw everything. He was in the labour room. He knows how scared you are of injections… and he cried when you were in pain.”
Pushpa smiled through her fatigue. “Yes. He’s been amazing.”
But the reality of being abroad, alone, was still heavy. “I’m the housekeeper too,” she joked. “I want to sleep but I can’t. And I don’t even take proper baths anymore!”
Ramya suggested Ayurvedic remedies—lehyam, arishtam, kashayam. “They help with sleep and recovery,” she said.
Pushpa laughed, “I’ll try all this in my next birth. For this life, I’m done!”
They discussed food, supplements, and the challenges of finding Indian vegetables in Canada. Milk, water, protein powders—everything was a puzzle.
“I stopped drinking milk,” Pushpa said. “The doctor said it might be causing gas for Aanya.”
Still, she was doing her best. “Tomorrow I’ll get my calcium checked and start supplements.”
Saroja popped in, asking, “How’s our Aanya beta? Slept?”
Pushpa replied, “She made me go mad today 🤣🤣 But she sleeps quickly with papa.”
They all laughed when Pushpa said, “Even on maternity leave, I’m doing a full-time job. I held her today and told her—iska badla lungi mai!”
Saroja chuckled, “Unintentionally, we do take badla. That’s why they say it’s a circle.”
Pushpa imagined Aanya thinking, “Bhagwan, ye kaisi Maa mil gayi mujhe?”
As the chat wound down, Saroja reminded her, “Darling mommy, you need rest. Try sleeping now. Want me to sing a lullaby?”
“Jo neend thodi bachi hai vo bhi udjayegi,” she joked.
Pushpa smiled. “Life is a challenge now. I can’t sleep without pumping.”
-----------------
Note on Pic above:
In her room at night, holding her newborn baby in her arms. The baby is peacefully asleep, while the mom looks exhausted but lovingly gazes at her child. Around her are signs of motherhood—burp cloths, a bottle, a phone with a group chat open, and a cradle nearby that the baby refuses to sleep in. A soft glow from a lamp casts a warm light, and outside the window, it's snowing lightly, hinting at a Canadian winter. The scene captures both the beauty and the exhaustion of early motherhood, with a touch of humor and love.
Summary:
"The Village It Takes: A Newborn Mom’s Tale"
In a quiet corner of Canada, far from the familiar chaos of home, Pushpa was living through the most beautiful and bewildering chapter of her life—motherhood. Her days and nights blurred into one long stretch of lullabies, burps, and bleary-eyed cuddles with her newborn, Aanya.
“She used to sleep for 3 to 4 hours at night,” Pushpa messaged one morning, “but since last night, she’s waking up every 30 minutes… sometimes even 10.”
A string of sad emojis followed, each one heavier than the last.
“She wants to sleep but can’t. Gets irritated.”
Later that day, Pushpa confessed, “I carried her the whole day. Now I have neck pain, shoulder pain… everything pain!”
Ramya offered practical advice, “Try getting her used to a cradle. It’ll get easier.”
Then, with a dramatic flair only a sleep-deprived mom could muster, she declared, “@Me Ra Chechi… a village is not enough to raise a kid 🤣🤣”
Saroja said, “We’ll come, take care of Aanya… and if mummy needs a break, we will take care of papa too! 🤣”
And so the village continued—scattered across time zones, bound by love, laughter, and late-night chats. Aanya may have been the newest member, but she had already brought them all closer than ever.
"Cradled in Arms, Carried by Love"
The nights were getting longer, and the days, heavier. Pushpa, now deep into her journey as a new mom, found herself on the edge of tears at time, with no helping hand, except for husband who had a full time job to attend to.
Pushpa at times poured her heart out. “She’s not sleeping unless she’s in my arms. I don’t want to let her down, but my neck, hands, back—every bone is aching.
The group listened, advised, and comforted. With new mom miles away take care of the baby, they were also learning. Life lessons. Remotely.
Jisha recalled, “My dad used to walk around carrying the baby like that. He wouldn’t even sit. Babies don’t want you to stop moving.”
Pushpa smiled through her tears. “I’m still enjoying… but ro ro kar 🤣🤣”
“Women go through so much. And it’s become so normal that no one talks about it. As if it’s expected. As if being a mother means silently enduring everything.”
She sighed. “After the baby, everyone asks how the baby is doing. But only a few ask how I am doing.”
But the reality of being abroad, alone, was still heavy. “I’m the housekeeper too,” she joked. “I want to sleep but I can’t. And I don’t even take proper baths anymore!”
Pushpa said, “Even on maternity leave, I’m doing a full-time job. I held her today and told her—iska badla lungi mai!”
Saroja chuckled, “Unintentionally, we do take badla. That’s why they say it’s a circle.”
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