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Monthly Archives: April 2007

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There’s a little boy in my bed!

Oh wait, that’s my son…

Khalid had his first hair cut yesterday, and in a process that resembled a temper-tantrum with a beard-trimmer, he cried, raged, and fussed his way to a snappier, more grown-up ‘do. Short on the sides, longer on top, his crazy silly over-the-ear curls have been replaced with neat number-one sideburns. SubhanAllah, he’s looking more like a little boy than a little baby anymore, and he looks dashing, but I also miss his cute widdle curls. *pout*

Khalid’s sleep schedule has reverted to nocturnal madness again for the past few days, and he went to bed just half an hour ago (it’s 1:36 am right now). And he’s in my spot, and he’s taking up half the dang bed like a star-fish in blue pajamas, hmmph.


Other miscellania- My appointment with the ortho confirmed damaged ligaments on the inside of my right knee, and I have an MRI scheduled to determine whether things can be patched up with physiotherapy or whether I’ll need laser surgery. Once upon a time, in the pursuit of all things neato, I would have eagerly hoped for something like ‘LASER SURGERY!!!’ mostly because it sounds dramatic, and partially because it involves lasers. Now, Abez the Momma is hoping for boring old physiotherapy, because if my knee is put out of commission by surgery, then caring for Bebeface is going to be a serious challenge, and if I over-do things, I might further damage my poor busticated knee rather than let it heal.

SubhanAllah for your health, and the blessing of just being able to walk without pain. I’m looking forward to that again InshaAllah. Please remember me in your duas!

UmmahFilms.com- you must seeee!

This guy- Ali, he does video blogs, and if you miss these, you’re missing the funniest thing to hit the Muslim media, possibly ever.

Props to Ali, you guys gotta see this.

I should be staring at the carpet instead…

It’s a little odd for me, praying in public places, because I stand up for qiyaam and ruku, but I need a chair for sujjood. The ligaments in my right knee have been painfully troublesome ever since the accident in October, and if I pray sitting on the ground, my knee hurts so bad I have a hard time walking. I’ve been to a variety of orthopedic surgeons, each of which have prescribed me progressively bigger and bigger knee braces- the most recent one being a ‘hinged knee brace’ with enough padding, gears and velcro to make me look like a cross between a football player and a cyborg. It went from my calf to half-way up my thigh in all its immobilizational glory, and after trying it on over my pants (because there was no way it could fit inside) and feeling no better and no more immobilized than the previous brace, I decided to pass.

So I have another date with another Ortho, who will hopefully prescribe me something other than yet another brace, but in the mean time, half of my prayer is in a chair. And I know it must seem odd, a perfectly healthy-looking, Alhamdulillah, young, non-limping, non-pregnant woman walks into a masjid and pulls up a chair. The chairs are usually reserved for those who are old or extremely pregnant, and me being neither, sometimes people stare.

Sometimes, they turn around and stare alot. Last week, a woman sitting on the ground near me, who had finished her prayer, kept trying to look up into my face as if to ask, “What’s your excuse?” Needless to say, that really makes concentrating on prayer difficult. Sometimes I wonder if I should have gotten the Cyborg Football Player From Outer Space leg brace just to make things obvious. Or maybe I should be paying more attention to my prayer. Heh

Post-Partum Depression & I

There are a few mommy-related blogs that I’ve been meaning to type, one of them is on post-partum depression, or PPD. There’s an interesting generational/cultural gap that exists where PPD is concerned- traditionally speaking, in the Pakistani culture, there is no such thing.

(Wateezdiss, pee-pee-dee? After your baby is born you’re supposed to be miserable!)

Yes yes, so after your baby is born you become a sleep deprived, and you worry about whether you’re doing things right, and you desperately wish the baby would sleep, but when the baby does sleep, you have to go check to see if the baby is breathing… Being a new mommy is hard, but is it supposed to make you depressed?

One friend of mine, whose baby is six months younger than Khalid, called me up and very bluntly said- I’m taking a survey about post-partum depression. My mother said there is no such thing, but after Asiya was born, I couldn’t sleep, stopped eating for 36 hours at a time, and felt mentally paralyzed, no one told me about this! How about you?

How about me? Well, I was a sleep-deprived baby-tending robot whose engine ran on caffeine and the terrible fear that my baby was starving all the time. And, this is hard to admit but unfair to hide- I wanted to die. I did. I didn’t want to kill myself, and my contradictory brain was terrified of anything happening to Khalid or to myself (because then who would take care of Khalid?) but we used to live on the sixth floor of our apartment block, and I wondered what it would be like to fall from the balcony. I have never wanted to be in a car accident, but there were times in traffic when near misses disappointed me. I wanted something to happen.

Why? Was I unhappy with my baby? No, I adore bebeface. Was HF unsupportive? Not at all, and he did what he could to support me and make sure I was taking care of myself too. (Also, we snuck out to movies and ice cream and went for drives and walks)

I was constantly tired, but had terrible insomnia. I was completely disinterested in socializing. I stopped answering the doorbell, and I kept it all, the misery, the insomnia, the thoughts of death- all to myself for as long as I could. I dreaded having to feed Khalid, because nursing was, in the beginning, difficult and very painful, and no matter what I did, he always seemed hungry.

(It turns out we had serious latch issues + low supply for nearly two months)

At one point I broke down and told HF. I think it took him by surprise. He asked me what was making me so depressed, and I wasn’t sure what to tell him because I had no idea myself. Nothing specifically was making me unhappy- but I was miserable about everything, and I was sure that I was doing everything wrong- why else was Khalid crying all the time?

When did things get better? Gradually, when Khalid was a few months old, things got better. They didn’t get easier, they just got better. One thing that made a huge difference was HF checking up on me- “How are you feeling? How was your day? Hey, you’re doing good.” It seems like such a small thing now, but HF reassuring me that I was doing good and that Khalid was fine gave me the reassurance to not freak about him starving/ailing/wailing, and it made everything lighter, more bearable.

Alhamdulillah, my experience with PPD was, from what I understand, really mild. I thought about dying, and I had some pretty fantastic crying sprees, but it never got in the way of me caring for Bebeface- I was never incapacitated by it. There are people who have had it far, far worse, and I am grateful to God that I was able to break out of the misery and be alright again, Alhamdulillah.

So yeah, we’re taking a survey- Anyone else out there had PPD? Any advice? We have some new mommies on the block who may benefit from what you can share.

Love to all Mommies!

Welcome to the world little doll!

We interrupt this lack of updating to welcome baby H, the long-awaited conclusion to Mona’s Baby Story blog. If you haven’t been reading it, you’ve missed out on a sweet and funny account of Mona’s pregnancy, and very soon, H’s birth.

I’ve not spoken to Mona yet (as she was slightly unavailable) but did speak to her husband who sounded breathless with happiness and called his new daughter a “perfect little doll.” HF, who also spoke to Mona’s husband, asked me, “Was I that bad?”

I thought back to the first hazy hour after Khalid was born, and I remembered seeing HF hold Khalid for the first time; carefully in both of his hands and staring at him with watery eyes and a tender smile on his face. Even now, when Khalid is asleep and his cherubic pink cheeks are looking especially perfect and SubhanAllah beautiful, I again see that look on HF’s face as he touches Khalid’s cheek and whispers, “Mera beta…” (My son…)

Mona and her husband ZMan are in for quite an experience, they are going to fall in love with a tiny baby whose every coo and wiggle will become the axis upon which their world turns. They will be bursting with the urge to share how beautiful her every finger toe eyelash movement is, and they will refer to their novelty-sized human as perfect, amazing, gorgeous.

They will call her their little doll.

Such is parenthood.

Yes HF, you are that bad. We both are. And I’m sure people without children must get sick of hearing about the overwhelming splendor of Khalid’s little hands or the fantastic accuracy of his peeing abilities, but it is a blessing from Allah that he causes us to fall so head-over heels in love with our children. It makes the sleep deprivation, 24/7/365 work, and loss of social life seem like the tiniest little sacrifice.

Mona, ZMan, welcome to the club. Little Doll, welcome to the world. 🙂

Stupid Musical Snail!

This post is dedicated to the smiling musical snail, who ambushed me while I was trying to tiptoe away from Khalid as he napped- it leapt out in front of me (pretty quickly for a snail I might add) so that I struck it with my toe, triggering the flashing lights and the Row Row Row Your Boat that woke Khalid up.


Alhadulillah though, I think Khalid’s sleep schedule is ironing out. If I wake him up at 10, I can get him to sleep by 11pm. He still wakes up 3-4 times a night, but SubhanAllah, at least he’s sleeping!

Gtg, have freelance work to finish, five posters, one proposal, and one overdue invoice.

Peace and Musical Snail Grease!

Beware of Nocturnal Baby

We’re playing the sleep deprivation game again. Today I woke Khalid up at 10 am, rather early considering his bedtimes for the last week and a half have been around Fajr. And I feel all wobbly and tired, but gosh darnit we are not staying nocturnal!