The Occupational Hazard ...

The Occupational Hazards …



Of being a Mother – My Story.



It starts right after you give birth to that long awaited and cherished baby growing inside you. First, you need to get back into shape and that may sometimes call for desperate measures. That is when ‘Nenek’ (Grandmother) knows best, and she prepares this secret but potent concoction of turmeric juice. This is the practice amongst my people where I come from.



“Caution” she says, “this drink must be taken while standing, with your right big toe stepping on your left big toe.”



And you wonder how silly that sounds.



Well it wont sound so silly when you actually drink it. The bitterness of the juice will actually force you to do just that if only to push the horrible drink down your throat.

All for the sake of being a mother.



Next, come the occasional sleepless nights (for most mothers, they sometimes become habitual) - those times when little baby confuses between day and night and decides to play at night with mommy. Or some nights when baby is down with flu, so mommy has to stay up to help baby breathe easily whilst resting on her chest. The more common hazard is when baby cries for milk at night. It wont be so much of a hazard if mommy breastfeeds, but if baby is on the formula, mommy jumps up at the sound of her baby’s cries and looks round for the pacifier first. Unfortunately, this particular mommy is short sighted, so she has to look for her glasses first before she can go look for the pacifier. And in her desperate effort not to prolong baby's crying, she panics and searches frantically for her glasses. And when she finds the pacifier first whilst her mind is still set on putting on her glasses, without thinking, the pacifier goes straight into her mouth instead. Oops!



The hazard continues as baby grows - all those fever, and constipation and colic that need to be addressed. When baby constipates, the mother cajoles for hours on end for the baby to please let go while seated on the potty, often times wondering if she is not constipated herself from all the worry and fuss. And when the child finally passes motion, the mother's flushed face beams with joy; a reward more prized than winning the Olympics.  Stress is finally relieved.



Then comes the pre-schooling age.

“What? My child can’t count beyond the number 3? This can’t be happening!”



The worst thoughts run through the mother’s mind. She bashes her brain to see where she has gone wrong in raising her child. She painstakingly comes up with one thousand and one strategies to help her child improve. Sleepless nights - and the first permanent frown appears.



Primary school years come next, and the child comes home and mommy sees the forlorn look on her child.



“What is the matter my beloved child?” she asks professionally.



There follows the barrage of words spoken hurriedly that she must decipher to understand. The child is bullied by classmates - pencils hidden, and food taken without permission. What does the mother do? She puts on her ‘Champion Mom’ cap and rushes to school.



"Teacher, I understand my child is being bullied in school"... on and on it goes.



Problem solved, mommy returns home satisfied that the child is saved. Unfortunately, the adrenaline rush leaves her totally exhausted when she gets home. The first grey hair is spotted.



The child grows older, yet strangely the mother never gets to retire. The teenage years come and her job, whilst less strenuous physically, is just as taxing mentally. The child comes home from school and laments that he is the only person left out from the class trip. The mommy’s heart bleeds to see her child in utter despair and asks, "Do you want me to speak to your teacher?"



"No," the child cries vehemently.



The mommy respects the child's wish and curbs the urge to rush to school to lodge a complaint. At other times, the child laments, "I don’t like my chemistry teacher. She is biased to students of my gender."



"Shall I speak to the teacher?"



"No," again the passionate reply.



For every lamentation by the child, her offer of help is replied with a determined NO. The mommy is confused about her job specifications now; does she use her veto powers or does she respect her child's wish for her not to interfere. A very disturbing occupational hazard at this point in time. The sleepless nights return; the helpless feeling for not being able to help and protect her child.



The greatest hazard must be when the child gets his driving license and gets to drive the car to college. Everyone (especially the men folk) will tell her to learn to let go - to let the child live a little; to give the child some space to grow. Yes, she realises all this and she tries desperately to give leeway to that young man-child of hers. Still there is no stopping the worry and distraught in her heart, her chest, her mind. Don’t bother about the grey hairs, don’t fret the permanent frowns on her face, forget the deep sleep. Only God knows the worry whenever she thinks of her child behind the wheels. She ages triple fold every time she thinks of it. Alas, finally admitting that the child is all grown now, and legitimately has a license to drive, all that comes out from her mouth is, "Text me when you get to your destination". What is not said is swallowed to the deep recesses of her mind and her gut … turning into acid; the ever continuing occupational hazard.



So why do the mothers stick to this job? Simply because life would not be worth living without these beings that we have painfully delivered years ago and fell in love with at first sight. That the unconditional love God has placed in our hearts as a mother far more outweighs all the hazards that come with the job. That to just hear another being calling you Ummi, Mama, Mommy, with the innocent and absolute love and trust that he awards you makes this job-with-no-pay the most rewarding job on earth.



And what is so special is that the hazard is unique with every single mother with her children. They are similar yet different. There is no textbook that will tell you the ‘correct’ way on how to do the job.  This is one job that you just have to trust your gut instincts of knowing what is best for your child.



This is one job I will take to my deathbed, and the dearest thing that I will miss upon my demise.