Love that’s natural

Warm, wet, comfortable.Floating in the confines of a dark space, buffered from reality, surrounded by nutrients. No need to eat, no need to drink, certainly no need to breathe. You simply exist, asleep, peaceful in your foetushood.


That’s how you feel, for the first time after your baby is born, when you return to your mother’s house during the last trimester of your pregnancy. You’ve been out in the world for so long, cooking, cleaning, working, socialising, that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to relax entirely, to be pampered. Your own mother does all the work in her house; she protects you like she did when you were inside her, as you will do for your daughter thirty years from now. She’ll cook exactly what you want her to, she won’t let you do a scrap of cleaning even if you insist. You can go for as many walks as you like, loll in front of the TV in your oversized pj’s, eat and sleep any time of day or night.  


And then, your baby is born. Luxuriant living is followed by sleepless nights, trying to pacify her feeble cries, nursing her, helpless in your inexperience. It’s like you were born all over again, lost the amniotic protection all at once. As your baby learns to breathe with her first cry, to feed, to move her arms and legs, to fall asleep every now and then, so do you learn your tasks as a mother. And just as you support your daughter’s neck, listen for her cries to distinguish between what they mean each time, rock her against your bosom as she falls asleep, so your own mother still cares for your needs. She knows exactly what you should eat to regain your strength. She roasts black til seeds, grinds them with jaggery and feeds it to you after lunch. She fries a handful of garlic and mixes it with rice to boost your immunity. When your nipples become too sore from breastfeeding, she applies crushed tulsi on them. Under her expert supervision, a maalishwali soothes your tired body, kneading pain from your bones.


What happens when your one-and-a-half months at maakaghar are up? You’re more familiar now with baby care, and you know you can manage with a little help from a bai. You’re yet to regain your full strength, but duty calls. You have your own home to go back to and a husband you miss, so as much as you’d like to live in the folds of your mother’s sari forever, you can’t. Can you take a part of it with you? Perhaps you can. You won’t have your mother standing over the maalishwali any longer, but Himalaya’s Toning Massage Oil removes body ache as if she were. As the bai rubs it into your skin, you’ll feel the stress of mothering ooze out of your pores. You’ll stop being anxious that you’re on your own because, well, it doesn’t feel like you are. When your nipples chap now, you don’t have her tulsi. What you do have is Himalaya’s Nipple Care Butter that hydrates and nourishes, making them supple enough for your baby to latch onto easily.


So when the umbilical cord is cut from your mother’s affectionate protection, you’re not left in the deep end, flapping your arms in futile struggle. You’re weaned into independence gradually, with a sense of her presence around you, in your own home, ensuring your well-being. Because mothercare is as important as baby care.You are important, not just your daughter. You are, and will be, your mother’s child.