104 October 2014 www.womanthismonth.com she says The Day the Cot Went by BEHNAZ SANJANA I often wondered if the ‘empty nest syndrome’ that mothers experience when children grow up and move away from home was really that big a deal. I got a small taste of it not so long ago. My son’s first day of playschool will always be in the forefront of my mind’s memory drawers. That was a whirlwind morning; something I found difficult to manage back then. After the high-intensity dramatics that day, when I finally settled in at my desk at work, it hit me. My baby boy was off to school. School! Wasn’t it just yesterday that he was swathed in a soft blanket, gurgling and falling asleep in my arms? And I had to rush to the ladies’ room for a good ol’ boo-hoo session. I sulked the rest of the day. The second time around was different. A few days ago, I dropped off my younger one to playschool for the first time. I looked forward to the alone time — just me, my cup of tea and my trusty laptop. And silence. Yay! I’m a seasoned momma now, I thought to myself. No teary eyes. The day was perfect. The day after that, the baby cot was scheduled to go. It was such a darling cot, as all cots are. Both my babies have had many nights of peaceful slumber within its safe confines. It was the first significant ‘baby purchase’ we had made. After the baby of the house graduated to the ‘grown-up bed’ like her brother, it was the white elephant in the room. So after months of dilly-dallying, we finally arranged for a friend to have it for her newborn. Great! The extra space in the room wouldn’t hurt. Just before it was to be transported to its new home, I gave the cot a good, hard look. I wanted to capture it into my mind’s photo folders. Click, click, click. From all angles. As I stripped away the bedclothes, my heart felt heavy. Then I went on to remove the baby mobiles that had hung from its railings. Those tiny pastel teddies were slightly dusty, but still soft to the touch after seven years. When wound up, they danced around to the soothing sounds of Brahm’s Lullaby, bringing much glee to my precious babies. As I lay the mobile down on the table, ready to be stowed away, two musical notes floated out of it, as if to show dissent or to say goodbye. Suddenly everything seemed to just stand still. There was no sound, except that of the air conditioning. The musical duck hanging from the headboard seemed to look forlorn. I was awash with giant waves of nostalgia; that all too familiar lump in my throat began to form, eyes welling up. Had someone said "seasoned momma" the day before? Maybe it’s not my youngest who is the baby of the house after all.
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