Dear Penguin,
Before I was your Maa, I was just a girl with PCOS, being told that motherhood might not happen easily for me. I cried quietly after doctor visits, lost 5 unborn in a decade, and braced myself for a hard situation. Then you came, tiny, small, and labelled IUGR, but you were a strong boy.
Motherhood didn’t arrive like a Bollywood montage. It came as hyperlactation, cracked nipples, 4 a.m. breakdowns, and that constant loop in my head.
Am I doing this right?
We did Montessori. Then Waldorf. Then, homeschooling until you turned five. It wasn’t a straight path. I doubted myself endlessly. I remember that one week during homeschooling when we both cried; me, out of overwhelm and you, because I was being too pushy about math. I had to learn that curiosity can’t be forced, and learning needs love, not pressure.
We tried “yes parenting”, which sometimes meant chaos. Like the time I said yes to your idea of painting the living room floor with “crayons.” It took three hours to clean, and for a few seconds, I yelled. That was a hard evening. I apologized later, but it taught me that yes doesn’t mean without boundaries. It means with respect.
There were days I’d miss your milestones because I was chasing client calls. You’d say, “Maa, are you listening?” and I wasn’t. I once forgot to pack your lunch to school. Another time, I promised I’d come see your skit, but got stuck editing a deck. The guilt didn’t leave me for weeks.
I was building companies. Writing blogs. And honestly? Some nights I collapsed on the kitchen floor in tears. I wanted to quit everything. I felt like I was failing as a mother, a founder, and a person. But I kept showing up.
Why?
Because I love you more than I love getting it right.
You didn’t just grow. I did too.
I learned to slow down. To laugh more. To accept that some lessons take years. And that’s okay.
Now, you’re a tween. With your own playlist, opinions, and a door that you sometimes slam. And even now, I fail. I interrupt you mid-sentence. I don’t always keep my cool. But I keep trying.
If there’s one truth, I want to leave you with, it’s this, you and I are both on an ever-learning journey.
You’ll fail too. Gloriously, heartbreakingly, and sometimes publicly. And I’ll still be there, proud. Not for what you achieved, but for how you tried, stumbled, and got back up.
So here’s to Z for the Zen we tried to hold onto, and the Zigzags we stumbled through.
Here’s to crayon lava floors, messy hearts, and the magic of showing up.
Here’s to being your Maa, my favorite journey of all.
Love, always,
Maa
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