Just a decade back, I was a carefree boy with no responsibilities. I had a good job with an oil company – the outcome of attending a good college. I was the youngest in a family of seven brothers and sisters. Being used to having my needs promptly assessed and taken care of, I never learnt to even boil an egg. And then I got married.
My wife was a working woman, who commuted two-and-a-half hours daily between home and her place of work at the other end of the city in Mumbai, India. And when we were told that she was pregnant with twins and needed bed rest for the remaining seven months of her pregnancy, she had to quit her job.
During the period of her bed rest, I wasn’t required to do much as she still managed to handle everything with some part-time help.
A few months later, but well before the expected time, came the most glorious moment of my life – my sons Miran and Amaan were finally born, healthy and strong.
They were, however, kept under observation and brought to the room only at specific times. During those few days, my wife and I enjoyed the pleasure of having twins and not having to constantly care for them, little realising that it was a luxury indeed.
On the fifth day, we drove home. Barely had we entered the apartment when Amaan, whom I was holding, pooed all over me. It was at this moment that it dawned on us that life as we knew it was going to change forever.
From then onwards, everything else was for gotten – the music, the movie CDs, the long, carefree drives and dinners with friends.
Each poo cleaned was an accomplishment, for life kept throwing one challenge after another at us. From changing nappies to feeding and bathing the babies, my wife and I functioned as single parents, each taking care of one child when I was around, or two for her in my absence.
It was something my family could not fathom.
It pained my parents and my sisters to see me working so hard whenever I was home.
A few months later, my wife decided to go back to work. It was then that my real ordeal began.
The babysitter we found could only stay till 6pm, which meant I had to rush home from my office nearby.
And in the process, I learnt to cook baby food. I always had a plan: After feeding them, I would take them to the park or on days when I was exhausted, play with them at home.
After a few months, the babysitter fell sick and stopped coming to work. I then took them with me to the refinery daycare meant for the women staff.
I was the only father who brought his children to the facility. This also meant that I had to plan my work around the caregivers’ schedule.
I often had to leave my work half-finished or entrust the children with a friend when it was time for the daycare to close.
Not forgetting, too, that taking the two of them in the car wasn’t easy at all as they’d fiddle with everything, scratch each other or start wailing for no particular reason.
This arrangement lasted for almost a year, after which we moved to Kuala Lumpur and my wife stopped working. Since then, my wife has been around the boys most of the time. Would you believe it but I actually miss those times when I took care of them all by myself, cooking, cleaning and playing with them?
Of late, I found a way to have my boys to myself, by getting my wife to do the grocery shopping on Saturdays. While she is out, I take care of the kids. I love it so much that I wish I could swap places with her!
Saba Ahmed is married to Ashfaque Ahmed.
Father’s say
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