“Stories of motherhood are in essence the stories of humanity itself, but most of them are not recorded – the ups and downs, the bonding and the battles, the frustrations and the fears, the hopes and happiness, and the tenderness and temper tantrums (latter not restricted to kids.. sorry, mothers!)
Unfortunately only a few happen to be shared outside family, and among these, most deal with celebrity moms or kids. Among the exceptions, and an outstanding one, was Erma Bombeck, and Kiran Manral, the author of this rib-tickling but endearing account of the roller-coaster ride in delivering and nurturing a new life, is a worthy successor.
A prolific and popular blogger and author of three witty, readable books, Manral proves her credentials with her first non-fiction work, growing out of her blog posts, spanning moments after childbirth to her most spirited boy’s tenth year.
She strikes up a fondly irreverent tenor right from the beginning, referring to her son as “The Brat”, but her real – and composite – sentiments are evident in the dedication – to “the sprog of my womb, sparkle in my eye, the tenor in my yell, the grey in my hair, and the beat of my heart”.
The first glimpse of her newborn actually becomes an attempt to see the “little mewling ball of flesh” – with the “first moments of the mother-child bonding were marred by the fact that I couldn’t see too clearly” (her spectacles were with a solicitous mother who had promptly kept them away). Consequently, “my first view of the offspring was that of a red blur that looked somewhat like a newborn kitten or puppy..”, confessing “maternal love did not well immediately in the maternal breast”.
And that was even before he began bawling!
Manral takes us down the years, in her same inimitably witty style, chronicling various milestones of not only her son, but also in her own life and role as mother.”
Read the original here