I have a different kind of child

Artwork: Saher

To the world, I am her mother, but more often than not, the roles have been reversed. As early as six, every Mother’s Day or birthday, she would come up with thoughtful ways to express her love. Once for my birthday, she single-handedly organised a midnight party with my close friends, complete with performances. She has an uncanny way of sensing my emotions and gives me a hug when I need it the most.

At the age of seven, she was diagnosed with an incurable medical condition. The memory of that day is clear even today – we had finished the tests and were waiting for the results. It was just the two of us at the doctor’s visit, as always. The doctor took me aside and confirmed her condition. My world came crashing down and I was screaming inside my head, but I could not cry or show any emotion as she was observing me closely. I somehow managed a smile and walked on shaky legs towards her. She came running and hugged me tight and caressed my hand, telling me that it’s going to be alright.

A few months later, we had just come to terms to a new way of life when she was struck with yet another serious condition. Once again it was just the two of us when I got the diagnosis and this time, things were serious – she needed a surgery. Yet again, I put a mask on my face and managed a weak smile. But she quickly saw through it and gave me a tight hug and the gentlest of kisses.

When she was to be wheeled into surgery, she hugged me tightly and pleaded with me not to send her in there – she begged that she would never be naughty ever again and would always listen to me. At that time, I thought pulling her away and handing her to the doctor was the hardest thing I have ever done, but I was proved horribly wrong. After the surgery, she was gagged, and her jaw was shut tight to protect the stitches. When I met her, she could not talk, but she just looked and me cried silently, her eyes accusing me – why did you send me there? She wanted a sip of water and since she could not talk, she folded her hands in front of me and begged for a sip of water. I broke down then, I was the most horrible mother ever to this child. But when she was able to speak again, it was she who consoled me that it was going to be alright.

Its no wonder that I am terrified of doctor visits since then.

She is going to be sixteen this year, but she continues to be as thoughtful as ever. The image on this post is painted by her as my Mother’s gift this year. But it is me who is thankful to be the mother of this amazing child.

I wish you could see for yourself how beautiful you are through my eyes.

Thank you my baby for loving your imperfect mom.