I got this lovely tag from Itchy, and since this is one of those usual days when I have nothing buzzing in my cranium that demands to be put down on the blog of urgent imperativeness, apart from the fact that I have been a glutton of the highest order this past week, and wont even be able to find a rope strong enough should I want to hang myself in shame, I decided to take it up pronto.
One: My child. My beautiful, happy, laughing, mischievious, scrawny, persistent, determined child.
Two: Me and my husband. Yin and Yang. Opposites. Night and day.
Three: My family. The three of us. God keep us safe.
Four: My birth number. 22nd June, in case anyone feels like sending across some good wishes. Also my marriage anniversary. 4th of Jan, in case anyone out there is diligently taking down notes.
Five: The number of years my husband and I dated before we got hitched to each other. Well, the Good Lord did give us ample time to change our minds.
Six: How old my son will be in a few months, come October. How did this zygote suddenly fast forward himself to first grade I will never know.
Seven: The seven deadly sins. Of which I confess to being guilty of all. Lust, gluttony, sloth, avarice, envy, pride and when denied of food, or sleep, wrath as well. Lord save my immortal soul. I will be doomed to a hell of no malls, no mirrors and no make up.
Eight: The size I wish I could be. There’s no cap on wishful thinking, is there?
Nine: How old I was when my father passed away and we were out on our own. Life moves on. One survives. One grows up.
Ten: Ten years since I chose a very different path of life from the one I thought I’d take. Ten years since I quit full time journalism, and my safe, secure job at The Times of India, to embark on a see saw of freelance journalism, advertising, and much later, motherhood, which of course, is the most rewarding slave labour type job I’d recommend to anyone interested, with to die for perks like stretch marked jelly belly, raccoon eyes caused by sleepless nights and days, and senses that once couldnt rouse one from sleep even if the home was bombed, suddenly on super duper triple hyper alert to pick even the minutest squawk from parcel of flesh in the cradle. Any regrets, plenty. Re the career. None re motherhood.