A lot of random things

a) The Jewish school, which my apartment overlooks, has a summer "camp" every year. I think it's to turn the not-so-Jewish kids who go to normal schools the rest of the year into the ultra-orthodox types that Sq.Hill specializes in.
The kids who attend it are about 8-10 years old. The camp instructors are in their mid to late teens. Okay so far?
Then get this: every morning, between 9:04 and 9:06 am, they start their prayers to the tune of "You are my sunshine", followed by counting in Hebrew, and then, another prayer, set to the tune of "Row, row, row your boat". Because they can't help themselves, after the Hebrew prayer, they segue automatically into the English songs.

So, first you hear this
"He vo patti, ke he seera
hehopatma lavote
teke phero, nanote-eeyah
thanananananana
you're my sunshine, my only sunshine,
you make me happy when skies are grey"
etc etc

Then the older chaps pick on some little kid who has to go up to the front and lead the counting. Each number is punctuated by a punch in the air (which the kid in the front always does with great enthusiasm... punches kind of look like the "Heil Hitler" salute hahahaha)

Then comes the "Row your boat" song.

What really astonishes me is how earnest everybody is. How ridiculous must you feel to sing a prayer set to a nursery rhyme? Aren't teens supposed to be surly and sullen and rebellious? Not these ones. They must be mutants. Or maybe ultra-orthodox Jews are like that only.

Oh wait. Actually, I just remembered. Back in Bangalore, in the Jain temple next door, they sing prayers set to Bollywood songs. Specifically, to "Ek Do Teen" and "Dhak dhak".

So it's not just a Jewish thing.

I ought to become a prophet and start my own religion. I would call it "Rational Religion" (an oxymoron, if I've ever heard one). It would be like the Free Mason society of this age.

b) Breastfeeding is HARD. I have no doubts as to why two generations of women in America decided to toss the whole thing out and stick to bottles. And at the end of all that hardship, there is no award at the end of it. You, as a hardworking mom, may feel like you have a halo around your head, but it is visible only to you. And your child, though he may (or may not. Who can tell with babies?) care now, probably won't give a shit about it a few months from now.
I'll give this whole business till the kiddo is 6 months old. After that, goodbye breast milk! I'll rub my hands together in glee and regain control of my life and my hormones. October, I await your arrival.


c) Speaking of halos around one's head, I deserve an extra big one, for reasons other than breastfeeding. It has now been 4 days and 21 hours since my parents left for India and I think that the kiddo has been taken good care of by the man and me. In addition to taking care of the kid, I have cooked at home every day (except last night when I broke down and ate a couple of slices of pizza for dinner), done groceries, laundry & utensils, kept the house from descending into shambles, mustered up energy to play a game of badminton with the man nearly every day and oh yes, let us not forget, go to lab for a bit every day. To be honest though, lab work has been relegated to a very low position on list of priorities. Oh well. It will not be for too long.

d) Ram and I have devised a new game with the kiddo. We call it "The Adventures of Captain Cute Litte" and make up new adventures involving the baby. So Captain Cute Little wins the hearts of his unruly crew at sea (by threatening to cry or pee on them) and then discovers new lands and tames its barbaric people. And the next day, he climbs a tall summit (me or Ram, depending on whose story it is) with great difficulty and surveys the landscape. Then he makes friends with the bees and butterflies of the land (toys from the floor gyms) and tells them his story. Stuff like that. Captain Cute Little also changes his name to Sweet Little or Naughty Little or Beautiful Little depending on the fancies of his parents.

Okay, Captain Pee Pott just wet himself, me and the bed. Time to end this blog post.