My daughter is 19 days old and a handful. But this post is not really about that. It’s about what I wish for, on her behalf. We had her almost exactly 7 years after we got married. From the third year itself, as is people’s wont, we were inundated with highly personal questions regarding our plans for a family, which we (on the whole) politely dodged. Then we started seriously thinking about it, and though I don’t know what went through my husband’s mind (I usually don’t) my hesitation stemmed from the awareness that this wasn’t always a wonderful world to bring a child into. That I would be passing on my genes, which, along with curly hair and brown eyes, included a strong propensity (especially among the women—sorry Ma!) to completely ignore the great bounty of blessings heaped upon them and instead grouse and obsess about the less than perfect aspects of our lives. In short to enjoy the act of picking at old sores and watching them bleed.
But then I thought, who knew? He/She might take after his/her father: a more non-tragic, cheerful man I haven’t met, bless him. Also, I had a few good things to pass on as well (some from my parents, some my own) and if we were lucky we could create somebody who would be the best of all of us.
So, now that my daughter Ahana (or Mia, as I call her) is here; with fat cheeks and a little pointed chin like me, and a prominent nose and huge eyes like her Dad: this is all I keep saying over and over in my mind as my blessing to her.
