Birthdays and Babies

First off, let me apologize for not blogging in...forever.

My life has been decidedly boring, with not much to share. I work, I eat, I sleep.

I occasionally have time to read the news or actually do something interesting, and about half of that time I get a chance to have an opinion about it, but I never ever have the time to express that opinion. Especially not in the form of a well thought-out blog post.

My husband can attest to this, as I have been known to make a vain attempt to get my opinion out there into the universe by muttering incoherently about it to him as I drift off to sleep at night. He is not a fan of this approach.

Today, though, I have the day off work and am actually managing to refrain from checking my email and getting sucked in. I'm sitting in a cafe with my laptop watching through the window as the rain pours harder than the Indian monsoon. I'm not going outside in that mess. And so I find myself with time on my hands, and I think I will spend it writing nonsense.

This weekend included a very impromptu trip to NC to visit family. Saturday was hubby's grandfather's 89th birthday, and since he is actually in the U.S. for the occasion this year, we decided to celebrate with him.

Dadaji is a man you cannot help but adore and respect. He's tiny and cute and smiles and laughs all of the time and does yoga every morning despite being old as Methuselah and gives big bear hugs with a strength you wouldn't expect from his scrawny frame. My husband tells me that he really isn't as sweet as I believe, it's just that I'm his favorite. Jealousy is ugly, my friends.

Dadaji was a Freedom Fighter. He spent time in prison. He also apparently voluntarily let someone break a concrete slab on his chest with a sledgehammer for the entertainment of his fellow prisoners. New story he just shared last night. Who cares if it's true, it's awesome. I refuse to fact check an 89 year old.

With all of this age and experience comes a certain "I don't give a damn" attitude. He will say whatever he wants and you will sit there and take it. Ok, ok, all of my in-laws seem to have this attitude. But I can rationalize it from him, so it's alright. There's also the aforementioned cuteness on his side.

It's been no secret from the beginning that my in-laws expect me to have babies and soon. Right after our wedding, my mother-in-law gave me a deadline of two years. Actually, she gave me two years to have a kid and get him into college so I can take over her "NC State Mom" coffee mug, but that's neither here nor there.

More and more people in India are waiting longer to get married, waiting longer to have children, even deciding not to have children (or get married, for that matter) at all. But this is a very new development, beginning really with my generation and primarily in urban areas. Traditionally, marriage is not so much about the two people getting married as it is about popping out kids.

My husband was born so close to the nine-month mark after his parents wedding that the situation just begs for jokes. That is how the family expects it to be.

Every once in a while, hubby's parents ask "When are you going to have a baby?" I ignore it, no big deal. Such blatant tactics have no effect on me.

Lately, though, Dadaji has gotten into the mix. He also doesn't mince words, but he manages to catch me completely off guard and blindside me. A much more successful approach.

Last summer when I was leaving India, in the midst of a very benign conversation about the bus schedule, he threw in the very matter-of-fact statement that the next time I came to India I better bring a baby. Since I was returning in six months, and was not already pregnant, it was literally impossible for me to do, so I laughed it off. But I will admit I considered borrowing someone else's child for the trip so as to technically avoid letting him down. Apparently he gets to me.

He has now started asking about my reproductive plans in the midst of random phone conversations. How is your family, how is your job, how is your uterus?

This weekend, though, the old coot took the cake. "You've been married three years. You should have a baby. If you need to, see a doctor."

Well, ok then.

Nothing at all intrusive about that.

Then he moved in for the heartstrings.

"I don't have many birthdays left. I want there to be a child while I'm still alive."

For the love of God, man! I very nearly promised him a baby right then and there.

My husband saw me breaking.

He pushed me off the couch.

While we may have gotten through this trip without agreeing to rent out my womb, the time is coming when we won't be able to dodge the subject anymore. Hubby and I will either have to 'fess up to the apathy we feel about the situation, or get on board with the baby business. Neither option sounds particularly easy.