After dropping Sophie off at her art school, I took a tour to the library. What always amazes me is the children section. Parents, grandparents come with little kids. They seat with them patiently, plays with blocks- feed them nutritious snacks. Most of them are neatly clothed, hair brushed. I keep remembering early days of Sophie. I don’t remember being much patient with her. I don’t remember seating for a long time and playing with her. Neither did her grandparents, but they did not have a chance on their defence. 

However, I had. And I would always get so impatient. I could play for 15 to 20 minutes max- and then I could not keep my calm. I’d start bossing her around. 

I have tried, though, I have tried so hard. I think, on that time, with the mental state I was in, with the money I had I did my best. I brought her to libraries a lot. We didn’t have a routine, yes, but we frequently visited the library. She loved playing with the maths. She loved the blocks The books. She would make loud sounds and I would get so embarrassed. I thought everyone around me were thinking, “oh this is a bad mother!  can’t control a child. doesn’t know library etiquette. Damn these immigrants. Ugh…”

And I would make myself small. Try to make her small. “Shush Sophie! Don’t you see it’s a library? Why can’t you speak quietly??”

She was three years old. She would immediately whisper – in a loud noise. Now that I think about it – it was so cute. She was the cutest little girl I had ever seen. Alas I just did didn’t see it that time.

I couldn’t see it that time. I didn’t have the mental space that time. I was calculating the rent and the groceries on my head all the time – subtracting them from my student loan, and the diaper costs – and the pressure of the better mom I have to be and the tantrums she used to throw – I was alone – I was so alone in that world.

She wouldn’t go to sleep. I would put her in the stroller and walk on pharmacy Avenue at 11 AM. I would sing twinkle twinkle Little star or fule fule dhole dhole. 

My sweetheart just left me with a baby. He didn’t leave her daughter – but did leave me. I was unbearable – he said. I was “too pure” – he said. I make him feel like a small person – he said.

My fault. Always my fault. How rubbish of a person I am. I would cry while walking and pushing the stroller. She would be asleep by then. No, I was the one who didn’t wanna go home. I would cry and look at the houses around me. How happy these people are? Do they have enough money to buy groceries they want? I would stop in front of the house under construction, which architecture farm is handling that?I’ll write I’d write down the name in my phone so I can look it up at night before bed. I would look at the materials like an alcoholic look at a beer, and try to remember my Karwan Bazar days. How much I loved shopping for wood there!

I came back to the parents in the library. A new set of parents have come, the previous ones have left. They are so gentle with their kids. I try to remember when was the last time I was gentle with her? I was more like very straightforward. I envy these parents, their kids. I wish I was there for Sophie – like the way they are for their kids. 

I was – I was so embarrassed by everything I did – by everything she did – everything is my fault – I thought. The toddler tantrums, the experimental mess ups, the meltdowns – everything was my fault. I was the one unable to train my kid – like she was my dog to be trained –how could I not see that she was my daughter – just a three year old who also do not have her father around. 

I know I was doing my best with whatever I had. I couldn’t do better than that. I just, I just wish she wasn’t the one who suffered just because she was born to me.

Every time I see a parent being nice to their kids – I feel these thoughts all over again.