Most accounts of pregnancy would follow the opening lines of Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” And Lalita Iyer brings her experience as a journalist and magazine editor to put the zip and pep into talking about a condition that despite its flounce and cute appeal, can be quite a downer.
This book is a dip into the feel-good pond; it is a shallow read that stands apart from the more austere pregnancy books out there for its don’t-worry-be-happy attitude and assurance that like in love and war, in pregnancy too, anything goes. It intends to provide the “dope” on everything from the “boob wars” to the “mommy mafias”, and makes cheerful use of non-standard words like “womb-upmanship” and “babyisms” that require no explanation for most pregnant or new mothers.
I’m Pregnant, Not Terminally Ill, You Idiot! (henceforth referred to as IPNTIYI) comes with a disclaimer and a reader might want to take that seriously to avoid disappointment. It offers little instruction on the physiological changes that come with pregnancy and almost zero advice on that most compelling topic among expectant/new mothers: nutrition. Nor does it attempt to explain the miracle of transformation the embryo and foetus undergo week by week. It does not go into the childbirth process and does not cover the reader for the initial months of raising an infant. There are plenty of great books out there that do that, such as Pregnancy for Dummies, and that endlessly revised, near classic, and much handed-down, What to Expect When You’re Expecting series. These guides to pregnancy
give blow-by-blow accounts of every stage of the process. They are both DIY manuals and companionable guide, and their usefulness cannot be overstated.
What IPNTIYI does is attempt to put the whole experience into some cultural perspective by telling you what to expect on the professional and social front, particularly if you’re an urban Indian woman with even a smidge of career ambition or a part of a nuclear family with a say in who gets to visit when the baby is born. It is not particularly helpful as a roadmap even though it runs through the checklist of options from hired help, family, day care, etc. in a lackadaisical fashion. In fact, the author reveals having attempted to work through the early years of motherhood only to concede a temporary failure in an uncongenial environment. Instead, it explores the “damned if you do and damned if you don’t” conundrum of being a mother to conclude that the thing is difficult business; there are no real answers and that kicking yourself for following your instincts is self-defeating.
Should one be so misguided as to assume that her pregnancy is cause for universal celebration, Lalita Iyer is quick to offer a reality check. “Pregnancy is not always cute. Not to everyone. Because the one thing a pregnant woman reminds you of, in an in-your-face sort of way, is that she is pregnant and you are not.” This can lead to strange interactions in the office and elsewhere, put into a chapter usefully titled “Fertility Politics”. The chapter titled “Work Bitches” is self-explanatory when it comes to summing up the attitude of colleagues when a new mother returns to the office.
Lalita Iyer emphasises in her book that “pregnancy is a social event, because everyone wants to participate, to stake their claim.” A dominant feature of the book is how it uses case studies with the vigour of a textbook on advanced accounting theory for CAs. Reading IPNTIYI is like tapping into the collective consciousness of the urban Indian new mother. The typical format here is an observation by the author that is then followed by four-sentence-long stories beginning with the words “my friend…” To illustrate, “Motherhood is also an opportunity to renew your relationship with your mother-in law.” Cut to the story of “My friend Geetu who was full of gratitude… She was there for me when I needed her most. She did for me what my own mother couldn’t do, since she didn’t keep well… she made sure I was well-fed, she had my glass of warm milk ready for me in the night.” It is immediately contrasted with Aliya who had “both sets of parents visiting… Needless to say she sunk into a full-frontal postpartum depression.”
It is hard to relate after a point to an endless series of “friends” of the author and their issues or advice when it comes to their boss, mother-in-law, mother, husband, fellow mothers or maid. The assumption, one presumes, is that somewhere among these stories lurks a story similar to the reader’s. Or that being prepared for most eventualities might prepare one better for what is soon to follow. Unfortunately, the format does not give enough pauses for the reader nor does it allow the author to build on valuable insight with a constructive follow-up.
As Iyer remarks in her chapter “Up and About”, “Everyone has a story… But, it’s all one big secret. Every woman feels short-changed at some level by child-bearing, but doesn’t know whom to tell. She fears she might be the odd one out, and the secret stays with her until she has an opportunity to let loose.” This observation is (predictably) followed with the story of, “My friend Naseem had a fairy-tale of a pregnancy…” and then we are on to, “Another friend, Chaitali...”
If one assumes that IPNTIYI operates on the principle that the whole is more than the sum of its parts then by presenting a veritable buffet of pregnancy and post-baby experiences it allows the reader to predict with some amount of complacency what the journey will be like. It is best to go in prepared so that when your partner smokes the Big Daddy cigar and returns to work, you are better resigned to being the one left holding the baby.
Karishma Attari is a book critic and freelance writer living in Mumbai. She is working on her coming-of-age novel, I See You.