After the baby, we forgot each other. We found our way back.
Sleep deprivation, advice from every direction, and two people drifting. The process brought gentleness—and a rhythm.
Tanvi Chakraborty
Our daughter arrived, and with her, a storm: feeding schedules, visitors, opinions. My husband and I became logistics partners, not lovers. I felt unseen; he felt unappreciated. We whispered fights so the baby wouldn’t wake—and hurt each other anyway.
My cousin said, “Talk to Dayaram ji. He keeps dignity alive when life gets loud.”
He listened without judging. He held a quiet process and asked for humane rules: protect sleep, make decisions in daylight (not at 2 a.m.), and choose one daily check-in that wasn’t about the baby.
Midway, our home exhaled. We apologized without performing. He said, “I miss you.” I said it back. By the end, we had a better rhythm—still messy, but warm.
Pandit Ji reminded us, “A child expands love; don’t let exhaustion shrink it.” We won’t forget that.
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