The Unsung Hero of My Gut

This morning, I found myself on the porcelain throne, bracing for an unforgettable moment. It wasn’t just another visit—it was a full-fledged labor. The contractions came in waves, and I knew this one had been growing inside me for days, nurtured in the depths of my being. Some gestations last ten months, and we honor those with great reverence. But some, like this, last just a few excruciating days and deserve equal respect.

I sat there, caught in a whirlwind of emotions—elation, anticipation, and a touch of anxiety. Would this be a smooth delivery? Would I need assistance or epidural? Would I walk out of this bathroom a changed person?

Then, I remembered a famous Tamil movie dialogue that mocks a person:

“Did your mother give birth to you, or just eject you?”

There was no doubt—this one belonged to the latter category. It had been raised, nourished, and now, it was time for its grand exit. There was no need to pick up or name this one.

The moment arrived. A deep breath. A final push. And then… relief.

No gun salute was necessary, but I stood up out of sheer respect. With a triumphant smile, I bid farewell to my long-gestating creation.

Should this delivery be celebrated? Perhaps not with cake, but with a moment of silent gratitude—for the body, for the process, and for the simple joys of a successful conclusion.

Epilogue: I walked out of the bathroom feeling ten pounds lighter, with a renewed appreciation for life’s simplest victories.