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I'm officially nine months pregnant.
And life?
Oh, it's pure bliss.
Bliss... and also an emotional roller coaster from hell, because apparently, being nine months pregnant means my hormones have decided to cosplay as wild Choudhury brothers on a sugar rush.
And let's talk about these mood swings, shall we?
?
This morning I cried because my toast was too brown.
Like, I literally sobbed into Dattatriya's chest, wailing,
"It's burnt! The toast is burnt and it hates me!"
Datta, the Chief Minister of Rajasthan, the deadliest Italian mafia head, held that toast in his hand like it had personally insulted me.
"I will throw it in acid, sunshine. Just give the order."
?
Last night I kicked him out of bed because he breathed too loud.
Yes.
He. Breathed. Too. Loud.
"Do you want me to die, Datta? Is that what you want?!"
He blinked. "I was sleeping, sunshine."
"Exactly. How dare you?"
He went and slept in the hallway with Sheraa curled beside him like some tragic mafia Romeo.
?
Then just a few hours ago, I was laughing because Nirmay wore two different socks.
Full-on, clutch-my-tummy laughing.
Then two minutes later?
Sobbing.
"He's growing up too fast. My baby. My little sock rebel..."
Datta walked in with a spoon of ice cream and just handed it over wordlessly like a man who's seen things.
?
And don't even get me started on food cravings.
I wanted mango pickle with blueberry yogurt at 3 AM.
Datta didn't even blink. He just got up, kissed my forehead, and said, "On it, my queen."
When he came back without mango pickle but with lemon, I threw a slipper at him.
He dodged and said, "Mood swing number seven today. I'm improving."
?
Sometimes, I get mad at inanimate objects.
Yesterday I scolded a cushion for being too fluffy.
And I cried when my favorite spoon fell on the floor.
Yes, a spoon.
"I'll buy you a diamond spoon," Datta promised.
"IT'S NOT ABOUT THE SPOON, IT'S ABOUT THE EMOTION!"
?
Arya bhabhi caught me talking to my belly once, saying:
"You're grounded for making me cry over papaya. Don't smile in there, I know you're mocking me."
Jayash, Vardha, and Karna all stare at me like I'm a cartoon.
Karna cried when I cried.
Vardha tried to offer me his toy truck.
Jayash patted my head and said, "Buuuu, you want choco milk?"
They're the only men safe in this house right now.
Them and Sheraa - who now refuses to leave my side, like some divine guardian beast.
?
As for Dattatriya...
God, the man deserves a medal.
He hasn't flinched once.
He just follows me around with snacks, tissues, and backup emotional support ice cream.
One time, I told him I felt like a hippo.
He knelt, kissed my swollen tummy, and said, "Then I'm the luckiest lion alive."
I threw a pillow at him.
Then kissed him.
Then cried.
Again.
?
So yes.
I'm nine months pregnant.
I'm irrational.
Over-emotional.
Hungry.
Irritated.
And deeply, madly in love with this chaotic family I've built.
And maybe, just maybe...
This baby's about to arrive.
And I cannot wait.
Right now, I'm sitting like a queen on the grand Choudhury sofa, draped in a soft pastel saree that Arya bhabhi chose for me - apparently for "the baby shower of the year."
My brothers are running around like it's a mafia-level wedding prep.
Bhairava bhaiya is threatening the decorators because the balloons are apparently too shiny.
Gyan bhaiya is literally blowing up balloons with his mouth like an angry buffalo.
Dyan bhaiya is glaring at the cake because it's not fierce enough.
Papa is on the phone with the florist like he's planning a political alliance.
And all three bhabhis are giggling and bossing around the men like seasoned commanders.
Meanwhile...
I'm on the sofa, not moving a single muscle, because my baby bump is practically the size of a globe, and every time I shift, I either burp or cry.
Nirmay was lying on my lap, gently rubbing my tummy with his chubby little hands, whispering,
"Baby... no kicking, okay? Sheraa baby sleep."
Sheraa, my majestic snow leopard, had his big fuzzy head resting on my belly like it was his personal pillow.
And then... it happened.
THUMP.
The baby kicked.
Hard.
Sheraa flinched so suddenly that his paw smacked the floor and he looked up, shocked, like someone insulted his whole species.
I burst out laughing, holding my tummy and gasping,
"Ayyoo! Baby! Don't kick your big brother like that!"
Sheraa gave my stomach a wounded look and gently nuzzled it, as if to say "I didn't sign up for this."
?
And then, as if the switch flipped again...
Another mood swing hit.
Suddenly my lip quivered and I grabbed Nirmay and held him tightly,
"What if... what if the baby doesn't love me?"
The whole room stopped.
Dattatriya froze mid-stringing flowers.
My brothers exchanged panicked glances.
Arya bhabhi blinked in confusion.
Even Sheraa gave me a "not this again" look.
Dattatriya rushed to my side like I was on fire.
He knelt and cupped my face, eyes wide.
"Sunshine... love of my life... destroyer of my peace... what did you say?"
"I SAID WHAT IF THIS BABY DOESN'T LOVE ME!" I wailed, tears streaming.
Dattatriya nodded solemnly like this was a real national crisis.
Then, dead serious, he said,
"Then I'll ground the baby till they're thirty. No love? Not allowed in this house."
I blinked, snorted, and started giggling through my tears.
"Ground the baby? In the womb?"
Gyan bhaiya muttered, "Only in this house can someone threaten a fetus."
Everyone burst into laughter.
Sheraa licked my cheek.
Nirmay kissed my tummy.
And I, the hormonal queen of chaos, went from tears to joy in five seconds flat.
Ah yes.
The baby shower has officially begun.
And I'm ready to reign over it - mood swings, kicks, and all.
The Choudhury mansion had never looked so magical.
The entire place had transformed into a pastel wonderland - shades of peach, mint, lavender, and cream draped every inch of the grand hall.
Fairy lights sparkled like stars. Fresh marigolds and jasmine filled the air with a soft, nostalgic scent.
A giant "WELCOME BABY AGNIVANSHI" sign hung proudly over the main wall with little paper wolves, snow leopards, and pacifiers all around it.
I sat on a grand throne-like chair, placed in the center, surrounded by my loving chaos.
My saree was a masterpiece-soft gold with tiny embroidery of moons and stars. My tummy was round and glorious, and today, I didn't care how swollen my feet were-I felt beautiful.
Nirmay sat beside me wearing a matching tiny kurta, holding a little toy mic and yelling every 5 minutes,
"Mumma baby is my baby! MY SISSY!"
(Sure, he's already decided it's a girl.)
Sheraa was sitting loyally on the other side of me, wearing a big flower garland around his neck, looking both proud and deeply betrayed by the attention I was giving to my tummy today.
Bhairava bhaiya was handling the DJ like it was a mafia event-he played soft lullabies until someone dared request a dance number, and then he put on "Oo Antava" just to watch Gyan bhaiya panic.
Gyan bhaiya stood frozen, mid-sip of juice, growling,
"WHO PLAYED THIS? She is pregnant! Keep it calm!"
Dyan bhaiya, meanwhile, had become an overly emotional decorator. He was fixing ribbons on chairs and muttering,
"This baby better appreciate all this... I swear if they don't cry when born, I'm waking them myself."
The bhabhis were queens in action-Arya bhabhi handling gifts, Swarna bhabhi organizing the rituals, and Adya bhabhi feeding me sweets like I hadn't eaten in days.
"One more ladoo," she insisted.
"I've already had six," I whined.
"This one is for the baby's dimples," she said with a wink.
Well-how could I say no to dimples?
Papa sat nearby, smiling quietly, taking secret pictures and sneakily feeding me spicy mango pickle while hiding from Dattatriya's stern glares.
And speaking of Dattatriya-my darling husband-he stood behind me like a royal guard, arms crossed, absolutely not letting anyone get too close.
But every few minutes, he'd lean down and whisper,
"You okay, sunshine?
Tired? Want me to carry you to the bedroom?
"
"No! I am fine. Don't ruin this moment with your overprotective nonsense.
"
He sighed. "You say that now, but cry in two minutes when your bangles feel heavy. "
(I glared. He wasn't wrong.)
There was a tray of games too-guess the baby food, decorate the diaper, and write wishes for the baby. Everyone participated.
Nirmay's wish?
Scrawled with Arya bhabhi's help:
"Dear Baby, be like me. Cute and angry. Love, Bhaiya Nirmay."
As the rituals began, I was showered with rose petals, love, gifts, and enough bangles to start a jewelry shop. They placed a veil of flowers over my head, sang the traditional lullaby, and one by one, each family member blessed me and the baby.
Tears rolled down my cheeks-not from hormones this time-but from sheer joy.
Just then, as the rituals ended and everyone clapped-
"SURPRISEEEEE!"
The main door burst open.
And there he was.
UTSAV.
Wearing a leather jacket over a kurta, looking like an NRI Bollywood hero.
I gasped.
"Utsuuu!"
I tried to stand up, but Dattatriya growled, "SIT."
Utsav ran in and hugged me carefully.
"I missed your drama and your food," he grinned.
Then turned to Dattatriya, "Sorry jiju, but she's my queen today."
Dattatriya smirked. "Good. Handle her mood swings for one day."
Everyone rushed in to hug him. Nirmay ran to him, squealing,
"MAMUUU! MY SISSY IS HERE!"
And Sheraa growled in approval before pouncing on him, tail wagging like a puppy.
The family was whole.
The celebration was loud, chaotic, emotional, and beautiful.
And as I leaned back in my chair, surrounded by the love of every soul that mattered, I placed my hand on my tummy and whispered,
"Baby, welcome to the madness. You're going to be loved beyond measure."
It was midnight in the
The Choudhury mansion had finally gone quiet after a day full of love, chaos, and laddu-induced sugar highs. The living room was bathed in the warm glow of night lamps, soft and serene. It looked like a painting of peace.
My ladla Utsav was stretched out, head in my lap, chattering lazily about his trip from America, occasionally reaching up to poke my nose like a 5-year-old.
"You're glowing, dii. Like an expensive diya.
"
I laughed and flicked his forehead,
"Idiot.
"
But inside, my heart was so full. He was home.
On the recliner, Dattatriya sat like a mafia king, but right now he was more like a giant teddy bear.
Nirmay lay sleeping on his chest, tiny arms curled, drooling a little.
Sheraa was sprawled across Dattatriya's lap, snoring lightly, occasionally twitching his paw - maybe dreaming of chasing golgappas.
Bhairava bhaiya sat close by, holding little Jayash like a protective lion, gently patting his back in rhythm. Arya bhabhi was beside him, tapping through her patient list like the multitasking queen she is, whispering names like spells.
Dyan bhaiya was across the room, holding baby Vardha against his shoulder, humming something low and fierce - probably a lullaby only mafia children would sleep to.
Swarna bhabhi beside him, laptop open, voice cold as ice,
"You either pay the dues or lose your jaw, Mr. Sharma.
Your choice."
She smiled sweetly at Vardha while saying that.
Gyan bhaiya was rocking Karna gently in his arms, the baby's cheek pressed against his chest. He looked calm.
Adya bhabhi, ever the gentle soul, was massaging Gyan bhaiya's head.
"You look like your head is going to explode, Gyan."
"It is. Your brother cries in surround sound."
I sighed happily, stroking Utsav's hair-then suddenly...
"WHY IS NO ONE FEEDING ME?"
Everyone froze.
Even Sheraa opened one eye.
I looked around dramatically.
"I'm nine months pregnant. Your goddess. Your walking miracle. And I'm starving. I want ice cream. No, spicy sev puri. No wait-gulab jamun with green chutney."
Everyone blinked. Utsav stared up at me.
"Gulab jamun with... chutney?"
I nodded gravely.
"It's the baby's choice."
Dattatriya slowly turned his head.
"You literally ate ten rasgullas and a mango five minutes ago."
I gasped in betrayal.
"So you're counting? Wow. Wowww. This is how love dies."
Nirmay stirred, blinked, and sleepily mumbled,
"Don't fight. Baby's listening."
Then passed out again.
Dattatriya groaned and stood, still holding Nirmay with one hand.
"Utsav, go get your di whatever weird-ass combination she wants."
Utsav sat up like a good boy, saluted dramatically,
"Gulab jamun and chutney coming right up, Your Majesty."
Everyone went back to what they were doing, used to my drama.
As Utsav left the room, I smiled to myself, hand on my tummy.
"You and me, baby. We rule this house."
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