So what happens to privacy after pregnancy and birth? Goes out the window, that's what.

I lost all sense of modesty during the final stages of labour. If I had given birth in a regular hospital, I would have lost it sooner. I mean, how can anyone maintain a sense of dignity after dozens of doctors, students, nurses and lactation consultants peer and poke around your most private parts?

At the birth centre, I was not subjected to professionals in lab coats having a 'look-see', but there were at least five people in the room coaxing and encouraging. Yeah, yeah, it is a natural process and so is breastfeeding. And thus, along with Anya, I was delivered of modesty.

It has to be said though that I still enjoy my privacy. And that brings me to the issue of bathroom privileges and motherhood. What exactly does a three-month-old make of a totally nude mom?

Most evenings I give Anya a bath, feed her and put her to sleep. In the next half-hour I can have my bath and do some cooking as well. But there was an occasion when she was wide awake and playing in her bouncer, and yet needing some sort of conversation. And so, I took her into the bathroom with me.

I was shy! I hid behind the shower curtain for a while. But then I had to reach over her to get my towel and that's when she looked at me. Ponderingly. That Look who's talking movie has really messed up my imagination.

I don't suppose there is any answer to my question. And I guess the next time around I won't bother hiding behind the curtain or the towel. Perhaps this is not even an issue with children, that is why it is called au naturel!!

PEREGRINATIONS -- ain't that a beauty of a word?

I have always associated it with Charles Dickens' Mr Micawber in Oliver Twist. "Peregrinations of the metropolis". Doing just that with Anya is full of surprises and never the same any time.

We have shopped for groceries at Kroger in relative peace. From her vantage view in the seat on the cart, she looks at all the vegetables and the colourful boxes of cereal with interest.

The beep of the scanner in the checkout aisle has her complete attention and the vibrations of the cart as we head for the parking lot has her cheeks wobbling and eyes widening.

At Best Buy we have had mixed results; the first time she was fast asleep in her stroller, the second time she fidgeted and squirmed and meowed and cried. I kept walking about the store, past the zip drives, the monitors, the microwaves, the DVD players, the CDs, the kitchen appliances, but she was not happy.

She was really well behaved at the Barnes and Noble bookstore. We did move to the children's section so she could kick and exercise her vocal cords without raising eyebrows, but once there and free to swivel her head at all the books and other children, she was happy.

Our time at the Bear Rock Cafe was quiet; while we ate, she sat in her seat and gave us brilliant smiles in between introspective periods.

So, like Mary's lamb, she goes with us everywhere, and on each trip we learn more about her likes and limits.

THE sight of a parent with an infant in tow invariably arouses the best in other people. And being the parents of a cherubic child like Anya endows us with good humour from all.

There is an instant kinship with other parents: "How old is your little one?" "Mine sits up, too!" "Try steam from a hot shower to clear up her nose..."

And a great deal of generosity from passers-by: "Let me hold the door for you", "I can help you get the stroller (out from the trunk)", "Let me pick that up for you", and so on.

My husband Chetan was standing with Anya asleep in the stroller at the mall; if he could have a dollar for every smile that he received from other shoppers, he would have been a millionaire!

Yesterday, we went to the Crabtree Mall in Raleigh. It is huge, gigantic, gargantuan, phenomenal -- you get the picture. And the best part of all is the family restroom.

There is a sign outside the door that says it all: "Adults must be accompanied by a child." There is an intercom system and a video camera set-up. You get buzzed in only if the security guard can see evidence of parenthood.

With Anya as our secret password, we gained access to the hallowed portals of the Family Restroom. There is a marble-topped changing station, complete with changing pad, wipes and baby lotion, two stalls with low, child-sized pots, and a comfortable sofa for nursing mothers.

Very well designed -- well-lit, not cramped, pretty. Someone put a lot of thought into this, if you want people to come shop in this behemoth of a place, have lots of parent privileges.

IT has to be said, we are beginning to figure out Anya's moods, her cries, her frowns, her ups, her downs; however, there are times when we are just out of our depth.

Why are such delicate, innocent, utterly helpless creatures born to first-time parents? Shouldn't there be a training school, some sort of degree programme?

Anya is cute. Her outfits make her cuter still. How much more cuteness can her already-fida parents handle?

Of late, Anya has been exploring the range of her vocal powers. It is not the screaming when she's upset, but new squealing sounds when she is happy. Can her throat get bad with overuse?

Now that we know what goes into caring for a child, we wonder whether we have expressed our appreciation of our own parents?

Anya is based in North Carolina. So is her mom, incidentally.

Illustration: Lynette Menezes

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