The Maniken Piss - 'Live' in Riang
"Mummy I want pee-pee!" Owain shouts, jumping up and shedding his pants quickly.
"Okay," I say. "I'll switch on the bathroom light for you."
"No, no, no," he says hastily, squirming out of my grasp and running butt naked out of the house.
I follow him, it just dawning on me where he was headed and what he was going to do. Before I can stop him, I see him. A small figure in the darkening evening light, back towards the front door, standing in the garden, naked from the waist down, legs apart - in full view of passing cars and dog-walking neighbours - peeing in full Manikin Piss glory.
Done peeing, he shakes once or twice and then dances back into the living room, a gleeful grin on his face as he pulls his pants back on.
Well, it ain't exactly EC in its purest.
But I guess I should be happy for small mercies. Like telling me he wants to pee for a start. I am happy that he has the presence of mind to take his pants off by himself. And to put them back on when he's done. And of course, to go all by himself.
We just need to tweak the programme a bit and work on the appropriate location.
Meanwhile, I guess the garden will get an extra sprinkling of ferts for now - at least until we can move the Manikin Piss back indoors.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
Sweets, anyone?
The MIL came by yesterday and I guess, will be, as usual, staying for a week. Sigh.
I am bracing myself for the usual slew of taiwanese hokkien mandarin-dubbed dramas, the mindless sit-and-do-nothingness, the mournful range of ills and aches she claims to have and worst of all all - the sweets galore.
The kids look forward to her visits as much as I grimace - for the same reason - the sweets. The woman is a walking candy shop to her grandkids. Despite my remonstrations of "Enough sweets already!" or "No sweets before breakfast/lunch/dinner!", I see my kids walking around with fistfuls of dried cuttlefish, chocolate-coated fingers, empty boxes of glico lying on the living room floor and of course, mouthfuls of mentos.
I grit my teeth and bear it but I swear one day I am going to lose it big time.
Case in point: rushing out to work this morning, distracted. Owain whining for 'nen-nen' which I could not give because (a) I'm late (b) nipples sore and oozing already so I am in bloody agony and (c) nipples full of corticosteroid cream to treat the ever-present and worsening eczema. So I am standing there at the door, one shoe on, bag in hand, cooler bag in the other, the boy is tugging at my skirt and the MIL decides to save the day. She swoops down and offers him a stub of Mentos going: "Sweet? Sweet?"
Before breakfast. On a bloody empty stomach. Of course the boy eagerly takes it and the whining ends. MIL is triumphant. I am boiling.
I say nothing but leave. When I grouse to KH, he says: "Not everyday lah." Sure. Just everyday of this week lah. I mutter something under my breath about too much sugar and braincells and then shut up but inside I am thinking: matter of time. Either he says it or I will. And I will not guarantee I will be nice.
Its not just the sweets issue. Its the excessive tv time that sends the tv-is-ok signal to the kids and so on. Maybe I am just very territorial and protective of my space.
I guess I just feel angry and I feel bad about being angry. I feel intruded upon and then I feel bad about feeling intruded upon. I feel sorry for her and I don't hate her. She is a lonely widow, I tell myself and the mother of my husband. But I wish she would seriously get a life. That sounds really mean but it's well-meant.
Looking at her though, I swear though that (1) I will get a life of my own when I am retired (2) take care of myself when I am old instead of expecting my children to do this (3) never live with my kids and (4) never, ever, ever sell my own house - cos that will be MY refuge and my sanctuary. I expect my children will have their own lives and their own families and while we do love each other, I want to be independent. I don't ever want to be a burden or feel a burden to the people I love.
With all the debate about why Singaporeans don't have kids (because kids are expensive they say and because kids don't take care of their old parents anymore) I say, why see children as walking dollar signs? Why see them as a retirement fund? God help us if we have children because we see kids as an insurance policies against our aging needs. If Singaporeans felt this way, lucky the population is on the wane. Because: what sort of people are we to put price tags on children?
This is why I never believe in endowment policies for kids, saving till the cows come home for a university education (which to me has never been the epitome of material success anyway). I think the kids will thank me more if I kept myself healthy, had a good retirement income, had a roof over my head, a good hospitalisation and medical insurance and made a will. And this can only be financially possible if I didn't have to slave just to pay for 5 $100,000 endowment policies.
Read in the Catholic News the other day about a priest's take on filial piety - and I agree 100%. Bring the kids up with love and they will want to take care of you even if they don't have to. No one can force love.
What has all this got to do with the MIL? sigh. My feelings for her are ambivalent. I swing between tolerance and dislike. Ok, to be fair, I probably don't dislike her as a person, but I dislike how she lives. Does that make sense?
Maybe because I see my own mom - the antithesis of the MIL, that I feel this way. My mother is a woman who chooses to work after retirement, she is financially independent, gallivants around town with her girlfriends, takes care of her family, travels freely (and no granny package tours for her thank you very much! She prefers independent backpack travel!), surfs the internet, reads widely... Perhaps it is an unfair comparison of lifestyles but mom has such a joie de vivre which I wish my MIL would have. She would be so much healthier - physically and mentally.
Ah well, blogging about this makes me feel better. So now I can go home with a nice smile and sit down to dinner without feeling angsty.
But first, I will confiscate as many of the sweets as I can find.
The MIL came by yesterday and I guess, will be, as usual, staying for a week. Sigh.
I am bracing myself for the usual slew of taiwanese hokkien mandarin-dubbed dramas, the mindless sit-and-do-nothingness, the mournful range of ills and aches she claims to have and worst of all all - the sweets galore.
The kids look forward to her visits as much as I grimace - for the same reason - the sweets. The woman is a walking candy shop to her grandkids. Despite my remonstrations of "Enough sweets already!" or "No sweets before breakfast/lunch/dinner!", I see my kids walking around with fistfuls of dried cuttlefish, chocolate-coated fingers, empty boxes of glico lying on the living room floor and of course, mouthfuls of mentos.
I grit my teeth and bear it but I swear one day I am going to lose it big time.
Case in point: rushing out to work this morning, distracted. Owain whining for 'nen-nen' which I could not give because (a) I'm late (b) nipples sore and oozing already so I am in bloody agony and (c) nipples full of corticosteroid cream to treat the ever-present and worsening eczema. So I am standing there at the door, one shoe on, bag in hand, cooler bag in the other, the boy is tugging at my skirt and the MIL decides to save the day. She swoops down and offers him a stub of Mentos going: "Sweet? Sweet?"
Before breakfast. On a bloody empty stomach. Of course the boy eagerly takes it and the whining ends. MIL is triumphant. I am boiling.
I say nothing but leave. When I grouse to KH, he says: "Not everyday lah." Sure. Just everyday of this week lah. I mutter something under my breath about too much sugar and braincells and then shut up but inside I am thinking: matter of time. Either he says it or I will. And I will not guarantee I will be nice.
Its not just the sweets issue. Its the excessive tv time that sends the tv-is-ok signal to the kids and so on. Maybe I am just very territorial and protective of my space.
I guess I just feel angry and I feel bad about being angry. I feel intruded upon and then I feel bad about feeling intruded upon. I feel sorry for her and I don't hate her. She is a lonely widow, I tell myself and the mother of my husband. But I wish she would seriously get a life. That sounds really mean but it's well-meant.
Looking at her though, I swear though that (1) I will get a life of my own when I am retired (2) take care of myself when I am old instead of expecting my children to do this (3) never live with my kids and (4) never, ever, ever sell my own house - cos that will be MY refuge and my sanctuary. I expect my children will have their own lives and their own families and while we do love each other, I want to be independent. I don't ever want to be a burden or feel a burden to the people I love.
With all the debate about why Singaporeans don't have kids (because kids are expensive they say and because kids don't take care of their old parents anymore) I say, why see children as walking dollar signs? Why see them as a retirement fund? God help us if we have children because we see kids as an insurance policies against our aging needs. If Singaporeans felt this way, lucky the population is on the wane. Because: what sort of people are we to put price tags on children?
This is why I never believe in endowment policies for kids, saving till the cows come home for a university education (which to me has never been the epitome of material success anyway). I think the kids will thank me more if I kept myself healthy, had a good retirement income, had a roof over my head, a good hospitalisation and medical insurance and made a will. And this can only be financially possible if I didn't have to slave just to pay for 5 $100,000 endowment policies.
Read in the Catholic News the other day about a priest's take on filial piety - and I agree 100%. Bring the kids up with love and they will want to take care of you even if they don't have to. No one can force love.
What has all this got to do with the MIL? sigh. My feelings for her are ambivalent. I swing between tolerance and dislike. Ok, to be fair, I probably don't dislike her as a person, but I dislike how she lives. Does that make sense?
Maybe because I see my own mom - the antithesis of the MIL, that I feel this way. My mother is a woman who chooses to work after retirement, she is financially independent, gallivants around town with her girlfriends, takes care of her family, travels freely (and no granny package tours for her thank you very much! She prefers independent backpack travel!), surfs the internet, reads widely... Perhaps it is an unfair comparison of lifestyles but mom has such a joie de vivre which I wish my MIL would have. She would be so much healthier - physically and mentally.
Ah well, blogging about this makes me feel better. So now I can go home with a nice smile and sit down to dinner without feeling angsty.
But first, I will confiscate as many of the sweets as I can find.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Snapshot #2
Had to pick up Cait from school yesterday since Bernice, who gives her a ride home was sick and away from school. As usual, Owain pestered me to let him come with me.
"It's hot out there," I say.
"I'll wear my hat!" He runs and grabs his cap to show me.
"It's a long walk to the bus-stop..." I warn.
"I will walk mummy."
So we set off, with him reminding me of my transitlink card for the bus. It was quite a pleasant walk despite the heat - we passed by gardens, banana trees, flowering shrubs etc.
But it was indeed a long walk and as we reached the last 200m, I noticed our valiant trooper flagging a bit, but still not complaining. I scooped him into my arms saying: "Mummy will carry you up the hill ok?"
He snuggles in and says: "Thank you mummy."
Then he says softly, "When you are old and tired, I will carry you!"
And his plump arms hug me tight as I hug him back.
Had to pick up Cait from school yesterday since Bernice, who gives her a ride home was sick and away from school. As usual, Owain pestered me to let him come with me.
"It's hot out there," I say.
"I'll wear my hat!" He runs and grabs his cap to show me.
"It's a long walk to the bus-stop..." I warn.
"I will walk mummy."
So we set off, with him reminding me of my transitlink card for the bus. It was quite a pleasant walk despite the heat - we passed by gardens, banana trees, flowering shrubs etc.
But it was indeed a long walk and as we reached the last 200m, I noticed our valiant trooper flagging a bit, but still not complaining. I scooped him into my arms saying: "Mummy will carry you up the hill ok?"
He snuggles in and says: "Thank you mummy."
Then he says softly, "When you are old and tired, I will carry you!"
And his plump arms hug me tight as I hug him back.
Snapshot #1
A neighbour turned 11 and invited Owain, yes 3-year-old Owain to his birthday barbecue. Benjamin and Owain are best of playground mates - Owain having charmed the 11-year-old boy who looks out for him at the playground, buys him lollies etc.
Half the neighbourhood was there at the barbecue and we had a nice time chatting with our neighbours. The kids, wet from the pool, swarmed around snatching bites from the grill while playing "Freeze N Melt" (aka tag).
When we were leaving, I spotted Gillian sitting quietly in a corner talking to an older boy. Something about the scene made me do a double-take. I didn't quite recognise the girl sitting there as the daughter I knew. Sitting there, legs crossed, chatting, laughing, face rosy from the heat was a half-child, half-woman, poised right on the cusp of change. Facing her was a good-looking, attractive teen. They were clearly enjoying each other's company. It was all innocent and yet, alarm bells rang.
One part of me yelled: but she's only 11! Another just sighed.
It had already begun - the peeling off of childhood skin and the newness of adolescence. She's oblivious to it all of course. But then, I am her mother, years ahead of her on the well-trodden road of growing up. I have been there, done that and I guess maybe it is the sensitivity and the intuition of women and mothers that let me see this.
A neighbour turned 11 and invited Owain, yes 3-year-old Owain to his birthday barbecue. Benjamin and Owain are best of playground mates - Owain having charmed the 11-year-old boy who looks out for him at the playground, buys him lollies etc.
Half the neighbourhood was there at the barbecue and we had a nice time chatting with our neighbours. The kids, wet from the pool, swarmed around snatching bites from the grill while playing "Freeze N Melt" (aka tag).
When we were leaving, I spotted Gillian sitting quietly in a corner talking to an older boy. Something about the scene made me do a double-take. I didn't quite recognise the girl sitting there as the daughter I knew. Sitting there, legs crossed, chatting, laughing, face rosy from the heat was a half-child, half-woman, poised right on the cusp of change. Facing her was a good-looking, attractive teen. They were clearly enjoying each other's company. It was all innocent and yet, alarm bells rang.
One part of me yelled: but she's only 11! Another just sighed.
It had already begun - the peeling off of childhood skin and the newness of adolescence. She's oblivious to it all of course. But then, I am her mother, years ahead of her on the well-trodden road of growing up. I have been there, done that and I guess maybe it is the sensitivity and the intuition of women and mothers that let me see this.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Number 5 and out in the cold
On Sunday the MP came by.
In our 8/9 years there, we have never seen or met our MP. Now election over and MP changed, and so we finally get a chance to meet the man. Mr Seah Kian Peng. Good firm handshake.
Took opportunity to 'pour out my woes' - heh.
There is a small park in a corner of Jln Riang. The kids of the neighbourhood love to hang out there. There's a playground with sandpit, a bastketball court and some swings. In the evenings, the maids of the neighbourhood hang out there with their charges, children kick around a ball, older kids shoot some hoops and place comes alive with chatter and noise. Unfortunately, the park is right next to the house belonging to the resident killjoy.
This launty living there loves to call the cops and confiscate stray footballs that go over her wall. And no matter how the children plead and apologise, they don't get their balls back. She's got a big box full of balls - at least 20 of them. I have seen one expat Australian family (with 5 kids in tow!) standing outside the auntie's house pleading for their ball back. Quite funny because the Australians can't quite understand the auntie, who keeps yelling: "我听不懂！ 我不会给你你们的 ball!" but to their credit, remained calm and kept repeating their apologies and asking for the ball. The aunty must have given in out of frustration for I saw the family walking past with said ball - the lone survivor out of ball prison.
This auntie has complained many times and the cops have come to take down particulars, given the kids' warning etc. Finally, she got the RC to lobby to change the park - so the basketball court went. The dwarf fir trees went up flanking her wall. The No Football signs went up.
According to my brother who has played many a basketball game on the court before it was demolished, this aunty has always been like this, complaining and confiscating stray balls for years.
I thought it rather mean-spirited of her - denying kids the chance to play and run and let off steam. We live in a private estate which means no space to kick a ball around unless we do so in the roads, which is dangerous. So the only place for kids to do this is in the park. So much for healthy lifestyle, community bonding etc.
I thought it was time someone spoke up for the kids.
Also raised pet peeve of zero benefits and zero baby bonus for my children. All have been denied any benefits due to dates. Number three was born 9 days shy of the Apr 1 2001 launch of the baby bonus scheme. Number 4 was born without any benefits because benefits only applied to the third child. By the time they extended the benefits to baby number 4, baby number five was born - and so did not get a cent.
We now talk so much about declining population, the need to have foreign talent etc. And newspapers are doing a great PR blitz with stories of happy immigrants, big happy families etc. Tax dollars are going into schemes to help entice foreign talent to come and stay etc. Yet we put caps on benefits for children of large families. If every Singaporean is important and indeed, as the PM himself said, no Singaporean will be left behind, then how come my kids don't get a red dime?
They are Singaporeans too are they not? My 4th child will serve NS and my kids will contribute to the economy someday. But somehow, they don't count.
I say: if it is so important and crucial to raise the population by births, don't stint and stinge. Give to ALL children, regardless of birth order, regardless of deadlines or dates. Those are just numbers. But the gift of children are real. Real to us as parents, and eventually, real to the country as citizens as well.
Husband says I can talk till the cows come home but nothing will change.
I am an optimist. And there are no cows in Singapore.
I hope Mr Seah passes the message on.
On Sunday the MP came by.
In our 8/9 years there, we have never seen or met our MP. Now election over and MP changed, and so we finally get a chance to meet the man. Mr Seah Kian Peng. Good firm handshake.
Took opportunity to 'pour out my woes' - heh.
There is a small park in a corner of Jln Riang. The kids of the neighbourhood love to hang out there. There's a playground with sandpit, a bastketball court and some swings. In the evenings, the maids of the neighbourhood hang out there with their charges, children kick around a ball, older kids shoot some hoops and place comes alive with chatter and noise. Unfortunately, the park is right next to the house belonging to the resident killjoy.
This launty living there loves to call the cops and confiscate stray footballs that go over her wall. And no matter how the children plead and apologise, they don't get their balls back. She's got a big box full of balls - at least 20 of them. I have seen one expat Australian family (with 5 kids in tow!) standing outside the auntie's house pleading for their ball back. Quite funny because the Australians can't quite understand the auntie, who keeps yelling: "我听不懂！ 我不会给你你们的 ball!" but to their credit, remained calm and kept repeating their apologies and asking for the ball. The aunty must have given in out of frustration for I saw the family walking past with said ball - the lone survivor out of ball prison.
This auntie has complained many times and the cops have come to take down particulars, given the kids' warning etc. Finally, she got the RC to lobby to change the park - so the basketball court went. The dwarf fir trees went up flanking her wall. The No Football signs went up.
According to my brother who has played many a basketball game on the court before it was demolished, this aunty has always been like this, complaining and confiscating stray balls for years.
I thought it rather mean-spirited of her - denying kids the chance to play and run and let off steam. We live in a private estate which means no space to kick a ball around unless we do so in the roads, which is dangerous. So the only place for kids to do this is in the park. So much for healthy lifestyle, community bonding etc.
I thought it was time someone spoke up for the kids.
Also raised pet peeve of zero benefits and zero baby bonus for my children. All have been denied any benefits due to dates. Number three was born 9 days shy of the Apr 1 2001 launch of the baby bonus scheme. Number 4 was born without any benefits because benefits only applied to the third child. By the time they extended the benefits to baby number 4, baby number five was born - and so did not get a cent.
We now talk so much about declining population, the need to have foreign talent etc. And newspapers are doing a great PR blitz with stories of happy immigrants, big happy families etc. Tax dollars are going into schemes to help entice foreign talent to come and stay etc. Yet we put caps on benefits for children of large families. If every Singaporean is important and indeed, as the PM himself said, no Singaporean will be left behind, then how come my kids don't get a red dime?
They are Singaporeans too are they not? My 4th child will serve NS and my kids will contribute to the economy someday. But somehow, they don't count.
I say: if it is so important and crucial to raise the population by births, don't stint and stinge. Give to ALL children, regardless of birth order, regardless of deadlines or dates. Those are just numbers. But the gift of children are real. Real to us as parents, and eventually, real to the country as citizens as well.
Husband says I can talk till the cows come home but nothing will change.
I am an optimist. And there are no cows in Singapore.
I hope Mr Seah passes the message on.
Monday, August 28, 2006
In the eyes and mouth
Noticed the boy has a bit of red-eye and the conjunctiva looked swollen. So I asked him to come over so that I can squirt some breastmilk into his eye. Always worked like a charm - within 20min of administering some breastmilk, the pink-eye always improves, thanks to the anti-bacterial properties of breastmilk. So much better and faster than the usual eye-drops the doctors give.
But this time, the boy was dawdling and refused to let me put some in his eye. After some cajoling, he and said: "You give nen-nen in the eye. How about nen-nen in the mouth also?"
Yep. Never lose an opportunity to nurse.
Nursing Owain this long means it's the longest I have ever nursed any baby. And because he is so verbal at 3 years old, it's so much fun to listen to all the negotiations and wise words that come out from his mouth when it comes to nursing.
Such as: "Breastmilk makes me stronger and bigger!"
"I like nen-nen! It tastes like ice-cream!"
"Please mummy, please can I drink nen-nen?" and when I say no, he clasps both chubby hands together and pleads: "Just a little bit, just a little while, please, please!" and if I still say no, he goes: "Arrrgggh!"
When he sees me nursing Trinity, he persuades: "I drink together with Trinity! Please mom, I like it!"
So while on one hand I get really antsy with his frequent nursing sessions, as frequent as 5 minutes apart sometimes, on the other, I wish he would never stop. Or at least, not so soon.
Noticed the boy has a bit of red-eye and the conjunctiva looked swollen. So I asked him to come over so that I can squirt some breastmilk into his eye. Always worked like a charm - within 20min of administering some breastmilk, the pink-eye always improves, thanks to the anti-bacterial properties of breastmilk. So much better and faster than the usual eye-drops the doctors give.
But this time, the boy was dawdling and refused to let me put some in his eye. After some cajoling, he and said: "You give nen-nen in the eye. How about nen-nen in the mouth also?"
Yep. Never lose an opportunity to nurse.
Nursing Owain this long means it's the longest I have ever nursed any baby. And because he is so verbal at 3 years old, it's so much fun to listen to all the negotiations and wise words that come out from his mouth when it comes to nursing.
Such as: "Breastmilk makes me stronger and bigger!"
"I like nen-nen! It tastes like ice-cream!"
"Please mummy, please can I drink nen-nen?" and when I say no, he clasps both chubby hands together and pleads: "Just a little bit, just a little while, please, please!" and if I still say no, he goes: "Arrrgggh!"
When he sees me nursing Trinity, he persuades: "I drink together with Trinity! Please mom, I like it!"
So while on one hand I get really antsy with his frequent nursing sessions, as frequent as 5 minutes apart sometimes, on the other, I wish he would never stop. Or at least, not so soon.
The 'Damaged' Person
"Daaaaddddd...." Owain hollers from back of our car. "Can we go to Queensway McDonalds?"
That sparks off our Saturday ritual of Deciding Where To Go For Breakfast. With so many members in the family, everyone wants a say and of course everyone feels like eating different types of food. There is usually a great deal of wheeling and dealing and lobbying going in the backseats as the kids try to garner votes, make alliances to pressure mum and dad into having breakfast of their choice.
So while mum and dad were hemming and hawing in the front, frowning in concentration to fit food and errands into locations which were convenient to each other, the back rows were noisy with discussions and arguments.
Through this noise, suddenly a voice piped up in very serious tones: "Mummy, you have to listen to the damaged person." This was Caitlin.
Huh? What damaged person? "Owain of course! He's got a wound in his head remember?" she says.
Who can argue with this recommendation?
The Damaged Person won and the Chongs had brekkie at Queensway McDonalds - our favourite outlet. The kids love the little garden and the turtles. And there's something nice about a lazy brekkie amidst greenery (and this includes the algae-laden pond) while the kids hang out at the bridge checking out the turtles and the resident large arrowana which occasionally surfaces, scales gleaming gold amid the green.
After brekkie, we tried to drug our son in preparation for the removal of stitches. The doc had given us some chloral hydrate syrup and Owain had to swallow 15ml of the stuff to be knocked out. I was not in favour of this, preferring to nurse him through the process - which is also very relaxing. But KH said no. So he was on his own when it came to giving the boy the stuff - which Owain promptly spat out onto himself and his daddy.
End result - nothing went in and my boy was not drugged after all. The removal of stitches went smoothly. He lay there while I talked to him, pointing out the big OT lights, asking him how many lights there were, telling him why we needed the lights etc, while the doctor snipped and pulled the stitches loose. He was a real trouper!
"Daaaaddddd...." Owain hollers from back of our car. "Can we go to Queensway McDonalds?"
That sparks off our Saturday ritual of Deciding Where To Go For Breakfast. With so many members in the family, everyone wants a say and of course everyone feels like eating different types of food. There is usually a great deal of wheeling and dealing and lobbying going in the backseats as the kids try to garner votes, make alliances to pressure mum and dad into having breakfast of their choice.
So while mum and dad were hemming and hawing in the front, frowning in concentration to fit food and errands into locations which were convenient to each other, the back rows were noisy with discussions and arguments.
Through this noise, suddenly a voice piped up in very serious tones: "Mummy, you have to listen to the damaged person." This was Caitlin.
Huh? What damaged person? "Owain of course! He's got a wound in his head remember?" she says.
Who can argue with this recommendation?
The Damaged Person won and the Chongs had brekkie at Queensway McDonalds - our favourite outlet. The kids love the little garden and the turtles. And there's something nice about a lazy brekkie amidst greenery (and this includes the algae-laden pond) while the kids hang out at the bridge checking out the turtles and the resident large arrowana which occasionally surfaces, scales gleaming gold amid the green.
After brekkie, we tried to drug our son in preparation for the removal of stitches. The doc had given us some chloral hydrate syrup and Owain had to swallow 15ml of the stuff to be knocked out. I was not in favour of this, preferring to nurse him through the process - which is also very relaxing. But KH said no. So he was on his own when it came to giving the boy the stuff - which Owain promptly spat out onto himself and his daddy.
End result - nothing went in and my boy was not drugged after all. The removal of stitches went smoothly. He lay there while I talked to him, pointing out the big OT lights, asking him how many lights there were, telling him why we needed the lights etc, while the doctor snipped and pulled the stitches loose. He was a real trouper!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Milestone!
She stands! Last night came home from work to find Trinity standing all by herself. She stood there, hands busy fingering a toy, for at least a minute or so, until she realised that she was standing without grabbing anything. Then she let the toy fall and her eyes widened in panic as she reached out to find something to grab on to. Very cute! Also, saw yesterday that she's now able to climb on top of the low coffee table. She's been trying very hard over the past week or so and now finally she's done it. Yesterday, she also appeared to be more confident when negotiating the step from the dining to the living. She used to panic, cry a bit when she had to negotiate it and usually came down on her front, one foot at a time. Yesterday, she came down butt-first - which is safer.
She also shows a great deal of personality - I don't remember the other kids showing as much spunk and personality as she does when they were her age. These days she wriggles, snorts and makes noises to show she wants me. When she sees Owain nursing, she'd scuttle over and try to pull/push him off, then grab on and pull herself up on my other arm. Its her way of telling me she wants to nurse. When you feed her something and she doesn't like it, she'd grab the spoon and pull it away. She loves her hide and seek games. Gets really excited when her kor-kor and che-che play catching with her. She loves to 'run' with me in the sling.
Seems like there's a growth spurt happening because I see these changes coming fast one after another.
Before I know it, she'll be toddling away.
They grow so fast...
She stands! Last night came home from work to find Trinity standing all by herself. She stood there, hands busy fingering a toy, for at least a minute or so, until she realised that she was standing without grabbing anything. Then she let the toy fall and her eyes widened in panic as she reached out to find something to grab on to. Very cute! Also, saw yesterday that she's now able to climb on top of the low coffee table. She's been trying very hard over the past week or so and now finally she's done it. Yesterday, she also appeared to be more confident when negotiating the step from the dining to the living. She used to panic, cry a bit when she had to negotiate it and usually came down on her front, one foot at a time. Yesterday, she came down butt-first - which is safer.
She also shows a great deal of personality - I don't remember the other kids showing as much spunk and personality as she does when they were her age. These days she wriggles, snorts and makes noises to show she wants me. When she sees Owain nursing, she'd scuttle over and try to pull/push him off, then grab on and pull herself up on my other arm. Its her way of telling me she wants to nurse. When you feed her something and she doesn't like it, she'd grab the spoon and pull it away. She loves her hide and seek games. Gets really excited when her kor-kor and che-che play catching with her. She loves to 'run' with me in the sling.
Seems like there's a growth spurt happening because I see these changes coming fast one after another.
Before I know it, she'll be toddling away.
They grow so fast...
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Humpty Dumpty
...fell on some rocks and cracked his head open.
Owain, my fishball, round-shaped Owain, did a Humpty Dumpty on Sunday. We were at the reservoir trying to catch some unsuspecting prawns. It was a nice golden evening. KH and the kids were perched on rocks, patiently luring the prawns out with some bait. I was sitting on a bench nursing Trinity. I saw Owain throwing one of his crocs into the water and called out to him: "Owain! Shoe!" The boy retrieved it and I continued nursing and day-dreaming. Next thing I knew Gillian yelled: "Mum! Owain fell! He's bleeding!"
Being mom to 5, you can really write the chapter on kid accidents so I was slow to react, Trinity was still latched on and I remained seated. Then I saw two women (other mothers!) racing towards him and something told me this was different from the scrape and cut we were used to.
I unlatched Trinity and yelled for KH to go over. By the time we reached Owain, blood was dripping from a deep open gash in his forehead. Dead centre. One mother said, "Give him some sugar. Got any sweets?" and I remember saying automatically: "It's ok, I'm breastfeeding. Breastmilk is sweet." And true to form, my injured babe was yelling: "I want NEN-NEN!!"
Everything happened so fast. We didn't even thank the mothers for the tissue papers. I told KH: "Hospital. Now." So I cradled Owain while KH organised the kids, the nets, the pails of prawn - "Throw them back! We can't bring them to the hospital with us!" I yelled. To which Isaac groaned: "WHAT! After all my hard work!"
So we ran - sort of - KH ran. It was marvellous to see what adrenalin can do to an out-of-shape 40ish man. All that IPPT training worked after all. Carrying Owain and running was like carrying a full-pack and running - same weight!
He drove like a bat out of hell - horning, flashing lights, cutting lanes. Until I told him to better slow down or we won't make it there at all. Funny how it is that faced with these situations, the man freaks out. I am calm - been there done that remember? Not the first emergency run to the hospital after all.
At the emergency room, Owain was examined and stitches recommended. But because he would scream blue murder and struggle, the drs recommended keeping him under GA. So KH sent the older kids home while Trinity and I accompanied Owain up to the ward - he was seated in a wheelchair!
Surgeon came later and explained the process. Said that he would give Owain an injection to make him sleep. I asked the doc to give some lidocaine gel before jabbing him. Doc said no need. I glared at him. For all of Owain's life, I have protected him from any injections - and that includes vaccinations. And here he is, being jabbed. Then I said: what about me nursing him so it would not be so painful? Doc said no, no food and drink. I said breastmilk is so easily digestible its not considered food. Doc started to explain risks of gastric aspiration. As if I didn't know that. I opened my mouth to argue. KH said firmly: OK no breastmilk. I gave HIM the evil eye.
By 9pm, the thrill of non-stop cartoons was wearing thin and he began fretting for nen-nen. Thanks to his evil dad, I said: no, but I will nurse you later ok? The boy was a trouper and agreed. For all of 10minutes - then he asked again! And again!
We went up to the operating theatre at 10pm. Owain looked so cute in a hospital gown and shower cap. I asked him who he wanted to bring him in, and pang of pangs, he said: daddy!
I felt ambivalent. On one hand, I didn't want to be the one to hold him while he got jabbed. Could not stand to watch him feeling pain. On the other hand, we've never been separated like this. Aside from the one night that I birthed Trinity, he has always been with me.
So as KH took him in, KH also dressed in green surgical scrubs, I stood outside the OT doors and peered in through the glass. For some reason, I felt like crying.
How long can you protect a child? I thought of his smooth, lovely wide and clear forehead, now to be marred by a scar and I felt a rush of tears. I stood there, carrying Trinity and waiting until I saw KH coming out. Then he gave me and Trin a hug and we stood there waiting until we saw the nurse carrying a tiny figure bundled in a white blanket.
We brought him down to his room but he was clearly knocked out. KH ta-paoed char kway teow which we fell on and devoured - so hungry were we! We both spent the night with him and at 1am, I heard a tentative, groggy sounding: mummy? I want nen-nen... I'm so glad that I can still give him something that comforts and heals.
Today is Wednesday and he seems fine. The wound seems to be oozing but he reports no pain. Stoic boy. Fearless, he's back in form - jumping, running, building his lego robots.
Tomorrow he turns 3. What a ride it has been. My big-head-boy, my superman. My first gentle birth 3 years ago, my biggest baby ever, has grown into a sturdy, generous, happy, good-natured charmer with a mischievous grin.
I'm so glad Humpty Dumpty survived the fall after all.
...fell on some rocks and cracked his head open.
Owain, my fishball, round-shaped Owain, did a Humpty Dumpty on Sunday. We were at the reservoir trying to catch some unsuspecting prawns. It was a nice golden evening. KH and the kids were perched on rocks, patiently luring the prawns out with some bait. I was sitting on a bench nursing Trinity. I saw Owain throwing one of his crocs into the water and called out to him: "Owain! Shoe!" The boy retrieved it and I continued nursing and day-dreaming. Next thing I knew Gillian yelled: "Mum! Owain fell! He's bleeding!"
Being mom to 5, you can really write the chapter on kid accidents so I was slow to react, Trinity was still latched on and I remained seated. Then I saw two women (other mothers!) racing towards him and something told me this was different from the scrape and cut we were used to.
I unlatched Trinity and yelled for KH to go over. By the time we reached Owain, blood was dripping from a deep open gash in his forehead. Dead centre. One mother said, "Give him some sugar. Got any sweets?" and I remember saying automatically: "It's ok, I'm breastfeeding. Breastmilk is sweet." And true to form, my injured babe was yelling: "I want NEN-NEN!!"
Everything happened so fast. We didn't even thank the mothers for the tissue papers. I told KH: "Hospital. Now." So I cradled Owain while KH organised the kids, the nets, the pails of prawn - "Throw them back! We can't bring them to the hospital with us!" I yelled. To which Isaac groaned: "WHAT! After all my hard work!"
So we ran - sort of - KH ran. It was marvellous to see what adrenalin can do to an out-of-shape 40ish man. All that IPPT training worked after all. Carrying Owain and running was like carrying a full-pack and running - same weight!
He drove like a bat out of hell - horning, flashing lights, cutting lanes. Until I told him to better slow down or we won't make it there at all. Funny how it is that faced with these situations, the man freaks out. I am calm - been there done that remember? Not the first emergency run to the hospital after all.
At the emergency room, Owain was examined and stitches recommended. But because he would scream blue murder and struggle, the drs recommended keeping him under GA. So KH sent the older kids home while Trinity and I accompanied Owain up to the ward - he was seated in a wheelchair!
Surgeon came later and explained the process. Said that he would give Owain an injection to make him sleep. I asked the doc to give some lidocaine gel before jabbing him. Doc said no need. I glared at him. For all of Owain's life, I have protected him from any injections - and that includes vaccinations. And here he is, being jabbed. Then I said: what about me nursing him so it would not be so painful? Doc said no, no food and drink. I said breastmilk is so easily digestible its not considered food. Doc started to explain risks of gastric aspiration. As if I didn't know that. I opened my mouth to argue. KH said firmly: OK no breastmilk. I gave HIM the evil eye.
By 9pm, the thrill of non-stop cartoons was wearing thin and he began fretting for nen-nen. Thanks to his evil dad, I said: no, but I will nurse you later ok? The boy was a trouper and agreed. For all of 10minutes - then he asked again! And again!
We went up to the operating theatre at 10pm. Owain looked so cute in a hospital gown and shower cap. I asked him who he wanted to bring him in, and pang of pangs, he said: daddy!
I felt ambivalent. On one hand, I didn't want to be the one to hold him while he got jabbed. Could not stand to watch him feeling pain. On the other hand, we've never been separated like this. Aside from the one night that I birthed Trinity, he has always been with me.
So as KH took him in, KH also dressed in green surgical scrubs, I stood outside the OT doors and peered in through the glass. For some reason, I felt like crying.
How long can you protect a child? I thought of his smooth, lovely wide and clear forehead, now to be marred by a scar and I felt a rush of tears. I stood there, carrying Trinity and waiting until I saw KH coming out. Then he gave me and Trin a hug and we stood there waiting until we saw the nurse carrying a tiny figure bundled in a white blanket.
We brought him down to his room but he was clearly knocked out. KH ta-paoed char kway teow which we fell on and devoured - so hungry were we! We both spent the night with him and at 1am, I heard a tentative, groggy sounding: mummy? I want nen-nen... I'm so glad that I can still give him something that comforts and heals.
Today is Wednesday and he seems fine. The wound seems to be oozing but he reports no pain. Stoic boy. Fearless, he's back in form - jumping, running, building his lego robots.
Tomorrow he turns 3. What a ride it has been. My big-head-boy, my superman. My first gentle birth 3 years ago, my biggest baby ever, has grown into a sturdy, generous, happy, good-natured charmer with a mischievous grin.
I'm so glad Humpty Dumpty survived the fall after all.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Invisibility
I now know how stay-at-home-moms can sometimes feel - the sense of isolation and invisibility. Recently, the govt was lambasted in the press for not giving sahms part of the budget financial goodies. But nearer home, even to the one's family, one can be invisible. Particularly to one's spouse.
A woman today has to wear so many hats that sometimes she herself loses track of which one was her original hat, her favourite look. She is someone's mother, someone's daughter, someone's colleague, someone's wife. But who is she really? Stripped of all the labels, what is left?
And particularly so for women who choose to stay home to care for their families, who have no income, how invisible are they? It might help if at least, to a spouse, they are visible. After all, we all hope to mean something to someone special. It can be disappointing when one realises that this special-ness is gone, that she too, has become invisible to this person.
So when the kids are grown, the last one out of the house, what is left? Who is left? To expect a woman to regain all her identity at that point is tough. Like learning to walk all over again. We have to get to know ourselves. And hope that that is enough to get through the aura of invisibility we now have.
I guess it might now be prudent for me to start relying less on how others see me and start seeing myself for who I really am. And while others will still inhabit different parts of my life, sharing my identity, I will still have a sense of who I am. And better for me now to understand that despite the painful awareness of invisibility from the one I love, far better to realise this now than later.
Ah well, time for dinner. Time to put on the mother hat and go...
I now know how stay-at-home-moms can sometimes feel - the sense of isolation and invisibility. Recently, the govt was lambasted in the press for not giving sahms part of the budget financial goodies. But nearer home, even to the one's family, one can be invisible. Particularly to one's spouse.
A woman today has to wear so many hats that sometimes she herself loses track of which one was her original hat, her favourite look. She is someone's mother, someone's daughter, someone's colleague, someone's wife. But who is she really? Stripped of all the labels, what is left?
And particularly so for women who choose to stay home to care for their families, who have no income, how invisible are they? It might help if at least, to a spouse, they are visible. After all, we all hope to mean something to someone special. It can be disappointing when one realises that this special-ness is gone, that she too, has become invisible to this person.
So when the kids are grown, the last one out of the house, what is left? Who is left? To expect a woman to regain all her identity at that point is tough. Like learning to walk all over again. We have to get to know ourselves. And hope that that is enough to get through the aura of invisibility we now have.
I guess it might now be prudent for me to start relying less on how others see me and start seeing myself for who I really am. And while others will still inhabit different parts of my life, sharing my identity, I will still have a sense of who I am. And better for me now to understand that despite the painful awareness of invisibility from the one I love, far better to realise this now than later.
Ah well, time for dinner. Time to put on the mother hat and go...
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Trinity is officially two months old. I haven't posted for a long while - getting over the birth, Sydney, then Christmas and so on. Things have been hectic.
So here, belatedly, is Trinity's birth story.
I was due to see Paul on Monday, Oct 31 - what would have been the EDD. Was already home on MC due to the ever escalating BP. The Wednesday before, with readings of 200/122, Paul ordered me to stay home. But things were uneventful until early Sat morning, 29 Oct. The mucus plug came loose with two slightly painful and long contractions. I found out only when I visited the loo early in the morning. I half expected things to progress quickly but they didn't. I had a couple of half-hearted contractions but nothing really meaningful until dinner time at Pastamania when I had several contractions coming close and painful. So I knew it would be soon.
After midnight on early Sunday morning, Oct 30, the ccontractions intensifiedand kept me in a half-sleep for several hrs. Kept getting up going to the loo and each contraction was getting more painful and lasting longer. I could feel baby turning and moving with a slight pooing sensation. She was very active. After 3am, I thought I'd better wake KH up. Guydidn't want to wake up! So I let him sleep thru another two contractions before really jabbing him awake. SaidI thought this was it.
We timed the contractions - it was comingat 1 every 5min and lasting a minute. Still, I was doubtful about going in to the hospital. Decided to get up to go to the loo. Probably because of the change in position to an upright one, I could feel the contractions change in momentum and force. One came right on top of the other, each lasting 90sec long, very painful and intense. I sat on the loo and waited the wave out with KH holding me. Could feel a distinct urge to poo and realised that baby was definitely in descent and I was likely to be intransition.
Weirdly thru my labour, there was this little voice in my head (childbirth educator mode) telling me exactly what was likely to be happening and what I should be doing. So we made preparations to go to the hospital. Ididn't think I could sit in the car so I got in thebackseat and crouched over the seatback as KH drove. Once in Mt A, we walked up to the labour ward, goingthru contractions in the lift etc. This was at 4am.
In the room, I stayed in my pjs. I knew I was probably dilating very strongly and quickly due to the force of the contractions but for some reason, the nurses didn't think the baby was going to come soon,despite the pattern of pain I was going thru. There was no urgency at all. KH went thru the birth plan with the nurse etc, asked for the stuff we wanted - the ball, the mattress, the cd player etc. I settled on my left on the bed for the 15min CTG trace we agreed to in the birthplan. KH went down to do registration. A VE showed that I was at 8cm and the waters were bulging resulting in a slight urge to push.
KH was gone longer than expected. I had gone thru several contractions without him and those were hard ones.Once or twice I lost control of my rhythm/focus and gave in to the pain. Most of the time I visualised myself walking above the treetops very lightly andthen the breathing would even out. The next sequence of events took place very very rapidly.
Once KH came back, the CTG belts were removedand he stood beside me holding my hand. At that point,the contractions changed. Midway thru one, I could feel a very strong, irresistable urge to push. It was involuntary. The childbirth educator in me said, ok good, but don't push until you feel itis involuntary. And so it was - my body was already pushing and it showed with a catch in the breathing and the grunt that came.
KH, not trained, did not realise this. I did. I told him and the 3 other nurses in the room: Thebaby is coming. Maybe they were used to wild-eyed hysterical mothers who thought the babies were always coming. There wa sno urgency in taking me seriously.
The nurses walked over in slow mo and checked and made soothing sounds - yes,yes we've called the dr to tell him you're at 8cm etc. Second contraction I told them - "the water bag is going to burst!" and pop! it did!
Third contraction I gripped KH's shirt and yelled: "My leg! Someone lift my leg now! Only then did the nurses take me seriously enough to lift my right leg over. "
KH said very excitedly: "I can see the head! You're crowning!" I could feel the stinging sensation and the CBE in me said: ok, now stop pushing and blow baby out. And gee, I'm glad I did. Next thing KH said very excitedly, "The head is out! The baby is out! It's a girl, dear! It's Trinity Rose!"
This was at 4.38am. Trinity cried - this wet, slippery mass of purple flesh. The nurses stood there, at the foot of the bed, still stunned at the speed. No one caught the baby.She just slid right out. I had to tell them to givethe baby to me. Poor thing was just lying there, screaming her head off, wet and freezing cold! So KH scooped Trinity up and gave her to me. I unbuttoned my PJ, had skin-to-skin with her and askedthe nurses for a towel to cover Trinity's back.
So far it looked like they were still caught off-guard. Paul walked in about 5min later, grinned and said, " Hi,couldn't wait huh?" Then he checked me and found a small nick but nicely down the midline. Asked if I wanted it sewn. Said it would sting otherwise, so I said yeah. By then the cord had stopped pulsating. So KH snipped it. After that, we stayed in the labour ward for several hrs.
I would not stop bleeding and passed big clots. Paul had to go in to do a manual removal - but it didn'thurt! Later, becos I would not stop oozing blood andpassing big clots he ordered a drip - oxytocin - to stop the bleeding. They were concerned abt pph if thebleeding was not arrested. So that's it - when the bleeding stabilised, i went up to the ward, stayed a night and discharged the nextday.
Looking back, I think I did get my unassisted birth -no one caught the baby or protected my perineum or did anything. Trinity just slid out - KH couldn't believeit. Had we stayed longer at home I think I would have birthed the baby there. It was a speedy birth. My only regret - we never had time to play the new jazz cds I'd bought for the birth or try out the massages I'd been teaching KH to give, or even the various positions. There was just no time!
So here, belatedly, is Trinity's birth story.
I was due to see Paul on Monday, Oct 31 - what would have been the EDD. Was already home on MC due to the ever escalating BP. The Wednesday before, with readings of 200/122, Paul ordered me to stay home. But things were uneventful until early Sat morning, 29 Oct. The mucus plug came loose with two slightly painful and long contractions. I found out only when I visited the loo early in the morning. I half expected things to progress quickly but they didn't. I had a couple of half-hearted contractions but nothing really meaningful until dinner time at Pastamania when I had several contractions coming close and painful. So I knew it would be soon.
After midnight on early Sunday morning, Oct 30, the ccontractions intensifiedand kept me in a half-sleep for several hrs. Kept getting up going to the loo and each contraction was getting more painful and lasting longer. I could feel baby turning and moving with a slight pooing sensation. She was very active. After 3am, I thought I'd better wake KH up. Guydidn't want to wake up! So I let him sleep thru another two contractions before really jabbing him awake. SaidI thought this was it.
We timed the contractions - it was comingat 1 every 5min and lasting a minute. Still, I was doubtful about going in to the hospital. Decided to get up to go to the loo. Probably because of the change in position to an upright one, I could feel the contractions change in momentum and force. One came right on top of the other, each lasting 90sec long, very painful and intense. I sat on the loo and waited the wave out with KH holding me. Could feel a distinct urge to poo and realised that baby was definitely in descent and I was likely to be intransition.
Weirdly thru my labour, there was this little voice in my head (childbirth educator mode) telling me exactly what was likely to be happening and what I should be doing. So we made preparations to go to the hospital. Ididn't think I could sit in the car so I got in thebackseat and crouched over the seatback as KH drove. Once in Mt A, we walked up to the labour ward, goingthru contractions in the lift etc. This was at 4am.
In the room, I stayed in my pjs. I knew I was probably dilating very strongly and quickly due to the force of the contractions but for some reason, the nurses didn't think the baby was going to come soon,despite the pattern of pain I was going thru. There was no urgency at all. KH went thru the birth plan with the nurse etc, asked for the stuff we wanted - the ball, the mattress, the cd player etc. I settled on my left on the bed for the 15min CTG trace we agreed to in the birthplan. KH went down to do registration. A VE showed that I was at 8cm and the waters were bulging resulting in a slight urge to push.
KH was gone longer than expected. I had gone thru several contractions without him and those were hard ones.Once or twice I lost control of my rhythm/focus and gave in to the pain. Most of the time I visualised myself walking above the treetops very lightly andthen the breathing would even out. The next sequence of events took place very very rapidly.
Once KH came back, the CTG belts were removedand he stood beside me holding my hand. At that point,the contractions changed. Midway thru one, I could feel a very strong, irresistable urge to push. It was involuntary. The childbirth educator in me said, ok good, but don't push until you feel itis involuntary. And so it was - my body was already pushing and it showed with a catch in the breathing and the grunt that came.
KH, not trained, did not realise this. I did. I told him and the 3 other nurses in the room: Thebaby is coming. Maybe they were used to wild-eyed hysterical mothers who thought the babies were always coming. There wa sno urgency in taking me seriously.
The nurses walked over in slow mo and checked and made soothing sounds - yes,yes we've called the dr to tell him you're at 8cm etc. Second contraction I told them - "the water bag is going to burst!" and pop! it did!
Third contraction I gripped KH's shirt and yelled: "My leg! Someone lift my leg now! Only then did the nurses take me seriously enough to lift my right leg over. "
KH said very excitedly: "I can see the head! You're crowning!" I could feel the stinging sensation and the CBE in me said: ok, now stop pushing and blow baby out. And gee, I'm glad I did. Next thing KH said very excitedly, "The head is out! The baby is out! It's a girl, dear! It's Trinity Rose!"
This was at 4.38am. Trinity cried - this wet, slippery mass of purple flesh. The nurses stood there, at the foot of the bed, still stunned at the speed. No one caught the baby.She just slid right out. I had to tell them to givethe baby to me. Poor thing was just lying there, screaming her head off, wet and freezing cold! So KH scooped Trinity up and gave her to me. I unbuttoned my PJ, had skin-to-skin with her and askedthe nurses for a towel to cover Trinity's back.
So far it looked like they were still caught off-guard. Paul walked in about 5min later, grinned and said, " Hi,couldn't wait huh?" Then he checked me and found a small nick but nicely down the midline. Asked if I wanted it sewn. Said it would sting otherwise, so I said yeah. By then the cord had stopped pulsating. So KH snipped it. After that, we stayed in the labour ward for several hrs.
I would not stop bleeding and passed big clots. Paul had to go in to do a manual removal - but it didn'thurt! Later, becos I would not stop oozing blood andpassing big clots he ordered a drip - oxytocin - to stop the bleeding. They were concerned abt pph if thebleeding was not arrested. So that's it - when the bleeding stabilised, i went up to the ward, stayed a night and discharged the nextday.
Looking back, I think I did get my unassisted birth -no one caught the baby or protected my perineum or did anything. Trinity just slid out - KH couldn't believeit. Had we stayed longer at home I think I would have birthed the baby there. It was a speedy birth. My only regret - we never had time to play the new jazz cds I'd bought for the birth or try out the massages I'd been teaching KH to give, or even the various positions. There was just no time!
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
ISO and BP
BP went up to 202/116 on Friday night as my ankles swelled to elephantine proportions. No headaches but would not have been surprised if I had exploded. Took the methyldopa and it went down to 157/108 three hrs later. By morning, it went down to 144/98.
Told Paul abt this when I saw him today. His eyebrows went up at the measurements and we concluded that it was stress-fatigue related.
That day I had worked until 4pm despite usually knocking off at 12.30pm. It was ISO around the corner and I was feeling the heat. So busted my gut on the PC, chasing people for signatures, hammering out two articles for the web, formatting documents etc. No lunch until 2.30pm.
So no wonder the BP went up like a flare on the titanic...
I am SO not looking forward to tomorrow... more ISO chasing...
BP went up to 202/116 on Friday night as my ankles swelled to elephantine proportions. No headaches but would not have been surprised if I had exploded. Took the methyldopa and it went down to 157/108 three hrs later. By morning, it went down to 144/98.
Told Paul abt this when I saw him today. His eyebrows went up at the measurements and we concluded that it was stress-fatigue related.
That day I had worked until 4pm despite usually knocking off at 12.30pm. It was ISO around the corner and I was feeling the heat. So busted my gut on the PC, chasing people for signatures, hammering out two articles for the web, formatting documents etc. No lunch until 2.30pm.
So no wonder the BP went up like a flare on the titanic...
I am SO not looking forward to tomorrow... more ISO chasing...
What a night!
The past few nights have been tiring - Owain has had this phlegmy cough for the past two weeks already. Seen the dr twice but cough/phlegm does not seem to clear. And the awful thing about this is that he coughs at night in his sleep and because it must be tickly/sticky type of phlegm, it chokes the boy and makes him gag. We've had our share of night-time puking in bed for the past 2 weeks.
It was ok when KH was here - he would be the one to jackknife up in bed, propel the boy up and let him cough/puke into his hand. It was harder for me because of my belly - slower response and by the time I sat up clumsily, the damage was done and the puke all over the bed. Not exactly my idea of night-time aromatherapy.
But like I always said, things tend to happen when the man is not around. Last night he had to go to Batam because of an early morning training session starting the next day. So I was alone last night with the kids.
Before we slept, Natalie Cole was on and Owain and Cait were dancing to L-O-V-E. Specifically, jumping on the bed. Next thing I knew I saw O do an accidental upside down jumping jack OFF the bed. He landed head first. The bang was phenomenal. You never saw a hugely pg woman move faster. I went: "Shit!" and dived down to grab him by the arms. His legs were sticking up and of course, the boy was yowling. But lucky fella didn't even have a bump, just a red spot.
That was incident number 1. Number 2 was a puking incident in the middle of the night. The puke went everywhere - the sheets, the comforter, my nightgown, his PJs. It was no joy cleaning up. And the smell!!
Incident number 3 was not a big deal, but the guy woke up just when I was inching myself off the bed to go take a pee. And howled the place down. Usually with KH around, he would yowl too but I was ok with it. But since no one was around, I carried him to the loo, sat on the can and put him on my lap while I did what I had to do.
Luckily KH will be back tonight.
The past few nights have been tiring - Owain has had this phlegmy cough for the past two weeks already. Seen the dr twice but cough/phlegm does not seem to clear. And the awful thing about this is that he coughs at night in his sleep and because it must be tickly/sticky type of phlegm, it chokes the boy and makes him gag. We've had our share of night-time puking in bed for the past 2 weeks.
It was ok when KH was here - he would be the one to jackknife up in bed, propel the boy up and let him cough/puke into his hand. It was harder for me because of my belly - slower response and by the time I sat up clumsily, the damage was done and the puke all over the bed. Not exactly my idea of night-time aromatherapy.
But like I always said, things tend to happen when the man is not around. Last night he had to go to Batam because of an early morning training session starting the next day. So I was alone last night with the kids.
Before we slept, Natalie Cole was on and Owain and Cait were dancing to L-O-V-E. Specifically, jumping on the bed. Next thing I knew I saw O do an accidental upside down jumping jack OFF the bed. He landed head first. The bang was phenomenal. You never saw a hugely pg woman move faster. I went: "Shit!" and dived down to grab him by the arms. His legs were sticking up and of course, the boy was yowling. But lucky fella didn't even have a bump, just a red spot.
That was incident number 1. Number 2 was a puking incident in the middle of the night. The puke went everywhere - the sheets, the comforter, my nightgown, his PJs. It was no joy cleaning up. And the smell!!
Incident number 3 was not a big deal, but the guy woke up just when I was inching myself off the bed to go take a pee. And howled the place down. Usually with KH around, he would yowl too but I was ok with it. But since no one was around, I carried him to the loo, sat on the can and put him on my lap while I did what I had to do.
Luckily KH will be back tonight.
The last time
As parents, I think our lives are filled with firsts and lasts, with significant dates, with milestones. The first time the baby smiled, the first laugh, the first turn, first crawl, first step, first word etc.
But here's a milestone I never thought about until now when it was way too late.
When was the last time I carried my babies in my arms?
Looking at my children, now 10, 8 going on 9... when was the last time I carried them as a toddler, child, baby? When did I put them down for the last time and never realised it was the last time?
Did I think to myself, how heavy and how big they are getting? How old were they? What was the occasion? Was it something as innocuous as sitting them up on the counter for a drink of Ribena? Or carrying a warm, sleep-filled body from the car?
The first time I carried them of course, I will never forget. Straight after birth, as their warm, wet slippery bodies slide from mine - straight onto my belly and into my arms. How I marvelled at their features, their birth so euphoric. That one could never forget.
Yet the last time I would carry them as a baby should be no less important. And yet I can't remember it.
One fine day, I carried them for the last time, put them down on their feet, watched them go on their way and that was it.
Why was this milestone never consciously recorded in my mind?
Oh sure, I still have other babies, one still yet to be born. And for now at least I will consciously remember to note THIS milestone. But as time passes and in the ordinariness of the day to day, I am sure I will forget.
And one day I will sit down and think: when was the time when I really, finally held my babies as babies, for the last time?
And by then, they would have all grown up and my arms would be permanently empty, without that familiar ache.
As parents, I think our lives are filled with firsts and lasts, with significant dates, with milestones. The first time the baby smiled, the first laugh, the first turn, first crawl, first step, first word etc.
But here's a milestone I never thought about until now when it was way too late.
When was the last time I carried my babies in my arms?
Looking at my children, now 10, 8 going on 9... when was the last time I carried them as a toddler, child, baby? When did I put them down for the last time and never realised it was the last time?
Did I think to myself, how heavy and how big they are getting? How old were they? What was the occasion? Was it something as innocuous as sitting them up on the counter for a drink of Ribena? Or carrying a warm, sleep-filled body from the car?
The first time I carried them of course, I will never forget. Straight after birth, as their warm, wet slippery bodies slide from mine - straight onto my belly and into my arms. How I marvelled at their features, their birth so euphoric. That one could never forget.
Yet the last time I would carry them as a baby should be no less important. And yet I can't remember it.
One fine day, I carried them for the last time, put them down on their feet, watched them go on their way and that was it.
Why was this milestone never consciously recorded in my mind?
Oh sure, I still have other babies, one still yet to be born. And for now at least I will consciously remember to note THIS milestone. But as time passes and in the ordinariness of the day to day, I am sure I will forget.
And one day I will sit down and think: when was the time when I really, finally held my babies as babies, for the last time?
And by then, they would have all grown up and my arms would be permanently empty, without that familiar ache.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Hand Foot Mouth Disease hits Riang
Now on top of the dengue plague, the Chongs are at risk of HFMD. Don't ask me how we got it. Owain was the first to show signs.
We were at the Asian Civilisations Museum having our lunch before going for the Journey of Faith exhibition (more on that later) and I was trying my darndest to feed this kid who was whiny, fussy and off his food for the past few days. It was only when I peered into his mouth that I realised why - poor baby had MANY tiny ulcers peppering the inner cheeks and lower inner lip! My Gosh, if I had that many ulcers I wouldn't be able to eat too!
The ulcers rang a bell, so I promptly checked his hands and his feet. Voila - tiny red dots, some already with water-logged blisters.
After we finished touring the exhibition, we headed for Mt Alvernia. Dr Mom hits the jackpot again - confirmed HFMD.
That was Sun. Monday the tiny ulcers had joined the dots and formed a BIG ulcer the size of a 5cent coin in his inner cheek! But by Wed, he was fine and all spots were clearing. Yesterday, I noticed spots on Cait's knees. Suspecting HFMD, I checked and yep - she had all the signs. But not fussing, not feverish etc. Seemed like a mild case. Or maybe just due to the protective nature of being a breastfed kid.
Now all that's left is to wait for some kid somewhere to get the pox and Owain can attend a pox party. Cait, Isaac and Gill have got it already.
Now on top of the dengue plague, the Chongs are at risk of HFMD. Don't ask me how we got it. Owain was the first to show signs.
We were at the Asian Civilisations Museum having our lunch before going for the Journey of Faith exhibition (more on that later) and I was trying my darndest to feed this kid who was whiny, fussy and off his food for the past few days. It was only when I peered into his mouth that I realised why - poor baby had MANY tiny ulcers peppering the inner cheeks and lower inner lip! My Gosh, if I had that many ulcers I wouldn't be able to eat too!
The ulcers rang a bell, so I promptly checked his hands and his feet. Voila - tiny red dots, some already with water-logged blisters.
After we finished touring the exhibition, we headed for Mt Alvernia. Dr Mom hits the jackpot again - confirmed HFMD.
That was Sun. Monday the tiny ulcers had joined the dots and formed a BIG ulcer the size of a 5cent coin in his inner cheek! But by Wed, he was fine and all spots were clearing. Yesterday, I noticed spots on Cait's knees. Suspecting HFMD, I checked and yep - she had all the signs. But not fussing, not feverish etc. Seemed like a mild case. Or maybe just due to the protective nature of being a breastfed kid.
Now all that's left is to wait for some kid somewhere to get the pox and Owain can attend a pox party. Cait, Isaac and Gill have got it already.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
$100 larvae
Was in the loo when my son calls me from home. The NEA officers are at the door asking to check our pots for dengue larvae. Because the outbreak this year has been so severe and widespread, the good folks at NEA are now checking vigilantly and fining even first-time offenders for harbouring the nasty mozzies.
I can't complain - especially since I had a nasty case of dengue just two years ago that resulted in a hospital stay with my 8-week-old baby bunking in with me.
So this morning, the NEA came and checked our pots. We have three pots of water plants. One small water lily and a bigger plant in a deeper earthen pot in the back garden with a water spout. Both these water spots were ok - they had fish in them and the guppies - hardy little buggers - gobble up any stray larvae that are in their territory. So no worries there.
Unfortunately, we also have a smaller pot, which for some unfathomable reason, was hostile to fishes. Any and every fish that went in there died. So we bought some granular insecticides guaranteed to be anti-mozzie and put some in.
Today, despite the insecticides, the NEA dug around the pot and found one, yes ONE, wriggly miserable little larvae. And so we were fined. I think it was a hundred bucks. I don't have the details yet. But this has got to be THE most expensive mozzie ever!
Damn those bugs. We could have had a sushi meal.
Was in the loo when my son calls me from home. The NEA officers are at the door asking to check our pots for dengue larvae. Because the outbreak this year has been so severe and widespread, the good folks at NEA are now checking vigilantly and fining even first-time offenders for harbouring the nasty mozzies.
I can't complain - especially since I had a nasty case of dengue just two years ago that resulted in a hospital stay with my 8-week-old baby bunking in with me.
So this morning, the NEA came and checked our pots. We have three pots of water plants. One small water lily and a bigger plant in a deeper earthen pot in the back garden with a water spout. Both these water spots were ok - they had fish in them and the guppies - hardy little buggers - gobble up any stray larvae that are in their territory. So no worries there.
Unfortunately, we also have a smaller pot, which for some unfathomable reason, was hostile to fishes. Any and every fish that went in there died. So we bought some granular insecticides guaranteed to be anti-mozzie and put some in.
Today, despite the insecticides, the NEA dug around the pot and found one, yes ONE, wriggly miserable little larvae. And so we were fined. I think it was a hundred bucks. I don't have the details yet. But this has got to be THE most expensive mozzie ever!
Damn those bugs. We could have had a sushi meal.
Why do taxis here always smell of musty long-leftover pandan leaves?? And why oh why does the mouldy smell stick to one after a ride in such a taxi?
Some cabs need to have a smell reality check.
BP this morning was 138/107. I chose not to take my meds and now I am feeling crappy. And fretful about IUGR. While every measurement of the fundus show that this is on track, and there is NO IUGR, I am still worried.
Call it gut feel. Call me anal.
Just got a feeling that baby is smaller than the norm. And I worry if this is due to the chronic high BP. And then I don't take my meds like a bloody hero. I think the going was good from week 24 up to the last couple of weeks - when my BP behaved. But the periodic spurts in BP, shooting up to 166/110 in some instances, have got me feeling a bit freaky. Paul says reactive blood vessels. But I think the good times are over and its back to regular monitoring and possibly, back to regular meds. I certainly don't feel as good as I did in those weeks when the BP was really down. More dull naggy headaches, more nausea, more jitteriness, poor sleep. Yep, sad to say but i think its time to hit the meds. Again.
Some cabs need to have a smell reality check.
BP this morning was 138/107. I chose not to take my meds and now I am feeling crappy. And fretful about IUGR. While every measurement of the fundus show that this is on track, and there is NO IUGR, I am still worried.
Call it gut feel. Call me anal.
Just got a feeling that baby is smaller than the norm. And I worry if this is due to the chronic high BP. And then I don't take my meds like a bloody hero. I think the going was good from week 24 up to the last couple of weeks - when my BP behaved. But the periodic spurts in BP, shooting up to 166/110 in some instances, have got me feeling a bit freaky. Paul says reactive blood vessels. But I think the good times are over and its back to regular monitoring and possibly, back to regular meds. I certainly don't feel as good as I did in those weeks when the BP was really down. More dull naggy headaches, more nausea, more jitteriness, poor sleep. Yep, sad to say but i think its time to hit the meds. Again.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Why do taxis here always smell of musty long-leftover pandan leaves?? And why oh why does the mouldy smell stick to one after a ride in such a taxi?
Some cabs need to have a smell reality check.
BP this morning was 138/107. I chose not to take my meds and now I am feeling crappy. And fretful about IUGR. While every measurement of the fundus show that this is on track, and there is NO IUGR, I am still worried.
Call it gut feel. Call me anal.
Just got a feeling that baby is smaller than the norm. And I worry if this is due to the chronic high BP. And then I don't take my meds like a bloody hero. I think the going was good from week 24 up to the last couple of weeks - when my BP behaved. But the periodic spurts in BP, shooting up to 166/110 in some instances, have got me feeling a bit freaky. Paul says reactive blood vessels. But I think the good times are over and its back to regular monitoring and possibly, back to regular meds. I certainly don't feel as good as I did in those weeks when the BP was really down. More dull naggy headaches, more nausea, more jitteriness, poor sleep. Yep, sad to say but i think its time to hit the meds. Again.
Some cabs need to have a smell reality check.
BP this morning was 138/107. I chose not to take my meds and now I am feeling crappy. And fretful about IUGR. While every measurement of the fundus show that this is on track, and there is NO IUGR, I am still worried.
Call it gut feel. Call me anal.
Just got a feeling that baby is smaller than the norm. And I worry if this is due to the chronic high BP. And then I don't take my meds like a bloody hero. I think the going was good from week 24 up to the last couple of weeks - when my BP behaved. But the periodic spurts in BP, shooting up to 166/110 in some instances, have got me feeling a bit freaky. Paul says reactive blood vessels. But I think the good times are over and its back to regular monitoring and possibly, back to regular meds. I certainly don't feel as good as I did in those weeks when the BP was really down. More dull naggy headaches, more nausea, more jitteriness, poor sleep. Yep, sad to say but i think its time to hit the meds. Again.
Here's to Slugger Chiang!
Someone on the Catholic-moms group got me thinking about grandad today. These days, he is not often on my mind. Only during mass when the priest says something like: "welcome our departed brothers and sisters into your kingdom." Someone told me then that I should name the loved and the lost and they will be remembered, their time in purgatory shortened by the mention and the prayer. I try like mad to recite the names of my loved and lost, but I can never catch up - the priest moves on so quickly and I wonder if my list made it to heaven in time.
But other than that, these days, slugger chiang is not consciously on my mind. Until today.
Old Slugger Chiang. Boxer, medicine man, mechanic, wife-beater, dog-lover. Dementia sufferer.
Yes, my late grandfather had dementia. It came on gradually but within a few years, he had lost all knowledge and memory of us. Yes it is sad, but yet in a way, it also isn't. I don't know whether this is called karma or purgatory on earth or just paying for his sins (I don't know how to put this sensitively). But his BD (before dementia) days and AD (after dementia) days were radically different ones showing 180deg changes to his personality.
BD he was fierce, with a short fuse and an explosive temper. I still remember the infamous stories about how he used to beat my grandmother, my mother, my uncle. Fling things, fling people. A famous one was about how he threw a chair at my mother and my 8-month preggie grandma got in the way to take the blow. The chair landed squarely on the belly. The baby died. My grandma told the doctor she fell down the stairs. Why did he behave like this? Frustration? Poverty? He was not a drinker, a smoker, a womaniser or an inveterate gambler, but times were hard and the money was scarce, what with the war and all.
Why would my grandma marry a man like this? And yet, according to my grandma, it was a love match. In the days when match-making was common - particularly for a girl from a privileged perankan family as hers, she refused to be match-made and chose slugger. To the appalled amazement of her family.
Slugger tried to make ends meet. He was a mechanic with the British army. But when they pulled out, he lost his job. Then he tried to sell medicine. I remember going on rides with him to the kampongs, along bumpy dusty tracks, where at the destination, he would open his briefcase and show - wow - the whole paraphernalia of colourful bottles, boxes, tablets etc. It was fascinating.
At one point, he even boxed professionally for money. Hence the moniker Slugger Chiang. He wasn't half bad I think. But all the aggression, the rage, the pain, the injury must have gotten to him somehow. And so he was short-tempered and blew up in terrible rages. Yet I have also heard of a softer side - about how his favourite child was his second daughter, who would dance out to him when he returned after a hard day's work and call him "Papa!". He loved the girl and how his heart must have broken when they had to give the child away to lessen the burden for food and shelter. At less than two years of age, she was given away to a barren couple - my grand-mother's brother and his wife. It was the belief at the time that this would help a barren couple conceive. They did - but that's a whole other story.
Did the loss of his little girl cut so deep that the fuse just got shorter and shorter?
I don't know. But he was always kind though gruff and like, most Asian patriarchs, leaning to the stern and incommunicative at times. And then there was his infamous temper. I still remember him chasing me and grandma round the house with a chopper until we hysterically locked ourselves in the bedroom! It sounds really funny now and I can even smile, but back then, it was damn frightening!
But I have good memories mostly - how he would take me to the movies - the old pontianak movies, the crappy thai horror movies about snakes, crocodiles and black magic, the kungfu movies which are now classics... how he would take me on long drives to Changi beach, passing lovely green jungle, open fields, kampongs, swaying coconut trees and when we were in the sea, how I would cling on to his hand and still feel safe. Grandad was barrel-chested - a big man and with him, I knew nothing would harm me. I have good memories of how he used to play that old song "Hey Fatty Bom-Bom! Sugar-sugar dumpling!" and dance with me. And then when he took care of my baby brother, how he would gently and patiently rock the sarong cradle and sing tunelessly "Rock, rock, rock!"
When my aunt gave him a smelly and flea-infested shih-tzu, how he loved it and treated it like his own child. They would jog together - the fat, short-legged pooch panting and scurrying along beside him. And when the dog died, how sad he was. He never got another dog.
Then one day, I think in 1990, he fell while jogging. And while he recovered from that, it was really the slow route to the end because he was never the same again. He lost the old vitality and strength. And slowly, but surely, his mind.
He finally passed away on New Year's Day 2001. At the end, he was like a little child. Very innocent and so trusting, so loving. It was hard watching him go bit by bit. In his last years, I was introduced to him all over again whenever I visited him. And five minutes later, he would get this blank, polite look and ask, "Hello, who are you?" and introductions came all over again. It was darkly, heartbreakingly funny. He had a stately gentleness with little children - including my own. And they were never afraid of him or frustrated. They laughed and played as comrades. He enjoyed cartoons.
We're Catholics. So we believe in purgatory, in hell, in paying for our sins, in life after death and the whole shebang. My mom, my grandad's daughter, said once: that we pay for our sins - whether in purgatory when we die or on earth when we are alive. She thought grandad's dementia more than paid for his sins on earth.
Yes, he was violent and abusive when he was a younger man and yet by the time he died, he was the gentlest soul alive -wouldn't even hurt a fly. Losing his identity, his ability to care for himself, his autonomy and his very self, the loss of his very life and all his memories and personality may seem to us who still have these, as something so hard, so tragic and painful.
But yet, in a way, it is so redemptive. When he died, we just knew - this man at his death, did not belong in purgatory or anywhere near hell, for all his sins when he was 'alive'. He had more than paid for them all. And when he died, he was, in essence, just a toddler, a child. Innocent and trusting and loving. It was so ironic yet fitting. I think we have never loved him more than when he was so totally lost to us.
Still, I love and remember him for his strength as a younger man, his fearlessness and at the end, his sweetness. His niche at the columbarium says: I fought the good fight.
I think he did.
Someone on the Catholic-moms group got me thinking about grandad today. These days, he is not often on my mind. Only during mass when the priest says something like: "welcome our departed brothers and sisters into your kingdom." Someone told me then that I should name the loved and the lost and they will be remembered, their time in purgatory shortened by the mention and the prayer. I try like mad to recite the names of my loved and lost, but I can never catch up - the priest moves on so quickly and I wonder if my list made it to heaven in time.
But other than that, these days, slugger chiang is not consciously on my mind. Until today.
Old Slugger Chiang. Boxer, medicine man, mechanic, wife-beater, dog-lover. Dementia sufferer.
Yes, my late grandfather had dementia. It came on gradually but within a few years, he had lost all knowledge and memory of us. Yes it is sad, but yet in a way, it also isn't. I don't know whether this is called karma or purgatory on earth or just paying for his sins (I don't know how to put this sensitively). But his BD (before dementia) days and AD (after dementia) days were radically different ones showing 180deg changes to his personality.
BD he was fierce, with a short fuse and an explosive temper. I still remember the infamous stories about how he used to beat my grandmother, my mother, my uncle. Fling things, fling people. A famous one was about how he threw a chair at my mother and my 8-month preggie grandma got in the way to take the blow. The chair landed squarely on the belly. The baby died. My grandma told the doctor she fell down the stairs. Why did he behave like this? Frustration? Poverty? He was not a drinker, a smoker, a womaniser or an inveterate gambler, but times were hard and the money was scarce, what with the war and all.
Why would my grandma marry a man like this? And yet, according to my grandma, it was a love match. In the days when match-making was common - particularly for a girl from a privileged perankan family as hers, she refused to be match-made and chose slugger. To the appalled amazement of her family.
Slugger tried to make ends meet. He was a mechanic with the British army. But when they pulled out, he lost his job. Then he tried to sell medicine. I remember going on rides with him to the kampongs, along bumpy dusty tracks, where at the destination, he would open his briefcase and show - wow - the whole paraphernalia of colourful bottles, boxes, tablets etc. It was fascinating.
At one point, he even boxed professionally for money. Hence the moniker Slugger Chiang. He wasn't half bad I think. But all the aggression, the rage, the pain, the injury must have gotten to him somehow. And so he was short-tempered and blew up in terrible rages. Yet I have also heard of a softer side - about how his favourite child was his second daughter, who would dance out to him when he returned after a hard day's work and call him "Papa!". He loved the girl and how his heart must have broken when they had to give the child away to lessen the burden for food and shelter. At less than two years of age, she was given away to a barren couple - my grand-mother's brother and his wife. It was the belief at the time that this would help a barren couple conceive. They did - but that's a whole other story.
Did the loss of his little girl cut so deep that the fuse just got shorter and shorter?
I don't know. But he was always kind though gruff and like, most Asian patriarchs, leaning to the stern and incommunicative at times. And then there was his infamous temper. I still remember him chasing me and grandma round the house with a chopper until we hysterically locked ourselves in the bedroom! It sounds really funny now and I can even smile, but back then, it was damn frightening!
But I have good memories mostly - how he would take me to the movies - the old pontianak movies, the crappy thai horror movies about snakes, crocodiles and black magic, the kungfu movies which are now classics... how he would take me on long drives to Changi beach, passing lovely green jungle, open fields, kampongs, swaying coconut trees and when we were in the sea, how I would cling on to his hand and still feel safe. Grandad was barrel-chested - a big man and with him, I knew nothing would harm me. I have good memories of how he used to play that old song "Hey Fatty Bom-Bom! Sugar-sugar dumpling!" and dance with me. And then when he took care of my baby brother, how he would gently and patiently rock the sarong cradle and sing tunelessly "Rock, rock, rock!"
When my aunt gave him a smelly and flea-infested shih-tzu, how he loved it and treated it like his own child. They would jog together - the fat, short-legged pooch panting and scurrying along beside him. And when the dog died, how sad he was. He never got another dog.
Then one day, I think in 1990, he fell while jogging. And while he recovered from that, it was really the slow route to the end because he was never the same again. He lost the old vitality and strength. And slowly, but surely, his mind.
He finally passed away on New Year's Day 2001. At the end, he was like a little child. Very innocent and so trusting, so loving. It was hard watching him go bit by bit. In his last years, I was introduced to him all over again whenever I visited him. And five minutes later, he would get this blank, polite look and ask, "Hello, who are you?" and introductions came all over again. It was darkly, heartbreakingly funny. He had a stately gentleness with little children - including my own. And they were never afraid of him or frustrated. They laughed and played as comrades. He enjoyed cartoons.
We're Catholics. So we believe in purgatory, in hell, in paying for our sins, in life after death and the whole shebang. My mom, my grandad's daughter, said once: that we pay for our sins - whether in purgatory when we die or on earth when we are alive. She thought grandad's dementia more than paid for his sins on earth.
Yes, he was violent and abusive when he was a younger man and yet by the time he died, he was the gentlest soul alive -wouldn't even hurt a fly. Losing his identity, his ability to care for himself, his autonomy and his very self, the loss of his very life and all his memories and personality may seem to us who still have these, as something so hard, so tragic and painful.
But yet, in a way, it is so redemptive. When he died, we just knew - this man at his death, did not belong in purgatory or anywhere near hell, for all his sins when he was 'alive'. He had more than paid for them all. And when he died, he was, in essence, just a toddler, a child. Innocent and trusting and loving. It was so ironic yet fitting. I think we have never loved him more than when he was so totally lost to us.
Still, I love and remember him for his strength as a younger man, his fearlessness and at the end, his sweetness. His niche at the columbarium says: I fought the good fight.
I think he did.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Owain is very adorable. He just turned two on Aug 31 - happy Malaysia National Day! And Happy birthday little prince!
He loves guns, fighting, star wars, kung fu. I don't know where he gets it from. I think his testosterone levels are higher than that of his bookish elder bro Isaac.
His latest heart-melting trick is, when I carry him and say: give mommy a kiss, he grins and turns my face with both hands and says: “Other side!” then he gives me this big wet kiss, grins and says: “Icky!!” He also lurrrves taking pictures - particularly when I whip out my mobile phone. Then he would grin a big grin and strike a pose - his favourite kungfu pose.
The boy melts me like ice-cream. Until he says in a well-rehearsed big rush - pleasemommyiwantnen-nen! and tries to undo my buttons, stick his hands down my blouse and generally tries to be a real laleche lech!
Nope, nursing these days is definitely not a pleasure but a definite pain in the boob. It does not help that he nurses till he falls asleep and then the jaws of death literally clamp down on the boobies. I try sticking my finger in to pry open the Jaws of Death and just when the nipple is al-most out, his reflexes kick in and he sucks it back in frantically again. It is excruciating.
The anorexic looking girl is Cait – isn't she thin?? She does not eat much these days. Loves ballet. Very creative when it comes to dance – her latest is pretending to be a seed. Where she curls up, then I ‘water’ her and she slow stands up, feet apart, extending her arms above her head with her wrists meeting and palms open. Then she explains – her body is the stem. Her legs are the roots. Her arms are the branches and the open palms are the leaves.
When she’s not pretending to be a seed, she loves to dance – hip hop music, loves to paint, play with her barbies and boss everyone around. Isaac always complains that she is the MOST bossy girl he has ever seen!
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