"But I like nen-nen!"
Poor Owain! He's been getting lots of negativity from everyone lately - the helper, his mama, his grandad, his dad. And me.
"So big boy already still nen-nen!!" "Owain, only little babies drink nen-nen!" and others along the same line.
I hear it all in silence and sometimes I say similar lines. But I wince everytime I say those. Because I am not convinced 100% - not even 50% - that what I am doing is right. Nor am I comfortable with the negativity that is going around. So if I don't like it, why say it?
I usually enjoy our nursing sessions. But lately, nursing has been very very painful. My nipples are so severely eczemic and the skin so dry, that fissures form, tear open and bleed and weep. Can you imagine, everytime I even undo the cup to nurse it hurts - because the raw bits have dried onto the cotton so it gets pulled apart afresh everytime I undo the cup.
Everytime he latches on and draws the nipple in, it feels like the whole bit is on fire, sliced up finely. I usually grit, grimace, sometimes yell when its particularly bad. He is aware of this because he looks up at me and says: mummy your nen-nen pain?
So I have been putting him off nursing. And he has been screaming blue murder everytime I try to fob him off. I offer to hold him instead of nurse him, cuddle him to sleep instead, but he would have none of it and usually ends up screaming/crying so miserably that I just give in. Then I end up feeling angry with him and with myself, my body tensed up in anticipation of pain during nursing. Far from lovey-dovey, cosy, comforting and serene - all the happy elements it used to have!
Our nursing conversations go like this:
"Mummy I want nen-nen!"
"Later Owain."
"Nooooo!! Pleeeease mummy please! Just a lil bit, short while only!"
"I just gave you nen-nen! Less than five minutes ago!!"
"Pleeease mummy! But I like nen-nen!"
"No. Let me eat/read/write/work in peace for a while. I'll give you nen-nen later."
"Noooooo!" he wails. Then, "I drink, you eat (insert whatever activity I was in the midst of)!"
This goes on for a while, to and fro. And when I finally give in, it goes like this:
"Remember, Owain, SHORT while only ah!!"
"Okay mummy..." and he grins eagerly as I undo the necessary, practically jumping in glee.
"And when I say STOP..."
"STOP!" he repeats by rote.
"And when I say let go, Owain..."
"Let go!" he repeats again.
"You're sure you remember... not bluffing me are you? Cos everytime I tell you to stop you don't stop..."
And he protests: "Not bluffing you mummy, not bluffing you!!" And of course he will never keep to his promise.
As he takes the first suck, I too suck in my breath in a deep breath and blow out.
KH commented that it looks like I'm in labour. Har har.
What does he know? It is bl**dy painful! At least contractions DO end and there is a pause before the next one comes. This kind of pain is non-stop. And this guy nurses (I kid you not!) every half an hour... at least every hour... and through the night!
I feel bad about fobbing him off, guilty about entertaining thoughts of weaning him. Knowing that I will almost certainly regret weaning when it does become permanent. KH has said, looking at my reactions everytime I get a request to nurse, and looking at Owain's frequency, that it is time to wean. But look at him - still pretty much a baby isn't he? The reasons for nursing him past 1 year still hold true. He is still exploring, and learning and the breast is still a haven. All that has not changed. His needs are still valid. Why should all this change just because my breasts have become eczemic?
Am I being selfish? I certainly feel this way. But the pain is incredible. The nipples look red, raw and rough. And the silly nipples are not healing either. I have tried steroidal creams - nada. So I have come to the conclusion that it is really not going to heal but I'll just have to fire-fight and make sure the dryness and itch does not (a) spread and get larger and (b) split open into fissures. Between the California Baby Calendula Cream (which seems to work better than the steroidal creams) and Palmer's Cocoa Butter, I think we can manage for the time being - although I do feel like the little boy with his finger in the dyke! Its all pretty much stop-gap, I know...
Today, I read this article and it touched me. I have always been a proponent of letting the child signal its readiness - in birth, breastfeeding etc. Its hard to do this and I do feel unsure at times if I am doing the right thing or if I am on the right track. But reading this article helped remind me just WHY I wanted to nurse my babies until they self-weaned and why I believe so much in a child's natural rhythms.
http://www.mothering.com/articles/new_baby/breastfeeding/difficult-promise.html
So Owain gets a reprieve from weaning for now. I'll grit and bear it for as long as I can. Not a matyr but I don't want to do something that will be traumatic emotionally for him and for me. Far easier to take deep breaths as if I am in labour than to wean and regret. And in a way, perservering through this is a kind of labour of love isn't it?
Monday, October 09, 2006
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Jennifer Love Hewitt... where are you when I need you?
Looks like it's time to call the ghost whisperer again. 6 years ago, Fr Vincent Chee blessed the house after a spate of disturbances. Since then, all was calm and peaceful on the Riang front.
Now it looks like another unwanted guest is disturbing the peace again.
Odd little incidents have been happening over the past few months.
The television switching off itself in broad daylight as Owain watched Sesame Street. The television switching on by itself in front of me and Isaac as we sat there in the living room talking. Each thought it was the other who pressed the start button on the remote - until we realised that the remote was on the sofa behind us and with no one else in the immediate vicinity. Those were one-off incidents that never happened again. Then there were Trinity's unexplainable hysterical crying bouts. Happened once or twice when she was really little - 2 to 3 months old? And again, yesterday. Then there were the times when I'd get the flesh-creeping feeling as if someone was watching me - usually at night when I was the last one up to bed.
They say babies can see things. You'd know if a house was 'clean' or 'dirty' if you brought a baby in to it and she reacted. I know this is true. At various times, Trinity has screamed for no reason and each time, I could guess what it was. Even Owain has, when he was a baby, but not as often as Trinity.
Yesterday's crying bout was bad. Lolita said that for no reason, Trinity started screaming at 11+ in the morning. Nothing would calm her. A bottle of ebm was finished and she still sobbed. At the time, only Lolita, Trinity and Owain were at home and they were in the living room. Lolita said, and I knew exactly what she meant, that Trinity "cried differently". Normally, she would be sleepy and grumpy and given the ebm, would settle down and sleep. That day, she howled non-stop until exhausted, she slept. In the afternoon, around 3+ the same thing happened. Gillian, carrying her, said Trinity kept looking at the side garden. Nothing would pacify her. Lolita called me at work and I heard the screams. Was on the verge of packing it in and cabbing home but had to see my boss, so I couldn't. Asked Lolita to take Trin out for a walk - out of the house. Lolita said she did. And the minute they left, Trin was alright. They went for a walk round the neighbourhood. But the minute she stepped back in the house, Trin screamed again. So off they went. The second time they returned, it was better - Trin was calm.
And yesterday, Lolita commented that our house was full of ghosts. She knew because her hair kept standing on end at certain times, particularly in certain places. So where were the hotspots? She identified the backyard, her bedroom and the dining room.
I knew she was not lying because I knew these to be the troubled spots too. Years ago at a barbecue held in the garden, my sister had taken me aside whispered that she had seen a faceless shadowed form in a blurred white gown/robe hovering (she used the word because whatever she saw had no feet) near the water pot. The side garden where the waterpot was was also responsible for crying jags by the babies (Owain and Trinity) - the babies would cry/literally scream non-stop and inconsolably when they were out there once in a while - usually at twilight/dusk. So eventually I made it a rule that the babies were not to be carried out there after 7+ at night.
The previous maid who also slept in the back room had reported instances where she too felt spooked for no reason, and on one memorable stormy rainy night, had glimpsed a long-haired form peering in from the outside.
Lolita also told me that when she sometimes ate outside near the backyard, food would inexplicably slip from her grasp. I challenged her and said her hands must have been oily. She said no, no matter how tightly she grasped the spoon or the piece of meat, it would go. Then she would know and she would take a bit of food/rice and throw it on the ground. She said it was Filipine custom to do so - the ghosts wanted to eat.
The girl was unfazed by all this though. She said that this was very common in the Philippines. Practically every house had a resident spook or two. No matter how many times the priest was called in, these things stayed. She had never seen one but had felt the presence of many - so much so that while she was discomfited by it, she was not afraid - this being an almost familiar feeling. She was surprised that Singapore had ghosts though and had asked her recruiter about it. Her recruiter confirmed it of course. Singapore, while looking like a glossy metropolitan, is still full of spooks.
So what to do?
Last night after dinner, in the waning light, I went out back and stood there in the semi-darkness. I didn't speak out loud, but I think the ghosts do hear what I am saying in my mind. I asked them to leave us alone. To not disturb us, particularly Trinity. But if it or they, frightened Trinity again, I would come after them. Ghost or no ghost.
Am I scared? Yep. But I am also quite fed up. Its one thing playing with the TV remote and giving us the heeby-jeebies but to scare my babes? That's really outside of enough!
My mom offered us her place as a refuge since KH was still out of town. But I'm not going to be driven out from MY home. If anyone should go, it's not going to be me.
So I guess it's time to call in the reinforcements. I need a sensitive priest. Fr Chee, at 70+ is getting on in age. Moreover, he's moved to Woodlands and no longer at IHM which is down the road.
I know these things will escalate. It starts off with the creepy feelings and slowly get worse. Yesterday was the first time that Trinity was affected in broad daylight, not once, but twice. So better start getting help before the infestation gets worse.
Looks like it's time to call the ghost whisperer again. 6 years ago, Fr Vincent Chee blessed the house after a spate of disturbances. Since then, all was calm and peaceful on the Riang front.
Now it looks like another unwanted guest is disturbing the peace again.
Odd little incidents have been happening over the past few months.
The television switching off itself in broad daylight as Owain watched Sesame Street. The television switching on by itself in front of me and Isaac as we sat there in the living room talking. Each thought it was the other who pressed the start button on the remote - until we realised that the remote was on the sofa behind us and with no one else in the immediate vicinity. Those were one-off incidents that never happened again. Then there were Trinity's unexplainable hysterical crying bouts. Happened once or twice when she was really little - 2 to 3 months old? And again, yesterday. Then there were the times when I'd get the flesh-creeping feeling as if someone was watching me - usually at night when I was the last one up to bed.
They say babies can see things. You'd know if a house was 'clean' or 'dirty' if you brought a baby in to it and she reacted. I know this is true. At various times, Trinity has screamed for no reason and each time, I could guess what it was. Even Owain has, when he was a baby, but not as often as Trinity.
Yesterday's crying bout was bad. Lolita said that for no reason, Trinity started screaming at 11+ in the morning. Nothing would calm her. A bottle of ebm was finished and she still sobbed. At the time, only Lolita, Trinity and Owain were at home and they were in the living room. Lolita said, and I knew exactly what she meant, that Trinity "cried differently". Normally, she would be sleepy and grumpy and given the ebm, would settle down and sleep. That day, she howled non-stop until exhausted, she slept. In the afternoon, around 3+ the same thing happened. Gillian, carrying her, said Trinity kept looking at the side garden. Nothing would pacify her. Lolita called me at work and I heard the screams. Was on the verge of packing it in and cabbing home but had to see my boss, so I couldn't. Asked Lolita to take Trin out for a walk - out of the house. Lolita said she did. And the minute they left, Trin was alright. They went for a walk round the neighbourhood. But the minute she stepped back in the house, Trin screamed again. So off they went. The second time they returned, it was better - Trin was calm.
And yesterday, Lolita commented that our house was full of ghosts. She knew because her hair kept standing on end at certain times, particularly in certain places. So where were the hotspots? She identified the backyard, her bedroom and the dining room.
I knew she was not lying because I knew these to be the troubled spots too. Years ago at a barbecue held in the garden, my sister had taken me aside whispered that she had seen a faceless shadowed form in a blurred white gown/robe hovering (she used the word because whatever she saw had no feet) near the water pot. The side garden where the waterpot was was also responsible for crying jags by the babies (Owain and Trinity) - the babies would cry/literally scream non-stop and inconsolably when they were out there once in a while - usually at twilight/dusk. So eventually I made it a rule that the babies were not to be carried out there after 7+ at night.
The previous maid who also slept in the back room had reported instances where she too felt spooked for no reason, and on one memorable stormy rainy night, had glimpsed a long-haired form peering in from the outside.
Lolita also told me that when she sometimes ate outside near the backyard, food would inexplicably slip from her grasp. I challenged her and said her hands must have been oily. She said no, no matter how tightly she grasped the spoon or the piece of meat, it would go. Then she would know and she would take a bit of food/rice and throw it on the ground. She said it was Filipine custom to do so - the ghosts wanted to eat.
The girl was unfazed by all this though. She said that this was very common in the Philippines. Practically every house had a resident spook or two. No matter how many times the priest was called in, these things stayed. She had never seen one but had felt the presence of many - so much so that while she was discomfited by it, she was not afraid - this being an almost familiar feeling. She was surprised that Singapore had ghosts though and had asked her recruiter about it. Her recruiter confirmed it of course. Singapore, while looking like a glossy metropolitan, is still full of spooks.
So what to do?
Last night after dinner, in the waning light, I went out back and stood there in the semi-darkness. I didn't speak out loud, but I think the ghosts do hear what I am saying in my mind. I asked them to leave us alone. To not disturb us, particularly Trinity. But if it or they, frightened Trinity again, I would come after them. Ghost or no ghost.
Am I scared? Yep. But I am also quite fed up. Its one thing playing with the TV remote and giving us the heeby-jeebies but to scare my babes? That's really outside of enough!
My mom offered us her place as a refuge since KH was still out of town. But I'm not going to be driven out from MY home. If anyone should go, it's not going to be me.
So I guess it's time to call in the reinforcements. I need a sensitive priest. Fr Chee, at 70+ is getting on in age. Moreover, he's moved to Woodlands and no longer at IHM which is down the road.
I know these things will escalate. It starts off with the creepy feelings and slowly get worse. Yesterday was the first time that Trinity was affected in broad daylight, not once, but twice. So better start getting help before the infestation gets worse.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
36 candles...
The cake shop knew better.
It sliced two years off my age and gave KH 36 candles instead of 38. So there were 36 candles blazing away on the cake as my kids sang happy birthday to me. Not KH's fault, but I felt kinda shortchanged. I am not the sort of woman who is coy about her age. I rather enjoy my years and I'm proud of every strand of grey I have on my head, preferring to fob off my hairdresser's pleas to please colour/highlight my hair to hide the grey. What's the point? I prefer to wear the grey as a badge of honour - marking the years of my life. And these have been blessed happy ones. We are going to grow old, like it or not, and no amount of botox, lipo or tact, will deny that passage. The smiles will show how young we are.
Yesterday started with a phonecall from my mom. "Happy returns of the day!" she chorused.
"Thanks mom!" I say, pleased to hear her voice. "Wouldn't be here without you!"
"It was right about now, right?" she said. It was 9.45am then.
"Yes mom, almost there. Born at 10.19am!" I said. "You would have been in second stage now, pushing already!" And we both laugh.
Birthdays are happy days for mothers too as we remember how we birth our children. 38 years down the road, and my mom has not forgotten any detail.
She remembers that of all 3 of her children, I was the only one that came 'naturally' without being induced. I was her 'midnight run' to the hospital. And I was breech until almost the very end, turned by the estimable W.C. Cheng himself. That, of course, was before the discovery that ECVs didn't make as much money as C-sections - hence TMC now having the dubious honour of being the private hospital with the highest C-sec rate in the nation!
But that aside, it was my birthday and one that both my mother and I celebrate. And as it is every year, I thank her for giving birth to me.
After that, it was a flurry of SMS birthday greetings from dear friends old and new, and one prized one from my gal pal Gayle in Bangkok who reminded me "not to pig out!" Thanks pal.
But pig out, unfortunately, I did. On caviar, oysters on the rocks, foie gras, slipper lobsters, sushi, sashimi and other delectable yummies at Equinox with a good girlfriend of mine who took leave to spend the afternoon with me. We had a gorgeous lunch 70 storeys high up in the air, marvelling at the landscape far below us, lunching on good food and conversation. How nice it was to kick back in lovely surroundings and talk about anything under the sun - men, babies, children, our worries, our hopes, work, Singapore Idol and so on...
We spent the afternoon drifting among the racks at HMV, That CD Shop and Borders - our favourite places - in search of good books and good music. I couldn't find Phoebe Snow and the song 'Something Real' in all these places. Would you believe they didn't carry stock! And Snow is a critically acclaimed musician who known for her folksy-blues, jazzy renditions. Before the likes of Jewel, there was Phoebe Snow and even HMV didn't carry her! But when I went home after parting ways with my friend, I received a call - she had gone on to Gramaphone at Paragon and tracked down a copy for me, bless her!
Back home, my work-laden KH came home early despite bad deadlines (though I know he stayed up later till 1am to finish his work while the house slept), with cake in tow. The man kept going out to the gate watching for something it wasn't until 10pm that I finally knew why. A van pulled up and KH called gleefully, "Something for you dear! Come and see!" It was a lovely big bouquet of lilies and roses. The children were in awe and hopping with excitement.
I was touched - it has been years since I received flowers from him. A rare moment of romance! He deserved a kiss and as I gave him a peck on the lips, the girls watched giggling and fascinatedly while the boys went: "Ewww!!"
Its been a good day. One of the nicest birthdays. I'm glad I am 38. Two years before the big 4-0. I'll be ready.
And looking forward to it.
The cake shop knew better.
It sliced two years off my age and gave KH 36 candles instead of 38. So there were 36 candles blazing away on the cake as my kids sang happy birthday to me. Not KH's fault, but I felt kinda shortchanged. I am not the sort of woman who is coy about her age. I rather enjoy my years and I'm proud of every strand of grey I have on my head, preferring to fob off my hairdresser's pleas to please colour/highlight my hair to hide the grey. What's the point? I prefer to wear the grey as a badge of honour - marking the years of my life. And these have been blessed happy ones. We are going to grow old, like it or not, and no amount of botox, lipo or tact, will deny that passage. The smiles will show how young we are.
Yesterday started with a phonecall from my mom. "Happy returns of the day!" she chorused.
"Thanks mom!" I say, pleased to hear her voice. "Wouldn't be here without you!"
"It was right about now, right?" she said. It was 9.45am then.
"Yes mom, almost there. Born at 10.19am!" I said. "You would have been in second stage now, pushing already!" And we both laugh.
Birthdays are happy days for mothers too as we remember how we birth our children. 38 years down the road, and my mom has not forgotten any detail.
She remembers that of all 3 of her children, I was the only one that came 'naturally' without being induced. I was her 'midnight run' to the hospital. And I was breech until almost the very end, turned by the estimable W.C. Cheng himself. That, of course, was before the discovery that ECVs didn't make as much money as C-sections - hence TMC now having the dubious honour of being the private hospital with the highest C-sec rate in the nation!
But that aside, it was my birthday and one that both my mother and I celebrate. And as it is every year, I thank her for giving birth to me.
After that, it was a flurry of SMS birthday greetings from dear friends old and new, and one prized one from my gal pal Gayle in Bangkok who reminded me "not to pig out!" Thanks pal.
But pig out, unfortunately, I did. On caviar, oysters on the rocks, foie gras, slipper lobsters, sushi, sashimi and other delectable yummies at Equinox with a good girlfriend of mine who took leave to spend the afternoon with me. We had a gorgeous lunch 70 storeys high up in the air, marvelling at the landscape far below us, lunching on good food and conversation. How nice it was to kick back in lovely surroundings and talk about anything under the sun - men, babies, children, our worries, our hopes, work, Singapore Idol and so on...
We spent the afternoon drifting among the racks at HMV, That CD Shop and Borders - our favourite places - in search of good books and good music. I couldn't find Phoebe Snow and the song 'Something Real' in all these places. Would you believe they didn't carry stock! And Snow is a critically acclaimed musician who known for her folksy-blues, jazzy renditions. Before the likes of Jewel, there was Phoebe Snow and even HMV didn't carry her! But when I went home after parting ways with my friend, I received a call - she had gone on to Gramaphone at Paragon and tracked down a copy for me, bless her!
Back home, my work-laden KH came home early despite bad deadlines (though I know he stayed up later till 1am to finish his work while the house slept), with cake in tow. The man kept going out to the gate watching for something it wasn't until 10pm that I finally knew why. A van pulled up and KH called gleefully, "Something for you dear! Come and see!" It was a lovely big bouquet of lilies and roses. The children were in awe and hopping with excitement.
I was touched - it has been years since I received flowers from him. A rare moment of romance! He deserved a kiss and as I gave him a peck on the lips, the girls watched giggling and fascinatedly while the boys went: "Ewww!!"
Its been a good day. One of the nicest birthdays. I'm glad I am 38. Two years before the big 4-0. I'll be ready.
And looking forward to it.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Out of the mouth of babes
We were at Labrador Park at sunset yesterday.
Kids had a great time scampering among the rocky shore, walking (good thing we had crocs - fake or otherwise) in the sea mud, scanning for fishes and other marine life. Among the families, couples, dogs and kids there, there were at least two wedding couples taking their wedding shots.
I've always wondered, when I see these wedding couples - how come the guy gets off so easy - he just has to take off his jacket, undo a couple a buttons, yank off tie etc to achieve the bare-chested romantic hero look while the poor bride has to slave away with the heavy gown, veil, make-up etc.
Frankly I can't imagine traipsing over mud, sand and rocks, holding up my gown, dabbing away at the face to keep the shine at bay - just to take 'romantic' shots for the wedding album. So hot and uncomfortable! And knowing me, I would have great difficulty looking 'romantic' or anything remotely like a blushing bride if I were wilting under the heat and obsessing about the perspiration, the dress, my heels all self-consciously posing before an interested, unwanted audience.
KH related the following incident to me because I had separated from the group - I was walking on the jetty and they were down on the sand and rocks. A wedding party had come to take pictures near them. The bride wore a flouncy gown and she was, truth be told, rather on the plump side, fleshy arms and extra flesh folding out above the tube neckline.
Caitlin, ever interested in brides and princesses, ventured closer to check things out, then turned and yelled loudly to the rest, clearly within earshot of the bride, "Hey everyone, come and see the fat wedding girl!"
To which, KH later told me, both he and Isaac had made mortified but strangled sounds of protest. And when they told Caitlin later that she should not have called the bride 'fat', my girl retorted, "But daddy, she WAS fat!"
Children - they call a spade a spade and just tell it like it is. No worries about social niceties, formalities, ego, sensitivity etc.
But back to Labrador Park and the jetty - look hard enough and you can spot schools of jellyfish floating translucently in the dark green waters. Very pretty they looked. I also saw this strange-looking fish - very narrow body (looking from the top down), sharp pointed mouth. It was about one and a half feet long and just floated there near the surface. I asked a man fishing nearby what fish that was and he couldn't tell me. It was pretty though and I stood watching it for quite a while until, with a flick of the tail, which flashed blue in the sunlight, it disappeared into the depths. KH later said it was a barracuda when I described it.
We spent a nice evening there - the children enjoyed the search for crabs, sea slugs, shells among the rocks and the sand, they loved the playground. And I enjoyed this kind of quiet time with the family and with KH.
We closed the evening with a sushi dinner in celebration of my birthday on Wednesday (since KH has been working very late over the past week and it would be unlikely that he would get home early on Wednesday to celebrate). The children were blissed out - nothing they like better than a good romp in the park followed by sushi - where they polished off plate after plate of maguro and sake sushi, ikura (expensive tastebuds!). Even baby Trinity got in on it and had her share of chawanmushi and pearls of ikura! I'm only disappointed they didn't have toro - and at the only time in the year that I dare treat myself to the outrageously expensive toro!
All the more I am eagerly waiting for Wednesday where I am booked for lunch at Equinox with a good girlfriend of mine - ready to indulge to my heart's content at the pan-fried foie gras station! Can't wait...
We were at Labrador Park at sunset yesterday.
Kids had a great time scampering among the rocky shore, walking (good thing we had crocs - fake or otherwise) in the sea mud, scanning for fishes and other marine life. Among the families, couples, dogs and kids there, there were at least two wedding couples taking their wedding shots.
I've always wondered, when I see these wedding couples - how come the guy gets off so easy - he just has to take off his jacket, undo a couple a buttons, yank off tie etc to achieve the bare-chested romantic hero look while the poor bride has to slave away with the heavy gown, veil, make-up etc.
Frankly I can't imagine traipsing over mud, sand and rocks, holding up my gown, dabbing away at the face to keep the shine at bay - just to take 'romantic' shots for the wedding album. So hot and uncomfortable! And knowing me, I would have great difficulty looking 'romantic' or anything remotely like a blushing bride if I were wilting under the heat and obsessing about the perspiration, the dress, my heels all self-consciously posing before an interested, unwanted audience.
KH related the following incident to me because I had separated from the group - I was walking on the jetty and they were down on the sand and rocks. A wedding party had come to take pictures near them. The bride wore a flouncy gown and she was, truth be told, rather on the plump side, fleshy arms and extra flesh folding out above the tube neckline.
Caitlin, ever interested in brides and princesses, ventured closer to check things out, then turned and yelled loudly to the rest, clearly within earshot of the bride, "Hey everyone, come and see the fat wedding girl!"
To which, KH later told me, both he and Isaac had made mortified but strangled sounds of protest. And when they told Caitlin later that she should not have called the bride 'fat', my girl retorted, "But daddy, she WAS fat!"
Children - they call a spade a spade and just tell it like it is. No worries about social niceties, formalities, ego, sensitivity etc.
But back to Labrador Park and the jetty - look hard enough and you can spot schools of jellyfish floating translucently in the dark green waters. Very pretty they looked. I also saw this strange-looking fish - very narrow body (looking from the top down), sharp pointed mouth. It was about one and a half feet long and just floated there near the surface. I asked a man fishing nearby what fish that was and he couldn't tell me. It was pretty though and I stood watching it for quite a while until, with a flick of the tail, which flashed blue in the sunlight, it disappeared into the depths. KH later said it was a barracuda when I described it.
We spent a nice evening there - the children enjoyed the search for crabs, sea slugs, shells among the rocks and the sand, they loved the playground. And I enjoyed this kind of quiet time with the family and with KH.
We closed the evening with a sushi dinner in celebration of my birthday on Wednesday (since KH has been working very late over the past week and it would be unlikely that he would get home early on Wednesday to celebrate). The children were blissed out - nothing they like better than a good romp in the park followed by sushi - where they polished off plate after plate of maguro and sake sushi, ikura (expensive tastebuds!). Even baby Trinity got in on it and had her share of chawanmushi and pearls of ikura! I'm only disappointed they didn't have toro - and at the only time in the year that I dare treat myself to the outrageously expensive toro!
All the more I am eagerly waiting for Wednesday where I am booked for lunch at Equinox with a good girlfriend of mine - ready to indulge to my heart's content at the pan-fried foie gras station! Can't wait...
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Playing hooky with Super Yo Yo Man
Super Yo Yo Man, cap on backwards in true 'hood dude style went for a walk with his Super Mummy (his name for me, not mine) today. (Super Yo Yo Man - the name, that is - is his idea. He's into this new identity of swivelling the cap on backwards and adopting the rapper stance and going "Yo! Yo!" and today, he said casually to me: "Just call me Super Yo Yo Man!"
It was just the two of us. We went for a walk in the heart of the city - the business district. Super Yo Yo Man, as usual, charmed the socks off passers-by and fellow MRT passengers with his grin. Or maybe it was just the roundness of his face that made people want to reach out and give his cheeks a good pinch.
Super Yo Yo Man was a trouper - never asked for nen-nen - he knew the golden rule: "No nen-nen outside, nen-nen only at home" and of course, "must walk and not ask mummy to carry." So he walked. We walked and walked.
We walked through Boat Quay, stopped at the Fullerton to sample the Bailey's mooncakes - not a taste of Bailey's disappointingly! Then Super Yo Yo Man saw the river. So we headed that way. Marvelled at Botero's Bird. Checked out Dali's Surrealist Piano - which Super Yo Yo Man approved of as he exclaimed: "Mummy, look! The piano has legs and shoes!"
Wandered past Dali's tribute to Newton and Super Yo Yo Man concluded the statue was lame - literally - because a big toe lay awkwardly to one side, cut off. And what was the deal about the ball hanging from the chest, he wanted to know? I explained about the statue being 'open-hearted' but not sure that Super Yo Yo Man got all of it. Never mind - lots of time to learn about that one.
Enroute to Nam Seng at Far East Sq for wanton mee, Super Yo Yo Man stopped to marvel at the wall of rushing water, spilling down a wall of coral - at least I think its coral - the flow of water over a rocky texture creating very nice patterns. One could sit and look at it for hours. It lent a nice cool feeling, softening the busy rush of the city. People in the city always seem to be in a hurry to go somewhere, so it was nice to be able to slow things down today with Super Yo Yo Man, just stroll, stand and look and move when it suited us.
At Nam Seng, Super Yo Yo Man slurped soup while I polished off the wanton mee. Lovely stuff. Must go back on Sunday mornings when it is open. After lunch, we grabbed a cab to BBC - Bras Basah Complex.
Like a good boy, he walked with me all through Bras Basah complex as I searched for a white board, browsed through some second hand books. Observed that the 2nd hand bookstore was a maze. He's not far wrong. But its a maze I love to be lost in.
On the way to Raffles City, he stopped to look at another water feature outside Chef Chan's restaurant (which I boycott because the famous chef was pretty snotty to kids) - this one being a calmer one with a shallow base filled with pebbles and stones, a small bubble being the only sign of life in the waters.
I never noticed it until today, but the city is really full of water and we're never far away from the sound and the coolness of water. A very good thing.
Today, from the green waters of the Singapore River, to the rushing wall of water at the Citibank building, to the poles of water in perspex at FarEast Sq, the calm fountain outside Chef Chan's, the kiddy favourite called Vitality in the Raffles Marketplace and the one in the atrium of Raffles City, we encountered water in all its moods and presentations.
We are drawn to it - Super Yo Yo Man and me. We like the coolness, the movements from the gentle to the rushing, the sounds, the play of light on water (the use of spotlights for Vitality, for instance, gives a feel of a moonlit beach) - all very interesting. We ended our afternoon at Vitality, sitting on the cool black marble rim and watching the flow and ebb, feeling the odd spray as the shooting jets come crashing down. Super Yo Yo Man and I could have sat there for ages and just watched in silence.
It was a good, lazy afternoon out. I think we both enjoyed it.
Incidentally, looking at the rush of the Shenton Way crowds, the men in suits/ties, the ladies ta-paoing for lunch, in their heels and shirts. I felt, as usual, a bit out of place. A bit grungy in my cheap tee, denim skirt and crocs. And a bit guilty - especially when I thought of my colleagues back at the office. As if I was playing hooky from a job. Despite the fact that it was my day off. I should, a twinge of work-ethic conscience told me, be doing something 'more constructive'. Especially if I say I work part-time and the other part of the time I am supposed to be at home with the kids, nurturing them, watching over them, checking their homework etc.
But at the same time, I felt glad to be able to play hooky with the Super Yo Yo Man. In a way, this is also part of my job as a part-time stay-home mom and what an enjoyable one it is. I like to think we did a bit of culture and art education, a bit physical exercise, lots of negotiation skills, some philosophy about water, some discussion about wind in the MRT tunnels (is that physics in a raw form?)... its been a full day.
There was no pressure to teach or to learn or do 'do something'. But yet, there were lots done. Lazy afternoons like today are not always easy to come by. But how memorable they are when they do.
Super Yo Yo Man, cap on backwards in true 'hood dude style went for a walk with his Super Mummy (his name for me, not mine) today. (Super Yo Yo Man - the name, that is - is his idea. He's into this new identity of swivelling the cap on backwards and adopting the rapper stance and going "Yo! Yo!" and today, he said casually to me: "Just call me Super Yo Yo Man!"
It was just the two of us. We went for a walk in the heart of the city - the business district. Super Yo Yo Man, as usual, charmed the socks off passers-by and fellow MRT passengers with his grin. Or maybe it was just the roundness of his face that made people want to reach out and give his cheeks a good pinch.
Super Yo Yo Man was a trouper - never asked for nen-nen - he knew the golden rule: "No nen-nen outside, nen-nen only at home" and of course, "must walk and not ask mummy to carry." So he walked. We walked and walked.
We walked through Boat Quay, stopped at the Fullerton to sample the Bailey's mooncakes - not a taste of Bailey's disappointingly! Then Super Yo Yo Man saw the river. So we headed that way. Marvelled at Botero's Bird. Checked out Dali's Surrealist Piano - which Super Yo Yo Man approved of as he exclaimed: "Mummy, look! The piano has legs and shoes!"
Wandered past Dali's tribute to Newton and Super Yo Yo Man concluded the statue was lame - literally - because a big toe lay awkwardly to one side, cut off. And what was the deal about the ball hanging from the chest, he wanted to know? I explained about the statue being 'open-hearted' but not sure that Super Yo Yo Man got all of it. Never mind - lots of time to learn about that one.
Enroute to Nam Seng at Far East Sq for wanton mee, Super Yo Yo Man stopped to marvel at the wall of rushing water, spilling down a wall of coral - at least I think its coral - the flow of water over a rocky texture creating very nice patterns. One could sit and look at it for hours. It lent a nice cool feeling, softening the busy rush of the city. People in the city always seem to be in a hurry to go somewhere, so it was nice to be able to slow things down today with Super Yo Yo Man, just stroll, stand and look and move when it suited us.
At Nam Seng, Super Yo Yo Man slurped soup while I polished off the wanton mee. Lovely stuff. Must go back on Sunday mornings when it is open. After lunch, we grabbed a cab to BBC - Bras Basah Complex.
Like a good boy, he walked with me all through Bras Basah complex as I searched for a white board, browsed through some second hand books. Observed that the 2nd hand bookstore was a maze. He's not far wrong. But its a maze I love to be lost in.
On the way to Raffles City, he stopped to look at another water feature outside Chef Chan's restaurant (which I boycott because the famous chef was pretty snotty to kids) - this one being a calmer one with a shallow base filled with pebbles and stones, a small bubble being the only sign of life in the waters.
I never noticed it until today, but the city is really full of water and we're never far away from the sound and the coolness of water. A very good thing.
Today, from the green waters of the Singapore River, to the rushing wall of water at the Citibank building, to the poles of water in perspex at FarEast Sq, the calm fountain outside Chef Chan's, the kiddy favourite called Vitality in the Raffles Marketplace and the one in the atrium of Raffles City, we encountered water in all its moods and presentations.
We are drawn to it - Super Yo Yo Man and me. We like the coolness, the movements from the gentle to the rushing, the sounds, the play of light on water (the use of spotlights for Vitality, for instance, gives a feel of a moonlit beach) - all very interesting. We ended our afternoon at Vitality, sitting on the cool black marble rim and watching the flow and ebb, feeling the odd spray as the shooting jets come crashing down. Super Yo Yo Man and I could have sat there for ages and just watched in silence.
It was a good, lazy afternoon out. I think we both enjoyed it.
Incidentally, looking at the rush of the Shenton Way crowds, the men in suits/ties, the ladies ta-paoing for lunch, in their heels and shirts. I felt, as usual, a bit out of place. A bit grungy in my cheap tee, denim skirt and crocs. And a bit guilty - especially when I thought of my colleagues back at the office. As if I was playing hooky from a job. Despite the fact that it was my day off. I should, a twinge of work-ethic conscience told me, be doing something 'more constructive'. Especially if I say I work part-time and the other part of the time I am supposed to be at home with the kids, nurturing them, watching over them, checking their homework etc.
But at the same time, I felt glad to be able to play hooky with the Super Yo Yo Man. In a way, this is also part of my job as a part-time stay-home mom and what an enjoyable one it is. I like to think we did a bit of culture and art education, a bit physical exercise, lots of negotiation skills, some philosophy about water, some discussion about wind in the MRT tunnels (is that physics in a raw form?)... its been a full day.
There was no pressure to teach or to learn or do 'do something'. But yet, there were lots done. Lazy afternoons like today are not always easy to come by. But how memorable they are when they do.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
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.
"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.
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.
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