Playdate

I really need to record real life a bit more because I am letting many beautiful, magical days involving the kids dissipate with no memories. Soon they grow up and all that I will have will be fragments.

XXX
Today, we had Ben and Amalie over for a playdate. I barely survived but the kids had a great time.....

Happy 1st Birthday Wispy Boo!

25 Feb 2011

Wispy Boo!

My beautiful baby. You are 1 and mommy is amazed. How did you grow up so quickly? Where is the new baby smell that wafted and wrapped my senses with such a sense of glowing comfort and made me feel that I was holding a sunbeam at all times?

You are now a whirl of a crawler, sprinting all around the house on your knees. Soon, you will be walking away and entering toddlerhood. I am wistful that my baby is no more.

Watching you this past year has been a joy laden one, my heart swelling with many twirly loops. Watching you rolling over, clapping, waving, crawling. Sometimes, you are so yummy, I have to resist the urge to bite you harder. Totally edible package that loves to slobber mommy with lots of wet kissies.

Happy baby! I love your wavy hair, your sparkly eyes, your deep, grunty, gurgly laugh. And I absolutely love how you are sweet and bright every morning, almost impatient to spread your love on a brand new day.

I notice that everyone loves to groom you. You are such a doll . But there is also a wilful streak that stands up to your bullying brother .

I read somewhere that parenthood grows your capacity to hold much joy. There is a way that parenthood grows your capacity to hold so much more than you ever thought you could. My capacity to hold chaos, fear, joy and uncertainty is so much bigger and deeper than ever and at every step,

With your easy going nature and cool dude ways, you will take life easy because you just embrace everything with equanimity. You are a giver – of love, kindness and joy.

This magical boy held by something divine, somehow sent to me.

XXX
Words at 1 year :
ba for ball
baba for everything else
papa – recent addition

Happy 3rd Birthday Sprong!

21 Jan 2011,

My darling boy,

All of three today!

A little dynamo that chatters non-stop and who floods us with smiles, hugs and kisses as well as tantrums and furious tear-fests, bringing amazing joy and great drama into our lives.

My firstborn; warm, beautiful and absolutely huggable. 'Don’t worry mommy, Captain Sprong will help you clear up' you say when I get started about how messy the house is.

I love that you have your own little world with all your make believe friends consisting mainly of Thomas, Percy and James as well as of late, the fear of the shark in Pororo (so you refused to go into the water when we went to the beach because you thought that the shark was going to come and attack anytime). Sometimes, you also think that at night, there’s something behind the red curtrains.

I love that you still say trouyers and lellow. You used to also say Bob ka biddle.

I love that you always ask me to sit and watch the rain with you. Just you, me and thambi sitting in the patio, quietly watching the rain pelt gently on the earth.

Our 'Sprong and mommy time is something I treasure –there is an impenetrable circle between you and me which have included train rides to A&W, an afternoon in kidzport, eating fries together at the burger place in Bangsar, lots of sand art, playdough and simply lying together on the grass in the garden.

Did we have a life before you? I am sure we did (and it definitely involved your papa and me going to art galleries, eating at elegant restaurants and travelling somewhere!) but now, today, life is all you, you and you. School , playdates,ice cream dates. Boundaries. Temper tantrums. Pororo and Friends. Railway tracks and tunnels.

For your 3rd birthday party at Kidzport, you had a Thomas the tank engine cake and Tidmouth sheds for all your engines.

Did I mention cakes –all kinds, chocolate, carrot, coffee - which can be in any colour green, bue, yellow, pink. Also of late, lollipops. Of course, you also try your luck – every morning, you will wake up and declare ‘it’s a holiday mommy’, so that I don’t go to work and you don’t have to go to school.

Even on the lowest days, when my energy is sapped and I feel that the world is breaking me, I have you to go home to. I have you to remind me of all the goodness in the world and feel that is right again. ‘Are you happy Mommy?’ you ask me.

‘Yes, always, as long as I get a hug and a kiss from you’.

I wish you a blessed life my darling boy.


XXX

Key words influenced largely by Playhouse Disney:
Cool mommy!
I’m hungry, my tummy is growing
I’m not going to school (daily occurrence)
Hola it’s Kandy Manny
Let’s make a bridge mommy

Likes: cakes, cookies, ice cream, trains

Cartography

Mother's day weekend. I am not really mad about Mother's Day and all that. As much as mother's pour love, they can also wreck havoc and create serious damage in the lives of their children so I really think all this exulting of all mothers is just a bit much.

I worry about the impact I can potentially have on my boys and can only hope that they grow up into decent, well adjusted adults who live good lives. M has big plans for them, thinking of their careers and universities, etc. For me? I just want them to be absolutely happy.

My gift for them as a mother?

I want to give them choices and possibilities. I see my job as cartographer, I draw the map with all the roads out and they get to choose their path. My aim is to be damn good at cartography so that they have all the right roads before them. What they end doing and how they ultimately lead their lives is in their hands after that.

What do I expect from them?

I expect them to live a good life. That will be their gift to me.

managing

Managing a toddler and a baby has been much harder than I ever imagined particularly because toddler has been throwing numerous horrific tantrums including rolling on the floor when not getting what he wants. I am at wits end, having tried everyting except for whaking (M and I agreed that we are not going to raise them like that no matter what). You know, love begets love and all that.

I am however seriously reconsidering this because 2 year old doesnt seem to have registered any of my admonishments.

The other thing that is worrying me is that he is just not that into sharing -his toys, etc. I know that this is normal but how do I inculcate a sharing habit. This evening, at the playground, he refused to let go of the swing when another boy wanted to have a go.

All the world is a birthday cake, so take a piece, but not too much

Dear Wispy,

You are 1 month old today. I can’t believe how fast it’s been. Soon you will even be no longer the wisp of a thing that I held on Feb 25th. In fact, you hardly look like the wrinkled cabbage leaf that you were and have been thriving well.

Your birth itself was serendipity. On the 24th afternoon, I was already 3 cm dilated for 3 days. M and I went to watch a movie, My Name is Khan (which by itself was pretty mundane) and it made me pretty wistful that this will be my last movie/outing/social event for a long, long time before you popped. I remember after Sprong, it took me 2 whole years to go back to the cinema to watch a movie.

That night, while putting Sprong to bed, I suddenly felt mild contractions. Mild means enough for me to have a warm bath, have a cup of milo, give orders to the maid, get my mom to come over and call M to hurry from the office. It was 12 pm by the time we reached the emergency ward and I was buzzing with pain already. After this, I was in an epidural induced haze- god bless. I even managed to nibble some crackers, suddendly hungry as the last thing I had was popcorn at the movie.

By 6am the next day, I was again in a fair bit of pain, despite the epidural. The midwife had a look at me and declared that I was in labour. By 6:45, my gynae was next to me and out you slid, ceremoniously plonked in my arms all gooey and gnarled.

The world when you were born: Orang aslis were caught killing tigers in jungles in Pahang, a survey revealed that young people spent 2-4 hours a day on social networking sites on the internet, a French hostage was freed by Al-Qaeda.

Famous birthdays : George Harrison ( title quote is his) , Anthony Burgess, Auguste Renoir

My dear bunny boy is hitting the Terrible Twos Very Early On

My dear Bunny Boy,

As you toddle into your 17 months, I know the world is increasingly becoming complex. There is a need to establish boundaries and carve out your identity.

I want you to know that it's okay, it's okay to be frustrated and sometimes show it loudly. Because it may seem that nobody understands you or bothers about what's really important.

I do also want you to know that I am trying my hardest to understand some of that frustration and how difficult it may be for you to be assaulted by this constantly changing world. I may sometimes disagree with you and not allow you more time for colouring or tell you to stop playing your bus so that you can have a bath. I know that this is terribly annoying but you must know that I do make sense. If you have a bath too late, we wont be able to go out afterwards and if you want to spend all your time with your crayons, when will you have lunch?

Always remember that you are making choices. If your choice is to throw a tantrum and fuss, then all that energy is wasted. Just think if you make wider choices, then your world view will open up and your day can just be so much brighter and fun filled.

I want you to have fabulous, magical days -every day.

I try my best to do this but you've got to help me as well. All that you've got to do is just be your usual sunshiny self and spread your Sprongy goodness into the world. You definitely make it a better place.


lovelovelove

mommy

Give Cheese

My dear Sprong,

You are 16 months today.

When you were a wee bud in my tummy, I had promised myself that I would write letters to you every month recording all my thoughts about you and my feelings as mom, etc. Fast forward 16 months and I realize that I have 2 miserable letters and other moms like Dooce have been actually doing it assiduously for YEARS.

So, that kind of sums up your mommy. A frazzled, disshelved , unorganized, crazy mommy who nevertheless loves you to incredible bits.

You kind of said your first sentence last month 'Give Cheese' you said. I glowed in pride and struck at the wonder that soon you and I will be having proper conversations. You’ve already started in that direction- you now like to hold on to the mobile phone and pretend that you are saying hello to Papa.

I want to say thank you to you my darling little bubba. For being you –a wholesome sunbeam who has made my life shimmer in joy.

I pray that I have the strength to be a good mom- not just to nurture but also as a guide who shares the world with you and navigates the difficulties that may be there.

One Today

My dear Sprong,

You are one today!

I am simply amazed that the wrinkly little alien baby who could hardly breathe and had to be rushed into the neonatal intensive care for the first three hours of his life has now become a smiley little chatterbox who loves people, balls, buses and cars (sometimes in that order).

I want you to know that you are one amazing dude. Everyday, my heart does many twirls and spins watching you doing your thing, going about being yourself. You are all sunshiny goodness watching the world unfurl, gleeful at the wonderful adventures awaiting you at every corner (including messing with the remote control, light switches, drawers, sliding doors...yes, we're baby proofing the house).

As you chew into the delights of the world (literally), I feel so privileged to be part of you, to introduce you to some of the miracles and magic that is in store. Some mornings, when I get a hearty 'gaa' and that floppy puppy dog face burrows clumsily into mine, I melt into many saccharine highs.

The stored memory is bursting in its seams. The first time I heard you laugh, a light gurgle floating like an airy bubble, a sweet lurch fluttered in my heart and remains lodged there, imprinted forever. Your toothy grin, framed by that shock of hair, and those twinkling eyes, sometimes brimming with obstinate tears, are fleeting images that light up many a boring afternoon office meetings.

You've given your papa and me new directions and perspectives. Our views about life and living now totally revolves around you, the centre of our universe. Our priorities have changed and we are the better for it I think. We want to give more and do more, not just for you but in our little way, to the world at large. We realize that we are thinking like this because we want the best for you. You've also made us examine our actions more, the implications of what we do and the reactions as a result.

There were hard days, days when I thought I couldn't go on and felt like an absolute failure. The colic that hit us hard, followed by gastrointestinal reflux had you spitting out every feed and cause me to be a tensed, mechanical mom. Then the eczema that sprouted all over, angry, suppurating spots that had me sitting at various paediatricians office, unsure of all that steroids that they were prescribing to my wee baby. Looking back at those times, I feel that they made us both stronger and more resilient.

You and me, we are made of strong, hardy stuff, aye.

Thanks to you, my faith and belief in God and the goodness in the universe has also been amplified this past year. Your blooming after that period of health problems and how everything else has fallen into place since- my job which offers some level of flexibility to be with you, grandpa and grandma who help out whenever they can and of course, at the end of the day, we both have Papa who is always there, no matter what.

Your magic is of the ethereal kind, one that wraps my heart with showers of wonder and joy. The suppleness of this magic endears you to your daily world audience consisting of your grandparents, the postman, the old newspaper man and the retired couple next door.

Did I tell you that you are a dancer? When Barney and Baby Bop come on TV to sing, you do your little jig along with them. You are a whirl of mobility now that you've found your feet. Yes, your drunken sailor walk fills me with such pride. Mobility does mean that the idea of sitting still is a bit of a bore, one that wee little babies did. So, reading, which you enjoyed so much is not on top of your agenda at the moment. For now, there is a world to be walked into.

Some nights, when you are fast asleep, your papa and I trace your form again and again, almost in disbelief that you are real. This is what angels must look like, I whisper to him. Somewhere, somehow, we must have done some good to have been blessed with you.

Love,

Mommy

mothersandsons

A few days before delivering Sprong, I read Colm Toibin's collection of short stories Mothers and Sons. Toibin is an immaculate observer of human foibles and this comes across every story. How do you judge a selfish mother who ignores her only son's wishes in order for herself to have freedom to live life the way she wanted. Was she a lesser mother?

What about the mother who finds out that her son, a priest, had raped the boys in his seminary? Will she still love that son?

Difficult questions which Toibin unpacks without supplying easy answers.

It's a complicated relationship that has been delved since Oedipus. Some of my favourite books explore this relationship of boy/man with the first woman in his life. DH Lawrence in Sons and Lovers, Lionel Shriver in We Need to Talk about Kevin and Hisham Matar's In the Country of Men. To a lesser extent, The God of Small Things has lovely glimpses of the son-mother relationship. Ammu reaching out to mess Estha’s Elvis puff comes to mind.

Then, there is Lucy Ceccaldi whose brazen brand of mothering (or non-mothering maybe) stands out. She says this about her literary son: "this individual, who alas came from my womb, is a liar, an imposter, a parasite and above all". The question someone like her poses is what happens when mothers and sons become enemies?

Sprong is currently going through an early form of stranger anxiety: he wants his mommy exclusively ie mommy has to run out of the shower/ rush back from the corner 7-11 because of meltdown moments. Everyone is exasperated except me. I am quite aware that after this stage, Sprong will never quite want me this way again. One day, I know that he is going to walk to school with nary a backward glance (later rather sooner hopefully). For now, I am quite happy to smother (pun intended) him any which way he wants.

M-Day

The thing about Mother's Day that irks me is this outpouring of luurrvvvee. How all mothers are so fabulous and all-sacrificing goddesses.

Don't get me wrong. '08 marks the first year ever that I can demand some kind of celebration and gloat at my own greatness with regards to raising my own little pet, oh sorry, kid (in any event, nothing much happened cause I have a husband who forgets this kinda things unless nudged. And since motherhood has happened, I have no energy to nag anymore, much to his benefit).

But still, to treat mothers as a homogenised entity seems incredibly naïve. I am sure that there are those filmi mothers who sacrifice life and limb for their babes but what about the regular ones, who are imperfect, lazy, selfish and infect various complexes on their children. Do they get celebrated as well?

I have more thoughts on this but (yawn) later. I had a long day entertaining one very active baby.

And Baby Makes Three

I didn't expect it to be this tiring.

I wish I could say that the minute they laid my son on my chest, in full bloody glory, I was totally in love. Instead at that moment, all that I could think of was 'why wasn't he crying?'I remember Blake's babies who made 'sweet moans, sweeter smiles'.

A fear gripped me that something was not quite right. My baby, born through assisted delivery, was vaccummed out on Monday, 21.1.08. He spent the first 3 hours of his life in neo-natal intensive care (NICU) due to lack of oxygen. Once out of NICU, he wailed his chest out into his mummy's heart.

A strange hollowness gripped me the minute he was born. I feel emptied out, as if some part of me had been ripped away. Pregnancy, though accompanied with a steady stream of whining and winges, had been incredibly fulfilling. I felt that my body had reached for its own rhythm, as a vessel carrying life. The baby in my tummy shared many little secrets and we both kept each other company throughout the major upheavals of those few months.

Once he was delivered, for the few hours that he was placed in a glass incubator, I was strangely detached. As the epidural slowly eased off and I could feel my legs again, I felt that the baby was no longer mine. We couldn't share secrets anymore. It didn't help that a steady stream of visitors popped around to claim their stake on him.

The hospital stay was a blur of distress. I was exhausted from the whole labour process and when the baby was put to breast, he didn't latch on. I didn't lactate for a good 5 days which was a greater source of stress as I had been quite intent on breastfeeding him exclusively. We had to use formula which broke my heart into many tiny pieces. Even now, he is still on supplement though I try to pump as much a possible to increase my supply. Then there was the first few times that I tried to pacify him and he continued bawling, I felt personally rebuked. I had never felt like such a failure before.

But I am being pragmatic about it now. I do what I can do, and beyond that call for help. M has been a hands-on dad and I don't think I would have survived the first two weeks without him. There will be days when this whole motherhood thing is going to be more fulfilling than others and I must allay self doubts. Granted, I am never going to be one of those militant soccer moms, will go on to make loads of mistakes and am often clueless as at what to do.

But so what? If there is such a thing as pure love, then I am experiencing that every day. That and those 2-3 hourly feeds.

(oh yeah, he is going to be Baby S on this blog).