The room was dark, illuminated only by the subtle blue light from the purring air purifier. The day is winding down to an end...
Not for Hannah. After nursing for almost an hour (with her eyes closed), she jerked her head away from my boob and stared at me. I quickly averted my eyes and turned away from her. Please sleep please sleep please sleep, I chanted inside my head.
"AaaaHHhhhh..." Hannah's baby voice pierced through the sleepy silence. "AaaahhHHhhh..." She was not shouting or shrieking; it was like she just wanted to her own voice in the loudest volume possible AND find out how long she can hold her breath. Maybe if I ignore her, she will drift off to sleep, I hoped. So I scooted away from her and covered my ears with my pillow.
"AHHHHHhHHHHHHhh..." I could feel her chubby feet shuffling and banging on the mattress.
To the uninitiated, it might sound non-threatening, but I knew better - leave this unattended for too long and she will burst into tears.
I tried to pat her, sing to her, cuddle with her. She flailed her arms and feet, restless, like she knew she was having trouble falling asleep. "AaaaaaHHhhhhh...." It was getting louder, angrier.
I turned over to check if the hubs and Jayden were disturbed by the loudness. Nope. Both were sleeping soundly.
I snapped. Why am I the only one left awake to suffer this?! So I did what every mature, self-sacrificing, wise mother would do - I carried Hannah to the hubs' single mattress and plopped her right next to the sleeping <s>baboon</s> man.
It was a small bed, so she was pretty squashed between her father's back and a bolster to shield her from the wall. She started kicking her father's back. I felt a surge of sadistic pleasure. Now maybe you will understand how it feels to have a restless baby right next to you, I thought maliciously.
He did not budge. Not one inch. I waited for three minutes and nothing. He was knocked out cold.
Furthermore, to my horror, Hannah was winding down, her movements getting slower, her eyes fluttering to a close. WTH?? This was way too unfair to go unnoticed.
So I poked the hubs. Hard. NOTHING. OK this is BS. Nobody sleeps THAT well. I pushed him awake.
Finally, he turned around, his eyes barely opened. "Mei Mei is right next to you," I informed formally. "Don't crush her." He nodded lazily and went back to hugging his pillow.
He's gonna crush her, I thought angrily to myself as I climbed back into my bed. I don't care I don't care I don't care close your eyes and SLEEP, I ordered my brain.
Ten minutes later, I got up and carried Hannah gently back to my bed. She rubbed her face against her blankie and settled back to sleep peacefully.
It was close to midnight now. The air purifier was still humming, accompanied by the soft snoring from the man whom I really do love despite his infuriating ability to fall asleep before I could even shut my eyes.
I checked on both children one more time, pulling Jayden's blanket over his exposed tummy and made sure Hannah had a pillow to rest her feet just the way she liked it.
And then I sleep.
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Monday, October 19, 2015
My Best Friend
"This is Cindy, my best friend."
It was so casually spoken, like stating a well-known fact. Even though I know we have always regarded each other as best friends, I was surprised at how openly she said it in front of others.
She is one of my oldest friends, and definitely one I always consider as a Bestie even though we don't get to hang out as much anymore.
Come to think of it, I don't think we have stayed in the same town since we finished secondary school together. Somehow the friendship continued. We have college friends, colleagues, church friends... but it never diminished our importance to each other.
Until I botched her bachelorette party, I always felt like I have done irreparable damage to our Bestie relationship after that. It always fills me with helpless guilt when I remember how I did not give her the best bachelorette that she so deserves. How maybe I should have opted out if I was too bogged down by blocked ducts and new mommy duties. I thought I could do both best girlfriend and competent first-time mommy at the same time, but I couldn't have been more wrong.
Nevertheless, Su, being the gracious person that she always is, seemed to have moved on from it so completely that sometimes I wonder if it had all been inside my head. I have thought about texting her or talking to her about it, to clear things up, but it just felt too little too late.
Maybe she just introduced me that way out of habit. We did always call each other that since we were twelve years old. She probably did not even think twice about it.
But it meant the world to me. She will always be my best friend. And I hope we can always regard each other this way, like how little kids talk about their best friends, so happily and proudly.
Gosh I sound crazy.
It was so casually spoken, like stating a well-known fact. Even though I know we have always regarded each other as best friends, I was surprised at how openly she said it in front of others.
She is one of my oldest friends, and definitely one I always consider as a Bestie even though we don't get to hang out as much anymore.
Come to think of it, I don't think we have stayed in the same town since we finished secondary school together. Somehow the friendship continued. We have college friends, colleagues, church friends... but it never diminished our importance to each other.
Until I botched her bachelorette party, I always felt like I have done irreparable damage to our Bestie relationship after that. It always fills me with helpless guilt when I remember how I did not give her the best bachelorette that she so deserves. How maybe I should have opted out if I was too bogged down by blocked ducts and new mommy duties. I thought I could do both best girlfriend and competent first-time mommy at the same time, but I couldn't have been more wrong.
Nevertheless, Su, being the gracious person that she always is, seemed to have moved on from it so completely that sometimes I wonder if it had all been inside my head. I have thought about texting her or talking to her about it, to clear things up, but it just felt too little too late.
Maybe she just introduced me that way out of habit. We did always call each other that since we were twelve years old. She probably did not even think twice about it.
But it meant the world to me. She will always be my best friend. And I hope we can always regard each other this way, like how little kids talk about their best friends, so happily and proudly.
Gosh I sound crazy.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Not Hot Adi
We were walking back to our car after dinner, holding hands as we crossed the road.
"Not hot adi," He suddenly declared.
"Not hot?"
"Yaa... not hot adi," He pointed to the dark night sky.
"Oooh ya, it's at night already, so not hot anymore isit?"
"Yaaa.." He nodded in agreement, his face thoughtful. It was like he was growing up right before my eyes.
I smiled to myself, realizing how much he must be observing and listening all the time. At this age (3), he can be such a handful sometimes, but I genuinely love the conversations we have; his half-gibberish, half-manglish is such a source of laughter for us nowadays.
People around us tend to comment that "only the mommy can understand him", which is fine with me now. The satisfied grin after I repeat after him, the enthusiastic nods when I got him what he wanted (but could not quite pronounce/express yet) - it makes me feel exclusive. And I want to treasure this bond for as long as I can.
"Not hot adi," He suddenly declared.
"Not hot?"
"Yaa... not hot adi," He pointed to the dark night sky.
"Oooh ya, it's at night already, so not hot anymore isit?"
"Yaaa.." He nodded in agreement, his face thoughtful. It was like he was growing up right before my eyes.
I smiled to myself, realizing how much he must be observing and listening all the time. At this age (3), he can be such a handful sometimes, but I genuinely love the conversations we have; his half-gibberish, half-manglish is such a source of laughter for us nowadays.
People around us tend to comment that "only the mommy can understand him", which is fine with me now. The satisfied grin after I repeat after him, the enthusiastic nods when I got him what he wanted (but could not quite pronounce/express yet) - it makes me feel exclusive. And I want to treasure this bond for as long as I can.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Strive to Emphatize
"My trakkor... choo-choo train..." Jayden muttered in his car seat as he looked forlornly down on his hands.
"What happened? Teacher took your toys isit?" I figured because there was a notice that informed parents to bring a transportation toy for the children to keep in school for a month, as part of their thematic lessons.
"Yaaa..." He nodded his head. "My one..."
"I know. Teacher told mommy already. Everyone will keep their toys in school for one month. So you can all play and share together. Is that OK?"
"Noo... my one..."
"You wanna bring your tractor and train back home?"
"Ya..." He implored with his sad eyes.
"OK. Mommy will call Teacher later, and ask for you."
"Teacher take... my one..." His eyes were filling up with tears. I was stopped at a traffic light, so I reached over and patted his knee gently.
"It's OK, Jayden. I know you're sad. Teacher will give you back one OK. Everyone's toys are in school."
The tears were spilling down his cheeks now. He grabbed my hand and pleaded softly, "Go back. Go back school take..." This was not whining; I could see the distress in his eyes, his mind not yet comprehending the concept of leaving his toys for others.
"Aw Jayden. Don't worry. Mommy will call Ms Mary Anne later OK." I started driving again.
"Ms Esha."
"Oh it was Ms Esha who took the toys ya?"
"Yaa..." He replied.
He wouldn't get out of the car when we reached home, and insisted that we go back to school. So I decided to call the teacher and spoke with her while he listened. He seemed to calm down, knowing that I had made sure that the toys were still with his teacher, and will be returned to him soon.
It seemed like such a small thing, but it made me realize how important my role as a mother is. Jayden was troubled by something he couldn't quite verbalize yet, and it took patience and a listening ear to understand what he needed at the moment. I'm so glad that I didn't choose to brush his feelings off (because I know I will be loaded with mommy guilt after that 100 percent). I hope that I will always remember to observe and listen to my children with more patience, with a positive desire to understand and emphatize, and never undermine their feelings and thoughts.
It reminded me of the time I was scolded by my primary school teacher. She'd been unkind in her words (she called me a 'da fan shu', which literally translates into a big potato), and I was particularly troubled because I felt wronged. I let out all my frustrations the moment I climbed into my mother's car, telling her how unfair everything was. She listened, and reacted in the way that just made my day a whole lot better. "What! She called you a big potato! Well then she's a GIANT potato!" It was silly and exaggerated, but to an eight-year-old it felt so good to be understood, to have her feelings validated, and by the most important person in her life no less.
For my children, I want to be like that all the time.
"What happened? Teacher took your toys isit?" I figured because there was a notice that informed parents to bring a transportation toy for the children to keep in school for a month, as part of their thematic lessons.
"Yaaa..." He nodded his head. "My one..."
"I know. Teacher told mommy already. Everyone will keep their toys in school for one month. So you can all play and share together. Is that OK?"
"Noo... my one..."
"You wanna bring your tractor and train back home?"
"Ya..." He implored with his sad eyes.
"OK. Mommy will call Teacher later, and ask for you."
"Teacher take... my one..." His eyes were filling up with tears. I was stopped at a traffic light, so I reached over and patted his knee gently.
"It's OK, Jayden. I know you're sad. Teacher will give you back one OK. Everyone's toys are in school."
The tears were spilling down his cheeks now. He grabbed my hand and pleaded softly, "Go back. Go back school take..." This was not whining; I could see the distress in his eyes, his mind not yet comprehending the concept of leaving his toys for others.
"Aw Jayden. Don't worry. Mommy will call Ms Mary Anne later OK." I started driving again.
"Ms Esha."
"Oh it was Ms Esha who took the toys ya?"
"Yaa..." He replied.
He wouldn't get out of the car when we reached home, and insisted that we go back to school. So I decided to call the teacher and spoke with her while he listened. He seemed to calm down, knowing that I had made sure that the toys were still with his teacher, and will be returned to him soon.
It seemed like such a small thing, but it made me realize how important my role as a mother is. Jayden was troubled by something he couldn't quite verbalize yet, and it took patience and a listening ear to understand what he needed at the moment. I'm so glad that I didn't choose to brush his feelings off (because I know I will be loaded with mommy guilt after that 100 percent). I hope that I will always remember to observe and listen to my children with more patience, with a positive desire to understand and emphatize, and never undermine their feelings and thoughts.
It reminded me of the time I was scolded by my primary school teacher. She'd been unkind in her words (she called me a 'da fan shu', which literally translates into a big potato), and I was particularly troubled because I felt wronged. I let out all my frustrations the moment I climbed into my mother's car, telling her how unfair everything was. She listened, and reacted in the way that just made my day a whole lot better. "What! She called you a big potato! Well then she's a GIANT potato!" It was silly and exaggerated, but to an eight-year-old it felt so good to be understood, to have her feelings validated, and by the most important person in her life no less.
For my children, I want to be like that all the time.
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Wallow
My first pregnancy was good. I had a neat little bump, I could still fit into most of my pants till my last trimester. Giving birth was quick, the pain bearable. Post-natal depression did bite me in the arse for a while, but things got better after I got used to the body aches, the headaches from lack of sleep, the interrupted sleep night after night.
Frankly, what got me through it was realizing that I was losing weight. Somehow, no matter what I ate, the weight was coming off. My clothes got looser, thin people clothes like chiffon skirts look good on me, for once.
Waking up three times a night? At least I was getting thinner. Having daily shoulder pains from breastfeeding? At least I look good in clothes I like.
My second pregnancy has been a huge blow. Health-wise, I was good. But I gained weight faster, ate more, and just felt like a hippo the entire time. Giving birth was still reasonably quick, but the pain was more intense (which I blame the OGBYN, but that's another post altogether). I was better equipped during recovery, resting on the knowledge that all the suckiness do eventually go away. But the bleeding nipples did bring me down for a couple of weeks. That, and the fact that I barely lost any weight since giving birth.
Six months in, and I still can't fit into my normal clothes. Not even my glorious thin clothes, just the ones I used to wear before I got married even. I know it's so terrible to put one's worth based on one's looks, but whatever. I might as well admit it myself. I am upset about how I look. There are tons of alternative media nowadays encouraging women of all shapes and sizes to love themselves, mostly with pictures of women of all shapes and sizes in their underwear. It's supposed to be empowering, but I just feel... nothing.
I don't have to see those. I know those. The stretch marks, the lumpy hips, the flabby thighs. They stare back at me whenever I walk past the mirror. They make their presence known when another one of my normal underwear burst at the seams. When I lift up my shirt to nurse my baby, and half of my muffin top is hanging off my too-tight pants.
It is as if Stretch Mark and Flabby Skin is saying, oh did we not get you the first time? We'll give you a double dose just to make for it. Sorry for the delay.
Then do something about it. I can hear it already. Quit whining. Exercise. Eat less. DO SOMETHING.
I know what I have to do (or NOT do). But right now I just want to mourn the demise of my former, thinner, prettier self.
Frankly, what got me through it was realizing that I was losing weight. Somehow, no matter what I ate, the weight was coming off. My clothes got looser, thin people clothes like chiffon skirts look good on me, for once.
Waking up three times a night? At least I was getting thinner. Having daily shoulder pains from breastfeeding? At least I look good in clothes I like.
My second pregnancy has been a huge blow. Health-wise, I was good. But I gained weight faster, ate more, and just felt like a hippo the entire time. Giving birth was still reasonably quick, but the pain was more intense (which I blame the OGBYN, but that's another post altogether). I was better equipped during recovery, resting on the knowledge that all the suckiness do eventually go away. But the bleeding nipples did bring me down for a couple of weeks. That, and the fact that I barely lost any weight since giving birth.
Six months in, and I still can't fit into my normal clothes. Not even my glorious thin clothes, just the ones I used to wear before I got married even. I know it's so terrible to put one's worth based on one's looks, but whatever. I might as well admit it myself. I am upset about how I look. There are tons of alternative media nowadays encouraging women of all shapes and sizes to love themselves, mostly with pictures of women of all shapes and sizes in their underwear. It's supposed to be empowering, but I just feel... nothing.
I don't have to see those. I know those. The stretch marks, the lumpy hips, the flabby thighs. They stare back at me whenever I walk past the mirror. They make their presence known when another one of my normal underwear burst at the seams. When I lift up my shirt to nurse my baby, and half of my muffin top is hanging off my too-tight pants.
It is as if Stretch Mark and Flabby Skin is saying, oh did we not get you the first time? We'll give you a double dose just to make for it. Sorry for the delay.
Then do something about it. I can hear it already. Quit whining. Exercise. Eat less. DO SOMETHING.
I know what I have to do (or NOT do). But right now I just want to mourn the demise of my former, thinner, prettier self.
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