BAD day alerts

There are bad days and there are BAD days as a new mother of two.

When you are having one of those BAD days, you think: Oh my goodness, why have I been such a baby on those days? This is my retribution for being a life-long whiner and for complaining about those seemingly bad but really 'easy-breezy' days.

These are the three BAD day alerts I have noticed in the last few weeks:

1. The husband has to kindly ask you to be the bigger person when your toddler is throwing a tantrum
2. Both parents unanimously agree that your baby is being an annoying fart
3. You take both toddler and baby out for a 1.5 hour walk at 5pm when it's pitched dark and freezing outside

And at the end of each BAD day,  I console myself by telling myself: The worst is yet to come. If this is BAD, think about when they are both boundaries-testing toddlers who want to argue with me about everything. 

Sweet little beings

I can't pinpoint the moment when Ian learned how to post for the camera although I shouldn't be too surprised since we have thousands of digital photos of him detailing his growth since he was born.

The cutest thing is that he poses for a photo, saying "Cheese" (No idea where he picked that up from either, although I am still deciding if I should Asian-fied him further by asking him to hold his fingers up so that his face looks smaller) and insists I do the same if he is 'taking' a photo of me as well.

Now that we have Mia in our lives, little Ian who is rather fond of Mia, he asks occasionally to carry her. And when he does, he would always say the below,"

 Ian is carrying Mia, Mama, take photos of us!" before completing it with a "Cheese!"

The littlest one is also obliging and usually allows for some photo moments before she wants to be picked up. He on the other hand would also be in a hurry to go back to his toys. It's a win-win situation.

Adorable knows no limit when it comes to kids, especially my kids.

p.s. It's my blog, I can say whatever I want about how great my kids are.

My firstborn's agony

Before little Mia entered our lives a month ago, I did quite some reading on how to prepare Ian for the arrival of his little sibling, as well as heard from other friends how they have prepared their firstborns for their second children.

And in the end, I wouldn't say I was well-prepared for whatever that may come, but I was at least prepared it wouldn't be a smooth sailing ride, especially because I had the awful suspicion that Ian didn’t really know what was going to hit him.

And I was right. Our sweet first born was very proud that he had become a big brother, and was extremely sweet towards little Mia. He would insist on kissing her ONLY on her lips, wanted to carry her and lay down next to her while we laid her on a playpen mattress on the floor.

There was the occasional jealousy streaks that we noted -- where he would ask that we put Mia down, or go with him -- but that was it.

But as the first week went by, we started noticing that Ian wasn’t eating his usual portions. He would say he was full — something which he never does. And come night time, he would be screaming for us. Initially, the wailing came as soon as we left the room. But it didn’t take long before he started screaming and wailing for us when he woke up in the middle of the night as well.

How he has changed? My firstborn, whom at a few months old, could sleep on his own as soon as we left the room closing the door behind us.

We went to him, consoled the crying little boy, but the minute we left the room, he would start wailing again. Wouter slept in his room a couple of nights because that seemed like the only way to bring him some comfort and sleep as well. But this wasn’t a permanent solution.

And because Ian didn’t quite know how to express why he was crying — and we didn’t want to put any ideas in his mind — we had no idea how to help him. There was one night when he said he wanted the door to be left open. We complied, hoping that this was the magical antitode. But that didn’t stop the crying.

We then tried the cried-it-out method where we harden our hearts and let him cry himself to sleep. And the poor little boy cried for two hours in the middle of one night till his voice was hoarse. I half-thought the police would knock on our door and accuse us of child abuse.

We tried everything, but stopped short of bringing him into our room.

I was desperate, and he probably was too — except that he didn’t know how to express it. He was tired, but yet he was still trying. Every night when the sky turned dark, he would say, “It’s getting dark outside, and I have to sleep. Ian is a big brother, Ian doesn’t have to call for Papa and Mama when he is sleeping. Ian calls for Papa and Mama when he wakes up.” All very sensible, but the moment the lights are out in his room, he started crying.

And at some point, so did I. One of the reasons why I have wanted to have a second child was because I thought it would be good for Ian to have a companion for life and for him to have a playmate when he was young. But somehow hearing my firstborn wail at the top of his voice every single night definitely didn’t bring me any comfort that it was indeed a brilliant plan after all.

And then the other day, I happened to scroll through my smartphone looking at some earlier photos of Ian taken earlier in the year, when he was still an only child, I couldn’t help but tear and asked myself what I had done. In all these videos and photos, he was laughing out loud, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and his dimples reflecting the happiness in the air.

He didn’t ask for a sibling, but is now having to face the consequence of having one. And even though he is trying his upmost in loving and showing his love for his little sister, somewhere deep down inside, he is struggling to come to terms with having to share his parents.

I was the one who had wished or another child. And now that I have one, and am grateful for her existence, I can only wish my firstborn would quickly sleep throughout the night and not have to deal with midnight dreams about being left behind alone by Papa and Mama. Because other than telling him over and over again in the wee hours of the morning that “Ian, Mama and Papa are here. See you tomorrow. Love you.” and going into his room to plant a kiss on his tear-stained cheeks — there is nothing much this heart-broken Mama can do.

Home alone with the kids

Friday was the first day where I officially had both kids to my glorious self. And no, it wasn't something I was looking forward to. In fact I was dreading it, especially since the last time it happened, I came down with a out-of-the-blue high fever that came and left within 24 hours. The fever was so suspicious that I half-thought it was my body warning me that I am not meant to handle two kids on my own.

Anyway, the day started off all right. There was the occasional usual breakfast drama but we resolved that quickly. Nursing time went well with Ian peeking into the nursing box to play with some selected toys. Mia was quite happy to be carried around when I played with Ian. What we played with, I had no idea since he wasn't particularly inspired and was playing with each toy for a minute before moving on to the next. Mia had a half-hour nap in the morning, which we conveniently used for some craft time.

A friend popped by for a quick visit, and her appearance had Ian more subdued than usual - not complaining here! We had lunch -- that was tricky cos fresh spinach apparently is no longer one of the vegetables that Ian eats willingly now, before we went up for naptime.

I was dreading naptime because Ian has been having some problems sleeping on his own lately. However that went fairly smooth sailing amid bouncy chair and dummy time for Mia, and two stories and tons of talking with Ian. And I even managed to get Mia to sleep in her baby cot.

But what greeted me when I went around the house was just mind-blowing. There wasn't a room that we were in that didn't look like the tornado has been through it.

And just for a split second - I wondered if I should start cleaning up after our own mess or go for the rest of my lunch and cookies. But it was just that for that split second before sanity won and I wolfed down the food that I really shouldn't.

I reckoned I had about 30 mins of alone time before Mia started fussing, and another 30 mins of trying to stop her from fussing before Ian started wailing - at the TOP of his voice. I went to him, baby in arm, but maybe that was what pissed him off. He started crying really hard and won't stop. While I can do a lot with one arm, comforting a very upset toddler isn't one of them. I had to put Mia down and that really pissed her off and set her crying as well.

So there was me sitting on the mattress on the floor, holding on to a crying Ian in one arm and desperately hoping that Mia will take to the dummy I was furiously pushing down her mouth - but both kids would not stop crying. I contemplated crying but decided to mature up and acknowledged that this really isn't the time to try out any stupid how-to-raise-your-kids experiment.

And this is when I heard a deep voice going, "Ian?"

I have been imaging quite some baby cries recently so I didn't really trust my ears.

And then from the corner of my eye, I saw Wouter running up the stairs!

And even though he wasn't running up to embrace me, I have never been so happy to see him, and probably neither have Ian.  I handed over my sobbing-uncontrollably toddler to Wouter and headed downstairs with my other fussypot newborn.

And with that, I am comforted by the thought that white knights do exist and I am married to one -- after all. And home alone with the kids aren't too bad, as long as The White Knight appear in timely fashion to The Princess' rescue!

Motherhood x2 is a #^*]!*

After developing a high fever and diarrhoea, and hardly any sleep at nights due to an anxiety-stricken toddler and hungry newborn, I am almost ready to throw in the towel.

As I am writing this post, my already-upset tummy is rumbling possibly due to the chips I have just binged on cos I was hoping the chomping of the chips would overcome the wailing of the toddler who would not nap. That aside, Wouter is, I believe, camping outside Ian's door and I am glued to the couch with a newborn stuck to my chest -- it's almost as though she was never born three weeks ago.

Oh and did I forget to mention that the day is not even over yet? We still have dinner time which is yet another nightmare cos Mia is wide awake and wants to be carried, and Ian needs to be entertained because he is our firstborn and we don't want him to feel left out.

But you know what? Truth to be told, I just want to tell my almost three-year-old to grow up and face life. He's never going to be anyone's centre of their lives, and he should be grateful he was ours for the first few years of his life. Can't accept that? Too bad, tough luck, be a man (or big boy) and suck it up, and stop whining like a little girl when you should be sleeping (as your exhausted parents)!

Yes, I secretly want to behave like the good old parents my parents are. After all, I turned out just fine -- just like my sister, and many of my friends who had similar upbringing. Most of us have our feet on the ground, are sensible and are good people -- and that's really what you aim for when raising kids right?

But this just isn't possible anymore. Western education has totally ruined it for me at least. We are being taught to think that positive and patient parenting is the way to go and that anything that falls short would be detrimental to your offspring.

Let me tell you this - whoever developed positive and patient parenting is probably a male, and probably had a stay-home wife who was clenching her hair   throughout the day with the kids while he sat behind his desk and wrote his grand theory. Or either that she was just one of those saintly wives and moms, or a BIG FAT LIAR!

In any case, I am just an idiotic  fool who chooses to believe in stupid childhood researcher (probably white male and chauvinistic) instead of trusting my parents' tried and tested method. What is the matter with me? Maybe that's why I have been punished with a high fever and diarrhoea. Cos I am just too stupid to read the signs.

If that's the reason, I am not sure a high fever's the way to treat it - last I read, high fever makes one more stupid, not smarter.

For now, what I really need an illness that turns me temporarily deaf so I can hear nothing for a few days and get some proper sleep. So if someone is listening, either grant me that, or make my toddler sleep better at night, or I will come around the corner to kick some ass - Asian style!

Happy Two Weeks Old!

 Dear Mia,

You are two weeks old today, and I wanted to celebrate it by letting you know the experiences I had in the last 40 weeks before you charmed our lives with your sweet little ways (and also because the mind gets older, it doesn't function as well anymore in remembering details).

1. We were not expecting your arrival. We had been trying but didn't think we had it nailed down. So when my period was late, I attributed it to the crazy working hours of trying to sync with Asian working times

2. Ah Ma learned about your arrival the same time as we did at the doctor because we wanted the doctor to confirm it after taking a homemade pregnancy test the same morning.

3. I was very sick in the first trimester - not because of the pregnancy but because I caught a very bad cough which I struggled to throw off, only to be hit by a persistently high fever. And because I was pregnant, they couldn't give me anything for my cough - so I ended up with a bruised ribs for at least a month. Just imagine - I was so sick that I even stayed at home for two weeks.

4. Trips I took with you in my snug belly  - Singapore (twice), Florida (in the US to watch a satellite launch that never took place), London (with Yiyi), Luxembourg, Israel.

5. We had a bit of a scare with you. We went for a 12-week-scan on Good Friday and it turned out that my blood test results were less than ideal - which meant that the chances of you being born with handicaps is higher than normal. It was a very worrisome three weeks while we waited for new and more precise tests whose results showed otherwise.

6. I was constantly worried. I worry when there's less movement, I worry when I hear about rainbow babies. And even when I have no reasons to be worried, I worry because I just want you to be born happy and healthy.

7. You were always active in my tummy, much more than your kor kor Ian. You love throwing kicks and pulling punches on the right side of my belly - and I love them (despite the pain) because it shows me you are here with me.

8. The first few months of pregnancy had me having a bitter aftertaste every time I eat something. I decided to eat anyway and deal with the bitter aftertaste. Thankfully it went away!

9. I felt less movements during week 36 going on to 37 - and the doctor at the hospital got alarmed and I had to go for more checks that very week. And the funny thing was that the doctors were more worried than me! Who says Mama isn't turning Dutch? I was even cycling three days before you were born - and you were already six days late!

10. You seem to hate dal. The only two times when I threw food up was when Papa made some dal. Eating it wasn't a problem - apparently digesting it was. This doesn't make Papa very happy cos that's one of his favourite food!

Happy two weeks old, my little Mia! May you grow up to be healthy and happy always, and much loved by everyone around you.

Ai Ni,

Mama

The beauty of a newborn

I never thought I would say this, but there is indeed something beautiful and special  about holding a newborn.

I don't recall much from the days after the birth of Ian - although I do remember the anxiety of having to deal with his huge drop in birth weight, recovery from c-section and, in general, how to survive with an infant without killing each other. I also remembered distinctly calling Wouter every evening at six to ask if he was on his way home, and once to scream at him to buy a pacifier because his precious son did not want to stop wailing at the bewitching hour. So in short, not the most pleasant time of motherhood.

But with Mia, it's different. Granted it has only been less than two weeks, and my mom has been around since day two to help, and I have yet to be left alone with the baby for more than two hours, I feel a sense of serenity as I hold her in my arms, cuddle her and and give her endless kisses.

I pin the difference in feeling on the fact that I am now used to having a toddler's love. Because the cuddles and kisses are so different from the kisses and hugs I share with toddler Ian (who by the way, is an extremely affectionate child and especially enjoys kissing me on my lips multiple times to wake me up), I have learned how to appreciate my time with Mia.

With Ian -- the kisses and hugs though multiple, are brief -- before he goes off exploring his world. But with Mia, I can hold her as often and as long as I want and she is, unfortunately, unable to offer much resistance besides crying.

And just based on experience, this won't last for too long. For in the twinkle of an eye, she will develop a mind of her own and exert her own independence. And when that time comes, I will look back fondly on the short but calming nights as I held my precious baby girl in my arm -- you and me against the table lamp in our bedroom where time seems to stands still and we belong to each other only.