Yearly Archives

2009

Why I’ll probably never have a ginormous jacuzzi in my bathroom

October 15, 2009

You know how sometimes you look back in life and there’s that moment where everything changed. Where there was a fork in the road and you had to choose one or the other. Red pill or blue pill. When your heart is telling you to go one way but your head is screaming out to take the other path. And you’re like “eeny meeny miny moe, let’s flip a coin” because you’re too scared to choose wrong and regret it for the rest of your life. At least if it screws up you can blame it on the damn coin.

Right about this time last year, I had one of those lovely moments.

I did the one thing every person fantasized about doing at one point or another in their career. I swaggered into my boss’ office with the Eye of the Tiger blasting in the soundtrack of my head and threw down my resignation letter. “Hey boss, I QUIT! BTW, this job sucks and I’m being paid way less than I deserve. Plus I’ve been posting ads in the men-seeking-men-classified-column in your name, which should explain all the weird calls you’ve been getting.”

I totally did that in my head, except that my boss was a really nice guy and I kinda liked my job (because I kicked ass at it and it paid me relatively well) and I hate the Eye of the Tiger.

But I did resign from my job to chill out at home and watch Grey’s Anatomy. Oh, and also to watch the little squirt after I wake up from my afternoon siesta. (I only had one back then – kid, not nap).

The quitting was easy once I had made up my mind, but the month leading up to it was agonizing to say the least. The moment Tru was born, I knew that I would be happiest taking care of him myself. We considered every possible childcare option but after 8 days with a maid from hell and visits to countless infantcare centers, I couldn’t bring myself to pick any of them. They all seemed so cold and sterile. I had no doubt that they were all prolific at feeding and nappy changes, but honestly, it just wasn’t good enough.

I need my kids to grow up giggling themselves silly everyday. To stuff cookies up their nostrils and fingers into other orifices and not be taught to sit quietly in a corner. They’ve got to know that Mommy wasn’t too busy chasing the next promotion to sit down and read to them. That when they bump their head and get a boo boo, Aunty Minah is not they first person they run to for comfort. That when they look back on their childhood years from now, they won’t struggle to remember having fun with mama save for a handful of weekends to the zoo and goodnight kisses when they’re already half asleep.

So that’s my heart talking.

But on the other hand, I like having a job. Having adult conversations over a Caramel Macchiato. Having Caramel Macchiatos, period. Dressing up and feeling important productive. Being able to bark orders at minions and use words like “commoditization” and “media engagement”. And most of all, being paid enough to fund my shopping sprees and holidays.

If I really quit my job, that’s half the income up in flames. How would we ever survive? I would have to stay home and eat raw potatoes everyday (to save on the electricity, duh).

For a month, we butchered the budget and sold off internal organs (only useless ones like the spleen and appendix) and did everything we could to make the numbers add up while I cried myself to sleep every night thinking of Tru all alone in a fancypants infantcare centre. Then finally we decided to bite the bullet and do it. Take the plunge.

It’s been twelve whole months since and I still haven’t eaten the babies (out of hunger or insanity), so great success! I even have my retort all planned out for when the kids ask me why we don’t have an 8-seater jacuzzi in the bathroom. First I’ll whip their asses and then I’ll be all like “Kids, you should be thankful that we don’t have a large ass hot tub in the bathroom because you’d have grown up being tortured by a nut job and become delinquents and eventually incarcerated while daddy and mommy jet-setted around the globe. Then what good would a jacuzzi be? You’re welcome.”

by Daphne

out of the box

Fever started long ago.

October 13, 2009

I just spent the last 2 days battling the worst fever of my life. No, I didn’t die from being electrocuted. Instead, I developed a nasty infection thanks to the blocked ducts (again), which is possibly worse than being jolted by electricity. I just spent the last 48 hours like a zombie, alternating between shivering and perspiring buckets.

I’m too stoned to blog right now, so here are a few photos to keep you entertained. Pics courtesy of Aunty Jan during our Sunday brunch at Hatched.

My very own Pixar character

Full of cheek as usual

Cheeks are full as usual

The one good thing that came out of this debacle is that I’ve finally lost enough weight to fit into my old jeans. Ok, so it used to be my fat jeans (for when I’ve eaten too much KFC), but at least it’s my first pair without an elastic waistband in 2 years. So yay, I guess.

by Daphne

Funny or So I think, i embarrass myself sometimes

This is what it feels like to be electrocuted

October 9, 2009

I’ve never taken an IQ test in my life. Ever. The reasons are twofold. *Everyone* knows that IQ tests are not the most reliable gauge of one’s intelligence. And by everyone, I mean the stupid people. If I had an IQ score of 175, I’d be saying that IQ tests are THE ABSOLUTE MOST RELIABLE source on the face of this planet. And the second reason is because I’m secretly afraid that I’ll end up with a score of 40, which places me in the top 1% of the most retarded people in the world.

That’s why I don’t do it. And technically, I *could* have an IQ of 175 and be an extraordinary genius. The odds of that are not high, but I’m an optimist like that.

Yesterday, I think my worst fears have come true. I’m actually retarded in the most severe way. I probably shouldn’t even be allowed to roam the streets. The neighbors have been renovating and my house has been covered with a thick layer of dust, so in a bid to win the most awesome mom award, I decided to vacuum the floor so Tru won’t eat more dirt than usual. And thanks to a series of retarded actions, I ended up getting electrocuted. You heard me. E-L-E-C-T-R-O-C-U-T-E-D. Like fried by electricity.

1. Don’t ask me how it happened, but the plug of my vacuum cleaner has taken such a beating that it looks like this.

I risked getting electrocuted AGAIN just to take a photo for you. Because I'm a blogger who cares. That's why

2. My mom always told me, “turn off the switch before plugging in any electrical appliance”, but did I listen? No. Obviously.

3. The plug was hanging loose, so I thought, “Ok, just use both my BARE HANDS and push it back in”.

4. As I touched the bare wiring of the plug with my bare hands, I got shocked with like 100 volts of electricity, and the impact of it threw me back several steps and next thing I knew, I was on the floor.

5. I should be dead right about now but I’m not. Obviously. Although my hands are twitching involuntarily and they have lost all feeling.

Yeah, I’m pretty much screwed. And definitely retarded.

After I got electrocuted, all I could think of was oh God, please don’t let me die because I’m too young to die and the husband is going to come home to find a dead wife and 2 screaming kids, one of which witnessed his mother being fried. And what about my hair? People are going to come to the wake and laugh hysterically because I look like Einstein, except blacker.

Seriously, THANK YOU, GOD. And all of you, listen to your mother and don’t touch an open plug with your bare hands because you might not survive to tell the tale.

by Daphne

motherhood

So bad it’s good

October 8, 2009

Being a stay home mom redefines the term guilty pleasure. Because I have so little me time, I need to maximize the amount of catharsis satisfaction I derive from every minute of frivolous endeavor. On any given day, I have about an hour of alone time, amalgamated from six 10-minute blocks, and they have done wonders in maintaining my zen.

Where I used to spend a whole afternoon getting my fix from devouring Kite Runner or The White Tiger, I now have to find alternatives that can do the job in 10 minutes.

So here’s my mommy’s list of guilty pleasures. I suggest you try them out if you hate yourself and/or intend to put on a hundred pounds and/or wish to get mocked at mercilessly by your friends and/or are too cool to bother.

1. KOI Bubble Tea

2. Gossip Girl

GOSSIP GIRL

3. Wheel of Fortune

We're never leaving this show. Never!

4. Trashy magazines

5. Coffee ice cream

mmmm-hmmm!

6. Baby Got Back (Sir Mixxalot)

7. Harry Potter fanfiction

8. The OC

oc180

9. Ruffles Cheddar and Sour Cream potato chips

10. Oprah

the power of the audience is in my hands! whatever that means.

11. Blogstalking

12. Online shopping

13. Elton John

14. Text Twist

15. Ask the Bloggess

16. HIMYM (Barney’s blog here)

by Daphne

motherhood

Walk on

October 6, 2009

walk on

Some days, this is exactly how I feel. Like the kitten, not the legs, I mean. Although the legs are pretty much indicative of the monotony of my life most of the time. But on days like today, I feel like my little feline friend, except I’m also dragging 2 even smaller kittens along with me.

I honestly thought I had come out from the dark and twisty broken phase. The days of sudden and uncontrollable crying, where I’m all alone in the world and I can’t breathe and I’m drowning and everything is messed up. I try screaming for help but nothing comes out and I just want to crawl under the sink and hide even though it smells like rotting drain crap.

I’ve never actually been diagnosed with depression before, and the two times I came anywhere close to it was right after giving birth to my two kids. After Tru, I pretty much sauntered out of it about 4 weeks postpartum, after I decided to take refuge at my mom’s place instead of going it alone. I must say, having people around helps as a distraction and because I don’t cry in front of people. (the husband says I’ve got a heart of stone, but it’s mostly because deep down inside, I’m afraid once I start, I’ll be blubbering for hours) So I’m pretty good at holding it all in when there’s company. I’m cool like that.

After Kirsten, it’s been more of a dance with the depression. My head is flirting with it, and I still haven’t been able to shake it off completely. On bad days, I wake up with a sick feeling in my stomach that doesn’t go away no matter what I do. And it’s been 12 weeks now. There’s the crying, and the edginess and the generally short fuse, which usually ends up with the guilt and the self pity.

I’ve done some research and it sounds like textbook postnatal depression. It’s probably a combination of factors, like the breastfeeding, (yes, I still feel like I took a hit to the gut every time I express milk and that’s 6 solid punches in a day) the sleep deprivation (thanks to the breastfeeding), the solitary confinement with 2 kids and the truckload of pressure I put on myself to be on top of my game every. single. day.

I actually seriously considered some medication to help with the depression. Seems like a simple and fuss-free way to deal. And from what I hear, it actually works. Makes you all light and floaty, without a care in the world. What wouldn’t I give to be on cloud nine right about now. But the only thing holding me back is the knowledge that once I start with the meds, it’s a long and slippery slope downhill. It’s a pandora’s box I don’t want opened just yet. At least not until I’m well and truly off my rocker.

So far, I’ve been taking each day as it comes and it does seem like its getting better. The depression hits less often now and with less intensity. I can sometimes go 4-5 days without losing my shit so I guess that’s a good sign. But just when I think I’m ok and life is good, I lose it again. Especially on days like today where BOTH kids are down with a flu and it’s Tuesday and I’m stoned out of my mind from the lack of sleep.

And all I can do when I’m in the dark and twisty phase? Just walk on.

by Daphne

motherhood

12 weeks – a milestone

October 5, 2009

The first real milestone in a baby’s life has gotta be the 12-week mark. While every parent would like to think that every second of everyday is a HUGE DEAL, like when she first snorted at 6.38 weeks, it’s the 12th week that seals the deal. It’s the point where my baby girl stops being a newborn.

So now, THAT’s kind of a big deal.

Today, she stops being swaddled. She’s mastered the Houdini disappearing act from the not-so-miracle-blanket and her feet are starting to get bunched up from the swaddle cloth. I used to watch with immense satisfaction as she tried to struggle free from her straightjacket but without avail, and after a minute or so, she would give up and go to sleep peacefully. But last week, instead of drifting off to sleep, she wriggled for a good 15 minutes with her brow all furrowed and a determined look in her eye. Then she raised her little hands above her head as a victory sign and closed her eyes feeling terribly pleased with herself.

: Look mom, no hands!

Today, she learns to sit up all by her lonesome. In the 12 weeks I’ve known her, I’ve come to realize that Kirsten in an observer and nothing like the adrenaline-charged-go-getter brother of hers. She’s happy to sit and watch the world go by, thinking of fairies and daisies. It’s finally time for her to debut the Bumbo and now she can’t get enough of it. It’s a fresh change from lying down all the time staring at lame mobiles/stupid birds/ceiling.

: The bumbo is fun…I just happen to be constipated

Today, the gloves mitts come off for good and the thumb sucking begins. I’ve come to accept the fact that my kids are thumb suckers. I’ve never introduced the pacifier and don’t think I ever will for a variety of reasons (but I’ll save that for another post). The next best thing is of course the thumb. For a while I hoped that Kirsten would be among the elite group of babies who don’t need any sleep props to fall asleep but apparently that’s not gonna happen. She sucks not only her thumb, but all 10 of her fingers with a juicy slurping sound. Almost makes me want to try it myself. At some point, I’ll have to deal with the blisters and deformed thumbs but I’ll think of something when it comes to that.

: Mitts are no fun… and I’m still partially constipated

Today, she discovers herself. Newborns are an oblivious bunch. For the first 12 weeks, they’re spaced out most of the time, unaware of everything else that’s going on around them. I used to show her her own reflection in the mirror and she would stare blankly at the girl looking back at her. Today I showed her the mirror again and for the first time, she looked at herself with a flicker of recognition. Or she could be thinking “Damn, that chick is HOT!”, which is also not far from the truth. This is the first of all the preening and posing that is to come in the years ahead and if that’s not a milestone, I don’t know what is.

by Daphne

kids inc

I can’t shelter you forever. So I won’t.

October 3, 2009

Tru 3

Tru seems to have grown up more in the past month than in the past year. He has so crossed the line into big-boyhood. When he turned one, he was inching towards the line, sometimes straddling it with one foot on each side, and sometimes retiring into the safety of babyness. He would threaten to cut off the apron strings and assert his independence one moment and next thing I knew, he was back to the familiarity of being mama’s baby boy.

But all I did was blink and now I’ve got this 2-year-old boy stuck in a 16-month-old body. It’s like one day he just decided to grow up and *poof* there went my little lambchop up in flames. In his place was well, a sheep (I had to give the metaphor a home run, you know). He started eating my clothes and destroying all my appliances one by one. He’s already murdered a fan, sent the dvd player into a coma and given my flatscreen TV a solid beating. (literally – with the remote control no less)

He talks a lot now. Way more than a 16-month-old is supposed to. Much of it still sounds like Brad Pitt in Snatch, but his vocabulary is growing by the day and it’s loads of fun talking to him. Just yesterday I said, “Tru, can you pass the bottle to mama?” He promptly put down his car, toddled over to the bottle, picked it up, then with the cheekiest glint in his eye he shook his head and said NO. I probably shouldn’t be encouraging behavior like that but I couldn’t keep down the giggles and it took me five whole minutes to regain my composure.

Well played, my boy.

Tru 1

These days, when we go out, he doesn’t cling on to my jeans for dear life anymore. He used to walk a few steps and then run back to make sure my jeans are within reach. But now, the moment his feet leave the house, he’s off and running without so much as a glance to see if I’m following. He just assumes I’m going to be there, or maybe he’s too fascinated with the world to even bother. Everything is so new and awesome to him and I can just see him taking it all in.

All of it. Like the blackbirds having a conference on the porch, the old dude lighting up yet another cigarette and the bunch of rowdy kids hurling profanities like it’s some sort of competition. And there I am, wondering if I should keep him sheltered and babied just for a little longer. That maybe he’s too young to hear words that I am unable to repeat. That a whiff of that nicotine will send his tiny lungs into overdrive.

Tru 2

After all, he is barely 16 months and he’ll have his fair share of being in the real world soon enough. And maybe being stuck at home with his *educational* toys and Playhouse Disney ain’t so bad. But then I see him looking longingly at the goings-on outside and the way he breaks into a huge grin when he’s told to “wear his shoes” and I can’t help myself. He’s an adventurer and it would be a grave injustice to not let him explore the world.

Although I do miss the jeans clinging.

by Daphne

Older Posts

Newer Posts