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Daphne

Theo

Pneumonia, pfffffttt.

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Is this the saddest baby face or what? Baby Theo spent the better part of last week in the hospital being treated for pneumonia. :(

It all happened very quickly, as such things typically do. Last Monday, he was down with the usual symptoms of the flu. Seemed relatively mild at first – low grade fever, cough, drippy nose, general grumpiness. The paediatrician who checked him assured us it was minor and sent us home with some zyrtec and paracetamol. That’s when things escalated. Within 24 hours, his fever spiked to 40.6 and he started gasping for air like he couldn’t breathe so I rushed him in to KK Hospital in the middle of the night, wherein he was immediately admitted once they did an x-ray and discovered that his lungs were infected.

Poor baby was not a happy camper. He did not like having to lie down in the cold, white hospital cot. He did not like being prodded and examined by the doctors with their stethoscopes and pokey devices. He did not like the sweet nurses who did their best to make him smile. He did not like having to take his meds. He did not like the oxygen mask. And he most certainly did not like the IV line that hurt and also turned his right hand into a stump.

DID NOT LIKE, MOMMA!! Much super sad sadness.

The whole time he was in the hospital, he had on his sad baby face. In fact, his face was set in varying degrees of dolefulness, ranging from

mopey…

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to mehhh…

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to extremely sian…

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to full on disdain…

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to downright miserable.

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Even when he was playing with fun toys in the ward, he was all like “I shall reluctantly partake in this activity to humour you but let the record show that I’m not having a good time.”

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Sad baby even managed to look forlorn while he was sleeping.

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Broke my heart to see him looking so miserable all week, like all the happiness had been sucked out of him. This was some dementor-level sadness that I could not expecto patronum! away with my happy thoughts. So I just held him and sang to him and tried to share his sadness so there was less of it to go around.

It was only when we told him he could finally go home that he managed to muster a defeated half-smile.

finally, a half smile

//He’s much better now and he just needs to be on oral antibiotics for the next couple of days. Me, I’m just glad to be done with hospital couches and 30-minute power naps taken sparingly through the night.

They say that adversity makes you stronger. I sure hope that’s true.

Kirsten

Big sister level 999

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I was planning to write something else today but then this just happened.

This morning, while I was still in bed catching up on some sleep (ahem, rough couple of nights with a feverish baby), Kirsten quietly levelled up on her big sisterly powers. She went and washed Finn’s poopy bum all by herself. My 6-year-old cleaned my 2-year-old’s poopy bottom. I’m still letting that sink in, y’all. She discovered that Finn had pooped in his diaper and instead of holding her nose and yelling for one of us to sort it out, she took him by the hand, brought him to the toilet and got. it. done.

Big sister level 999.

I asked her why she didn’t wake me up to do it and she said “I know you’re tired so I just let you sleep.”

That she is knows how to do this is pretty remarkable but that she wanted to do it without being asked to…seriously, I have no words. I mean, most big sisters don’t mind holding the baby or singing to them for a few minutes. Giving up toys? Sharing snacks? Letting them drool all over your possessions? Okay. But even big sisterly duties have a line and scraping poop off your baby brother’s bottom is way across that line.

How did I manage to luck out with this girl? I can’t even.

//

This reminds me – a few nights back, I had Kirsten and Finn snuggled up in bed with me and Kirsten leaned over to kiss her brother on the cheek.

“Don’t kiss my cheek, jie jie!”

“Why not??”

“I only want momma, I don’t want you.”

Not cool. I had to tell Finn he couldn’t say things like that. “Hey, don’t say that, you want…”

Kirsten interrupted. “It’s ok, I still want you.”

“You know Finn doesn’t mean it right? He adores you.” I whispered to Kirsten.

“I know,” she whispered back. “Babies just like to talk nonsense. I know I’m his favourite sister.”

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PS. **IF** I ever have another kid, it’s because I have this girl on my team.

**The IF represents a very small probability. Pretty much close to zero. Although another girl would be ridiculously cute. And awesome. Okay, my ovaries are out of control. I should stop now before the husband gets a cardiac arrest reading this.

kids!

Academically speaking…

Exam fever

Truett’s first exam starts in 2 weeks and things are getting straight up academic around here. I don’t remember what my first Primary 1 exam was like or ever preparing for it.

At the start of the year, I told the husband that I’d let Truett learn at his own pace and not stress him out about the exams, but 2 weeks out from the first paper, I’m totally flip flopping because here we are, with 116 pages of past year papers from other schools to get through. I might have also told him that if he fails his exams, he would have to join Kirsten in redoing his Primary 1 next year and they can be classmates. Does that still happen? Fail then kenna retained??

At first, he was all “yay, we can be best friends and go to Primary 1 together”, then he realised the implications of that particular scenario and he said, “I think…no thanks.”

In any case, Truett has been a real champ, powering through 4-5 exam papers after school everyday without the onset of his usual ailments such as a headache, stomachache, and excessive boredom. Even if he doesn’t kill it during the exams, I’m so proud of how well he’s done.

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E is for English

I can only conclude that whoever created the English language wasn’t a very nice person. It’s like he was trying to be annoying about it just because he could. You think you know these rules that govern the language but really they’re just sort of vague guidelines that may or may not be applicable to similar words.

For example, singular and plural forms. By and large, it’s relatively simple, just add an “s”. Bam. Problem solved.

Except for when it’s not. When it ends with “y”, you sometimes change it to “ies”. Not always though, because some “y”-ending words like “boy” continues with the “s” rule. When it ends with a ch/sh/s/x, you have to go with “es”. “O”-ending words are tricky. Tomatoes vs casinos. Heroes vs photos. “S” or “es”, how do you tell? You just have to know it to know.

Foot becomes feet. Tooth becomes teeth. Child becomes children. Woman becomes women. House becomes houses but mouse doesn’t become mouses. They transform into mice. And don’t even get me started on axes, crises, formulae, chateaux, mothers-in-law, cacti, octopuses? octopi?

Then of course, we have words that refuse to change even when they’re pluralised. Sheep. furniture, aircraft, deer, offspring. They insist of having the same word represent both singular and plural forms. Why? Maybe they want to be special.

Oh wait, there are also words that can’t make up their minds as to whether they want a plural form or not. Bread is bread even if you have many slices of it. Unless they’re different kinds of bread like wholemeal, white and wheat. Those guys don’t like each other very much, so you have to use breads to refer to them collectively.

“Why don’t they just make it easy and add “s” to all the plural words?” Truett asked as I tried to explain the randomness that is English plurality.

“Well, it wouldn’t be fun now, would it? If it was easy, you wouldn’t get to laugh at people who say mouses because they got tricked by the non-rules of English. Kidding. Don’t laugh at people who say it wrong ok, that’s mean. Besides, would you rather be learning Chinese?”

“No way.”

Orange you glad…

I was sharing an orange with Finn yesterday evening and here’s the thing: sharing a potentially messy fruit with a child who’s all dressed and ready for bed requires a system. I peel the orange into perfectly de-skinned, bite sized pieces for him while he carefully picks up those pieces and puts them in his mouth one at a time. No fuss, no mess.

As he picked up the last piece of orange, I saw him put it between his tiny hands in an attempt to divide it in half. “Don’t!! Don’t squish it, just put the whole thing in your mouth.” I said in my mom voice. “You’re already in your jammies, let’s not have to change it again.”

With juice dripping down his pyjama sleeve, he shoved one half of the squished up orange into his mouth and offered the other half to me in his outstretched hand.

“For you, momma,” he said.

URGGGGH.

Of all the lessons I’ve learnt from the kids, perhaps the most important one is “If you really want to overreact and yell at your offspring for doing making you do extra, unnecessary chores, make sure they’re not just trying to be a sweetheart and giving you half of their last piece of orange.

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