All Posts By

Daphne

Theo

The face of separation anxiety

April 9, 2015

For the first 6-8 months of a baby’s life, they basically exist as these little blobs of blurness. I mean, zero stranger awareness kind of blur. As long as they get enough milk and sleep and cuddles, they’re happy being passed around to all manner of unknown persons.

Until one day, they’re suddenly like “Hey, wait a minute, not all of these adult people are the same. This one looks funny and that one has crazy eyes. What was I thinking allowing all these strange people to hold me? This has to end.”

Enter separation anxiety.

Also known as “THIS IS MY HUMAN AND I WILL STICK TO HER FOREVER AND EVER.”

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Presently, this baby needs to be attached to at least one of my body parts all day, every day. Even when he sleeps, he needs to be touching my arm/face/side at all times, so if he wakes up in his own cot and realises that I’m not there, he acts like he’s been abandoned and about to be eaten by wolves. I tried telling him that if there were hungry wolves lurking around, he would have picked the wrong human because I’m completely useless against wolves. There isn’t much I can do except maybe delay the inevitable by offering myself up as food first. In such a scenario, one should always pick Liam Neeson as your chosen human. But does he listen? No.

Also, it’s not sufficient that I’m holding him at all times. I have to be holding him the right way, which involves having as much surface area in contact with me as possible. He’ll smoosh his chubby little arms and thighs and torso tightly against my side for maximum contact, like he’s my koala and I’m his eucalyptus tree.

And when he does finally allow me to put him down, he’s on high alert mode, eyeballing me to make sure I don’t bolt. Exactly like this.

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This phase of separation anxiety has been a whole world of fun. And I don’t mean this sarcastically, like one does with invisible air quote fingers. Strangely, I’ve actually really enjoyed it, having this squishy little lamb chops attached to me all the time, excessive clinginess and all.

I suppose it’s one of the perks of having done this 4 times – knowing that this phase will end eventually and knowing how much I’m going to miss it when it’s over.

And the best part? Knowing that underneath it all, it’s just my baby saying “Of all the humans in all the world, I like you the most.”

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by Daphne

Kidspeak

Leverage

April 7, 2015

Overheard:

Tru: Kirsten, can you play the superpower game with me?

Kirsten: Not right now, kor kor. I’m doing my colouring.

Tru: Please, pretty please? I’ll let you choose any superpower you want.

Kirsten: But the superpower game is super boring, I don’t even like it.

Tru: I’ll give you 2 dollars.

Kirsten: No thanks.

Tru: I’ll give you all the money in my piggy bank.

Kirsten: Um…ok.

*I typically don’t intervene in their negotiations but in this case, I had to because a) poor Truett was clearly getting fleeced and b) no money is to change hands between them. That’s not how family works.

Me: Hey guys, bring it in, we need to talk about this. Ok, here’s a new rule: you both are not allowed to pay each other money for any game-playing services rendered. I’ll allow barter trade, or you can trade an equivalent service. Tru, how about you offer to play one of Kirsten’s favourite games? I’ll leave you to work it out but no paying money, understood?

Tru: Kirsten, how about I do colouring with you, then you play the superpower game with me?

Kirsten: But I like to colour by myself. Why don’t you play on your own and I’ll do my colouring?

Tru: I’ll let you choose 3 of my favourite toys for a week. Any 3 toys you want. And I’ll be your biggest fan.

Kirsten: *sigh* Ok, I get to have all your toys for a week. You also need to give me a super big hug and you’ll be my biggest fan forever.

Tru: Deal. You’re the best sister in the world!

I’m very interested to see how fun this superhero game is.

Also, Truett desperately needs a crash course on leverage and the art of negotiation.

by Daphne

kids!

On being a stay home mom

April 1, 2015

I’m a stay home mom and I happen to think that it’s the best gig ever.

Let me get this out of the way. Much as I’d like it to be so, being a stay home mom isn’t a job, it’s a privilege. Which is not to say that it’s easy because it’s not. Spending my day at home with 4 kids is disproportionately exhausting considering that they’re such tiny little humans.

Often, my days are filled with inane tasks that require very little expertise – picking up toys, singing silly songs, cleaning messes, making pretend (and sometimes real) sandwiches, wiping poop, that sort of thing. On good days, I try to step up my game and introduce elaborate craft ideas in the name of holistic education. Or I experiment with a new dish that’s supposed to turn my offspring into healthier, stronger, smarter versions of themselves. Inevitably, the art pieces turn out looking like they’re done by a bunch of 3-year-olds (including mine), and let’s just say that I won’t be winning any culinary awards anytime soon. Or ever.

The truth is that on this turf of stay home moms who create Pinterest-worthy baked goods and wholesome meals that include words like quinoa and hummus, I have very little real skills to speak of. In fact, if I ever had to hire a professional stay home mom for my kids, I would not be at the top of that list.

Which is why I sometimes wonder if maybe I should make more productive use of my time and like…get a proper 9-5 sort of job. Besides, it’d be nice to be recognised for my abilities and be paid in real money for a change.

When stay home moms talk about how crazy this *job* is, it’s not because the job is really that hard (although it can get pretty intense), but because we feel like we need to justify the sacrifices that are made in financial terms. We spend all this time at home doing mundane tasks and after a decade of being not much more than a mom, we don’t have anything quantifiable to show for it. Maybe my kids will grow up to change the world or maybe they won’t. And then what? Should I have outsourced the care of my kids to people who can do an equally decent job and spent my time properly building a career?

But after having done this for a while, I’m convinced that at least for me, this is the best gig I could possibly ask for. Sure there are trade offs, especially when I think about how much easier life could be with a second regular, stable income. It’s also way less glamorous than it seems (and it already doesn’t seem that glamorous to begin with), but every morning, I can’t help waking up feeling thankful that I get to do this.

I get to see this face all day, every day.

theo

That means access to unlimited munches on juicy baby rolls, especially within the 15 minute window after this baby wakes up from a delicious nap. He’ll be in a dreamy mood and I’ll get to munch on all the baby rolls I want without any protest. Sometimes, he’ll even giggle like he’s enjoying it, until he wakes up fully and realises that he does not, in fact, enjoy this munching at all.

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Is this fun for me? I’m not sure.

I get to have this baby fall asleep in my arms when he’s feeling ill or sad or just having a bad day, knowing that I’m here to help make him feel better.

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