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By the powers combined, I am MegaDutchess.

October 22, 2009

Sometimes I astound myself with my abilities. And by that I mean I’m like a new X-men, with special powers and all. If I were an X-men, I’d be Vishnu, or is it Krishna or Shiva. You know, the one with a thousand arms sticking out from everywhere. But I’d have a much cooler name like Megadutchess. Incidentally, I got the name from a kick ass Superhero Name Generator (this is the kind of thing I spend my free time doing).

Right, so yesterday, I brought BOTH kids out for a walk around the neighborhood alone. By myself. With only 2 arms and 2 babies. Impossible, you say? Not with Megadutchess to the rescue. Because I’m a psychopath superhero.

Tru has been down with a long-drawn battle with the flu and he’s been itching to leave the house. After whining for the whole day, making me wear his shoes and saying BYEEE repeatedly (his cue to leave the house), he finally got his way and I figured it was way easier to take him out for a walk than to be driven mad cooped up at home. This would be easier if I had a lift that came right up to my house, but I have to walk down a flight of stairs to get to the lift. Which means lugging a stroller up and down with 2 kids is out of the question.

I grabbed Kirsten with one arm and handcuffed Tru’s hand to my own and made my way slowly downstairs. It took me 20 minutes just to get from my doorstep to the playground and half of that time was spent shouting “Tru, come back here this minute” while he attempted to lie on the floor, pick at dirt, eat ants and dig out trash from the bin.

Then when we reached the playground, there was this brattish 4-year-old girl who tried to terrorize him. Obviously she could run faster than Tru and she monopolized every inch of the playground that he tried to touch, the whole time raining curses on him like “you are very naughty” and “I’m going to beat you”. When she thought I wasn’t looking, she threw a bottle cap at him. I was about to burn her with a cigarette stub when her mother suddenly appeared and started going ballistic. It was like I had some psychic powers that summoned her.

She pretty much smacked the living crap out of her right there in the playground and I watched with more than a little bit of satisfaction before grabbing the kids and making a quick getaway. Talk about poetic justice.

But I digress. The point is I don’t even know why I do these things. Like finding new ways to torment myself. By the time I got back, my arms were deadweight. But Tru was happy though. And Kirsten looked better with some fresh air. Although now I think they expect this is going to be a regular feature in their daily activities. Megadutchess, transform.

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motherhood

The *terrible* twos

October 19, 2009

I always thought the terrible twos started at two and it wasn’t just because some guy was trying to think of a number that started with ‘T”. Because it’s supposed to leave me with another seven months before I have a little monster on my hands. But apparently that bubble has burst for me. My 17-month-old has entered the phase commonly known as the terrible twos.

I used to look at toddlers throwing magnificent tantrums in malls and tsk tsk at the mothers who clearly have no control over their heinous spawn. There’d be screaming, kicking, flailing limbs, headbanging and curious stares from onlookers complete with looks of pity. Sometimes there would even be whispering and finger pointing as the frazzled mother tries to pry her kid off the floor with a spatula.

Naturally, I wasn’t looking forward to it at all. The parenting authorities all have different advice on how to deal with it. Leave them to scream it out, bring them home immediately, give them the spanking of their lives, bribe them with candy, distract them or just cave and give them whatever they wanted in the first place. Frankly, none of the above options sound like any fun. Plus, I’m not the caving-in sort.

In any case, I thought I had some time before I had to deal with it, so I kinda just left it in the back burner for a while to contemplate the intricacies of disciplining a monster. I thought I’d still have several months of the one-derful ones (see, I can do alliteration too).

Last week, we brought Tru to the airport to pick up my sister who was away having foie gras in Paris. It was supposed to be a grab-and-go thing, but it turned out to be a friggin’ nightmare on elm street – a 30-min nonstop screamfest. And it would be fine if it was just a one-off blip in the chart, but according to the experts, it’s more like a foreshadowing of things to come. Like I’m supposed to be prepared for this kinda thing. Hell, no.

Anyway, Tru’s been fascinated with fountains, basically anything that squirts water is like GOD’S GIFT TO MANKIND for him and he will watch in wonder and clap his hands and go “WOWWWW” (which is so cute). But then he’ll want to go near it and grab the water and make a colossal mess (which is fine at the pool but not fine anywhere else). At the airport, it’s only see no touch but that concept is foreign to him. When I told him he wasn’t supposed to touch it, he started whining, so I grabbed him and ran (literally) and he broke out into a full scale hissy fit.

He was screaming at the top of his lungs and started flailing wildly. Nothing I did could make him stop. I tried distracting him with every possible object I could find (including my iPhone which is usually off-limits) but nuh-uh. I had become one of those mothers with a brat of a kid screaming his head off in a public place. Pretty soon, EVERYONE was staring and whispering and I felt like the absolute worst mother on the face of the planet. I would have grabbed him and gone straight home but my sister’s flight was delayed and I just had to improvise.

I brought him to a corner and held him (flying mucus and all) and just let him vent his frustration. The episode lasted almost 30 minutes and thats a *very long time* to hold a screaming kid while strangers stared at me. I did think of losing it and screaming as well just to give those prying eyes a proper show. You know, to make it really worth their while. Except that my mom was right beside me and she would probably have given me the spanking of my life.

I’m usually thrilled when Tru is advanced for his age but this time, not so much. The terrible twos are upon me and there’s no turning back now. All I can say is I hope Tru grows out of it before Kirsten gets there. I can’t possibly deal with two terrible twos all at the same time.

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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

wallbigmoney

We're never leaving this show. Never!

4. Trashy magazines

5. Coffee ice cream

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

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)

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motherhood

Walk on

October 6, 2009
me

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.

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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!
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
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
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.

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motherhood

The Perfect Mother

September 25, 2009

After 16 months at this motherhood thing, I’m beginning to realize there’s no such thing as a perfect parent. It exists in the realm of fairies and flying unicorns – that is, a nice notion but pretty much codswollop.

At first, I wanted to do it all. Be the perfect mom and even look the part. After day 1, I gave up on the looking bit, and I’m content to get through the day without once looking in the mirror because it was too depressing to face the crazy hair. But I still tried to get the rest of the mom stuff right. Most days, I would beat myself up trying to cook the meals, do the laundry, clean the house, sing the nursery rhymes, think of new activities to entertain the kids and make sure they’re relatively clean. It was like a never-ending cycle of things to be done.

These are the things they don’t teach you in school and what I managed to pick up from other moms are all the taboos like what not to do (most of which I’ve committed anyway). Like you can’t have dirt on the floor – what if your kid EATS THE DIRT? Or you can’t let your kid eat processed snacks or don’t let your baby cry.

All of which are good advice, no doubt, but I’ve come to realize that being a mom requires choosing your battles and letting go of the things that are of the least consequence. It’s called prioritizing.

So on any given day, I’ve got a thousand urgent things to do, like wash the mountain of clothes that threatens to fill up my kitchen and do the dishes and vacuum the floor, but in my list of mothering priorities, those are way down the list. Which is not to say that my kids live in a slum (I make the husband do the housework in the evenings) but given a choice between sweating the small stuff like cleanliness or playing with the kids, I pick the playing every time.

Sometimes I get surprise visitors and they get a shock because they think I was just robbed, but I’m totally cool with it.

madness
Please don’t rob me

Honestly, I would do it the same way all over again if I had the choice because Tru is absolutely delighted when I wheel him around the house in his little car for hours everyday or when I take him to the park. I could probably multitask but kids know when you’re distracted and Tru starts shouting and grabbing my face if he notices that I’m not paying undivided attention to the blocks he’s building.

Baby girl isn’t into the activities much but she loves being on my lap and listening to my Mother Goose rendition. So I guess what I’m trying to say is when you become a mother, your priorities become very different and you learn to live with things you never thought you would. Because when you end your day, you don’t think about how many dishes you washed but how your kid’s face lit up when you sat down beside them and sang silly songs.

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motherhood

Eau De Bebe

September 23, 2009
Hello-Kitty-Baby-perfume

It reminds me of a cologne by Michael Jordan

My brain is telling me “No more babies”. So is my uterus. It’s not good for my social life, sex life, and also my sanity. 18 months of being pregnant plus 6 months of postpartum recovery and a lifetime of being driven up the wall all make compelling reasons NOT to make another baby. And don’t even get me started on the delivery, which only a hardcore masochist would want to inflict on themselves.

I’m totally loving not being pregnant. No swollen ankles, midnight cramps, numb fingers, backaches and insomnia. I can jump around and drink all the alcohol coffee in the world without worrying that my baby is going to come out all messed up. It’s also nice not having to drag a huge ass (mine, not the kid’s) everywhere I go.

So it’s gotta be weird that I’ve already got names for my next 2 kids, hopefully both at the same time. My next boy will be Travis and if it’s a girl, she’ll be Hailey. The names are so cute that I’ve just gotta make sure I make a couple more babies. Insane, RIGHT? As it is, 2 kids are way more than I can handle, but I can’t help myself. I’m like a crazy baby-making machine. MORE BABIES, muahahaha…

On some level, it’s an attempt to hold on to their infancy and babyness for as long as I can because time just passes you by so quickly and before you know it, you’ve got a couple a gangly, awkward teens on your hands.

Tru is growing up so fast it scares me sometimes. It seemed like just yesterday when he was all wide-eyed wonder and helpless flailing limbs. Now all I can do is wonder what happened to his helplessness as he destroys yet another electrical appliance in my house. And all I have are the moments where I held him tight, smothered him with kisses and tickled him senseless all stored up in my head. With every passing day, I have to come to terms with the fact that his days as a baby are numbered.

That’s pretty much why we made Kirsten in the first place (besides the fact that I’m addicted to pain and I need counseling). So that there’ll still be another baby to smell and kiss and cuddle and relive the babyness. In spite of all the whining and griping about how my life sucks and I am sleep-deprived and my boobs are killing me, all it takes is that little smile and gurgle for me to feel like it’s all worth it. Every bit of it.

The husband says we cannot keep making babies “just so that I can smell them”, and my head actually agrees. But I don’t know, the smell of a newborn baby is probably the most awesome smell in the world. Plus I ALREADY HAVE NAMES. That’s gotta be a good enough reason.

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