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not feeling so supermom

kids inc, motherhood, not feeling so supermom, side effects of motherhood

Breathe, just breathe

February 8, 2010

When Tru was born, I called him chicken legs. Mostly because he had chicken legs, all skinny and bony. Every time I changed him, I held them ever so gingerly because I was afraid they would snap if I yanked too hard.

I remember looking at him during his first week at home and thinking how ironic it was that the most precious thing we had was so fragile and so easily broken.

It’s an irrational fear but nonetheless a very real one. As parents, we can’t help it. It’s terribly instinctive. My heart races and I can’t breathe and my mind goes blank because it can’t even handle the thought that something bad will happen to him.

But we held him and fed him and showered him with love and within 3 months, we had to call him thunder thighs. Mostly because he had thunderous thighs, all fat and juicy. Just as we reveled in chewing his juicy rolls, he came down with a bout of the flu and he was back to being broken all over again. He sniffled and sneezed and coughed and I felt like my heart broke with every whimper. His eyes were all teary so I held him for 6 hours straight until he managed to fall asleep on my chest.

Every time we start think that he’s alright, he would trip and knock his head or bleed all over his shirt or catch another flu bug and that awful feeling of panic would come back.

As he grew, my heart got stronger as he got stronger. The feeling of dread dissipated and I started to believe that he’s actually going to make it.

Then on Thursday, he came down with the sniffles again, which was fairly normal. But by Friday, he started wheezing and his chest heaved as he struggled to take in tiny breaths of air, which was not normal at all. Also, all that running and climbing made it worse so he would stop occasionally to catch his breath. We rushed him to the hospital and it was diagnosed as bronchiolitis, which sounds like a terribly scary word. Anything itis is bad, like meningitis or laryngitis or prostatitis, all bad.

It was by far the worst experience ever. They swabbed his nose, x-rayed him, pumped his system with ventolin and a whole ton of meds. He was back to being chicken legs all over again. He clung on to his blankie and shuffled his feet and smiled weakly when I made faces at him. During his entire hospital stay, we had to pin him down and make him inhale ventolin every 2 hours while he screamed and flailed and cried for mercy.

He’s finally home and all better now but I honestly don’t think I can take much more. Watching him struggle for breath is possibly the most painful thing I’ve ever had to do and I could feel myself breathe harder because just maybe it would help him.

That’s the thing with having kids. A piece of your heart breaks every time you see them hurting and I’m not sure I have that many pieces to spare.

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not feeling so supermom

I’m practically a shoo-in for the mother’s equivalent of a razzie

January 4, 2010

You know how baby girl is so unassuming? She’s a totally fuss-free baby, right from the day she was born. Doesn’t demand very much, except to have a full tummy and an empty diaper. Her 2 favoritest activities are watching us blitz around the house all day and talking to her best friend, Kiki (her favorite bear hanky from down under).

During happier times

During happier times

That’s all she needs to be happy, milk, diapers and Kiki.

It’s supposed to make my job as her mom is pretty simple. Just keep those three coming and I’ve got a happy camper on my hands. Here’s where I become the worst mom in the world. Yesterday, I lost Kiki during our trip to town. Somewhere amidst the madness of hauling 2 kids around in the blistering heat, Kiki fell out of the stroller and was never seen again. As far as Kirsten is concerned, I murdered her best friend. To say that she’s absolutely devastated is an understatement.

That bear is her entire life. It’s all I need to make her sleep. She’ll nuzzle her face into the bear and drift off to to dreamland on her own. Every morning, she spends a good half hour talking to the bear before she cries for milk. And now I’ve gone and destroyed her only friend in the world.

I totally understand because I used to have a best friend myself, albeit an imaginary one. Essentially the same thing. Her name was Pooky and we used to do everything together. Then one day, I found out that Pooky was also a profanity commonly used to refer to a part of the female anatomy. Which was also the day I decided to let her go. I realize it’s not quite the same thing as baby girl, but I feel her pain.

Since yesterday, baby girl has been unable to sleep and she’s lost all appetite. All she does is grab her head in agony and scream.

What’s worse than the worst mother in the world? Me, probably.

We’ve been searching the malls for the bear but I’m pretty sure she’s been trampled to death. Short of flying to Sydney to get a new one, it’s unlikely I’ll get it back. I’m going to have to spend the next week trying to convince her that Kiki has gone for a makeover and come back as another bear. Then if she takes to the new bear, I’m going out to buy another 10 more just in case.

Updated: I couldn’t find a bear so I got her a duck and stuck it in my bra for half a day. I went up 2 cup sizes and she totally bought it. WIN.

Happy times again

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not feeling so supermom, side effects of motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents

Just so you know, toddler sleep training is a pain in the ass

December 8, 2009

So Tru’s new nursery looks great and all, but it’s thrown his sleeping patterns all off, which is not good for me. I think the reasons are twofold. First, it’s way too fun to be doing any sleeping in. He can play on the bed all night and when he’s bored he can easily climb off anytime. FREEDOM!

Also, I think he feels insecure without his crib, like maybe it’s too exposed and therefore susceptible to attack from unknown entities. I tried explaining to him that if something was to attack him (ie a flying cockroach or gorgeous zombie with killer hair), it’s far better to be able to escape rather than be caged in but I’m not sure he gets it.

If there’s one thing I learnt about parenting, it is the need to change and adapt. Just when you’ve settled into a nice routine and you think that life is good, it’s time for a change. Sort of like ninja training. You have to keep an eye out for sudden sneak attacks because the so-called sense of security you feel, that’s false. Prior to the new beds, the kids were doing good. They sleep on their own without any fuss and they sleep through for 12 hours every night.

This transition to a toddler bed was harder than I thought. Now when I put Tru to bed for the night, I can’t just put him down on the bed, kiss him goodnight and walk out. He climbs off the bed like a streak of lightning and reaches the door before I do. Either that or he starts screaming his head off. I spent the whole week reading up on toddler sleep training methods and tried them all. You might want to know that ALL of them were a real pain in the ass.

1. Every time he gets out, just put him back into the bed and say it’s time to sleep.

According to the books, this is supposed to work after a week or two. Except that I may already be committed to the asylum by then. One nap, I did it 83 times (I counted) and he was still bright as a button. He thought it was some sort of a game and kept giggling. I gave up after that and let him sleep on my bed.

2. Put him on the bed and leave the room.

He shrieks like a banshee the moment I leave and goes on for a very long time. This worked when we were training him to sleep in his crib but somehow this seems terribly cruel and it would totally break my heart if I went in to see him slumped over on the floor after an hour.

3. Sit beside him and pat him till he falls asleep.

Anyone who’s tried this will tell you that sometimes, you can pat and pat and pat until your hands lose all feeling and they will still be grinning back at you. Tru does one better. He’ll be digging my eyes, putting things into my ears and then just as I’m about to lose it completely, he spread his arms wide and says hug. He knows that’s one thing I can’t refuse.

So it’s been a harrowing week. I came up with my own method which is perhaps an amalgamation of all of the above. When it’s time for a nap, I sit down beside him but on condition that he lies down without playing. If he tries to get off, I tell him that I’ll leave the room and he’s got to sleep on his own. Obviously he tried it and I left the room for 10 minutes while he screamed his head off. Now all I do is say lie down and close your eyes and it totally works. But it still takes him a while to fall asleep and if he wakes up in the middle of the night, I’ve got to be there to help him fall asleep again.

Which means that the little sleep I’ve got has gotten even less. My only consolation is that this transition has got to happen sooner or later. Might as well get it out of the way now and hopefully he learns to sleep on his own bed without momma’s intervention. Soon.

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motherhood, not feeling so supermom

Someday I’ll sleep again

November 9, 2009

Sleep is one of the most underrated things in life. You don’t think about it and you take it for granted because it’s always there. Until it’s not. I used to think it was all a matter of mental strength. Pull 3 straight all-nighters in a row partying my guts out? No problemo. I’ll just make up for it the next day. Mind over matter.

Before I gave birth, every parent I met told me the same thing. Get as much sleep as you can now, because you will never sleep again. I was all like “Unlike you weaklings, I don’t actually need sleep. I’m like the Terminator. All I need is my doppio espresso and I’m good to go. Besides, I can always sleep when the baby is asleep.”

Now first of all, there is no such thing as sleeping when the baby sleeps. Their sleep patterns are about as predictable as a chick with PMS. Just when they fall soundly asleep and you think “here’s my chance” and snuggle up nice and comfy in your bed and allow yourself to drift off to dreamland, they suddenly pounce. Then you feel the cold, heartless hands of reality yank you back to a world where the baby is screaming and there is no rest for the weary. That is by far the most wretched feeling in the whole world.

So the next time, you down yet another shot of espresso and sit by the bed waiting for the baby to wake up. This time, I’m prepared, you tell yourself. And the baby decides it’s time to sleep for 5 hours straight. While you sit there with a bottle of warm milk in hand waiting for the crying to start any moment now. Only it doesn’t start. That is next most wretched feeling in the world.

After a few rounds of this happening, you lose it a little and start hearing voices in your head. Imaginary screams are a mother’s occupational hazard.

Your only chance of getting any sleep is at night, after the baby has learnt to sleep through the night. At first, you’ll be like “Woohoo00… 8 hours of night time sleep” and you’re doing your victory lap around the house thinking that your life will finally go back to normal. Except it doesn’t. 2 of those 8 hours will be spent expressing milk. And in the remaining 6 hours, they’ll surprise you with random cries just for the fun of it. “Aha, gotcha again, sucker! Now wake up and do back flips to amuse me because it’s the middle of the night and I need some entertainment to help me sleep.”

The result? Even when you do get to sleep, it’s a pathetic excuse for sleep. As a parent, you have to master the art of pseudo-sleeping. It’s far more painful to be rudely awakened from a deep sleep, the kind where you dream that you’re a James Bond on a mission to save the world. Eventually, you learn to sleep without really sleeping. You go into screensaver mode instead of shutting down.

As a reward for my services, the husband has valiantly agreed to send me on a 48-hour hibernation expedition. It will consist of me checking into the Ritz alone for 2 days just to sleep. There’s no way I’ll get any real sleep at home with the kids trying to pry open my eyelids and jabbing things into my ears.

I’m going to curl up in bed with a large cup of hot chocolate, read a nice book and do nothing but sleep for 2 whole days. It’s going to be awesome.

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motherhood, not feeling so supermom

If you’re all happy clappy today, you should just come back tomorrow.

October 30, 2009

Somebody should have told me motherhood is this hard. I mean, I knew it was hard, but not this hard.

just shoot me now

just shoot me now

I thought I had a very high threshold but this, this is a whole new level of insanity. People shouldn’t have to deal with this. Alone. Everyday. Not without booze. Or ending up in an asylum.

They told me the pregnancy was tough. Nine months of heartburn, carpal tunnel syndrome, cramps, nausea, insomnia. Sure, it was mildly uncomfortable but if you ask me now, piece of cake. I got to go to bed at 8pm, sleep like a baby and walk around feeling all smug for I don’t know, making an entire human being in my body. “Hey, I’m like friggin’ Cleopatra, so you better start scrambling to feed me grapes and massage my ankles while I lie here on my side.”

I basically had a super pass to behave like a spoilt brat. “It’s not me, baby wants to eat durians. And don’t come back with the crummy ones. Baby needs Mao Shan Wang (it’s a top of the line durian variety) that’s specially air flown in direct from the jungles of Sumatra. Handpicked by Oompa Loompas.” Next thing I knew, durians would magically appear. Damn, I miss being pregnant.

They also told me the delivery was bad. Think of the worst pain you could possibly imagine, then multiply it by a gazillion times and you get childbirth. Ok, it’s no fun being in labor for 27 hours and it’s not fun having to push a screaming, kicking, giant of a child out of my child-bearing bits. But that’s what epidural was invented for, people. And the whole time, I got to scream orders at everyone in the room so it was kinda fun.

Then the baby comes out and bam, I’m no longer royalty. All of a sudden, I’m now like a slave. “MOMMMMMMMMMMMM… Where’s my milk? Why is my diaper poopy? Who took all my toys? WHY AM I WAITING???” And the party never stops. I try yelling for durians and the husband is all like “God gave you hands and legs. Use them. Anyway, are you sure you should be eating that much durians?” I actually haven’t tried yelling for durians yet but it’s because I’m considerate.

There’s no break from being a mom. Superdad gave me a day off last week to go out and get some fresh air. 2 hours in, I get an SOS call because Tru is refusing to eat his food and cranky and baby girl can’t sleep. Hello, welcome to my world.

So my dreams of taking a nap by the beach vanishes into thin air and I’m back to the mill.

While we’re at it, being a dad, totally not the same. The decent fathers change an occasional diaper. The really awesome ones can maybe hold the fort for a day or so before they cave. Then they pass the kid back to you and their lives go back to normal and it’s back to “Hey honey, I’m home. How’s the kids today?”

So I think I get to give myself a nice big pat on the back for getting through each day. Because the plate I’m holding, it’s full. And keeping everything there is a delicate balance while I’m getting pulled in a thousand different directions. You see those Chinese acrobats spinning 20 bowls on chopsticks. That’s me right there. Must. keep. my. act. together.

Maybe one day I’ll get to ask the question. “What about me?”

Now I understand why some women choose not to have kids. Like ever. Perhaps they know something I don’t. Perhaps I’m just tired of being a martyr.

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not feeling so supermom, pregnancy

I hate my life and everything sucks and I just want to curl up and cry

June 3, 2009

Shucks, the hormones are going crazy again. I just had a mini meltdown yesterday over absolutely nothing. One moment I was calmly having dinner with the husband and next thing I know, I’m bawling like a baby. The thing is, I’m not even sure what really triggered it off. I think it was probably the accumulated exhaustion, the excruciating pain in my back and the impending delivery. I suddenly felt like I was drowning.

Husband: Are you alright? You seem awfully quiet today.

Me: Yeah I’m fine.

*Extended silence

Husband: Babe, you sure you’re ok?

Me: BWAAAHHHHHH… I thaid I’m phine tho just thop asking ok! BWAAHHHH… AAHHHHHH

Like I said, total meltdown. The mood swings are ruining my life.

To put it into perspective, I’m not accustomed to losing it like this. Or so I think (the husband might beg to differ). But 2 pregnancies back to back has thrown all my hormones into overdrive, and for the first time in my life, I’m behaving like a neurotic, manic and schizophrenic all rolled into one. And I totally can’t help it. My brain knows I’m acting crazy, but it’s not listening to reason.

It was really bad just after I gave birth to Tru. With the c-section and a screaming infant, my post natal depression was off the charts. I remember sobbing uncontrollably for hours everyday during the first 2 weeks postpartum. Out of the blue I’d just sit down and cry (not the half-ass cry but a massive mucus-flying kind of major sob fest). I would try to stop, but I just felt too depressed.

Accursed hormones.

I’m hoping it wouldn’t be so bad with Kirsten. But by the looks of it, I think I’m in for another bout of baby blues. It’s time to brace yourselves.

PS. I don’t really hate my life. Except when it sucks.

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Funny or So I think, not feeling so supermom, pregnancy

Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird

March 30, 2009

I thought that after the flu virus made its rounds on the family, I’d be done with it. But a mutated strain has come back to bite me in the ass, so on top of all my other problems, I’ve also completely lost my voice.

See, I can totally appreciate the irony of it all. Serves me right for going on and on about not having anyone to talk to. Now I don’t even have a voice to whine about it. I feel like the universe is mocking me. But it’s not gonna stop me from blogging about it. Hah, take that!

Last evening, I decided to go get some new meds from the clinic near my place, since my immune system has decided to go on strike. It was a rather reputable clinic, the kind that opens till 9.30pm on a Sunday night. Which makes it all the more uncanny that they had a quack on shift just when I needed a consult. (like I said, the universe was mocking me) First up, he looked like an Asian version of a Hillbilly, except with a stethoscope around his neck.

He eyed me with suspicion the moment I walked into his office. After describing my various ailments in my barely audible croak, his first question was “Are you working?” (Translation: That was the most pathetic fake loss-of-voice I’ve ever heard and I bet your lazy ass just needs to be excused from work tomorrow.)

“No,” I mumbled. Another suspicious look. (Translation: Tsk tsk, not another knocked-up teenager bumming around at the expense of us taxpayers). He proceeded take my temperature and do an obligatory check on my throat.

At this point, I was starting to feel uncomfortable. This is the first time I’ve had to endure a silent castigation at a clinic, and by a doctor I’m not sure even made it out of med school. This was an absolute outrage.  I mean, even when I was faking it to be excused from school during my errant years, the doctors still (although unwillingly) had the courtesy to give me the benefit of the doubt.

I thought of making a snide remark along the lines of “I hope your Hillbilly quackery won’t get me killed from a misdiagnosis”, but I wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t prescribe me laxatives just for kicks, so I decided to refrain. I didn’t think it was possible, but I left feeling worse that before I went in.

I get it. Some days are just meant to be a test of character. My ego just took the beating of its life, my son thinks I’m Lord Vader, and even the blackbirds are having a field day outside my kitchen window taking pot shots at my plight. Talk about learning endurance the hard way.

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