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side effects of motherhood

side effects of motherhood

I’m *officially* the new ambassador for the Speak Mandarin Campaign.

Over the weekend, I had a chance to sit down for a forum with Fiona Walker, Principal Director of Julia Gabriel, Huang Ying, their Head of Mandarin and several other parents over some mini sandwiches at The Pines. We were supposed to talk about how to help our kids learn Mandarin, a topic that I’ve been refusing to touch with a ten foot pole. But you know me, any chance to sit down for a smoothie without the kids and I’m totally game.

Ever since the kids were born, I’ve been determining my success as a parent by whether or not they survived the day without losing a limb. If both kids were still in one piece by nightfall, it was time to pop the champagne and celebrate.

Seriously, who’s got time to think about things like education, much less in Mandarin.

Besides, the husband and I, we’re not Mandarin people. I mean, we’re Chinese, but it’s a matter of ethnicity rather than conversational ability. Thanks to the gahmen’s successful Speak Mandarin campaign, we are conversant in the language but we’ve been using it as a secret code whenever we don’t want Tru to pick up on what we’re saying. So we’re very good at those key words like “strawberries, yoghurt and cheese” but not much else. Also, we’ve never been very concerned about having them learn Mandarin because after all, we made it through much of our lives speaking mostly English.

Yes, there’s the whole issue of China’s meteoric rise as an economic powerhouse and how speaking Mandarin will be the secret to enormous wealth because you can now sell stuff to 1.3 billion people. But then again, I speak Mandarin and I’m already having trouble selling a muffin to the 70-year-old Aunty next door.

So we tend to find it hilarious rather than upsetting when Tru says his Chinese name with a weird accent. He’ll learn eventually and if he is never effectively bilingual, I think we’re fine with that.

But then as we got to talking, I realize that our predisposition to NOT speaking Mandarin could be more detrimental than we thought. What if our kids turn out to be linguistically inclined? I wouldn’t want them to be deprived of that chance just because daddy and mommy thought it wasn’t cool. Because how cool would it be if they did manage to sell muffins to 1.3 billion Chinese people? VERY COOL.

Long story short, we’re officially starting our Speak Mandarin campaign. We’ll start off with meal times. It will be strictly Mandarin whenever we sit down to eat, so that’s our secret code out the window. We’re concurrently learning all the French words for food as a back up plan. I already know fromage, which is a good start, I suppose. We’ll also start to introduce some Mandarin books into our daily reading material.

It’s been a paradigm shift for us, really. I used to think that I’d much rather our kids be very good at English rather than just ok at both languages but it doesn’t have to be mutually exclusive. Maybe they can be great at both if we give them a chance to be. I know it’s not likely, but hey, one can always hope.

What about you? Any good tips on how to get your kids to speak Mandarin?

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

I should have listened instead of stabbing them with a fork

To my little sweetums,

You finally turned 8 months old over the weekend. 8 MONTHS! When you were first born, I spent every minute willing you to grow up faster. I would look at the clock and 5 minutes would have passed by and I would grab your father and yell “Babe, do something, anything. She’s not growing at all. She’s still wrinkly and small and screamy. GROW, BABY GIRL, GROW!” And nothing would happen. I fed you and bathed you and held you and kissed you all over and the next time I checked, only 3 weeks. It’s like I was in a time warp and it was groundhog day. All day, every day.

All you did was stare at me with those teacup pig eyes. Sometimes, when the stars aligned, you would fall asleep in my arms and the world would be perfect.

When momma was 9, I brought home a green bean which I stuffed into a soaked cotton square because my science teacher told us that it would grow into a bean sprout. Like the diligent student I was, I watered it and showered it with sunlight and sang to it. I was hoping that my psychic powers would make it grow faster but I should have known that making things grow faster is not one of my talents.

Then one day, you smiled your first smile. Not too long after that, you flipped over. Then you giggled when daddy blew at your belly. Then you learnt to grab my shirt like you would never let me go. And when I thought that it couldn’t get any better, that I was content to spend my life inhaling that intoxicating baby smell, you decided to go ahead and grow up when I was least expecting it.

baby, what baby?

Now you’re sitting up all by your lonesome and playing with toys and looking at your brother like he’s the coolest person in the world. In the grand scheme of things, 8 months may not be a big deal because one day you’re going to have your first sleepover and go to college and get married and I’m not even going to think about all that right now because the thought of it scares me.

8 months ago, mothers were telling me to “enjoy the baby moments before it sneaks away” and I was all like “yeah right, you don’t know what I’m going through and oh God, make it go faster before I lose my mind.” Then I stabbed them with a fork. In my head.

But it’s true. The fatigue and tears and depression feels like it will kill you but trust me, it goes away. And the feeling you get when you hold your baby. That feeling where your heart is about to burst and you die from soft, gooey, mushy cuteness. The feeling where you actually wish your baby will remain a baby forever. The feeling that makes you want to do it all over again (although not right now).

I want to remember what that feels like. That’s why 8 months is a big deal. Just promise me you’ll take your time to grow up ok.

With all the love in my heart and more,

Momma.

Funny or So I think, side effects of motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents

Cashcard machines that don’t top up cashcards are oxymorons. Or just morons. Either way.

Please tell me these have not been the most insanely sweltering days we’ve ever had. It’s so hot that I can’t think straight and I can feel my brain cells being massacred.

Tru’s words of the week are hot and sunny because that’s the only safe-for-children words I can say all day. The moment he gets into the car, he starts shouting for “air con, air con” and it’s only because he’s my son that I’m even sharing my cool air with him. All you other folks, stop hogging my air, you are killing me.

On my way back from my *elitist* luncheon yesterday, I had to swing by Subway to get a sandwich for Kelvin as wages for taking care of the kids while I attacked my mini cheeseburgers and pretended to look thoughtful and contemplative for two hours. It was all terribly intense so it’s not like I had a lot of spare brain cells lying around by the late afternoon.

In my experience, most respectable car parks have a cashcard top up machine located near the entrance or lobby area so that people don’t have to run helter skelter scrambling to find an ATM machine. Naturally when I saw a little device with the cashcard logo on it, it was perfectly understandable to assume it was in fact, able to top up my cashcard.

worst cashcard machine EVER

Ok, upon closer inspection, it does look rather shambolic and there isn’t even a keypad to type in my pin but between the heat and all that mental exertion earlier, I was totally on autopilot by that point. So I shoved in my cashcard and jabbed furiously at the giant button in the centre because the heat makes me daft and impatient – not a good combination at all.

Next thing I knew, water started gushing out from a tap sticking out from the wall. Directly at my shoes. Did I already say gushing? Because the sheer force of it was causing water to ricochet up my jeans all the way to my knees. I jumped back several steps but then the floor was all wet and slippery and I almost fell backwards on my ass but thanks to my incredible sense of balance, I managed to regain my composure after doing a few deadly arm-flailing moves.

Of course, I chose to do it at a very busy carpark because a sizeable crowd was starting to gather around my immediate vicinity. And of course the machine had to dispense gushing water for 40 seconds while my cashcard got lodged inside and I couldn’t even grab it and run. It was a very long 40 seconds as I tried to *look* like I was enjoying an afternoon shower fully-clothed in public.

Seriously, it’s like this heat is trying to destroy me. You win this round.

side effects of motherhood

Operation Babylift. That’s a real name by the way. Which is still completely irrelevant.

I was just thinking that motherhood is a lot like fighting a war. And I don’t mean it as a hyperbole, like how tough it is because being in a war is way worse. I know that.

You know how war vets, when they meet another veteran, whom they have never met, instantly feel like they’re soulmates. It’s kind of the same with being a mother. Because the moment a screaming baby pops out of your uterus, your life changes forever. But the world goes on, and people who haven’t experienced it themselves, don’t really know what it’s like to be there for somebody every second of every day.

In that moment, you transform into a parent. The kind of people who can’t stop talking about their kids. Their milk intake, their superb crawling abilities, their boogers, their cute little toes that send you hyperventilating. People who don’t have kids smile politely but 5 minutes in, they’re bored out of their skulls as you regale them with yet another story of how incredible it was that your sweet little munchkin learnt how to stuff his pinky up his nostril. Like “look, here’s a close up of the nostril, and here, and here and oh, the one is really good…

After a while. you learn a bit of restraint.

You make a mental note to talk about the weather or the latest movie that you obviously haven’t had the time to watch.

Until you meet another mother. Who’s been in the trenches. Who also hasn’t slept in months. Whose boobs are all sore and lumpy and saggy. Who looks just about as crazy as you do. And then it’s like you’ve found a real friend. You trade babies and share tips on how to make you life less of a nightmare. But most of all, you heave a sigh of relief and feel glad that you’re not the only one in the world who fell off the globe as the world went on without you.

Motherhood, it’s a strange and wonderful thing.

It’s like fighting a war that nobody else but you knows about. Sometimes you get all beat up and wounded and you feel like you’re all alone. But then you realize that you’re not. That tons of mothers are going through the exact same thing. That’s when you find solidarity and friendship.

To me, that’s one of the best surprises in being a mom.

kids in motion, side effects of motherhood

We were on a BREAK!

I hate the end of breaks almost as much as I love having them in the first place. It’s a conundrum. I hate it so much that I almost wish it didn’t exist in the first place. Except that I don’t because not having breaks at all means that life is just one huge, never-ending suckfest.

I spend most of my days counting down to the next long break and we try to plan one every quarter, at least.

Ever since the year started, I’ve been looking forward to the this first break. Coinciding with the Lunar New Year, Kelvin took a nice, long week off for some family time.

That’s 9 whole days of having daddy at home. 9 days of sleeping in, going for brunches, hanging out and spending time away from this pain in the ass called work.

This past week, we did all sorts of crazy stuff with the kids all day. Like smoking a pipe, polishing shoes and trading stuff at the playground. You know, stuff children don’t really get to do on a normal school day.

hang on, while I chew on my pipe and think

are these shoes for real?

So we were at Mackers for breakfast and Tru got 2 balloons from the nice lady behind the counter. After a while, he got bored with them so he went over to the playground and traded them for 2 spiderman figurines. Somehow, he managed to con the other kid into thinking that it was a fair trade. I mean, I seriously don’t teach him this stuff so I have no idea where he learns it from. Eventually we made him give it back, but we secretly gave each other high fives because you got to admit, that’s some kind of awesome.

Then at night, we put the kids to bed and watched movies at home and held hands and snuggled up in bed just like we used to do. We watched soccer and stayed up late talking about our kids and our dreams. In short, it was a week of complete incredibleness.

But as quickly as it came, it’s suddenly all over and the feeling of going back to the mill, that’s exquisite misery. It almost makes me wish that I didn’t have so much fun because it wouldn’t suck to bad to have to say goodbye. As I counted down the final hours of our little break, I had the most severe bout of Monday Blues so I sat down looking all miserable as I expressed my milk.

And my husband, who totally deserves an award for this, set about packing and cleaning the entire house, because he says “I know it makes you feel a lot better tomorrow when the house is clean“. That’s when my panties melted because there’s nothing sexier than a man who knows how to get down and dirty with Mr Muscle.

motherhood, side effects of motherhood

Sugar and spice and all things nice

Remember how I was so sure that Kirsten was a boy before I found out that she was a girl? Most of you probably haven’t even started reading yet but I went around telling everyone that she was a boy and I even called her Travis for 5 months. I was kind of bummed, not because I don’t like girls (quite the contrary) but because if she grows up to have gender issues, it’s all on me.

I told the husband that I couldn’t care if I had 5 boys or 5 girls, it’s all the same to me. “As long as they were healthy” was the politically correct phrase. Now that I have one of each, I’ll fess up, I do care. I would be massively bummed if I had 5 boys and no girls. I’d feel like I was missing something and also, too much testosterone in the house is very bad.

Tru is all about adrenaline and adventure. His idea of love is doing crazy stuff to make us laugh, he squirms the moment I get too huggy kissy and if I smooch him too many times, he goes “no no no no noooooo“.

That’s why I’m really glad I’ve got baby girl. She loves sitting on my lap and gazing into my eyes. She lets me hug and squeeze her for as long as I want (which is forever). She breaks into this shy, girly smile when I nuzzle my nose into her ears. Even her giggles are so saccharine sweet that my heart turns to mush. She loves me back exactly the way I love her and that’s really awesome.

my heart doesn't even stand a chance