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motherhood

Momday Blues

May 17, 2009
Photo from youandmemagazine

Photo from youandmemagazine.com

Most people have no idea what moms do at home on a daily basis. I must admit, it seems so easy and relaxing as compared to say, a sewage clearance guy who has to wade through 15 inches of crap all day. Or a shark feeder. Now that’s a tough job.

Moms, on the other hand, have a pretty easy life. I mean, how tough is it to take care of a baby? Just shove some candy into their hands and make them watch TV all day while we take a nap or play some computer games.

This is the kind of conversation that sends me into epileptic fits.

Dude: What exactly do you do at home all day? It must be very relaxing being a stay-home mom.

Me: Well, I mostly sit around sipping my latte and chilling out. Watch a little Oprah, then head out for some scones and pastries.

Yeah, right, you misinformed moron.

My day begins at 7 (sometimes 5.45) when my kid starts shouting. I make his milk, feed him, wipe his ass. Then I make breakfast, drive the husband to work, rush back, cook lunch, do the dishes, do the laundry, clean the house, iron the clothes. In between, I’ve got to tell stories, sing and juggle to make sure Tru is sufficiently entertained. In short, I’m in a frenzy for most of the day until he goes to bed at night. Then I have my only decent meal of the day, write my blog and try to get rid of the ringing in my ears. And the madness starts all over again the next morning.

Plus, I’m carrying a 32-week-old child in my giant stomach, which just makes all of the above a lovely walk in the park.

So it’s not any wonder that I get Monday Blues just like any other job. I haven’t had an off-day, a public holiday or any sort of break in 11 months and I’m about as high-strung as a nervy kid on coke. I don’t think I’ve ever been screamed at this much in any other job. Just the slightest slip-up and my little man makes his displeasure known through one of his pterodactyl shrieks.

And the whole time, there’s absolutely no one for me to scream at or gripe to in return.

After a nice weekend with Superdad in action, the thought of Mondays make my heart sink and my stomach churn just a little. You’d think it gets easier as the days go by, but I wake up every Monday morning to the unmistakable feeling of dread that hits me like a ton of bricks.

So it begins. Another week that seems to stretch on forever. With any luck, I’ll make it to the weekend in one piece.

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kids inc

Truett Kao: Adrenaline Junkie

March 20, 2009

I have this nagging suspicion that my son is an adrenaline junkie. And partially masochistic. First of all, he doesn’t seem to feel/mind pain. He can’t sit still (not even for 2 seconds), he’s totally fearless and he has this massive need to climb to the highest possible point all the time (and then fling himself off it).

I used to think that we are all wired with a basic human survival instinct, which is relatively simple. Pain = BAD. No pain = GOOD. That means I shouldn’t have to tell him fundamental stuff like “Don’t throw yourself off an elevated point” or “Don’t drown yourself” or “Banging stuff on your head is bad”.

Most kids seem to get it, but mine is evidently struggling with that concept.

While we’re at it, isn’t there some research that shows how humans can be conditioned to stop doing stuff that brings detriment to their physical beings? i.e. putting your hand at an open flame will result in PAIN, which is BAD.

Call it bravado (or retardation), but my boy absolutely does not register the fact that stupidity will bring about bad consequences, despite having been at the receiving end many times.

Let me elaborate. I’ve probably mentioned that he’s flung himself off various high objects numerous times (7 times and counting), but he just keeps finding new places to jump off. Just yesterday, he managed to pivot his body off his cot and headfirst onto the floor. Till this moment, I’m still baffled by how he did it, considering the bar was up to his armpits.

Then there was the pool incident. While most kids make it their aim to avoid having water enter their noses and mouths, my little daredevil is completely unfazed by being submerged in the water. To him, swimming is no fun without trying to drown himself. Apparently, staying above water is for the amateurs.

It’s getting out of hand. His mission is life is to devise new ways to inflict pain upon himself, and my mission is life is to stop him. Sorta like a real-life, twisted computer game.

And the count stands at Mommy: 6 points, Tru: 8,527 points. Great, I’m getting thrashed by a 9-month-old.

I’m thinking, it’s time to bring out the big guns. Maybe I should wrap him up like the abominable snowman all the time to provide some additional padding. Or else I’ll have to attach a pillow permanently to his head and his butt.

Forget fashion, survival trumps style.

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