obsessive compulsive – Mother, Inc

motherhood

Why does it always rain on me

August 5, 2009

why does it always rain on me

Barely halfway into the week and I’m down with a bout of the flu. Granted, it’s been that kind of week that doesn’t seem to end, as opposed to the kind of week where I try to savor every moment. God, I haven’t had one of those for a long time. These days, it’s all like “drats, it’s Monday again” followed by a dramatically anguished sigh that Shakespeare would be proud of. Or he may just roll over in his grave. Which is kinda the same thing.

But I digress. After taking a beating by motherhood (x2) for two days, I think my body has just had about enough and started to go on strike. My immune system, I think it’s gone for a holiday in the Bahamas because I’ve subjected it to too much torture. It’s probably never going to come back. So the whole of yesterday, I felt the familiar beginnings of a flu and I got more depressed than ever. My throat was on fire and I was trying to hold back the sniffles so I wouldn’t pass on the germs to the kids (and also so that I wouldn’t get nagged at for falling ill during my confinement – which is a whole different issue altogether). I was so paranoid that I was scrubbing my hands every 5 minutes like Jack Nicholson from As Good As It Gets. Yeah, I love OCD.

And the nagging. So apparently, falling ill during the confinement is like the mother of all cardinal sins because according to the Chinese, all flu is caused by wind or water or some other bizarre elements. It’s got nothing to do with say, the friggin’ H1N1 bug skulking around the country world right now, or the fact that my immunity is understandably AWOL because I’ve been pulling 23 straight all-nighters. I can’t even curse the wind because it’s wind and it would probably come back and freeze my ass off at some point in the future.

So today, the kids are at my mom’s place taking refuge while I try to sleep off this bug. It’s such an irony though. Now that they’re not with me, I miss them like crazy and I wish I wasn’t ill so I could at least smother them with kisses. That always makes me feel better.

I’m all drugged up like a junkie and in a state of delirium so this will probably not make any sense and if you’re lost, just check back tomorrow when my head is less fuzzy and my hands have stopped trembling. Hopefully.

by Daphne

pregnancy

The necessity of nesting

May 7, 2009

my bags are packed i'm ready to go

When I first heard about the nesting instinct, I thought it was utterly bogus. Just another lame excuse for cleanliness freaks to validate their obsessive compulsiveness. It’s not surprising since pregnant women have all sorts of incredible terms for strange compulsions.

Wikipedia explains nesting as “an instinct or urge in pregnant animals to prepare a home for the upcoming newborn”. In humans, it is commonly characterized by a strong urge to clean and organize one’s home. Great, now I’m having the same primal instincts as rodents.

Seeing that I have no qualms subscribing to the philosophy of maintaining an organized mess in my home, I thought I’d escape the nesting instinct by sheer rationality.

*Phew, my superior brains are one-up over the common mammals.

I draw the line at living like a slob, but in general, I’m ok with stuff like rolling my laundry up into little balls and stuffing them in the cabinets. As a rule of thumb, as long as the common areas are neat and tidy, hidden mess does not qualify as mess. (In philosophy, it’s the falling tree in the deserted woods theory – if no one is there to witness it, it technically does not exist)

Which is why I was totally caught by surprise when the nesting instinct kicked in. Against my better judgment, I found myself having the need to organize and reorganize every little thing at home. It was pretty mild when I was pregnant with Tru (maybe it’s a boy thing), but with Kirsten, I’m unstoppable. It’s like an itch that I have to scratch.

With 9 weeks to go, I’ve repacked the nursery about 4 times. Each time, I would dig out all her clothes, re-iron them, re-fold them into neat little stacks (in exact dimensions) and place them back in the wardrobe, only to repeat the process all over again. I’ve arranged all her diapers with the precision of a neurosurgeon and practically sterilized the entire room.

The bizarre thing about the nesting instinct is that it just completely disappears the moment the baby is born. Within a week after Tru’s birth, I was back to the ball-rolling thing. Believe me, with a newborn, there was barely enough time to take a full crap, much less organize stuff.

But for now, I can’t help myself. Apparently, my super brains aren’t so superior after all.

by Daphne