Thing 6: Sticking to my guns

My breastfeeding journey has been a relatively smooth one till recently. I recently shared with a group moms-to-be my experience of nursing twins for 13 months. Objectively speaking, it's quite an achievement. But as I was reminded quite bluntly, I never do things in halves even if it's to my detriment so I'm pretty blase about it and basically tell everyone I expect nothing less of myself.

But recently, my resolve has been tested. First, there was the clogged duct, then there was the blood in the milk and then there was yesterday. Yesterday was when there was excruciating nipple pain and every time I expressed or let Baby J feed, it felt like the milk was carrying in its flow tiny tiny shards of glass and that in itself was obstructing regular milk flow, adding a congested backed up feeling to the pain.

Obediently, I went to the doctor and let's just say, there was a needle and drainage involved in the treatment, to spare the gore.

Of course, I was inundated with well meaning advice. To stop breastfeeding, mostly since I have after all nursed them for an entire year and a month. That it was my body's way of telling me to quit while I was ahead. Some well meaning people told me that I should pray and ask if it's a sign to stop. Generally, all went along that strain. Except for the doctor.

She told me in no uncertain terms that if I stopped right now, I would get more infections and since there was still enough milk for both kids, I should just go on. That was good enough for me though once again, the others in my life try to champion the good things about stopping now. I gain my life back. I get to wear underwire bras ( I miss them so much!). I won't be so moody. I get to spend more time with the kids. I get to sleep through the night (a nice idea!) and so on.

I agree. Some of the good things espoused make my eyes light up. But there is something intrinsic in me that is hedging. I'm not ready. I'm not going to give the excuse that the babies aren't ready. I think I'll be able to keep them on breast milk for maybe another 6 weeks from the day I stop with whatever I have stored. I'm not going to say that it's because I just ordered a whole bunch of milk bags online so I'd better be able to use them still. I'm not going to say that I like the fact that I burn an excess of 500 calories a day, although I don't need very much encouragement beyond this point.

Whatever it is, I feel like I'm still doing good by the kids while I keep them on full breast milk and I aim to be able to do it till 18 months or when I run out, whichever comes first. Whether I do it beyond that? Unlikely. Because I'm fundamentally against nursing a kid that can probably go up to a stranger and go "I like drinking from Mommy's breast". I know too many people who still nurse school going kids. That, is something I can't imagine doing.

But for now, I'll take the antibiotics. I'll put on the cream. I'll keep Baby J off that side and hopefully, I'll get through this and still be nursing. Till then, I'll just have to wince every time I express and the suction pulls at the injured nipple. Not fun.

Technorati Tags: babies, breastfeeding

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Chocolate milk

Sunday morning, after expressing in the morning, I'm struck by the fact that the milk in the bottle is of a darker colour than it usually is. Most times, it's creamy white, sometimes with a tinge of blue in it but never with a darker hue to it. On closer inspection, it looked pink tinged. I wondered if it was because I had eaten something different. I'd heard of how milk had turned shades of brown because of pepper and I wondered if having drunk an entire litre of herbal tea had coloured my milk. Upon leaving it in the fridge to settle, the milk separated itself. The thicker creamier white bit on top and the clearer liquid portion below. However, the clearer liquid portion wasn't exactly clear. It was rusty, brownish and there were sediments at the base of the bottle. On one hand, I admired how pretty it was that the sediments had settled in the form of concentric circles, on the other hand, I had to swallow my horror that the 'sediments' were actually droplets of blood! Many droplets of blood!

The immediate thoughts were WTF??? followed very quickly by Why??? followed by Do I throw it away? Realise the thought process only got coherent the third time round. Trusty Google spat out so sites that I could look at to find out what the heck was going on. It turns out that the most likely explanation was that a blood capillary had burst and that explained the bleeding into the milk. The mystery lay in why now? All the websites seemed to unequivocally state it was something that occurred at the beginning of breastfeeding rather than 13 months into it. Much like my situation with the clogged duct 2 weeks ago. Anyway, the consensus was also that it wouldn't hurt the child and the first time I ever expressed, I remember there was a tiny bit of bleeding too and at that point, milk was so precious, all of it, blood and all went to the baby and the baby didn't turn vampire on me. So, I figured it was ok and I went ahead and stored it anyway. Well, I left the heaviest concentration of blood at the bottom of the bottle and tossed that, but I'm sure some of it got mixed into the packet.

Unfortunately, Aunty D saw that the frozen packet of milk looked different from the rest and surmised it was bad so she threw it out. That incurred a little bit of wrath from me. I know I have milk in excess but milk is milk and milk is precious and I just couldn't stand the thought of throwing out more milk than necessary and to me; especially when I had decided to sieve off the blood bits painstakingly, it was definitely more than necessary.

It seems to be a one time occurrence because expressing through the day after that session elicited no strange coloured milk. Hopefully, it remains that way.


babies, breastfeeding, blood in milk

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Thing 5: Not blogging

I couldn't decide what Thing 5 was going to be. Whether it was going to be about disciplining them which we're doing much more of, about Evan having a viral infection (which he is over), his fall (which left him with a big bump) or about Jordan's penchant for soft toys and having to dig Strawberry Shortcake's hair out of her mouth.

Then I realised, thinking about all these things were moot because I haven't had time to blog because I've been so busy with them because of the aforementioned situations which I shall reiterate.

1. Evan being sick.
I was very distressed that the Boy's been sick so much in the last two months. And this time the fever went on for 3 nights. The paeds, my doctor brother and some mommy friends assured me that it was normal that he's getting sick so much. It wasn't much assurance but at least I knew there wasn't something seriously wrong with him. Apparently, round about 6 months or so, babies lose their immunity. Up till that point, their immune system is mine. And then they start from scratch and have to build it up again. So, at the age of one or so, when they're likely to be exposed to the world more, they catch all sorts of things. When I asked the doctor how we could prevent it, he looked at me point blank and told me that I didn't want to do that unless I intended on bubble-wrapping him his whole life. Now that's a thought. I must have forgotten all that because I remember reading about it somewhere. Perhaps in the midst of trying to deal with the sick child, the rational, intellectual mind disappears. In fact, I'm sure it does.

2. Evan getting a bump.
Packrat hardly ever rings me at work. And one day last week, I miss a call from him and then a cryptic message about Evan bumping his head. The seriousness did not register till I got home and saw the bump on his forehead the size of an egg. Having been out of action for a few days, the boy mustn't have been very stable on his feet. Everyone was commenting how he was walking like a drunken sailor in diapers. I should have put two and two together and warned his minders that the boy was likely to be less coordinated than usual. A split second of Aunty D looking away saw his forehead and the corner of a painting connect in the most painful of manners that led to much screaming and then swelling.


After icing his bump, it still looked like an egg was forming right in the middle of his forehead. The poor boy. He's been clingy and whiny since. As well as somewhat reluctant to be put down. I think he knows he's not so good at the coordination now and didn't want to risk being hurt again. This was evident with the times he would be walking, suddenly end up in a sitting position and just roll onto his back. If I didn't know he was ill, I'd think it a completely fluid movement from standing to lying with no breaks in between.

3. Jordan's soft toys.

When Jordan was born, there were people who preferred her brother to her because she had quite a temper, did not have her brother's puppy dog eyes and basically had a mind of her own. She still has most of these characteristics except she's mellowed. She's become much friendlier, sociable, animated and extremely affectionate. She's learnt how to hug and kiss people, nuzzle her brother when he is upset and has a big thing for soft toys. And she has a thing for big soft toys. I have a stuffed pig, given to me by some ex-students. It's larger than she is, size wise, but loves to cuddle up to it, lie on it and bury her face into it. We thought it was just the stuffed pig but apparently, it's any Big, Soft toy. Even when it's a toy that she's never seen before and belongs to a stranger.

And today, she was even able to play act with her own little soft toy, a pink flannel bear that she carries around. While she was holding on to it in the car, we told her to pat it and make her teddy bear sleep and she pat the bear on its bum like we do with her and hugged it tight, like we do with her. The problem is that her love knows no bounds and she doesn't realise that eating the object of her affection isn't really an acceptable way of showing love. Her Strawberry Shortcake doll has got the same post-natal hair drop as Mommy does. Not so much because of hormones but because they get yanked out and chewed on by Baby J. Occasionally, both of them do that to us as well, but I think that's second choice. At least dolls don't yelp and struggle when they are chomped down upon.

4. Disciplining Them

Becoming more cognizant means exploration and discovery. The problem with discovery and exploration means encountering things that might be dangerous to them. For me, that means being able to give them enough room to find out new things about their surroundings but reigning them in so that they don't get hurt in the process. It's a fine line to tow and I'm not sure how else to do it apart from an often imperious sounding "no". So much so that it is often met with a down turned mouth that very rapidly dissolves into a puddle of wailing tears. Packrat has also taken a more active role in disciplining them. Issuing the "no" warning that is often followed by a smack on the wrist because the little ones don't think we mean business. Once again, it is met by tears. I am often faced with the conundrum of whether to ignore the tears or comfort the child while explaining I'm not angry with the child, just with the action of the child. So it has begun, parents as the bad guys. Grandparents and Aunty D to run to when Mommy or Daddy get that glint in the eyes.

Because there is all this as well as work and general living, blogging becomes a low priority activity, even if it is to record why I am a good mom. I'd rather be out there trying to be a good mom then spending all my time in front of the computer writing about it and feeling so pleased about it.


Technorati Tags: babies, mothering

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Drool to fill an ocean

I've had quite a few people ask why is it that in every photograph of Evan, he is wearing a bib. It is really not a fashion accessory that I saw in Baby Vogue or something. It is out of pure necessity. The boy drools SO much, he gets a rash all round his neck that in itself looks like a fashion accessory.

And because he has that much drool, he ends up looking dishevelled and scruffy and his clothes are always soaked. So, to avoid changing him every half an hour even though he does have enough clothes to warrant that sort of wardrobe change, it's too tedious and it's hell on the environment. So the bib comes in and soaks up all the drool. Even then, his shirt gets damp from the remainder that the bib misses.



This is him sans bib and he looks like he managed to spill a cup of water on himself. He's even managed to get his shoulders wet. Spinning drool!

And this is him, with the bib, much cleaner, much drier and at least we've got something to wipe his chin with because I'm not going to teach the bad habit of wiping one's mouth on sleeves or clothing items as all boys are wont to do.

Technorati Tags: babies, drooling

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Thing 4: Staying up, staying home

Evan's got fever again. I'm hoping it's a teething thing; he does have his incisors coming through. We knew something was up when the regular Munchster refused lunch, was fussing, wanted to be carried, was clingy and burst into tears at anything or nothing. When he gets like that, we know something is up. It's a better radar than the thermometer which can be erratic at times. The problem is, in this case, we hate being proven right.

What usually happens is palliative in a way. We don't know what causes the fever, we just have to make sure it stays down and he is comfortable. Thankfully unlike his sister, he's quite happy to take the paracetamol syrup. The problem is the fever comes with so much discomfort, he is needy through the night. This, from a child who sleeps through the night. But because he regularly sleeps through the night, I treat any disturbance to this routine as extraordinary and not to be ignored.

This meant, I was up with him at 2.30 and 4.30 and 5 and then now, for the day since I do have to go to work this morning. I don't begrudge him for it. But at times like that, I do wish I did not have work or had work that was much more forgiving when it came to schedules and sick children. It's just a fever, they will say. It's not a problem that other people can't fix, they will say. You have responsibilities here, to other people's children, they will say. So, I can't stay home and take care of my own child much as my heart bleeds for him. Strangely enough, that doesn't make me feel like a bad mother as I ought to.

For me, a person who has been self-centred and expected the world to revolve around me all my life, it's a huge step toward progress. Pre kids, I think I would have been resentful if someone alluded that I should stay home with the kids, not because of the expectation but because it meant I was giving up my personal freedom, my space, my ambitions. It would send panic down my spine because I would wonder what would become of me if I did that. It still does at times, I still maintain I cannot be a full time stay at home mom because my mind is far too active to be content with the interactions that 13 month olds can provide. But if I had the choice now, especially at this point in time, I would not be working in the job that I am at because it doesn't offer me the choice to be with my kids when they need me or be with my kids at the best part of the day for them.

But the reality is that I am at this job, till the end of the year and I have to work because we need the money but the revelation of how much I'm willing to do for my kids and give my kids is comfort enough. That perhaps, I have not really failed the Mommy exams. That I am perhaps, a good Mommy because I feel for my kids and love them enough to want to be there rather than dump them, forget about them and see work as a refuge from them.

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Silent Stealthy and Greedy

The name of the game has always been let's see who takes after whom with the children. Of course, certain stereotypes have been established. Evan looks like Mommy but Baby J's got Mommy's temperament. The finer strokes of the brush have shown that Baby J's as finicky about food as Mommy is and is possibly (and this is NOT a good thing) as predisposed as Mommy was to eating disorders seeing that all it takes is a look a food put in front of her that she doesn't fancy and she will play-gag. Sometimes so realistically, she actually does regurgitate. Evan on the other hand, has Daddy's penchant for salty snacks. Especially, pop corn.

The boy has on, not one but two occasions been caught literally with his hand in the cookie, well, in this case, pop corn jar.

Our helper makes marvellous pop corn. Most of the family, read: sans me, loves the popcorn. So, there are big containers filled with the snack on the coffee table. For the longest time, we've been seeing the boy take the containers that are almost larger than he is and hurl them onto the floor repeatedly. We put it down to his destructive phase until one day, there was silence. And when all goes silent, there is usually cause for concern. An immediate search and rescue, well, more search than rescue mission elicited the discovery of the boy, sitting quietly on the ground, surrounded by popcorn, munching quite happily.

Two days later, when Grandpa dozed off while watching the boy, he was up to no good again. When the silence got so loud that Grandpa woke up with a start, the boy was no where in sight. This time, he was found sitting in a small alcove that was hidden from everything in plain sight. And again, he had the popcorn container with him and this time, he was caught red-handed as can be, with his hand in the container.

Of course, this brought about the draining of his water bottle because the popcorn was salted, just the way Daddy liked it and our fervent wish to catch it on video. Yesterday, we managed to. The minute the boy got a whiff of what was being cooked in the kitchen, our little sniffer pointer dog was at the kitchen door making grunty noises. When our helper brought out the container, the boy trailed her with as much finese as a bad undercover cop intent on being discovered.

Here it is. And watch out for the bit where Baby J is actually in cahoots with him and distracts Daddy so that the Boy can actually do what he wants to do off camera.



Technorati Tags: babies, baby snacks, pop corn

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Thing 3: Playing in the mud

The thing about having kids is that it increases paranoia by about ten fold, nervousness by about twenty, neurotism by about fifty and fear by about a hundred. Mothers worry about everything. When the kids don't eat, when the kids eat too much; they worry when they hear of other kids being a certain way because it means their kid may be that way too. When they hear of something tragic happening to some child, be it a child of their friend, a child of a complete stranger, a child from the newspaper or even a child in an advertisement who is pretending to be a child who has been affected by something physical, emotional or otherwise, they burst into tears because they think it may happen to their child. It's a major case of transference and all mothers are afflicted by it to some degree.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that between the distance between that sort of worry and going completely berserk is not that great and it's very easily bridged by a nervous enough mommy. I find myself sometimes falling into the trap of wanting to protect them from everything I can and some of the things I can't. I am constantly reminded that even if I went to the post office and bought the biggest roll of bubble wrap to wrap them up, things can still happen and it would be beyond my control. That affects me in conflicting ways. A) It makes me realise that I have to trust God when it comes to my children because I could hire an army to watch their every move and they could still get hurt or get some germ and no one, not even the bio warfare unit would be able to stop that flu bug from infecting my kid if it was going to do so. Much less anything else. B) It makes me want to set them free and let them discover, unrestrained insofar as I'm not purposely putting them in harm's way. B) works better for me because I'm predisposed to driving myself insane with worry and if I even allow myself down that slippery slope of paranoid worry, it'll screw up the kids very nicely by the time they're ready to go to school, if they dare by that point.

I'm surrounded by some mothers who are of the 'bubble wrap' school of thought. And their kids' first words are "No" and "cannot". Packrat and I decided that the "No/Cannot" type of parenting gets old very quickly. Plus the kids learn to obey out of fear and they don't learn very much outside of that. It's not wrong. I don't think it's wrong to want to protect one's kid. I think it's just the amount of protection and at the same time, the amount of independence one is willing to allow.

So yesterday, I made a decision between allowing them to discover a different type of texture and play or preventing them from possibly getting some soil borne disease. I chose the former. I thought to myself of all those times I ran barefoot in my garden, wrestled with neighbours on the grass and came home with grass stains. I thought of how I learnt that running up a grassy slope barefoot and running up the same slope with shoes one was a different experience and I thought, the kids should be as acquainted with the outdoors as much as I was. As a result, they got to muck in the soil at the Botanic Gardens. Throw it about, grab handfuls of it, pat it down, let it run through your fingers, roll your face in it when you fall; anything the kid fancies. Unsanitized play. I relished in the fact that they were getting dirtied and their faces muddied. I relished in the fact that they had grass stains all over their clothes and had dirt in their hair. I felt liberated by it.

Although some nut might try and quantify it by asking me what I thought they learnt from it except to get their hands and faces so dirty it required almost an entire of wet wipes to clear off the gunk. But they seemed to have a lot of fun and were extremely focussed on the task at hand. And I am proud to say I didn't stop them even though the neurotic mommy was inside me hurling threats of illnesses that I was allowing them to be exposed to. As I laughed and chuckled at their antics, that voice became more and more ignored.

Of course, if I let myself think about it, that voice berates me for choosing to putting my children in harm's way. But the cool rational Mommy argues back that if I wasn't throwing them in front of moving traffic in order to teach them how not to be a deer in headlights and on principle and if I kept worrying about what was going to happen to them if I let them try something new, my children would never learn anything. On top of that, my children would become fearful of everything not be the children Packrat and I dream of bringing up. And that voice was louder yesterday as I kept quiet, watched my kids play in the mud and used the opportunity to video the episode.




My apologies for the need to watch the video with the head tilted 90 degrees to the left. Youtube needs a rotate screen button for goons like me. .

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One year on and still learning

One would have thought that I'd have figured out everything I needed to figure out about breastfeeding by now. Seeing that it's been over a year. Seeing that other people have successfully weaned their babies off by this time. But no, apparently not.

I just discovered to much discomfort that it is not a good idea to be expressing half way, when milk is full flow to stop and go off to nurse the baby with the other breast. This led to what I imagine was akin to turning all traffic lights red on a road during rush hour, halting traffic with an enormous tail back.

No amount of massaging or hot compress has relieved the congestion and I had to accept defeat and leave for school feeling like I had a tiny flying saucer trapped under all that mammary tissue. It also didn't help that Baby J was full from all the nursing and didn't want to help Mommy un-stopper the congestion. To make her point clear, she let out an audible burp when I tried to angle her onto the boob and wriggled away, stuffing her pacifier into her mouth and using both hands to cover it so that there was no chance of me yanking it out.

Clever girl. But uncomfortable Mommy still.

*Groan*


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Fetch Ubu Fetch...

Not allowed to have any of Mommy's precious iced-tea, the next best alternative? Take the straw and not return it. Where's the best place to keep it? Between her teeth.


Does Mommy take it back? Nope. It's no use as a straw any longer. Plus it's a good toy; she is entertained for half an hour, taking it out of her mouth and putting it back in, chewing and gnawing on it, walking around with it between her teeth and generally looking like a cross between Dino and a little tribal girl with a spear pierced through her cheeks. All she needs is her hair tied into a little spout atop her head to complete the picture.

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Balls of fun

Every Friday, the twins hang out with their cousin at Mama's. They're about 10 months apart age wise. The day Becca was born was the day I discovered I was pregnant, so there. Anyway, they have lots of fun parallel playing although the play is increasingly interactive these days. On days when I have no errands to run or work to do, I always try and plan something fun for them.

Last Friday, we went off to Bambini at Kallang. Offspring's blogged about it and I'd thought about it a while back but decided to wait till they got mobile. And the wait paid off because all three kids had a ball of a time. Literally speaking. Jordan took to the balls like a fish to water, Evan was a bit overwhelmed by it and Becca could not believe how many balls they were for her to toss around.

Let's get ready to rumble! Swim in balls, toss the balls, eat the balls, chuck the balls at everyone. Everything! Joy!
Sheer joy before sinking into the quagmire of balls. Mommy panicked as at one point, only her forehead could be seen while I frantically tried to fish her out. She, on the other hand, thought it was all a big game and kept chuckling with sheer delight.

Evan being extremely thrilled to be out of the ball pen and running around before discovering that slides are not just meant for going down. Going up them is also an interesting game to play, especially when Mommy's atop the slide clicking away.


I thought it was going to be free but apparently that was only the Dempsey Road one so we had to pay for entry. Oh well. We didn't spend the entire hour in there but it was good fun while it lasted. If I hadn't busted my kneecap, I'd have crawled round the tunnels above with Evan. That, he really really liked. We'll probably take them again soon. This time with Daddy so that he doesn't miss the fun.

Technorati Tags: babies, children's entertainment

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Thing 2: I ignored my children

Readers of my other blog would know that I've had a spate of little accidents in the last few days. It all came to a head last night when in my exhaustive stupor, I fell asleep while expressing and nearly spilt 200 odd ml of milk on the bed and I couldn't keep my knees from buckling as I struggled to get to the bathroom to wash up. And even though I managed a few hours of good sleep, I woke this morning feeling like I was wading through sludge and my head kept spinning from the exhaustion.

Mid-morning, I tell Packrat all this and he was of the opinion that I needed sleep. Not a difficult guess. I was done at work and could go home but I knew that once I went home, the children would descend upon me and I would not get any sleep. And even if they didn't descend upon me, I would want to hang out with them because that's what I would do as a mommy. As a dad, it seems that Packrat is better at shutting them out when things need to be done. I can't. I automatically put my children's needs first when I'm home. No such thing as Mommy is home but is not with us. The only time I'm shut up in my room and occasionally blogging like this, is when I'm expressing.

But I know that I've hit a wall that I haven't quite hit before. And I know I need to rest. Sometimes, when I'm in such a mood, I feel slightly resentful that I have the kids. I love the kids, to bits, there's no doubt about it. But when I'm this exhausted and feel that I can't rest because I am expected to be with them, I feel quite depressed and in one of those moods best described in dialet as "Sian" . I think there's also the somewhat fatalistic sense that even if I did rest, I'd have to go to them anyway. It's not like they would disappear. Obviously, not a good mood to be in. So, for once, I'm giving myself license to take a nap. Despite what some crazy Nazis would say to this, I need ignore my children and just rest. Packrat is right, there are other people to entertain them and much as my conscience is raring to judge me on this, I'm just going to do it. If I don't, the end of the teether will come too soon and someone's head might get bitten off if it goes on. No one deserves that, least of all the children.

So, for their sake, I'm going to take a two hour nap that will hopefully reset my body clock and so that I can enjoy being with the children again. No amount of rest will help me enjoy work so I'll just talk about motherhood.

Technorati Tags: babies, exhaustion

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Thing 1: Giving them the opportunity to go to school

Someone at work warned me rather ominously that if I didn't start my children on the Chinese language, I was going to have a lot of problems with them later. This poses a large problem to Packrat and I whose ability to speak Chinese ranks just above our ability to speak French or Urdu. The irony is that both of us went to Nanyang Kindergarten- a kinder that is renowned for its teaching of Chinese. I guess the both of us slipped through the cracks. Actually, both of us had above average Chinese till somewhere mid primary school and then lost the ability to converse in our mother tongue thereafter. He more than I.

At the same time, I've been wondering about where to put them into school. Those who say "but your children are only ONE", let me just say that I'm ONE year too late. Our first choice of kindergartens chided me about not having rung to put them on the list the day they were born. I'm sorry, I had better things to do then, like FIGURE OUT HOW TO BE A MOM!!! So, anyway, we've had our hearts set on a Christian kindergarten because we felt it necessary for them to have the right Christian foundation. At the same time, there has been the niggling thought about how I should also make sure they have a good Chinese foundation. The more we thought about it, the more we felt that we could create the Christian base for them much more easily than the Chinese one. This point was driven home when Baby J cried and Evan looked at me very quizzically when I spoke to them in Chinese.

So, last Friday, on my way home, on an impulse, I swung through the gates of Nanyang. Immediately, I was floored by it's Chinese-ness. All the signs were in Chinese and it took me a while to figure out where the office was because it took me a while for my brain to slowly work out the seemignly alien characters ahead of me. Once again, I was chided, not for my ability to speak Chinese- thankfully the admin staff could converse in English, for my tardiness in putting them on the, by now, infamous list. This kinder, worse than the previous one I enquired at, had a wait list of 200 for 2 classes of 15! Virtually impossible.

The good news was that the wait list for 2011 hadn't opened yet and I still had the chance to get them into nursery if not pre-nursery by ringing on the first working day of 2009. I have set my phone to remind me. I was also told that I had some priority because I was alumnus. Not much, my children ranked 3rd in importance after children who have siblings in the kinder and siblings who went to the kinder. Parents who went to the kinder were, I was told, 3rd priority. Well, in a list that could be 200 deep, I guess I should be thankful for any crumb I'm tossed.

This was however, on the provision that I was able to produce documentation to prove my alumni connections. A graduation certificate (can we say PAPER QUALIFICATION?) or a report card. Aghast, my mind raced through where I could possibly have kept my cert. Report card, I hadn't seen in like 20 years so I didn't have much hope on that front. But certificate, I recall seeing the yellowed piece of paper with Chinese calligraphy on it. I just couldn't recall where.

I rushed home and turned the house upside down. I was not going to fail and be unable to send my kids to Nanyang because Mommy wasn't good at keeping things. I knew that in this instance, I was going to never forgive myself if I let the chance pass me by because I had lost that seemingly useless but now priceless piece of paper.

Thankfully, I managed to unearth it, after all the mental freaking out.

Now I can say that I am a good mommy because I can possibly send them to Nanyang and I was able to give them a little bit more of an edge by not being a dumper and throwing everything out. I am genetically predisposed to that because my dad throws out EVERYTHING. To him, it's not less clutter, it's NO clutter.

So, one star for me. For now.

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Half Jewish, Half Catholic, Full Mommy

A mother's guilt knows no bounds as I have blogged before. No matter what any mother does, there will be someone who will disapprove of the action/ decision. And I was reminded that it never ends because when they grow up, everything bad that they do would be our fault. "Our" here refers to parents in general and since Dads often take a more laid back view of everything, moms tend to take on more of the guilt.

I've felt and feel guilty about a host of things from spending more time with one child than the other to feeling totally responsible for the fact that Baby J threw up her dinner when I fed her. The onset of guilt is very rapid. All it takes is a look, a word that can be misinterpreted wrong or my baby's (either one's) face and I'm self-flagellating.

Apparently, all mothers feel it to some extent or the other. And someone I talked to asked if I could do an experiment to try and move beyond the guilt and focus on what I actually do do for them. Either tell someone, everyday, 3 things that I did for my kids that show that I am, in effect, a good mom, or I tell myself that. Since self- flagellating moms generally have a lower self-esteem, I thought the latter was easier to do though it was pointed out to me that since self-
flagellating moms were self-flagellating, we were unlikely to believe ourselves anyway and that was going to defeat the purpose of the exercise. So, inspired by Offspring's 7 day record of various things, I shall try to find 7 things I did to show myself that I am, indeed, a good mom.

The actual exercise was 3 things but since some of the stuff I do are pretty much run of the mill things, I won't delve too much into those ones.

Technorati Tags: babies, mothering, guilt

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Secret Lovechild

Packrat doesn't handle exhaustion well. I'm better at it. I get cranky, I burst into tears, I get angsty, super sensitive, basically PMS like but generally, I can function. I can teach, I can work, I can look after the children, I'd just be emotionally unavailable.

Packrat on the other hand, cannot function. His brain shuts down. He looks like the world just collapsed on him, he'd walk into walls, lose the ability to coordinate and control of what he says. Not in the Tourette's fashion but in a way that shows a stream of consciousness without restraint. Often it just reflects what the swirl which his mind exists in.

Last evening, after a 12 hour day at work, he comes home to the children and while playing with them, is in need of restraining Evan. Instead of calling out Evan, he, for some inexplicable reason calls out the name Megan! "Megan, don't do that" Silence, with the sound of crickets chirping in the background.

Me: Erm, what did you just say?
Packrat (looking down at Evan): I don't know what I just said.
Me: You just called him Megan.
Packrat: I was thinking Evan but I don't know how it came out Megan.
Me: WHO is Megan?
Packrat: I don't know, I swear.
Me: Do you have a love child I don't know anything about? Are you about to pull a Tom (Lynette's husband in Desperate Housewives who discovers he has a daughter from a one night stand) on me?
Packrat: No! I really don't know who Megan is. I'm tired! I don't know what I was thinking.
Me: So that's what you were doing all those times I went away for work.
Packrat: I'm tired!

Chuckle chuckle. This isn't the first time he's mixed names up. Before we got married, he introduced me, in our marriage prep class nothingless, as SHARON which is a couple of vowels different from my real name.

So there.


Technorati Tags: babies, parental exhaustion

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Fun at the park

The last time it was marking season, I got extremely angsty because I couldn't find time to spend with the twins. I got extremely angry and resentful. So I decided, despite the copious shitloads of marking that I had to plough through, I needed to take the morning off to spend with the twins. I desperately wanted to sleep in having been extremely exhausted from ill babies, exams, works...I feel breathless thinking about it. Anyway, bottom line is I wanted to sleep in. But I also wanted to take them to the park. And even if the weather didn't permit it, Baby J wasn't going to let Mommy sleep in. Thankfully, by the time she kicked me in the throat, the sun had already come up. And while pretending to sleep but watching her kick about, I decided I wanted to video her Monday morning ministrations. After that, there was no chance of me falling back to sleep again.

She's nattering a little bit but sort of knows I'm videoing her so coy is her game.

I think the kids are at an age now where they can actually get something out of going to the park and there is more to do than ride around in the pram. In fact, we decided not to bring their pram and just brave the heaving of the two babies around. Thankfully, they can walk some of the way although it's still best not to let them walk if the point is to get from A to B. Their walking involves far too much meandering and actually ends up in them going off in the wrong direction.

It was their first time on uneven terrain and wet grass so there was lots of tripping resulting in grass stains all over their clothes, their bibs and their faces. Apart from the shock of landing on his front, there was no crying but a whole lot of chuckling as they chased everything from dragonflies (God did good when he made those ones; they were metallic purple!), butterflies to birds. They played ball and even though we brought 2 of their own balls, they had to search out other people and take their ball.




There was also great experimentation that went on. Whether grass could be eaten, bread from the edge of the pond could be eaten and pebbles. There was also a moment of horror when after playing with the waterfall, Baby J thought it would be funny to lick her fingers. Funny for her. Not me. Water-borne diseases! Tummy ache at the very least! No! It's been 12 hours and nothing has happened yet. I will continue to pray that it won't.

As expected, we'd worn them out and both of them were put down for their morning nap without a whimper.

Everyday should be like that. Filled with little excursions where they can point at things and learn. I'm sure they learn at home but they had so much fun. Makes me feel bad that we can only do this when both Packrat and I are not at work and that, unfortunately, is not often enough.

Between doing things with them and doing my own work the rest of the time, I miss my husband and wish we had time to do our own thing to. Or to actually just sleep, uninterrupted from when it's dark till when the sun's high in the sky.

* I suspect Evan's had too much fun today because he's down for the night but keeps waking up screaming for no apparent reason.

Technorati Tags: babies, botanic garden

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Thus far

I haven't had the time to blog because work's started in horrid earnestness and everything has been put on a back burner. Every little bit of time I have, I spend with the kids so I hardly come online unless I'm expressing and even then, a couple of days without the laptop (the power cable fried) has weaned me off needing the Internet. That's meant I hardly blog.

But I feel bad not blogging, especially about the twins since this is how they are going to remember their early years.

So, I'll do a snap shot blurb of the events of the last few weeks, since Bintan. I think that was the last time I blogged proper.



1. The twins started walking.
Before we left for Melbourne, they were wobbling their way around. I wouldn't have called it walking at that point. More like 'release and free fall'. And the both of us were selfishly thankful that they waited till we got back from Melbourne to actually show the world how they, at 11 months were able to waddle and sashay their diapered bums from one end of the room to the other and picking up everything in sight.

2. Self-centredness
Everyone's whose commented that having twins was such a great thing has also asked if they know how to play together. My answer is they sort of do, more so than a regular year old toddler but they still have the same possessiveness and haven't quite yet figured out that snatching is rude and is a punishable behaviour. Jordan is the more dominant of the 2 and has figured out that everything hers is hers and everything Evan's is hers and is hers to snatch. This has resulted in the great stamping of tiny feet, the balled up fists and the angry frustrated cry. It's also resulted in grunts that clearly spell out "Which part of MINE did you not understand? " and retaliation by biting. Evan. Bites Jordan. See below for further explanation.


















3. They've turned one.
A day after I turned a year older, they turned a year older. And for year old tykes, they sure had a lot of parties. There were two birthday celebrations for them. One where the relatives were invited and it was in a Chinese restaurant to ensure the grandparents were pleased. Another one on the actual day because we couldn't let it go uncelebrated. Even though they were oblivious to the fact that it was their birthday, the two little attention whores (I mean this in the nicest way possible) were absolutely thrilled at so much attention being showered upon them. They chuckled, they laughed, they played with everyone nary a tear or wail in sight despite being well past nap time. So coinciding with their first birthday was the two shy awkward caterpillars morphing into extreme social butterflies.

4. Social Beings.

Jordan used to treat everyone new with unveiled suspicion. Nothing would illicit a smile from her if she were in an alien environment or surrounded by people whose faces never had to survive poking, pinching or slapping (her preferred means of showing affection). We're just back from Godmama's house where Evan passed out at his requisite bedtime of half 7 whereas she protested being locked in a bedroom upstairs when there was obviously so much happening downstairs. Faced with no choice and being closed to starvation (Aunty D and myself), we brought her back down to the party where she went round high-fiving people and stealing straws from people's cups, chuckling at her own success and lifting up near strangers' t-shirts to look for their belly buttons, a trick that I regrettedly taught her.

5. Evan is bigger, Jordan is stronger.
The boy decided at 10 months that he was a boy and he was a big boy at that and no longer needed Mommy to breastfeed him directly. At round about the same time, he went through this tremendous growth spurt and is now about 2 kg heavier than his older sister. So, size wise, he wins hands down. Occasionally, she wins too, by forcibly snatching something of her brother's. This usually illicits a pre-verbal battle and ends up with Even reaching for his sister's hand surreptitiously to give it a nice hearty chomp. However, even though the boy can fight his sister and has done it quite mercilessly, he's still constitutionally weaker than she is. My suspicion is that the fresh breast milk that Baby J downs, albeit insufficient, has created created a smaller but stronger little munchlet who takes longer to succumb whatever bug is flying around.

6. My son is a cam-whore.

Evan loves the camera. And the camera loves him. His reaction to the camera is almost Pavlovian. He can be anywhere in the room, or sometimes outside of the room but when he hears the word "SMILE" or the camera click, he will materialise in front of the lens with his repertoire of expressions. Zoolander could take a few lessons from my one year old. Last week, a photographer in church was taking photos of Baby J, who was wandering up and down the aisles during service. Evan was with us but when he heard the camera clicks, he scrambled past all our legs, pushed his sister to the side and gave the camera a huge grin.

I could go on, but I should stop or I'll never get this up. One last thing though. Here's a video of them and what they do to occupy themselves in the day. It also contains Evan chuckling and people revealing loudly and embarrasingly that Baby J's got a dirty diaper, is stinky and needs to be changed. She will be mortally embarrassed 18 years from now and I look forward to that day.












Technorati Tags: babies, birthday, daily routines

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