Archive for October, 2009


Apples, anyone?

Edited in response to comments: Thanks everyone, for the encouragement. Just to clarify, they are photos of my painting. Pastels on paper. My first experiment with soft pastels (these are hard soft pastels though) which I bought by mistake during my hunt for good quality oil pastels. Since they cost a good amount of money and I can’t return them to the store, I decided to use them. I have to say that I love them, even though they can never replace oil pastels, which I think can never beat oil paints. Well, I can’t wait for my son to grow up enough for me to start painting oils again!

It’s been long since I wrote anything blog worthy. I could go on and convince everyone that I had been busy doing things, taking care of toddler or consumed in painting. But that’s not the truth. I didn’t write because… just because!

No, I was not suffering from a blogger’s block. Could someone be having a writer’s block when they have so much to write about?

I could have written about how wonderful my son is and how he is learning to ride his tricycle.

I could have written about how he responds to all my positive speaking madness all these months and he behaves like an angel, that when he sees the yellow alarm button in the lift, he smiles and and never attempts to touch it anymore even though I never said “No” to him.

I could have written about how happy I am about our new prayer routine holding each others’ hands every night in bed and even communicating our dreams regularly.

Or I could have written about how lousy I felt on diwali day morning when hubby and son were still asleep and that I wrote a post about how I missed diwali in India and then hubby remarked that my post passed a negative energy to him talking only about what I do not have right now and I immediately took that post down without any explanations to my dear readers.

I could have written about how we went shopping to one of the busiest places in singapore and I had to change son’s poopy diaper sitting in the most uncomfortable position and his toddler butt doesn’t clean the way it used to when he was a new born that I convinced myself that I would wash him well when we reach home and I passed his diaperless body to hubby, attempting to put on his diaper. I could have definitely added how hubby got poop on his new formal shirt and how his angry and disgusted face suggested to me that he might cry in front of anyone and how I rolled on the floor laughing.

I could have written about how I usually record my ideas as voice message in my phone and how one night just when my son and hubby had slept, I got a flush of follow up ideas to my “where is god” post and how I also felt lazy to get up from bed and that I whispered into my phone those wonderful ideas. Oh yeah, I should have added that I wanted to listen to my ideas now and all I could hear was strong ‘S’ ‘S’ ‘S’ sounds with the hum of the fan in the background. I have no idea what I had been thinking that night!

I could have written about how my posts are getting longer and longer these days and that I have to admit that I hate reading long blog posts.

Too many things to write about. May be I was just thinking too much that I found it difficult to settle in front of the computer. May be I should start another NaBloPoMo. May be.

Back to the brushes…

But the truth is, I don’t plan to bring those brushes out until my son learns why mommy wouldn’t be happy if he touched them.

Anyway, I did bring my pastels outside yesterday and to say that I’m happy to be painting again would be an understatement.

I’m doing oil pastels now, the only painting medium I can think of now, which takes only a box of crayon sticks, a paper and my lap so that it can be packed away when I hear my son stirring in his bed after a nap. This one’s my 4th ever oil pastel painting.

I do miss my oil paints and the smell of turpentine and the dirty but satisfying workmanship of those old painting days. Hmm, for now, I guess this works good enough. I love pastels now because I can finish one painting on the same day, within one hour, whereas it takes months to complete oil paintings. The whole world knows my patience level!

17 months

Dear big boy,

Yeah, that’s what you are. Things have changed so much that I have even stopped searching for my little baby. Not only am I convinced that the little baby is not going to return, but I have been enjoying the present so much, and I have absolutely no time to think about the past. I’m not sure if life can become any more exciting than now. We both have lots of fun, fun and more fun while handling all the challenges motherhood and toddler-hood present to both of us. As much as I would like to record each and every moment of our present, I find it more and more difficult to do. There are too many things to write. One of these days, I called my mother and said that since I was telling her almost everything that you do everyday, she should start writing a blog about you because I do not have time to.

About a month back, you started answering questions. Every question would have an answer. If the subject of discussion involved any word that you can speak, you would say that, otherwise you just answer some way, in your own language. You speak far too many words than I can count, but to list a few, here’s what you speak.

“Ba/Baa” for Bus, Banana, Ball, Balloon, Sheep, Bird, Book.

“Thaidha” for Bicycle and “Baaba” for Motor bike.

“Bubba” for Diaper, Biscuit, Hungry, Bread, Bottle.

“Ka” for Car and key, “Kaa” for Card, “Kaaka for clock”.

“Ma/Maa” for Cat (Meow), Rain (in tamil), Fish (in tamil), Nose (in tamil)

“Bow bow bow” for Dog

“Thein” for Train.

“Kauu” for both Rice and Curd (in tamil they are called choru and thayir. I understand that’s what you want to say)

“Shoe” (It actually started as the sound ‘s’ followed by ‘hu’ and after a few days you mastered saying shoe.

“Phoa” for phone.

“T-su” for tissue.

“Cheesh” for shirt.

“Amma” for Mom (in tamil) and for some reason, you say ‘amma’ for dad, baby, apple and sometimes all fruits.

“Toma” for tomato, “Petha” for potato and “Bava” for guava.

“Dum” for throwing or falling or the noise made by banging things.

Kengka (sengkang), ba (bakau), kaa (compassvale), bubia (rumbia), kangkaa (kangkar) are all train stations in our area.

“Enna” for “what” in tamil. ”Vaa” for “come” in tamil. ”Kaa (tha)” for “give me” in tamil. “Nana” for “I don’t want” in tamil.

“Kaka” for crow and thatha (grandpa) both in tamil. “Ka ka ka” is how you imitate a parrot. “Ka ka” also means ‘quack quack’.

This is all I remember right now. And you speak much more in actions. You ‘hush’ when you see someone asleep and you whisper to me just because you can. You show phone, finished, come, fly (the way birds fly), ball, balloon, eat in signs that we invented ourselves. You love to knock at the door when we tell you too, or whenever somebody mentions ‘door’. You roar to denote lion and tiger. You have mastered animal sounds. And you recognize most words from your word book and point to everyday objects in the house like table and window.

You know ‘amount’. You can measure. When I serve you biscuits, you ask for more. If I give them in your hands, you want in both hands. You want them in whole, not broken or cut in half. If there were a size difference, you want the bigger one.

When you want something, that I don’t seem to give within 1, 2 or 3 requests, you get angry, cry and run away. You don’t come back nor do you take what you asked for until I come down and comfort you. But I do owe an apology to you. Many a times, you look so cute while crying or throwing light tantrums that I just look at you and enjoy rather than stopping you. And not to mention the photo taking.

You can easily go from this….

to this…..

and again this….

in less than 1 minute.

You can play on your own for a really long time, which means that I can leave you in your playpen and have a good shower without having to stick my face out of the door every 5 seconds. It also means that I use your sleeping time for myself, only doing things that I want to do like using the computer because I can manage everything else while you are awake. Our new schedule works great. For the first time in your life, you have learnt to sleep for more than 1 hour during the day, in the same nap. You sleep for almost 2 hours every afternoon. Also you eat very well these days making me a proud mother.

You have learnt to put tissue papers to proper use. When your hands get dirty and when the floor gets wet, you ask for the tissue paper and wipe clean. One day you took the tissue and blew your nose, and got a good amount of booger in the tissue paper and your hands. Instead of worrying about why you should get booger when you are perfectly healthy, your father and I rolled on the floor laughing at what you did. We thought it was funny. You still try to do it often, except that the tissue is usually clean.

We pray together as a family every night before you go to bed using your prayer book. I’m so happy that you have helped your father and mother follow a regular prayer routine. Even though we started it only for you, we do it whole heartedly now. Since we taught you to put your hands together while praying, now you do it every time you see something related to religion. I don’t understand how to identify even chinese religious things but you put your hands together whenever you see one. Even though I want you to understand the difference between religion and God, it is perfectly okay for me if you relate them to each other now. You have all your life to understand God.

You love older kids. As soon as you spot one of them, you immediately switch to playing mood and run behind them, not knowing whether they want to play with you or not. You are very big boy like with younger babies. You pat and cuddle them and you are very gentle with them even though their little toes and sparkling eyes still hold your curiosity. And you entertain them. This last part is so funny, interesting and heartwarming at the same time. You play peek-a-boo with them and do funny actions to make them laugh. And then you pretend to laugh so that they would laugh more. More often, I feel like saying “Do you remember that you are a baby yourself?”. Except that you aren’t.

As for breastfeeding, we swing back and forth, and back and forth again. I manage to keep you with only night time feeding one day and the next day, all you want to do is to nurse. 2 days later I find myself more in control only to lose it again next day. But it’s okay baby. Things have settled down now and I’m in no hurry. Take your own time but please make sure you are free of nursies before you learn to say “amma, please…..” and “thank you for feeding me, amma”. That’s not going to look attractive.

You understand quite a lot. When you want the CD from the shelf and I say only big people use these CDs, when you want to play in the public toy car and I ask you to wait for your turn, when you want to sit in your friend’s pram and I tell you to wait until the other baby finishes using it and wants to share it, when you want to touch things from the shop  shelf and I tell you that we touch things only when we buy it, you perfectly understand even though you feel sorry for that. I feel sorry too, honey, for not being able to give you whatever you want, but this is reality and I want you to understand it now, so that it would help you be a happy human being when you grow up and face realities in the world, realities that are hard to digest, but you would have to, anyway!

Love,

Mom

I didn’t know that PPD goes such a long way

The past few weeks have been rough. I don’t know if I am happy about all the developments going on. I’m trying to wean my son off breastfeeding. He is growing up and he eats well. For the first time in his life, I am doing enough physical work in providing him food. So far, the only physical stress that I have been through because of him was breastfeeding and now I am replacing that with even more stressful work, for good.
Also, he sleeps in a separate bed now, even though the said bed is arranged side by side with our bed and in the middle of the night when he wakes up for nursing, I merely drag him near me to feed. He nurses for hardly 5 minutes and pushes himself into his bed to find comfort.
But I really don’t know if all of these are enough reasons to keep thinking about my son all the time and ignore the rest of life. I feel like a new mother with all her insecurities.
I didn’t realize it earlier. I have been lacking interest in everything including the business and the reasons became clear when I sat for a heart to heart discussion with Hubby. My past few posts suggest what kind of emotions I am going through. I am in fact, overdosed with emotions.
Today, long after my son fell asleep in my arms, I held him tight and kept kissing his huge head, and not willing to let him go, even if my actions would wake him up. For I know that soon, he will leave to find comfort in his own bed.
I can’t even start to explain what all of this mean to me, or if anybody would understand, or if anyone even cares.
I read somewhere that having a baby is like making a decision to have your heart walk out of your body forever. To me, making a decision to wean a baby feels more like cutting the last strand of the umbilical cord. The birth process is yet to be completed. At the end of the weaning process, I will have a normal, independent human being who needs real food and water and other drinks and not mommy’s boo boo. Isn’t this reason enough to be depressed or over stimulated, whatever my current state shall be named as?

Just another ordinary miracle….

Dear Baby,

You sit in your bed and cry for me. I put my computer down and run towards you, like I always do when you wake up from sleep. I took you into my arms and you lay down on my shoulder. I start rubbing your back and you start meddling with my earring. For a brief moment I realize how big you are. I know that if I stop you from doing it, you would get up from my shoulder and probably leave me.

My eyes glance at a random photo framed on the wall. It is from your 6 months, all 3 of us pose for the photo. I see the innocence in your face back then, which is completely missing from you now. Like a roller coaster, my mind quickly wanders everywhere. Within my mind, I leave this house, I leave you, I leave everything around me and travel to the past.

You are less than 2 weeks old. I nurse you and then sit you up in my lap for a burp. You are still asleep but you can’t sleep comfortably. You move your face here and there and twitch your facial muscles as if to suggest that you are doing some really tiresome work combined with a sigh. I laugh. You do it everyday and I laugh every time. And then I remark that I should take a photo of this expression of yours. After a few days, I keep the photo camera ready in my hands while burping you, but to my surprise, you stop doing it.

I wander from that stage of your life and I don’t see it again. My heart aches and I realize that I actually miss it.

And then my whole world is filled with spit up. Yes, white, curd-like spit up. My clothes always have white stains and I don’t care. My body and my hair smell of spit up and I don’t care. My breasts are wet with spit up and I don’t care. I wash it and within 1 hour I get more spit up. One day you spit up in your father’s face. Another day it was your grandmother’s mouth when she tried to delight you by holding you high. I don’t care. I look at flowers, rain, trees, nature and I smell spit up. No, I don’t care.

I wander away to a later stage of your life and I don’t see any spit up. I don’t smell it any more. Nobody knows when you stopped spitting up. May be it changed slowly, 20 times a day reduced to 10 times and then 5, 3, 1 and then no more. It happened gradually that I didn’t realize. I don’t carry a towel with me anymore to put on people’s shoulders when they want to carry you. You are clean. But now my heart aches again and I miss the spit-ups.

Then I remember your real baby smell, which is neither spit up nor baby powder. It is your smell. I miss it.

I remember your delicate skin which is not at all similar to the skin that got it’s first bruise this morning in the playground. I miss it.

I remember your coos and I miss it.

You laugh out loud looking at the air conditioner and you just stare at people’s faces. I miss it.

You cry when I bath you. I miss even that.

I miss all of our past together. All of those memories make my heart ache and when I am about to burst……

….your fingers holding my earrings start to feel ticklish. I come back to this world and hold you finger tight to stop you from doing it. You raise up your still sleepy head and smile at me. And then you hold my other earring. I hold that finger too and you laugh. You slowly drift away from your sleepy self to your active normal self. I can’t resist any longer and I start kissing your cheeks hard. You give in and enjoy the cuddling. I hold you tight and before my mind drifts away to think about how I would miss this moment one day, I get into the mode of enjoying the present. I lay you down on the sofa and start tickling you. The house fills up with your laughter.

Love,

Mom