computer crazy

What is it about screens, keyboards and mouses which so fascinate babies?

From initially slamming his hands onto the keyboard to tossing the mouse in the air to see how it flies to using sharp objects to poke at the LCD-display screen and giggle at the dark patches which appear, he's moved on to pressing the on-off switch on the monitor and the CPU. Very very bad. For the computer.

Nowadays I can't even use the computer without him yelling the house down for me to snuggle him in my lap so he can watch and interfere in what I'm doing.

It's probably a case of monkey see, monkey do. Goodness knows he sees me on the computer all the time and he knows, by now, that if I put him in my lap, he'll get to do something nice. Yes, I actually drop what I'm doing and log on to Fisher Price's free online games (link above) which fascinate him endlessly as he gets to press the keyboard and watch animals pop up onscreen.

He can sit there for a l-o-n-g time going through all the games. So far, he's never tried to wriggle down. It's always my patience which wears thin first. I have to switch off the monitor and tell him "no more" or he'll cling to my lap.

Apparently there are programmes called "lapware" specifically for babies sitting in their mommies' laps. *shudder*

Last thing I want is for him to turn into my brother (who's the ultimate nerd geek freak).

We wouldn't want to screw up those genetically perfect eyes either (both parents are at the moment still spec-less).

Some article I read also talks about how introducing computers to babies is "highly detrimental to optimal educational development" because "using the computer is largely a passive experience in which much of the thought and effort is supplied by someone else". So they don't actually learn how to learn.

working for free

I came across a blog post today that perfectly articulates my feelings.

The writer, a father, says:

"Don’t you find it odd that the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world, yet is rendered unable to feed itself? If bringing up your child is as noble a profession as people make it out to be, show us the money."

"I don’t know about you guys, but now when I’m taking time off to look after Anne and people ask me what I do, I get that rather embarassing pang in my gut. I actually feel like I’m wasting my life looking after my own daughter. I know it’s not so, but society values money-making activity more than shaping the life of our future generations."

I was just going to write something about all the things I DON'T LIKE about being a full-time mom, and this is just one of them. The money freeze and the brain rot. More on this later, when I'm in the mood.

golf in the family

A family friend once told us: Golf is a great game. But not for young parents.

Simply because someone who is perpetually thinking about swings and pars and putters will be spending time on the golf range and green. Time which should be spent with the baby.



Ah, but it's too late for us! The golf bug has bitten Day's daddy in a BIG way. Funny thing is that it only bit after Day was born. So while most golfers cut down on golfing after their babies were born, it was the other way round for KK. Just how crazy is he? Let me list the ways:

* He snapped up a full set of rather pricey golf clubs very soon after he started.

* He goes to the driving range two, three times a week after dinner (and he usually does THREE baskets of balls which is a lot), leaving me to put Day to sleep.

* He goes to the green to play 9 holes of golf every Saturday, which takes up half the day.

* He just splashed out $999 for a package for 12 sessions of golf at Bintan within a year. The first time he went, we tagged along but instead of joining us after a full round of golf, he played ANOTHER round. Which meant he golfed from 10+ to 6 in the evening.

* After dinner, he puts up his legs and switches on the TV to the golf channel EVERY NIGHT. Often, the golfers are still swinging away on TV even after he sleeps and I have to turn it off.

* Next to the TV, the computer screen shows some golfing website. Right now, he is surfing the Internet to look for some device called a Broom Putter.

* He asks me to help him to borrow golfing books from the library. This, from a man who has not borrowed a book from the library in years.

* He is perpetually holding on to a golf club. Seriously. If not cleaning and scrubbing away to make it shiny, it's to practise The Swing or The Putt on a little patch of green.

* He uses golf to manipulate me. Just now, for instance, he consecutively shot eight balls into the little putting green which means I have to bring him Milo for eight nights in a row. I couldn't shoot a single ball to cut the number down.

* Our couple time has included, on occasion, me caddying for him. Yes, it's so romantic how I was sweating and scurrying round the golf course lugging a heavy golf bag, polishing his clubs and picking up his balls on the green.

* To get around my disapproving parents (who really think that young parents should not be playing golf) he has tried getting me to dangle down his clubs over the balcony or somehow camouflage the clubs so they don't see that he's going out to play golf. Hasn't worked.

Do I resent it? Sometimes. But generally not. Not only because I'm super chin-chai and find it all a bit of a joke, he somehow manages to still spend lots of time with Day and shower heaps of love on the boy. And as every wife would say, better golf than the pubs.

And if I were ever obssessed about something, I would want him to extend the same understanding and support to me. Hey, considering that on top of golf he's also preparing for a triathlon (requiring him to swim and run and cycle), still crazy about windsurfing (regularly hops onto the bicycle to scramble to the beach at the slightest hint of a storm) and soccer (luckily the EPL is not on now), he had better. Actually I know he will lah.

One thing though: I am dead set against letting Day pick up golf at the age of 3. Against all his daddy's covert hints, no Kindergolf please. Although, to my horror, Day is already obssessed with taking those clubs and trying to hit some balls with them.




* PS: Day's daddy read this and was rather offended, he said I was biased. Made me feel like the low-down, mud-slinging, agenda-setting journalist which I once was. (The keyword here is WAS). Anyhow, I must clarify for his sake that it's a tongue-in-cheek thing. I really do support him in his golf and everytime he does something golf-related, he asks me if he should do it before he does it. So yes, I approved Bintan, Saturday golf, range visits etc.

day and sand

Day was petrified of sand, especially sand at the beach. The last time we brought him to Bintan, he didn't even dare step into the stuff and clung to his Daddy like a koala to a tree.

This time round (during a day trip to Bintan on Thursday during which Daddy played not one but TWO rounds of golf on TWO different 18-hole courses and I entertained Day all day long...) I thought I would capitalize on that fear and use it to my advantage. I would carry him to the beach when it was nap-time, step onto the sand, and he would obediently stay in my arms without a struggle.

Come 3pm, I lugged him to the beach, settled into a beach chair and lifted up my shirt to feed him to sleep. By my side were a novel and a bottle of water to last me through his expected 90-minute nap in my arms.

Problem was, he didn't sleep after feeding. Never mind. I reckoned he couldn't go anywhere and would get sleepy out of boredom. He certainly looked bored with my novel.



Then he started twisting this way and that way, and he started walking very unsteadily on the strips which make up the chair.



Before I knew it, he had wriggled his way down and was burying his feet into the sand. At that point, I threw my grand plan out of the window and resigned myself to having no break for the rest of the day.



He certainly enjoyed poking around the sand with two branches. I was astounded, though, when he wandered his way into the sea, walked in and got soaking wet up to his chest. Up until recently, the sea terrified him. I was kind of hoping that he would be scared of the sea and cling to me and I would have a chance of rocking him to sleep. Fat hope.

Which just goes to show there's no use trying to capitalize on anything with regard to a baby. They bloody change all the time. Don't know what they are thinking. And I haven't even started on his mood swings.

happy swinging

Day should probably have worn his helmet.

With one arm around his son and one arm on the swing, Daddy swung perilously high, demanding that I push higher and higher.

But it was a hoot. In that lovely little park, with the rays from the evening sun slanting over our shoulders and all manner of birds, dogs and kids running around, you can almost imagine "What a Wonderful World" for the scene soundtrack.

OK, too maudlin. Maybe not.

a naked garden shower

Heeheehee! What a hoot! Since he loves playing with the garden shower hose, we thought we would strip him and give him an outdoor bath on a particularly hot day.

He ended up running in circles round the garden, trying to get away from the water because I think it was a little too cold.

When we started spraying water on his privates, however, he stayed quite still. Nice sensation, perhaps?

floppy hat

Babies never seem to want to keep anything on their heads. Whether it be a baseball cap (so cute!), bandanna (so cute!!) or sunhat (so cute!!!), at some point they are bound to reach up and yank it off. Some primal instinct, perhaps, to never go under cover.

For Day, the only thing that stays on his head is the bicycle helmet and that's because it's tightly strapped under his chin. So it was with great trepidation that we attempted to get him to wear our latest buy: A floppy hat with a wide brim. The boiling weather warrants it.

Our four-pronged hat strategy:
* Covertly drop the hat onto his head and hope he never feels it.
* If he does, quickly distract him so he forgets that it's on his head.
* If he still wants it off, quickly drag him to the mirror. For some reason, once he sees himself in the mirror with something new, he smiles and leaves it on... for a while.
* And if all else fails, we'll just keep playing catch-and-slap-on the hat until he gets tired.

We went through all four steps but yes... it stayed on after several minutes. He looks like a safari dude. To us, he just looked damn cute!



With papa.

another mother and son

This isn't about me and Day, but it is about a mother and son who are physically near, and yet so far apart.

Mother is 95, bed-ridden and in ill health. Wheelchair-bound for years, unable to speak and unable to hear, she spends her days in bed, knowing that she has lived a good life and has brought up three filial children.

One day, tragedy strikes. Her youngest child, a strapping man, is involved in an accident overseas which leaves him bed-ridden and facing the prospect of not being able to use his legs ever again.

After doctors rush to repair the damage done to his face, body and spine, he is rushed back to his home country - where he wants to be - on a special plane.

On the same day his plane touches down and the ambulance rushes him to the hospital, his mother is admitted to the same hospital. Though his arrival in the evening is met with a great deal more fanfare, from friends, relatives and even members of the media, and her quiet arrival in the morning is just another in a long line of hospital admissions, their problems are similar in severity.

He is facing life in a wheelchair. She has blood clots in her lungs and heart which cannot be operated on as she is too old, and which would be life-threatening if it burst.

He does not know his mother's life is in danger. She does not know her beloved son has been irreparably hurt. Both cannot be informed as the knowledge of each other's condition might cause psychological trauma.

Just two blocks and 5 minutes walk away from each other, mother and son, unknown to each other, are fighting their own battles.

fatty day

2 1/2 month-old Day
Originally uploaded by shermaine2000.

That's another picture of Day, at 2 1/2 months, when he started disappearing into folds of fat. (in the meantime, I, his poor mother, was disappearing into thin air probably because of fat transfer via breast milk). He's completely past his fat stage, sadly. After the sixth month or so, he just started getting lean.

runty day

2-week-old Day
Originally uploaded by shermaine2000.

I'm at my parents-in-law's place and looking at some pictures of Day in my sister-in-law's computer. He looks nothing like what he does now so I thought I'd upload the pics for posterity....

That's him at 2 weeks, looking runty and red with what we would like to think is a smile, but is probably gas.

no

Today Day uttered a perfect No. It's important because as all veteran parents know, that NO is going to be repeated ad nauseum several hundred times a day in defiance of the parents.

He's also been slowly adding to his vocabulary of words. The cutest being "egg", I can't say why it's cute but when he goes "ick" in that baby voice it just sends everyone into gales of laughter.

I suppose now's a time to think about whether we should be speaking more to him than just English. Yes, that horrible 2nd language issue. I read a rather interesting blog post today, by another mummy, on how Chinese is the new Greek.

At the moment (as my father likes to repeat to every guest who comes to our house beacuse he finds it rib-ticklingly funny) my mother is the "Cantonese channel" as she only speaks to Day in Cantonese. He's the Chinese channel. His other set of grandparents are the Hakka channel. And we, as parents, are obviously the English channel.

However, I fully expect, despite their efforts, that by the time he is a toddler he's not going to understand his grandparents at all unless they speak English. Every word that he's been saying so far, not surprisingly, is English. Except for cat, which he calls "ma" (mao is cat in Chinese).

I have thought about whether I should speak to him in a different language a day. I have tried but unfortunately, anything other than English, from me, already feels unnatural.

But thinking about it, it's probably important for me to start somewhere. And along the line, if he develops a love for Chinese drama serials or pop songs or cartoons, all the better.

cabbage in my bra

I've discovered Cabbage. Not just cabbage the vegetable but Cabbage the Breast Friend.

See, through all my near-14 months of breastfeeding Day, I've had the odd bleb and blocked duct, but nothing really major. Yesterday morning, however, I wanted to call the whole thing off. Wean him off immediately! Stop there and then!

For some odd reason, breastfeeding him on the right side was excruciatingly painful. And I mean EXCRUCIATING like someone slashed my nipple. I wondered more than once if I was bleeding. In any case, instead of going away as I expected it to, it got even worse last night.

When he woke up demanding mum-mum at 5am, I gave it to him from the left side. But it wasn't enough for the little monster. So I reluctantly turned over and jeez, I almost screamed. Throughout those five l-o-n-g minutes I fed him, I was in such pain my hands and feet actually turned cold and I was sweating, in the aircon room.

It doesn't help that he doesn't come off very gently: he peels himself off with a slurp or gives a little parting bite.

So this morning, after enduring the morning feed, I hopped into a cab and visited the lactation consultant. After taking a rather perfunctory look at me for about 10 seconds, she pronounced that it was probably an exposed nerve. (the way I saw it, she was thinking I was a complete wimp for seeing her about something as silly as a painful boob...)

She then turned to her refrigerator and proceeded to peel off a few cabbage leaves to stuff in my bra, said it would work.

Whaddaya know??? It does! Pain's still there but it's manageable. All I have to do is to keep putting in those cabbage leaves until the exposed nerve goes under cover. It's funny because cabbage leaves are traditionally recommended for women who have too much milk, apparently the leaves help to draw it out. That's not my problem...

Did she charge me? Luckily, no. Not even for her cabbage leaves.

cinderella

And so she slips a dainty lily-white foot into the glass slipper...



Ah, who am I trying to bluff? That's Day trying to stuff his rashy, pudgy foot into my shoe. Of all the shoes he's trying to stuff his feet into nowadays, that pair is one of his favourites because he likes clipping and clopping around. Ironically he's the only one who has worn it, to date I have never used it.

Another pair which he loves is Sophia's white high-heeled slippers. Yes, high-heeled. His very-broad feet splayed over the sides of the slipper and it looked dreadfully ugly but he didn't give a damn. We seriously thought he was going to keel over when he put them on but no, he walked very nicely indeed, with a little wiggle in his butt. When it was time for me to tear them off his feet, he was screaming.



Another reason why Cinderella: He loves housework. The difference is while she probably hated it, he loves it.

Whether it be sweeping the feather duster over the TV screen, using the broom to poke under the beds or taking a cloth to wipe the floor, he's very happy to help his Auntie Norma.

The glamourous housekeeper.



* Notice how he likes WOMEN'S shoes?? He has been attempting my two-inch gold strappy sandals but without success. I hope this isn't an indication of anything out-of-the-ordinary. Perhaps I should stop stuffing him into his gay pants.

The sexy housekeeper (sans pants)

cheese!

matthew gor gor

This is Matthew.



He's the boy that I reckon Day will grow up and make mischief with, because they are just a month apart (Matt's older) and they live two houses away from each other. They see each other 5, 6 days a week (we pop by whenever we get bored) and they are intimately familiar with each other's domains.

Day, for instance, knows exactly where in Matt's house to get his favourite box of lego (up the stairs in the kids room) and Matt just knows that he can expect raisin snacks when he pops over.

Once when the 2 boys wear identical holey singlets someone said they looked like twins (though to me they look totally different).




Day used to bully Matt a bit, but nowadays he's been planting big wet kisses on parts of Matt's face. So that's good.

Day has also sort of been "adopted" into Matt's family, since there are heaps of kids there (none over at our place).

Matt's sister, Sophia, is very fond of Day indeed. In the last six months, her affection for him has matured from a petulant craving to see him every other day, into happy Hi's. I labelled her his first girlfriend, but she really behaves like his big sis now, leading him by the hand and making sure he doesn't get into trouble like getting into the pond.

That's her on the left, and her cousin Rachel (who is not quite fond as Day) on the right.



When the kids all get together, it's really quite a riot. But it's nice to be able to "borrow" Matt's family now and then.

sleeping angel

My little Day looked so angelic while sleeping today. I was captivated because his eyelashes looked longer than usual.

(The not-so-sweet reason being that he had bawled his heart out because he refused to sleep, and the tears made his eyelashes all stick together.)

Oh well. In any case we love admiring Day especially when he's asleep, because that's the only time he's still. We can stare at him for the longest time. Occasionally we prod him so he does something to amuse us. Stick out his tongue, give a little sigh, arch his back.

hand-foot-mouth clear?

It's been four days since Day met up with Kieran, and he seems fine. We're still keeping our fingers crossed but like Tigerpappy said, HFMD is apparently spread via fluids, not air and the boys certainly did not eat or wash together.

Tigerpappy is having a hard time, though. At its worst, Kieran was crying from hunger and thirst but the tiniest bit of liquid or food which touched the sprinkling of ulcers in his mouth would set him off and he would not eat or drink. Poor kid.

hand-foot-mouth fears

Tigerpappy called me today, his voice rife with urgency and worry: "Eh, bad news. Kieran may have hand-foot-mouth disease."

On the very night after the boys had their outing on Saturday, Kieran was struck with fever. Which soon led to the dreaded sprinkling of ulcers in his mouth (making feeding near-impossible) and rashes on his hands and feet, which may later become water-filled, like chicken pox blisters.

HFMD is one of the feared childhood diseases here simply because it's so infectious, over 100 cases are reported each week. At the height of a HFMD outbreak in 2000, nearly 1,200 kids fell prey every week. They recover nearly all the time, but it's hell for the child and parent during the week or so, when the disease takes it toll.

Kieran apparently caught it from kids at his childcare centre.

I told Tigerpappy, who was apologizing profusely, there was really nothing to be sorry about. How could we have known in advance? What matters is that the boys did have a great day.

I just hope Kieran gets better fast and doesn't suffer too much during this time.

And for little Day, we are monitoring, praying and keeping our fingers crossed that the dreaded intestinal virus which causes HFMD is not already in his gut. If he's OK by this Saturday, he should be fine.

to the park with tiger

Five months after they first met, Day and Kieran, otherwise known as Tiger, have finally acknowledged each other!

Even as recently as a month ago, during Tiger's second birthday party, they were ignoring each other. But ever since the two boys attended the same wedding dinner two weeks ago and found themselves playing catch around a pillar, they seemed to click.

I brought Day to Tiger's place today. After an afternoon of playing in Tiger's very well-stocked playroom, we decided to bring the boys to the Botanic Gardens.

Day has never been there but it's great because there is so much space for him to run and work off all that energy, which he's got a lot of.



Tiger's folks decided to take the pram out of the car for Day, in case he got tired, but it was Tiger who clambered on and happily enjoyed the free ride, as Day scampered alongside. He seldom seems to get tired.



Day also relished seeing all the dogs, kids and people at the Botanic Gardens. Sometimes he would walk right up to a picnicker and point into their bag. I didn't stop him as nobody seems to mind and were quite happy to entertain him.



Here is one of my fav photos of him, he looks rather nice in his gay pants, which he wore because Daddy wasn't around to disapprove.



Unfortunately, he had to get out of the groovy outfit in a jiffy because it was sweltering hot and it wasn't very practical as the sweat was pouring down his head and back.



Here the boys were bouncing off our abdomens. Once Day did it, Tiger followed and once Tiger started squealing, Day followed suit.



The boyz... awwww.

emperor's palate

Good grief, it's hell feeding Day.

If there are two things I absolutely hate to do for Day, it's feeding him and putting him to sleep. (I know, that's pretty key stuff)

Both tasks require the patience of a saint and my nerves always reach fraying point. It actually makes me want to behave like a baby myself (like wanting to fling his bowl onto the floor and give him a tight slap) but I end up stomping off in a huff to have a "time out" as they call it.

Anyhow, with regard to his food, thank goodness Day's Auntie Norma (the maid) takes on that responsibility and has done it since the day solid food passed through his lips.

I don't envy her task now. It gets harder and harder.

Today, for instance, she wanted to give him rice (since he has been consistently spitting out his porridge), and steamed egg with minced pork. He spit everything out. So she ended up deep-frying (not very healthy) some chicken nuggets, which had proved a real hit the night before.

Here's his lunch buffet.



And here's how he responded to all our efforts, cajoling, and well-meaning intentions.

"What you got for me today, huh?"
* That is typically how he sits in the high chair, with one leg up, like a pai kia.


"What the hell is that? Do I see rice mixed in with my chicken??"


"I don't want any rice! My eating rice yesterday doesn't mean I want rice today! Give me just the chicken."


"I SAID JUST CHICKEN!!!!! I'm going to bawl now!"


"God, don't you people geddit???"


And so, another uneventful lunchtime goes by... it's ironic how I had just written a series of three stories on baby and toddler nutrition. I'm breaking ALL the rules.
Thank goodness I'm only in charge of his milk feeds.

insiduous ball crawl

Interesting picture, no? Without the colour, Day looks as if he's sitting in a mountain of tomatoes.

But nah, it's a load of balls. He's actually at one of his fav hangouts, the ball crawl-playgym located at E-zone, a games arcade outlet at Parkway Parade. But tonight will probably be one of the last nights I'm bringing Day there because I realized SOMETHING that makes me a thousand times a fool. That place is a trap!

Ever since I discovered it and raved about it, I've been bringing Day there at least once a week so the indoctrination / brainwashing could have started.

What do I mean? As I was doing my usual thing, wading with him through balls and crawling through the maze (on the other side), I realized all these babies / infants have a perfect, unadulterated, (sometimes) birds eye view of the arcade games machines. I obviously don't give a damn about those machines but Day does!

Whenever he's not busy, he's staring at flickering images, observing how those punk teenagers are manouvering their joysticks and pounding away on buttons (and how Day loves pressing buttons!).

My take: Once those little kids get a little older, they will crave arcade games, which they have been seeing all the while but not touching.

Day may well become a games maniac anyway, but I don't fancy playing such an active role in pushing him over to the Dark Side.

everyday is a blessing

The family got a huge shock last Saturday, sort of like collectively sticking our fingers into a live electric socket.

As I was preparing to bring Day to my mother-in-law's place in the morning, a call came from my cousin: His parents (my uncle - mom's brother - and aunt) had been involved in a horrible accident in Alabama. A train smashed into their car. Amidst all the hazy details, one things stood out: Uncle may be paralysed from the neck down.

That's Uncle Ling on the left, Dawn his daughter and my cousin, and her mom Margaret. At Dawn's wedding.



Dawn, who was in US with her husband who was there on a work stint, was also in the car but she luckily got off with bruises. She has since written about it on her blog here.

It's a bit weird how all the minute details about happy holiday plans have turned into an account of drips, blood pressure and hospital-hopping, but I guess it just shows how life as we know it can take a turn.

My uncle is a great man who focuses his energies on doing good for those around him, from doing the best for his kids to extending warmth to Cambodian orphans by building them a home. He loved swimming and golf.

It's no good and pointless asking "why him" though I was remarking to Day's Daddy that this just shatters my faith in the "karma" theory. That if a person were to do lots of good, he will be repaid. (although I'm not saying it's useless doing good, cos' doing good is not meant to guarantee a good life for yourself anyway)

Day's Daddy has also been a bit morbid, saying that if anything were to happen to him I just need to do two things: Love Day and make sure he grows up good.

While thoughts and prayers remain on my uncle, at moments I cannot help but think, what if some crisis were to happen to our own little family? I always give thanks for what I have: My healthy happy husband, baby and all the loved ones around me, but what IF?

Obviously now, my family means the world to me and I would protect it all costs but there are some things beyond my control. Till then, we'll see. For the moment, I will remain my paranoid self.