chinese new year

I did the same with Day last year, tried to pose and take a photo of him.

Much harder this time round. He refused to sit still.

Anyhow, Happy Dog Year!

superstition... !$&#@!

Just before we leave for our reunion dinner, Day dances to Stevie Wonder's very groovy Superstition (courtesy of my sister-in-law's keyboard) and 11 seconds into this vid, he lets go with a choice exclamation. A Hokkien one at that, and his absolute favourite.

I certainly enjoyed it!

teeth terror

Such a nice, (relatively) straight mouthful of teeth, such a cheeky smile.

I wonder how long it will last?

Day is horrendously anti-toothbrush. Only his father has the patience and tenacity to struggle through an episode, which is why Day only has his teeth brushed at night and not at all in the morning as I just can't bring myself to.

Each time, he finishes his night bath, he attempts to run out of the bathroom as he knows what is coming up next. His Papa has to catch him and, carrying the slippery naked boy in the left arm, attempt to manouver the toothbrush, smeared with banana-apple flavoured toothpaste, with his right.

Day uses an electric toothbrush by the way, simply because he is a little more partial to this fascinating gadget and will allow it into his mouth for the first few seconds.


After 20 seconds or so of brushing, the battle starts. By the end of the brushing, it takes three adults to hold him down. I clamp his arms, my brother his head and jaws, while KK does the brush. And all the while, he is screaming away.


Strangely, he is more resistant to our brushing his top row of teeth, maybe because the vibrations go right through to the top of his head. Already, his teeth on top have a strange yellowish tinge that becomes brownish towards the end of the day. Yeek.

He only calms down when he gets to rinse out his mouth.


How to avoid kids becoming like this? I have no bloody idea.

God knows we did what all the books said. Nice flavoured toothpaste, make brushing seem like a fun thing, brush in front of him and make it seem like its a real party, play brushing games. When he started with the little rubbery condom brush last year, he was fine. Whatever.

I suppose no one would have a natural liking for something shoved into their mouth.

The editor of the parenting mag I write for says no matter how onerous, we have to brush his teeth twice a day from NOW. My neighbour, on the other hand, says there is no need to start and he will pick it up naturally when he is 2 plus. I tend to agree with the editor. I can't stand the plaque, stains and the (yucky) breath.

Maybe it'll only get better once he learns to FEAR. Like me, I only brush because I am petrified of what the dentist will do to me if my teeth are in less-than-mint condition.

earrings

OK so Day is a boy.

So what.


These peachy pair of flowers are his favouritest pair of earrings, clip-on of course.

For the record, nobody foisted them on him. He found them in a black box after mucking through my mom's cupboard. After I showed them what earrings were for, he decided that he liked earrings very much indeed.

After trying the whole lot (mostly plastic auntie clip-ons) he decided these were the prettiest. Yes, he actually went to the mirror to see himself after trying on every pair.

Should I have stopped him? Nah. But I didn't encourage him either!

* I confess I got him the pink shoes.
* And if his haircut looks weird (see little jagged tuft dangling over his left eyebrow) it's my bro's work. This is Day's CNY haircut. Cut at home in less than 3 minutes and therefore, is stylishly mussy (at best).

gorgeous pics

I could never have taken a picture like that.

Effortlessly capturing the look of ectasy on Day's face in sharp focus while the background is beautifully blurred... only a pro can do it.


All thanks to Huifen!

She was my colleague and a damned good photojournalist, the kind who collects photo awards like pay slips. Last time I met her at the Changi Beach, she was pregnant.

She's since popped and when I dropped in to visit her and chubby two-month-old baby Ethan a few days ago, the new mom whipped out her camera (the kind with a foot-long lens sticking out in front) and declared that she was going to take pictures of our family.

So we all trooped to the park and in between feeding Ethan his milk and calming him down, in those few minutes, she took a few quick Priceless snaps.

She also wanted to snap my belly. Since I was (as usual) wearing very grubby clothes, she miraculously produced pregnancy jeans, a sexy top and too-big breast pads that threatened to pop out any minute...

But who cares? To date, with #2, no one has photographed my belly. Here it is.


And there, you can see right below my belly button (which I call my smiling belly button because it has closed up), the faint line called the linea nigra. Sort of a pregnancy tattoo only it's not permanent. I swear it isn't. It's just melanin.

The family!


I wish KK were a professional (or at least a good) photographer.

#2 at 30 weeks: bloodsucker

Without too much fuss, I have gone three-quarters of the way and she's 30 weeks old. Ten more weeks and she'll be out.

I don't feel any different but I'm sure she's leeching lots and lots from my system and as I am most lazy about popping my vitamins (it's extremely unpleasant for me as I still can't swallow pills, I bite them. Calcium tastes exactly like what chalk probably tastes like, it forms a tasteless powdery layer all over my teeth) I suspect my health is going downhill.

Proof: My blood test today. I'm not exactly sure what the test measured, but Doc said I started out with good levels at 14 plus, went down to 11 plus and am now at 10.9. Which is dismal and (from what I gather) downright anaemic and quite bad because #2 is apparently going to absorb more iron from my blood in the last eight weeks to make her own blood.

I have now got to pop iron pills as well and I just know my shit is going to turn to black stone as a result. As if I'm not already constipated enough. Which just means that some piles are going to pop out (again) after the delivery (if I have a normal delivery) and I'll have to sit on the rubber tyre (agonising despite the inflatable support) until the pile shrinks back in. Damn.

On the upside, she's a nice and fat at 1.5kg and is rather feisty!

* And oh, I have discovered that the iron pills (which I eat by uncapping the capsules and pouring the powder into my mouth) taste just like blood. Salty and metallic and gross.

stitchy bitch

The title of this post pays tribute to the blog , riceandsoup.com, which inspired me to take up cross-stitching again. All the stitching entries by Jean, the writer, fall under the "Stitchy Bitch" label.

More specifically, it was one particular piece of cross-stitch she ordered online which I just couldn't get out of my mind because it stunned me. It's the kind of piece that I have never seen in local stores (which are stacked to the brim with Precious Moments type cartoony pieces) and I certainly never entertained the thought of buying designs online.

I saw it on her website six months ago (that long), and five months later, I was still clicking on the cross stitch site to look longingly at it. It's not so much the price (US$26 including postage) but the sheer sewing effort required that I think would kill me. My (still perfect non-myopic) eyes, rather.

But I figured if I'm still thinking of buying something after five months, it must mean I REALLY want it. So I got it.

And in the past 2 weeks, day in and day out, every free moment I have, I stitch. I take it with me to sew on the bus, on the train, when I'm waiting for friends who turn up late for appointments, after I put Day to sleep, in the mornings when he's in school. I reckon I would take it into the toilet with me if it were hygienic. I'm obssessed.


I haven't done much. It's a real killer because the stitches are so small and I have never stitched on black, makes the holes so hard to find. But when I am done, the final piece will look like this:


The Three Yoruban Women would be the most complex cross-stitch I have ever done and I am sure I will be cross-stitching in the hospital while I am recovering after labour. It may take my mind off the pain... Previously, the piece I was most proud of was probably the Boy on a Bicycle.


I haven't framed it. I stuff all my cross-stitch pieces in a Ziploc bag.

Anyhow, the cross-stitching is part of my (if you can call it that) New Year resolution to Make More Time For Myself. Selfish, but I think I need to think of myself because I haven't given a single thought to Me in the past year.

And if I don't think of myself, I realize that increasingly, I cannot even think of others. I get irritable, resentful, accusatory.

I reckon I am doing well. Especially with Day in school in the mornings, it gives me plenty of time off to (besides sew) swim, walk, or just watch DVDs. I haven't felt negative about being bound to my son in a month.

real tears

The water flowing out of his eyes used to be just salt water. Water accompanied by wails, hysteria and howls which he used to get our attention because he did not know the words to say.

He still does his getting-attention cry, probably 90 per cent of the time and I ignore most of it. Sometimes water comes out, sometimes water doesn't.

But in recent months, the tears that flow out the rest of the time are different. Seldom does it flow down his cheek and usually it is enough to just pool in his eyes. But in each drop is distilled real sadness and these are the tears which are the powerful ones because I would do anything in my power - if I could - to stop the flow.

Neither is it accompanied by screaming or howling or wailing. Just a little whimper, the tiniest whisper of sound which does more to pull at my heartstrings than any amount of out-loud crying.

Just now he was sitting in his usual play corner, having bounded over with all the enthusiasm of a puppy. He took out his building blocks and looked expectantly at his Gong Gong - whom he had not seen the whole day - to play their usual block-building game. Gong Gong at that moment walked up the stairs and literally turned his back on Day. With a little tremble of his lower lip, blocks still clasped in his hands, tears started filling his eyes before he turned to me and whispered - Gong Gong, da go go. (their lingo for building blocks)

I yelled for my Dad to come down right NOW.

He cries like this too, every morning before he goes to school. At the gate of the school, he starts whispering "Papa, Mummy" only in this case, I have to leave him.

Strangely enough, I think what gets to me most is that with these tears, he looks like he is trying not to cry.

farewell, norma

What a maid!

An ode to Day's Auntie Norma - my folk's maid and the lady who has been helping me to look after Day ever since he was born - could go on and on. Not so much because of her childcare skills (and she's good since she has four children of her own, three of whom popped out as she was squatting down in her kampong house) but because of HER.

A highly intelligent (certainly more street-smart than I am), interesting and very happening person, she is the sort who neighbours down the road whisper to me about because they heard about her from their own maids...

But as nothing salacious is meant to appear on this blog, I shall leave all that out.

Norma flew back home to the Philippines last Saturday morning, for her second marriage to a man who she met here in a disco.

I woke Day up at the ungodly hour of 6am (he hasn't woken up this early for a year) to send his Auntie Norma off.


There were no tears from either party. On Day's part, he knows Auntie Norma is going back home to the Philippines but even at the point of farewell, he clung to me after giving her a hug before waving Bye. Which actually is a relief to me as one of the reasons why I chose to stay home in the first place is so that he will never feel closer to another caregiver than to his own mother.

On Norma's part, she, hard as nails and downright robotic at times, has never been sentimental. And I'm sure visions of embracing her own four children, whom she has not seen for five years, were uppermost in her mind.

In any case, Norma has been a key figure in the first 20 months of Day's life and he has learnt quite a bit from her - she is the kind of maid who tries to teach him songs, educate him about vegetables and cooking and helpfully allows him to play at cooking around her in the kitchen. These are some highlights of what Norma and Day have done together.

LULLABY
When he was a baby, she would carry and rock him to sleep singing - unbelievable but true - Shania Twain's "From This Moment". Yup, the one with lyrics that go "You're the reason I believe in love...". She swore her lullaby worked. I think it's her voice. Neighbours from two houses away who could hear her said she sounded really good.


FOOD
She's the Feeding IC. When I was breastfeeding, Norma was the one who would pass Day to me everytime he wailed and she was the one who would scold me for complaining because she herself breastfed all four kids. When it came to starting solids, she fed him cereal all the time and she continued to feed him breakfast, lunch and dinner. Which is a real tough job because she often had to sing, act, tell stories and act like a fool to get him to eat. No one else wanted to do it.


POO
She was the first to put him on the toilet bowl to shit. Though I would share toilet duty with her, her "mm-mmmms" were far more convincing. Anyway this stopped after a while because Day refused to sit on the toilet bowl.


BATH
Before Day went to school, Norma would bath him every morning. Because I am normally still sleeping. In fact the two of them had a very structured morning routine. Day would go downstairs at 8, Norma would make him oats and a cup of Milo, share a bit of her toast and then they would do the housework together...


HOUSEWORK
Well, Day used to just watch. Here, he is watching Norma wring out the clothes (no surprise that he tries to do it himself nowadays). But he would take the broom and the feather duster and copy what she is doing. I think he learns a lot there.


GETTING INVOLVED
What I liked most was that Norma would trust Day enough to involve him in her work, and she genuinely seemed to enjoy teaching him. Whether it be removing the skins off the beans, sorting out vegetables or identifying bits of the food she was preparing, he always had a fun time in the kitchen with her.


Now she is gone, Day doesn't seem to miss her. Except that sometimes he will call out Auntie Norma and we have to remind him that she has gone home.

But for the wonderful job she did with Day, on the adults' part, I think we are all a little relieved that she has gone home! Where hopefully she will find happiness with her second husband.

dough piggies

I made some plasticine piggies for Day and I think they are cute. He likes them too.

Anyhow, when he first received this plasticine set for Christmas, he was terrified of the stuff, especially when we squeeze it out of the molds and wormy things come squirting out like toothpaste.

But now he'll at least touch the stuff and he treated his pigs rather tenderly. Strange boy.

slip and fall

Such a picture of tranquility.

Me, Day and his uncle Choon at the beach on a drizzly day.

Right after this picture was taken though, things veered from tranquil to hysterical when I had a fall.

Don't think I had ever had such a bad fall while pregnant, ever, and it fully deserves to be immortalised.

Here's exactly what happened: Wearing a pair of crappy gray Bata slippers (The kind with knobbly bumps on the top but is flat at the bottom so you are almost guaranteed to slip if you walk on a wet surface), I was carrying Day. And walking on a wet road.

Choon was holding two umbrellas over us and we were on our way to look for Day's papa at the driving range.

Things were going fine. Then I slipped. I lost my footing, my legs shot up, and I landed on the ground on my back while carrying Day. It's the slip-on-a-banana-peel kind of fall.

Christ, it hurt. I yelled and a split second after me, Day, who had taken a nosedive to the ground from his perspective, screamed in fear. And here's what I found really funny: He scrambled to get out of my arms and pounced towards Choon. He abandoned the distressed mother ship.

When I saw Choon and Day clinging to each other for dear life, I started laughing and couldn't stop. I was probably laughing out of relief too, because I knew by then that I wasn't damaged and neither was #2. Thank God.

When Day saw me laughing fit to die while still lying on the wet ground, he started laughing. But I don't think Choon saw the humour in the situation. He was seriously traumatized.

hello, 2006

From all of us, here's to the year ahead. Nothing much to say, really.

Haven't been in a reflective mood, too busy going out.

May the world stay the same in 2006. Sure it can get better, but for me I am very content with things being the way they are. I just hope it doesn't get worse.

And our family becomes 3+1. That can only be a better thing.