Mother, Inc

Breathe, just breathe

by Daphne on February 8, 2010

in kids inc, motherhood, not feeling so supermom, side effects of motherhood

When Tru was born, I called him chicken legs. Mostly because he had chicken legs, all skinny and bony. Every time I changed him, I held them ever so gingerly because I was afraid they would snap if I yanked too hard.

I remember looking at him during his first week at home and thinking how ironic it was that the most precious thing we had was so fragile and so easily broken.

It’s an irrational fear but nonetheless a very real one. As parents, we can’t help it. It’s terribly instinctive. My heart races and I can’t breathe and my mind goes blank because it can’t even handle the thought that something bad will happen to him.

But we held him and fed him and showered him with love and within 3 months, we had to call him thunder thighs. Mostly because he had thunderous thighs, all fat and juicy. Just as we reveled in chewing his juicy rolls, he came down with a bout of the flu and he was back to being broken all over again. He sniffled and sneezed and coughed and I felt like my heart broke with every whimper. His eyes were all teary so I held him for 6 hours straight until he managed to fall asleep on my chest.

Every time we start think that he’s alright, he would trip and knock his head or bleed all over his shirt or catch another flu bug and that awful feeling of panic would come back.

As he grew, my heart got stronger as he got stronger. The feeling of dread dissipated and I started to believe that he’s actually going to make it.

Then on Thursday, he came down with the sniffles again, which was fairly normal. But by Friday, he started wheezing and his chest heaved as he struggled to take in tiny breaths of air, which was not normal at all. Also, all that running and climbing made it worse so he would stop occasionally to catch his breath. We rushed him to the hospital and it was diagnosed as bronchiolitis, which sounds like a terribly scary word. Anything itis is bad, like meningitis or laryngitis or prostatitis, all bad.

It was by far the worst experience ever. They swabbed his nose, x-rayed him, pumped his system with ventolin and a whole ton of meds. He was back to being chicken legs all over again. He clung on to his blankie and shuffled his feet and smiled weakly when I made faces at him. During his entire hospital stay, we had to pin him down and make him inhale ventolin every 2 hours while he screamed and flailed and cried for mercy.

He’s finally home and all better now but I honestly don’t think I can take much more. Watching him struggle for breath is possibly the most painful thing I’ve ever had to do and I could feel myself breathe harder because just maybe it would help him.

That’s the thing with having kids. A piece of your heart breaks every time you see them hurting and I’m not sure I have that many pieces to spare.

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The best pregnancy advice you’ll ever get

by Daphne on February 5, 2010

in Product Reviews, getting ready for baby, pregnancy

I’m kind of an expert on pregnancy because I’ve done it twice and everyone knows that if you do something twice, you start to really kick ass at it. I hate to boast but I’m very good at being pregnant. I’m like a natural. In fact, I’m trying very hard to be less good at it. Some skills in life you don’t really need and this is probably one of them.

But that is exactly why I’m qualified to dish out pregnancy advice to people who aren’t so good at it. Unless you’ve already got 8 kids then I throw myself at your mercy, Grand Master (sextuplets only count as 1, so I’m totally on par with the Gosselins).

So here goes. Advice #1. Don’t buy pregnancy clothes.

Because most of them look like curtains. You know the kind I’m talking about, the shapeless dresses in pastel colors with the large ribbon around the center. (We all get that your baby is a gift, there’s no need to be that painfully obvious). Also, having a huge ass is enough ammo for people to crack jokes at your expense and you really shouldn’t help them.

That’s unless of course you buy designer togs. Except that maternity couture is even more expensive than regular ones (you didn’t think that all that extra cloth was free, did you?) and you’d end up wearing the same $300 pants everyday without washing for 6 months. Which is kind of gross. And then people will still laugh at you.

I was prepared to wear oversized sweats everyday, until I found out about Maternity Exchange’s rental program. I was kind of iffy about the whole idea at first because one time I got a bag of hand-me-downs from my friend’s cousin’s somebody and it smelt like the underpants of that somebody with very bad body odor who died. Suffice to say, I did not wear it. So the first thing I did when I stepped into the shop was to take a big whiff of the clothes. But they all smelt pretty good.

I found the range to be decent and some of them could probably be cheaper but it’s not cool to haggle with couture.

Now, if you didn’t listen to my advice and went out to buy a truckload of maternity clothes and they’re now moth bait in the back of your drawers, it’s not too late. The guys at MX have launched a ‘Buy My Love’ program and while they may not actually be able to afford your love, they are willing to buy some of your maternity pieces for their collection. That’s almost half as cool as packing them up and sending it all over to some third world country where they’ll make some very pregnant girls very happy.

Speaking of which, I’m very happy to be announcing a new giveaway. There’s 2 (two) $50 Maternity Exchange vouchers up for grabs and you’ll be able to pick out some fancypants maternity wear.

To enter this giveaway, just answer the following question in the Comments section of this post: What’s your favorite maternity outfit? I’ll go first. Yoga pants and a singlet.

Winners will be chosen using a highly scientific (read: random) method and announced on 14 Feb.

And since we are all winners, you’ll all be getting a $10 MX voucher and all you need to do is head town to their flagship store at Marina Square and shout “I love Mother, INC”. I’m just kidding. About the shouting bit. You can whisper it if you want and they’ll still give you the voucher. Happy shopping.

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Hot water is surprisingly handy in sticky situations

by Daphne on February 3, 2010

in kids inc, literally a crappy post, stuff best described as not safe for parents

One of the things I do best is improvisation. Problem solving, I like to call it. Now that I’m unemployed, it’s the only thing that makes me feel useful.

Like the other night our kitchen was invaded by a mutant lizard and the husband said it was too high to catch so I formulated a plan to terminate its miserable life. He loaded up a water pistol and armed himself with a glass of boiling water. The plan was to shoot it and when it falls off, douse it with the boiling water. Hasta la vista, baby.

Ok, so the hot water didn’t kill it like we planned and it escaped into the air con vent in the living room but it was pretty much fatally wounded so I have a feeling it crawled in there to die. Which counts for a win. I’ll improvise again when a foul smell starts coming out from my air con in a few weeks.

The only thing about improvising as opposed to advanced planning is that you end up winging it a lot. And your instincts take over so you end up doing stuff that seemed ingenious at that time but on retrospect seems like the sort of thing an airhead would do. You know the feeling you get at the precise moment where you do something and realize that it was massively moronic but it’s already done and you can’t undo it. Yeah, that feeling. I get that a lot.

See, I have 1 rule when the kids are sleeping. #1. Never wake a sleeping baby. Even if that means you have to hold in your pee and tiptoe around the house, you do it.

So when I was all out of wet wipes and Kirsten did the number 2, there was no way I was going to risk going into the room to get a new pack and wake Tru up. My other option was to wash her bottom at the basin direct without first scraping off the residual poop. On hindsight, I should have used normal tissue soaked in water but it was too much of a hassle.

Next thing I knew, there was a large piece of semi-soft poop lodged in the sink. That was when I grabbed a chopstick from the kitchen to try to poke it into the drain but it made it even more stuck and I was actually spreading the poop all around the sink drain. Flushing water down didn’t seem to work and it was too far in for me to pry it out with my hands.

It was a nice little pickle. I thought of leaving it there for the husband to discover when he got back but I’m responsible so I improvised some more. Hot water is my solution for most problems (like perverts and pests) so I spent 5 minutes pouring hot water into the sink while scraping off crap from the edges. Except that I didn’t anticipate the smell it would cause. Trust me when it say that it is FOUL. Seriously, the smell of boiled poop is exquisite beyond description.

I used to think that becoming a mother automatically makes you all grown up and smart and responsible. Guess not.

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All in a day’s work – revised edition

by Daphne on February 2, 2010

in how i pretend to be a cool mum, kids in motion

Ever since Tru started school, my life has been so much easier. On the downside, I spend 3 hours apart from him every day, but that’s time I get to spend with Kirsten alone, which I’m really enjoying. It’s our special girly time.

IMG 05881 All in a days work revised edition

i love having momma all to myself

Now that Tru has gotten past the initial separation anxiety, he’s gone on to charm the socks off his playgroup friends and teachers. A little bird tells me that he’s got two very cute 8-year-old girls fussing over him and it’s becoming apparent that the teachers absolutely adore him.

This new schedule is working out brilliantly for all of us. And by all of us I mean me. It’s a walk in the park compared to my life 5 months ago.

7.15 – Express milk and sip my morning coffee. The husband feeds and changes the kids and then gets himself ready for work.

8.15 – Drop the husband off at work, then drop Tru off to school.

9.00 – Have a leisurely breakfast at someplace nice and feed Kirsten baby food. Some days I even get to read the papers or fiddle with my iPhone for a while.

10.30 – Baby girl takes her nap as we take a walk at the beach/mall/library.

12.00 – Pick up Tru from school and head home for lunch. The madness begins when we get home and I scramble to cook, feed Tru, bathe both kids, feed Kirsten and get them ready for their nap.

2.00 – Both kids take a nap while I express milk and take a breather.

4.30 – Snack time (for Kirsten, it’s milk time), followed by play time. They’re starting to play with each other and it’s really fun watching them interact. Kirsten laughs at everything her brother does and he will do all sorts of crazy stuff to make her laugh. It’s too cute.

6.00 – Pick the husband up from work and head out for dinner.

8.00 – Kirsten takes her last feed and both kids go to bed.

Effectively, that’s when I get to kick back, take a nice shower and spend some time with the husband. I almost cannot remember how bad it was just a few months back. I think my mind has blocked it out completely. But it’s true that life gets better as the kids get bigger. I can’t wait till next year when baby girl goes to playgroup as well and I’ll have 3 hours all to myself. Oh, that will be so awesome.

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and Dad’s why you make resolutions

by Superdad on February 1, 2010

in Father Inc, lists you should paste on your fridge, milestones & musings

Parenting requires a lot of resolve. Which is why parents, of all people, should make resolutions. (resolve – resolutions – root word, geddit?) Your approach may mean the difference between your child becoming a Hitler or a Ben Tennyson.

Here are my resolutions for 2010.

1. Must not refer to myself as Superdad.

Seriously guys, I’m totally overrated. I change a few diapers, take a couple of feeds and I get a prefix that implies overriding awesomeness and infinite ability? To me, a Superdad is someone who brings home the bacon – in a vehicle like this.

Honey, I'm home.

2. Must stop calling wife “retard” and “moron” (and vice versa – not in the sense of “must stop calling retards and morons ‘wife’”, but as in Daf should also stop calling me names, ah, you did get it the first time).

This started waaaaaay back in when we were first dating and we attended this “terms of endearment” course in school, the lecturer was going on about semantics, semiotics and how 80% of all communication is non-verbal. Which was to say you could call your honey-pumpkin “Nazi Puppy” if you say it in the most awshucks, sweety-pie-sixteen voice and STILL could make her goosebumps stand. You got to try it to believe it.

So in a totally non-derogatory sense we have been calling each other “hey moron“, “what’s up, retard” for years and people around us are so used to it, they think our marriage is on the rocks otherwise “Did you call her ’sweetheart??’ Are you guys quarreling again?” Plus it *helps* put people at ease when they’re doing projects with us.

[Sidenote: Daf and I pulled of this awesome scam a few years back. We were introduced through a friend of ours to this lady and for some reason she immediately assumed we were siblings (as apparently, we both look alike, fair enough). This went on for almost a year and every single time this lady bumped into us she would go "Hey, why are you guys always together? You're giving people the wrong idea, how to find girl friend and boyfriend, like that?"

We were having a meal one day with a bunch of friends and she couldn't help but to remark again on our perpetual proximity to one another until a bewildered mutual friend went "What the hell are you talking about, they've been together for 4 years!"

Total awesomeness.]

Thing is Truett has been a sponge of late and taken to calling Daf “baaaaaaabbbbbeee” in the way i call her when she’s across the room/hallway/hawker centre from a distance. It’s only a matter of time – if we don’t stop – he’s gonna calling his friends mentally-handicapped individuals in the un-PC way. If people ask, I’ll say something along the lines of how the nurses at Mt A thought he had failed the Oscar test and mentioned it to him repeatedly when he was under phototherapy. Poor boy.

3. Must stop grinning and nodding approvingly when child does something awesome (but dangerous).

I’m a firm believer that parents should always think their kids are the most awesome (I know, i overuse the word. It’s an “honorable mention” sort of resolution to cut down on it) creatures to have roamed the earth, the finest species of mankind ever produced and vastly superior to all other children be it red or yellow black and white.

But when Tru attempts to fling himself off a 2m high platform and lands immaculately with a shoulder roll (that’s *how* parachutists do it, mate), one must not get carried away with thoughts of son being the incarnate of Maximus Decimus Meridius and do celebratory chariot race around the playground with him on piggy back.

That is because he may actually get injured or worse, die, although I do think its more important that what you do in life echoes in eternity!!

4. Must not play Winning Eleven/Football Manager/FIFA and leave kids unattended.

When you become a parent, you basically surrender all rights to personal rest and recreation. No afternoon naps, no late mornings, no movies, no GAMING.

So on the off-chance I get presented with the opportunity to cradle a Playstation 3 controller in the bosom of my fatherly being (ok, yucky expression), i unleash the repressed desires of my sub-thirty-year-old consciousness to get my GAME ON.

This happens on the weekly visit to Mother-in-law’s house, because Brother-in-law (BIL), despite being only a year younger, is very much single, certainly kidless, free from the shackles of feeds and woggly baby legs. As such his status enables him to be the proud owner of the holy trinity of gaming consoles – the PS3, the XBOX 360 and the Nintendo Wii.

The ideal is when everybody is around i.e. the adult to baby ratio readjusted to a favourable 5:2 whereby I get to play reasonably undisturbed. The problem only arises in a 2:2 ratio where it becomes a rather iffy situation if the 2 adults are in question BIL (player 1) and “superdad” a.k.a player 2.

BIL has a rather nifty stereo system hooked up to the gaming “altar” so it drowns out the sound of screaming kids in the adjacent room, not that I *ever* did that. I’m just saying it y’all.

5. Must not buy toys that promote either 300 B.C or 2010A.D violence.

It started off innocuously with two water pistols which i thought would be handy in giving me some added range for taking down those pesky ceiling lizards. However it also marked the introduction of “pulling the trigger”, “aiming”, and “shooting to KILL” to a nineteen-month old boy.

A visit to a friend’s house not too long after became the initiation to swords, then maces then death-by-steamrolling and finally, chainsaws. I’m not even joking about the use of chainsaws; without going into the details it was a game of “doctor” gone wrong – horribly wrong.

Therefore, Truett and Kirsten will play with cuddly bears, petite trucks and vegetarian dinosaurs at most. That way they may secure a job in the United Nations or Green Peace. And we all know how important the United Nations are.

*****

So that’s my list of parenting resolutions. Feel free to be inspired. You’re welcome.

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The one where I tell you all about the zoo

by Daphne on January 29, 2010

in kids in motion

I try not to inundate you with posts of banality like my kids going to the zoo or the loo to poo (too much Dr. Seuss) unless you’re into that sort of thing, then please drop me an email and I promise to flood your mailbox. But seeing that the kids just went on their first field trip to the zoo and seeing that given the lack of attractions here in Singapore, the zoo is something of a big deal, I am going to tell you all about it.

Like most zoos, there were lots of animals sitting around looking pretty stoned and more than a little bored. To be honest, I was a little disappointed I didn’t get to see any predatory action like those I’m accustomed to seeing on Nat Geo. Once I saw a lion ripping apart the spine of a wildebeest while it was still alive and squirming (in slow motion, no less). But the lions I saw up close all looked kind they couldn’t even take on an elderly deer with no legs. Tru threw them an obligatory glance and went back to digging crackers from his snack catcher while we were all like “Tru, look at the LIONS!”

the ostrich before it became lion food

The only animal he really liked were the hippos and it was mostly because he thought it was Barney. It was like being in Barneyland, except without the singing. Which makes it almost bearable.

Also, I just found out that they have a kickass water play area tucked neatly into a little corner of the zoo, in an area called kidzworld. It’s exactly like that home on the range song ~~where the buffalo roam and the deer and the antelope play~~. The animals don’t actually play in the water but they’re close enough for you to smell the horse sweat.

The absolute highlight was when the husband got completely drenched by a ginormous bucket of water that tips over every few minutes. And of course he had to be standing right beneath it at the exact moment it tipped. I couldn’t have timed it better myself if I tried.

I've got pretty big shoes to fill

Baby girl wasn’t particularly impressed by the animals but she started beaming when she saw the water fountains and sprinklers.

daddy says I look like a farmer but I think he means flower

So that’s my day at the zoo. I hope you had fun too.

UPDATED: I was informed that the ostrich is in fact an emu. I’m not sure about that though. I see a bird with a large ass and it’s likely to be an ostrich. But I’m willing to compromise and call it a bird because I’m a blogger who stands for world peace. That way, we all win.

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Now I can’t even fart in public anymore, not that I used to do it. I’m considerate that way.

by Superdad on January 28, 2010

in Father Inc, stuff best described as not safe for parents

If you know Daf and I personally or read this blog long enough, you would know that we were both classmates from the same university and took a course that landed many of my peers jobs in the media industry.

And apparently being young parents is a news angle because we get approached for soundbites more often then I would have liked.

Daphne has been in the news for her wisdom-in-a-neat-box quote of ” a wedding is but for a day, marriage is for a lifetime.” Hear, Hear.

We also (reportedly) beat the recession of late 2008-2009 by stocking up on expiring can food and a diet of spinach and tofu.

So some time back, she did yet another email interview with a writer friend from a woman’s magazine which had to be weird because it was another of those too-much-information types.

The first signs of regret came quickly – a few weeks ago a colleague (more of an acquaintance actually, he was from the other side literally and figuratively speaking, but the devil is in the details and I don’t want to sin) came up to me out of the blue and said “Hey! I saw your photo in this woman’s magazine. Man, you looked different back then, dude.”

I mumbled something about putting the “fat” back in “father” and made a quick escape, scrambling to recall which it magazine it was and the context of the story.

Stepping into my boss’ office on the same day brought a cynical, split-second stare and a rhetorical “I read your article. Good job there.”

And the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back came when a colleague that sat right behind me (no escape!) spun her chair around and blurted suddenly- “I saw your wedding photos! Man, i dig those suspenders. You looked different back then.” Incidentally, this was the same girl that declared my virility to the entire office when she found out that Daphne was pregnant with Kirsten less than six months after Truett was born. (Which was also why I was really keeping my fingers crossed during the recent pregnancy scare. I love them kids, but one at a time please.)

I mumbled something punny about “Dad’s the reason why” and headed off to the pantry pretending to make a drink -without my cup. Drats.

But there was no escaping the paparazzi and 2 days later I got a message on MSN.

“Read your article, good job dude. “

“Uh, yeah. Thanks. What the heck were you buying a woman’s magazine for anyway?”

“I clicked through a link on Asiaone.com, man. I thought it was about handjobs or something.”

By the mountains of Kilimanjaro, the story was online, on a major news site nonetheless. And totally searchable on Google if you key in the right words. Heck, we should have charged loading fees.

And if the camel’s back wasn’t broken (is there a gay joke in here somewhere?) he was truly, completely severed into two when my mother started dishing out very descriptive advice on family planning and the host of contraceptives out there. Apparently she read the article too.

Note to all mothers, do your children a favour – avoid any description, not matter how matter-of-fact your execution is, avoid ANY description that conjure mental images of you getting it on with Dad. Just don’t do it. Please.

Well the fact is we’ve been bumping into people on the streets, shopping centres, parks that have been reading Mother, Inc. While no doubt Daphne can work the prose as a kickass writer, I wasn’t getting quite comfortable with the meet-and-greet thing. So, this will sound totally idiotic since we’re evidently not celebrities or anything but I’ve been feeling like I can’t even “let it rip” in public. I’m just afraid people may be like, “hey you saw the guy that just farted, he’s actually the husband of Daphne from Mother, Inc. You know that blog with all that stuff about handjobs and getting it on.”

Sex does sell though (there, you’ve got the context of the interview) and given the rising divorce rates in Singapore, I suppose there’s no nobler cause than towards the building of strong marriages through some smokin’ hot sexytime.

You can quote me on that, thankyouverymuch.

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