stroller – Mother, Inc

love bites, milestones & musings, motherhood, pregnancy

Mommy time is good for me

May 25, 2009

Photo from media.sheknows.com

Being alone is awfully therapeutic. Walking around with headphones plugged in, blasting angsty music and looking all cool and sullen, without the shackles of motherhood. It totally brings me back to the days when I was in fact a troubled teen.

Except that my alone time used to be out of necessity, since nobody liked being around an ornery person all the time. To make my time-outs more bearable, I perfected this apathetic, don’t-give-a-crap-about-anything look that I thought was so cool back then. Man, I miss those days. Can’t wait till my kids are old enough to pull that stunt on me.

But now that I’m a mom, I’ve come to relish all the little breaks I like to call “Mommy time”. I get to go for walks, go shopping, do my hair, grab a cuppa and actually read a nice book that is not parenting related. An afternoon off alone can do wonders for my sanity. Not that I hate being around my kid, but when he’s around, everything seems to revolve around him. It’s feeding time, then play time, then nursery rhyme time. Even meal time becomes a frenzy of shrieking and hang-banging.

Tru has a policy when it comes to food. No one else can eat unless he gets a share. Even after he’s had a full meal with 2 rounds of dessert, he’ll still scream for more food the moment he sees us eating. So I either have to hide in a corner and gobble down my food or feed him with more stuff. I should start bringing out celery sticks to feed him, so he doesn’t end up obese.

Anyway, yesterday, I had some time off to check out the Crocs warehouse sale and grab a cuppa while Tru went home with Daddy for the afternoon. I was like a death-row inmate who just got out on parole – I did my trademark victory jig and skipped (ok, it was more like a lumber) all the way there and back. I didn’t have to lug around a kid, a stroller and a whopping diaper bag. Just me and well, that it. It was awesome. Seriously.

I came back with a truckload of stuff (RETAIL THERAPY WORKS!) and enough gumption to last me through the week.

by Daphne

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My kids are better than your kids

April 13, 2009

All mothers love to compare stuff. It’s just in their DNA. It could be something the pregnancy does to your brain during the nine months that makes you go all competitive and crazy, even before the baby is out.

When it comes to finding new stuff to compare, mothers are very creative. It can range from the size of the stomach, the heartbeat of the baby, the weight of the baby and the pregnancy symptoms they get, as if having it worse means you’re somehow a better mother because of the immense sacrifice you’re making.

Some do it subtly.

Mother 1: So which school will you be sending your child to? It’s such a dilemma. I’m considering between Julia Gabriel and Montessori.”

Me (with an obliging smile): I haven’t decided yet, but the public playschool down the road don’t seem so bad.

Mother 1 (affected laughter): Oh, public education! It’s just that some of the kids are a little rowdy, if you know what I mean.

Me: I suppose so.

Methinks: Yes, I know exactly what you mean. And I hope your little brat grows up to be every bit as shallow, self-obsessed and arrogant as you are.

It’s exasperating. I bring my boy for a walk at the mall and I can see mothers eyeing the kind of stroller I have, the clothes Tru’s wearing, the diaper bag I’ve got. And it’s the worst when a whole bunch of competitive mothers gather for a chat. It gets increasingly ludicrous as they go along. Kinda like these mothers on Goodness Gracious Me!

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3N7F-5zNVFI

I get that it’s a mother’s instinct to be unabashedly proud of their child, and I can’t help glowing when other people fuss over my kid. But there’s a line to be drawn as far as competition goes and it drives me insane when mothers go on and on about how brilliant their little geniuses are. (You know my 3-year-old boy just learnt to operate on his pet dog).

Get a life, woman! I’m sure there’s some kind of medication to curb those illusions you’re having. Or might I suggest a lobotomy.

by Daphne