Funny or So I think, side effects of motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents

If I disappear, you know where to find me

April 26, 2010

This is not really a post as much as a desperate SOS and a final note in case I disappear from the blogosphere completely tomorrow. And I’m not even *really* kidding. Seriously, if I suddenly stop blogging, somebody CALL THE COPS. Because I’m likely to be held captive by the creepy stalker loitering at my void deck. So I’m leaving a trail of bread crumbs on the Internet so that you know where to find me before I get fed to wolves. The key word here is before, in case you’re wondering.

Obviously I can’t post his *actual* photo here because it’s like asking to be kidnapped but he looks something like this.

creepy old dude

For several days, I’ve noticed a middle-aged guy with a walking aid idling at the benches downstairs. It’s not like handicapped people make me uncomfortable or anything, but handicapped old dudes who stare at me while I’m carrying two kids give me the creeps.

Also, I have a nagging suspicion that he’s not really handicapped, like the guy in the Usual Suspects who walks with a limp throughout the show but actually can run faster than Forrest Gump. You know, like a decoy to throw you off and make you think they’re really slow but then suddenly they pull some deadly ninja moves when you least expect it. Yeah, exactly like that. But then society frowns on attacking random handicapped people even if I know that they’re bluffing so it’s not like I can expose him. Thanks a lot, society for the physically disabled, you just signed my death warrant.

Every time I come home with the kids, he’s there with his fake walking aid and creepy eyes just staring at me. I suppose it’s not everyday that you see a frazzled woman carrying two babies and a giant bag at the same time and I would probably stare too but wait a minute, you do see me carrying all that everyday and you still stare. All. the. time.

Like this afternoon, I brought Tru down to tidy up the car and pick up the crumbs before it gets infested by pests and lo and behold, the creepy old dude was there again. Pretending to do some stretching exercises on his walking implement as usual and of course, I could see him staring at us as we walked past. 15 minutes later, we’re done cleaning up the car and he was still there waiting for us to come back. The moment we walked past, he quickly got up and followed us to the lift.

My momma always told me not to enter the lift with creepy guys so I distracted Tru with some excuse of going to the playground and sure enough, creepy old dude ambled back to his usual spot to do more exercises. At which point, I promptly grabbed Tru and ran into the lift, jabbing violently at the door closing button.

The husband says he lives in our block with his kids and is probably harmless but he obviously haven’t watched Silence of the Lambs because the craziest psychopaths are the ones who live down the street. Ok, so the kids downstairs seem to know him and I’ve seen them saying hi to him from time to time but it doesn’t make him any less creepy and I’m still calling his bluff on the handicap. One of these days I’m going to take his photo just to show you what I mean but it’s kind of difficult to take a discreet photo of someone who is staring right at you. Especially not when I’m carrying a kid in each arm. Also, I really don’t want to encourage the staring just in case he thinks I’m into him too and am taking his picture as a memento.

I’m getting some pepper spray tomorrow.

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coolest kids ever

I gotta feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night

April 23, 2010

Every mother has a secret formula for getting their baby to sleep. It’s developed through trial and error but derived very quickly because a screamy, non-sleepy baby is very good motivation for anyone to get a move on. And once you discover it, nobody messes with the formula.

Some hold the baby at a precise 74-degree angle and bounce to a specific rhythm. Take two steps forward, one to the left, one diagonal and one to the back. Or hold the baby against the chest. Sing that Andrea Bocelli/Elmo duet really slowly. Whisper a poem. Put the baby seat on the dryer. Go for a car ride. It’s all finely-tuned and customized so that it’s just right. When the stars align, you see their eyes roll back into their heads and a triumphant smile slowly makes its way across your lips.

Like I said, nobody messes with the formula. Because all you need is one missed step or a decibel too loud and it all comes crashing down.

With Tru, I had to sing the Wheels of the Bus song on repeat, each time slower than the last. He used to sleep on his tummy so I would pat his bottom along to the beat and count the pats in my head because it was that mind-numbingly boring. One time, I reached 6,214. True story. That’s a number I’ll never forget.

Kirsten was so much easier. Kiss her goodnight, put her down, place the duck in her hands and walk out. It was an awesome formula. It was working great and one day, it just stopped working. The moment I put her down, she would pull herself up against the cot railing and cry. Carrying her didn’t help. Singing didn’t help and even rocking didn’t help. I tried all sorts of crazy stuff to make her sleep and they all weren’t very effective.

Until I had my eureka moment. Wait for it because it is so incredibly bizarre that it’s almost too good.

First, I put on I Gotta Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas. Then I lower her down into the cot, place the duck in her arms, then lean over and hug her, kiss her cheek and breathe into her ear. 5 minutes of this stranglehold to flash mob music and she’s out cold. What did I do to deserve a kid this cool?

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side effects of motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents

Sleeping and Co.

April 21, 2010

One of the side effects of baby illnesses apart from the nightmare of having to nurse cranky kids back to health is that they get used to sleeping on our bed. During their last battle with the viruses, we let them sleep on our bed so that we could make sure they were getting enough oxygen through the night.

I’ll say right off the bat that co-sleeping is a topic that’s too huge to talk about here but the key thing to note is while I agree that there’s something wonderfully intoxicating about snuggling up next to soft, juicy baby skin, we don’t do it. The reasons are threefold.

1. Babies are space hogs.

No, I’m not referring to the pigs we sent to Mars. But if you’ve ever slept next to a baby, you’d realize that it was probably the worst sleep in your life. After reading all those articles on SIDS, you’re terrified of suffocating them with your large ass so you move as close to the edge as possible without falling off. And you think they’d reciprocate the favor, but no, they somehow manage to fall asleep perpendicular to your body, right smack in the middle of the bed.

2. It’s a suicidal precedence to set if you plan to have more than one baby.

It’s ok if you have just one kid who turns out to be a straight-sleeper, but it’s physically impossible to put 5 kids and 2 adults on any bed for an entire night. Right now, we’re already struggling with 2 babies fighting us for pillow space. Also, you don’t want to explain to your first kid that he’s being banished to his own bed in order to make room for the new baby.

3. They’re the sex police.

Trust me, there will be no sexytime with a baby sleeping on the same bed. They have an instinct for this kind of thing and you certainly don’t want to spend all that money on therapy after they see daddy and mommy going at it like wild bunnies. It’s proving to be tricky enough to find time for that boom-chica-wow-wow with 2 kids in the same house, much less on the same bed.

So, back to the topic at hand. Ever since the kids tasted the awesomeness of sleeping on our bed, they’ve been hooked. Tru wakes up at 1am every night screaming for “mommy’s pillow”. Not for mommy, just my pillow. Even if I sit beside him on his bed, he’s inconsolable, right until his head touches my bed, and he goes right back to sleep without even so much as another whimper. And the whole racket obviously wakes Kirsten up, who also demands to sleep on our bed as well.

I know there’s magic fairy dust on mommy’s bed. I used to feel safest on my parents’ bed. Like nothing can touch me, not even the scariest monsters in the world. They were all hiding under my bed, but momma’s bed, it was safe.

That’s why we’re torn. We love having the kids on our bed as much as they love being on our bed. But my back doesn’t like it so much because even prisons don’t make you sleep on a 50cm strip of bed space. I wake up every morning feeling and looking like those chinese vampires that hop around with both arms outstretched. Seriously, it’s not pretty.

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