Inertia

Does this happen to most people? Lately, it's been hard to get off my ass to do anything about my online shop. Anything at all. I've written text for a giveaway promo on Instagram but I just haven't got the motivation to do up a simple pictorial to accompany it and just freakin' post it already. Ugh. Pffffbbbt. Feel like giving up. What's the point?

Sorry for the randomness of this rant. Sigh.

Acting Out Means Something Else

Today, Baby K did something that she had never really done before, and caught me off-guard. She hit out at her playmates at our play date - two boys who had just turned 1 the previous month, making her the eldest of the group. 

Yes, she had hit/bitten me before, but that was only when she was very tired and hence cranky. In all our previous play dates, the most she had done was scream at any offending tot. It was also only the second or third time we had been interacting as a group with the mommies and babies, so naturally I was anxious on how the mothers viewed my baby (as well as my parenting methods - or lack thereof). 

To add to my confusion, I had just read a chapter in a book about the merits of non-intervention when kids fight - letting them settle matters themselves gives them some real world lessons on how to socialisation, instead of always falling back on someone to guide them on what is right/what to do. So on top of my gentle parenting beliefs where hitting is a no-no, a part of me was tempted to see where Baby K's misdemenour would lead to.

However, the two boys were not as physically developed as she was, so they were at an obvious disadvantage. Each time she lashed out at a boy, pushing him away/branding him with a crayon/yanking his hair, I simply had to intervene. In fact, I wished I could have stopped her before she acted, but as I was feeling rather under the weather, my reactions were a tad bit slow. I pulled her hand away, admonished her, told her to apologise, ignored her but nothing worked. I was getting more and more embarrassed by my daughter's "bad" behaviour - she was making a boy cry every few minutes, and even had the gall to sign "scared" after each scuffle!

 In the end, it was Baby K who showed me what I needed to do. She started fussing for milk, and so we stepped out of the room to nurse. All I had to do was remove her for the scene of the crime to stop her. What can a parent of a 16 month old do, after all? They are too young to understand that hitting is painful, anti-social behaviour, and that anything other than their own feelings and sense of well-being were the only things that mattered.

Still, after the nursing session, the distressing behaviour continued to a certain extent. It was only when we got home that I realised what was really bothering her - she was exhausted. She fell asleep almost as soon as we hit the bed, skipping her dinner and bath. After that, I managed to check my phone for messages. It was The Hubs replying to my reports on her sassy-tude: "She seems to react this way when she is tired".

Dang, why didn't I have the clarity of mind to see it earlier?? I would have saved all of us a lot of grief! Here the poor girl was asking for me to rescue her and there I was refusing to help. In an unfamiliar environment, feeling tired and crabby, and with two boys who kept invading her personal space - she must have felt confused and scared.

And while I was nevertheless glad that I didn't resort to any violence, I have learnt a valuable lesson today: I am responsible to my daughter. I should not let my own anxiety or fear of how others view my parenting methods to cloud my own judgement. When she is acting out, it is not because she is naughty. She is merely communicating a need to me, and it is my duty as the person she loves and trusts so deeply, to respond to her in a proper manner. 

A Little Bit Psyched...

I'm currently working on getting a blogshop up and running so I can earn a little bit of pocket money whilst being on a work sabbatical, and tomorrow is the photo shoot! So far I've done everything on my own, from the concept to the name to the sourcing of items, inventory... etc etc and with Baby K aka the Koala Bear Baby, the process has been slow, but bit by bit, I am moving closer to the launch. Getting a wee bit excited knowing that my hard work and labour is coming to fruition.

The idea is a simple one: to provide clothes for mummies who breastfeed, or bottle-feed expressed milk, that make the job of providing nourishment to their child a little easier (and easy on the pocket, too). As a mother who is passionate about breastfeeding, I have found it difficult getting pretty frocks that also make nursing Baby K convenient - and erm, at reasonable prices. So I thought I'd start my own litle thing. 

A lot is weighing on whether this start-up can be successful - I'd take mildly successful, for now - but that's another post for another day. Hoping the photo shoot goes well tomorrow!

Update: URL here!

Why I Hate Bottle-feeding

Because it's messy, tiring, time-consuming, frustrating, and over and above everything else, mostly unsuccessful.

But it wasn't always this way. Let me backtrack a little.

We started bottle-feeding Baby K at around the four week mark, and, as babies that age are (with their insane incredible instinct to suckle), she bottle-fed like a dream. She could easily down 60ml in 5-10 minutes. And would still want more. And she looked cute doing it, too. Everyone wanted to bottle-feed her, from The Hubs to her Godma to my sister-in-law.

But then, at around the 2.5 month mark, Papa got too busy at work to give her her usual 11pm feed. We didn't think too much of it, thinking that skipping a day or two wouldn't hurt, especially since she loved her milk so much. But the day or two turned into two weeks, and suddenly, she turned 3 months old.

And as everyone who did their homework on bottle-feeding knows (ie not Baby K's unsuspecting parents), that's the age when breastfed babies start developing a preference for the nipple over the bottle. I mean, who wouldn't, right? You get milk on tap, served at just the right temperature, and the vessel it comes in is oh-so cuddly and warm.

So at the ripe old age of 3 months, Baby K started asserting her right to make decisions. She rejected her milk if it came out of a bottle.

We had to start over, no two ways about it. Papa tried feeding her every time he could - nights, weekends, public holidays, etc. But that yielded no results. So the job went to Mummy - naturally right, since she's at home with Baby K all of the time anyway.

Hang on a minute there, you say. I'm a stay at home mum who's basically breastfeeding her child. Why do I need to bottle-feed her?

Because, according to The Hubs, therein lies our ticket to Date Night. Being able to bottle-feed means we can leave her with a babysitter for an extended period of time, i.e. 3 hours or longer without worrying she would starve. In fact, he says, this was the key to having people (by people he means either my mum or his mum) be willing babysitters.

So try I did. Every day I offered her the milk, varying the time, position she was in, heating the teat/not heating the teat, scalding/not scalding the milk before storing it, giving it to her before/after feeds, asking different people to give it a shot, tried it in different areas of our home etc. It took a while, and eventually it was a change of teat that did it, but finally she was taking milk from the bottle again. Hooray!!!!

Or so I thought.

"I don't like this teat." Those were the words that undid all the hard work I had put in. Because it was uttered by a VIP, we changed the teat. As it turned out, Baby K rejected the milk every time it came in the old teat. And try as we might, we couldn't coax her into drinking again, even when we switched back to the second teat.

Bitter and angry, and still being pestered to continue to try bottle-feeding Baby K, who continued to scream, squirm away from and refuse the bottle, I decided to give a hand-me-down teat a shot.

And lo and behold! Baby K was intrigued by the new teat, and after a few times of playing with it, finally drank some milk! I was overjoyed. At last, my hard work, which had been previously undermined by some flippant remark and had to be started from scratch again, was showing some progress.

And progress we did. Baby K regularly finished the 40-50ml of milk I offered at each feed - by no means a lot of milk, but infinitely more than what she took previously, and I was happy again. No more fighting, no more dribbling of milk by the side of the mouth, nor milk splotches all over the floor, nor sticky hands from dried-up milk. Just gloriously empty (or near-empty) milk bottles to wash.

But more trouble loomed ahead. By then, I had been the only one trying to feed her with any success for so long, that I became only one who COULD feed her with any success. The Hubs, MIL, my sister - no one could feed her without suffering the pain of rejection.

AND WHAT GOOD WOULD THAT BE, IF THE ONLY PERSON WHO COULD BOTTLE FEED HER IS THE SELF-SAME PERSON WHO COULD MORE EASILY, NOT TO MENTION OODLES MORE HAPPILY, BREASTFEED HER? The words "Defeating the Purpose" hovered menacingly over my head like a terrible dark cloud every time he mentioned the disgusting "B" word.

And with that, this nasty (and to me unnecessary) duty was handed back to The Hubs.

Aside: Somewhere in the midst of all this I decided to take the advice from my mummies' forum and try the sippy and Doidy cups. After all, why bother with the bottle when you had to wean her off it eventually? Might as well skip to the next stage. That hasn't gotten very far, though, because she hasn't really mastered the Doidy and isn't very interested in the sippy, but at least we have a back-up plan now. (Still, not good enough for The Hubs because they aren't familiar tools with which the older folks use to feed babies.)

After some laboured weeks, The Hubs made a breakthrough and Baby K started accepting him back into her rarefied circle of exclusive bottle-feeders. Which was great! But the not-so great thing was, now that he was redeemed, he started to get on my back again. I had to continue bottle-feeding Baby K so that she wouldn't "forget how to do it", never mind whether she actually enjoyed drinking from the bottle. Never mind whether there's a point in doing so or not.

Most of the time that we leave her with someone and go off on our own, we're usually back before the next feed is due - or just in time for the next feed. It just cancels out the need to bottle feed. Mummy's there and her boobs are filled with milk, after all. Why bother?

And honestly, with a baby that is nearly a year old and slowly getting the hang of eating solids, whether or not she drinks milk while I'm away ought to cease being a pressing issue any longer. And because she is still taking two naps a day, she can easily just sleep partway of our time apart, further negating the need for a milk-feed.

There is an underlying issue, of course. The two best candidates for babysitting are the two grandmothers, and admittedly, it would make things easier for them if Baby K drank milk from a bottle like a formula-fed baby, or a breast milk-drinking baby whose mum needs to work. But the truth is she's neither of those, and trying to squeeze her square peg into their round hole is really making this a pain in both of our behinds. And you can't say I haven't tried. Yes it wasn't my best shot - I could've tried every single damn day, but I didn't, sure - but I daresay I tried.

Surely, there's a way to make all parties happ(ier), than to render the two most central persons in this equation miserable, bottle-wise?

My Daughter, the Nudist

It started with the innocuous diaper.

She refused to submit to the indignity of lying prone on her back while someone used wet towelettes to wipe parts of her anatomy that were supposed to be private. Ok, I thought, I'd roll with it, chasing her around while she tralalah-ed her way around the bed, the change station all but abandoned (too dangerous to let her monkey self climb all over at such a height). I had read about other parents facing similar problems with their brood too, so I knew what to expect.

Or so I thought. The tralalah-ing butt-naked around the bed had other implications no one warned me about. She could be in the best of moods fresh out of a bath, tolerate the various lotions I slap on, begrudgingly permit me to diaper her - but that's where the goodwill ended. Clothes? You gotta be kidding me, Mummy!

Lately especially, she doth protest much the moment a romper, dress or tee goes over her head. Getting arms through armholes are now a challenge of outstretched arms that refuse to bend, or hands gripped tightly around the collar, trying to pull it over her head. On good days, I manage to distract her long enough to finish dressing her with minimal fuss. Most days, however, she squirms, strains and screams in fervent protest. She would much rather traipse around naked or half-naked, thankyouverymuch. Why do you impose clothes on me, Mummy?!

I would otherwise love to oblige her free-spirited, exhibitionist nature, but the Asian in me is worried that she'll catch a cold. So struggle on we do.

P.S. I first drafted this a couple of weeks ago, maybe longer. Since then, I've managed to negotiate my way to a clothed Baby K, sans much of the previous fuss. Goes to show how quickly kids change! (And how a little practice makes perfect!)

Baby K's New Favourite Song

My, kids really grow up too quickly. Her favourite song used to be Elmo Song, and we used to use it as a cure-all, to distract her from everything from diaper changes to crying bouts. Her tastes have grown up really fast, it appears.

I was just nursing her when Lenka's Everything at Once came on over the radio. Suddenly, she sat up and seemed to be listening intently. She even peered over at the radio, trying to ascertain where the music came from. When the song was over, she whined-cried.

So I got on to YouTube and played it for her. Four consecutive times. Because each time the song ended, another whine-cry. Each time the song was playing, there was silence. She was transfixed. Sometimes she lifted her hands in half-emulation of the dance moves, sometimes she reached out a finger to touch the screen, sometimes she stood up to - dunno, get a better view? But mostly she just sat in silence, transfixed. Amazeballs. Hahah.


PS I'm just glad it's not Nicki Minaj!!

Goodbye 2012, You Were A Special One

As 2012 draws to a close, I feel a tinge of sadness, as this year meant a lot to me. It is extra special because this is the year I became a Mother, the first year I experienced love of a truly unconditional kind.

I never knew I was capable of being such a person, and this has caught me by surprise. I have much to be thankful for, from the support from the Hubbers to the blessing (or maybe resignation) from my relatives that has made my 12-month sabbatical possible.

Every day I am learning and growing along with Baby K, and delighting in able be personally there to witness her achieving all her developmental milestones. There is no joy more rewarding than seeing your little one thrive under your care. Thanks to her, I have learnt to be more resourceful, more patient, more relaxed and indeed, happier.

However, being a parent also brought with it some lows. Resentment towards being constantly told how I should parent my child, needlessly judging others for their own parenting decisions, laziness for not wanting to think beyond my sabbatical (and for not picking up after myself at home), taking the Hubbers for granted at times and making things difficult for him at others. These things I am not proud of.

Looking ahead, I want to be a better, more positive person in 2013 and beyond. I want to be a good example for my daughter, so that she can be the best person she can possibly be.

All that has been distilled and encapsulated in a deceptively small resolution: No iPhone at the dinner table. In it is hidden the values of good table manners, valuing personal relationships with people face to face over those in cyberspace, properly enjoying my food, just to name a few. It's going to be tough, but it's also going to be worth my while. :)

Aside: This post grew from a FB status update, which I thought better off. Somehow, writing to all and sundry (and simultaneously, no one in particular) gives me a happily false cloak of anonymity. If you've cared to read so far, care to share what your new year resolution is? Otherwise, continue enjoying the (much real-er) cloak of anonymity and a very Happy New Year to you and your loved ones! :)