Mommy Stories

Moving On

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 03:27:00 +0000

I'm moving! My blog, that is.

I'd love for you to join me as I chronicle my life's adventures (and misadventures) in a fresh new blog.

Follow me here:

http://babblemix.gubster.com

Hope to see you there!

Moving On

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 02:11:00 +0000

I'm moving! My blog, that is.

I'd love for you to join me in my adventures of being a mom in a fresh new blog.

Follow the stories here:

http://babblemix.gubster.com

Hope to see you there!

Not Again

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 09 Jun 2011 21:59:00 +0000

I just gave Liam his first dose of Bendaryl while we were having lunch. I didn't give him anything new - he had rice cereal mixed with formula while seated in his high chair. Then all of a sudden, red rashes start showing up around his mouth. It then started to spread around his chin and his cheeks. That warranted a call from the doctor we just saw for his 6-month checkup a few minutes ago.

Doc said to give him 1.5mL of Benadryl, and that did the trick. The rashes disappeared within 15 minutes. Now the problem is, we had no idea what could've caused it. It could've been something on or around his high chair, maybe a dab of sauce from my dinner last night - Kare-kare, a dish loaded with peanut butter. PEANUT BUTTER, which is the worst allergen for his 3-year-old brother.

Soon, we'll need a blood allergy panel done with this baby, too, just like we did with big brother. He'll need to be pricked and prodded again so we can identify his allergies.

I'm really sorry I didn't clean his high chair thoroughly last night. But I'm more sorry that we're going through this again. We were hoping to have a pass at allergies with this second baby, but looks like we got no such luck.

I Love You, Nap

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 23:04:00 +0000

This morning has been extra difficult. Baby needed to be held often, and the older one was a tad more clingy, too. Two noses had to be wiped periodically, nails had to be clipped, diapers changed continuously.

Then baby fell asleep, his first nap of the day, and I tried to go upstairs to the room to put him down. But, lo and behold, big brother blocked the stairs and tried to push me down – he didn’t want me to bring baby upstairs. I convinced him to come up with me and the little one, but he decided he didn’t want to be quiet, waking up the baby as soon as I put him down.

That made me snap at him, making him cry, waking baby more. So much for nap time.
Thankfully, baby finally napped longer an hour after that, allowing me to go to the bathroom and prepare our lunch. After a quick meal, baby woke up. Soon after, it was big brother’s time to nap, so we all headed upstairs till he went down.

The little guy kept playing downstairs for a bit, then it was also time for his nap.

And then there was peace.

I decided not to do any chores or clean up – I just wanted some rest. It felt like I’ve spread myself too thinly today, because they both needed me so much at the same time.

In a few minutes, one (or two) of them will be waking up, and chaos will begin again. The kitchen is a mess, there’s laundry that needs to be done, and I haven’t even thought of what we’ll have for dinner.

But that’s ok. I’m still enjoying this quiet time.

I get to recharge a little, watching TV while eating a banana pancake with nutella, and writing on this blog. This should be enough to get me through a few more hours until yoga tonight, when hubby will be watching them both.

Yay for naps!

Switching Gears

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 18:01:00 +0000

When I was pregnant with baby #2, I never considered using cloth diapers. Not until I realized that we have spent over $2,000 for diapers and disposable wipes with my first who was then over 2 years old. I thought that was crazy, but for the convenience disposables gave our family, I didn’t mind.

And then baby #2 was born, and instead of changing him every 2 hours or so, we changed him sometimes 10 minutes after the last diaper change. There were days we’d go through 12 diapers at least because he was a serious poop machine. At the rate we were spending for disposables, I was afraid we’d run our out our savings. I then knew I had to go back to the drawing board and started my quest for cloth diapers.

Search and Research

I started with a cloth diaper trial from diaperdaisy.com. They sent me a bunch of different brands and types of diapers to try for 2 weeks (they’re all 2nd hand, gently used, and looks like new). After I returned them, they credited everything except for $20 trial/rental fee. I loved this because it allowed me to try out the different kinds and sizes to see what worked best for Liam without having to BUY one. With the overwhelming number of brands and kinds of diapers, this helped narrow down my choices.

From that, I concluded the following:

1. I didn’t want to use a prefold diaper + cover, coz that just meant I’ll have to put diapers on twice – the cloth and the cover. With a really wiggly baby, it’s a challenge to put him in ONE diaper as it is.

2. I didn’t want to stuff diapers. It’s work for me to wash them, and I didn’t want that extra step of stuffing, so pocket diapers are OUT.

3. I wanted to use one size – the kind that grows with baby because I felt it was counterproductive to buy different sizes. The goal was to save money.
4. I wanted diapers with snap closure, because I didn’t think Velcro could withstand all the washing I will put them through for the next 30 months or so.
5. I was definitely going the cloth diaper route.

All these meant I needed a brand that fit my needs: an all-in-one, one-size diaper. I found two: Grovia and Kissaluvs Marvels, brands which were not included in my diaper trial. I went on to buy a couple pieces of both to check which one would fit baby best.

Grovia didn’t work because it felt like the material didn’t keep wetness away from baby, and it leaked like crazy. So I decided to try the other brand, and it worked perfectly. That’s when I took the plunge and went with this system.

This is How We Do It

I bought 21 diapers from diapers.com, using about 7-12 a day.

I also bought 2 packs of cloth wipes, because it was easier to have the wipes go with the dirty diaper in my dirty diaper bag.

I got the Fuzzi Bunz diaper bag from Amazon.com, because it did help to contain the smell, and the zipper at the bottom made it easy to load the diapers into the washer (and when we’re done diapering, it can be a handy laundry bag).

Now, here’s what we do:

To clean baby’s bum, I spray water in a cleansing bottle given to me at the hospital (who knew I could keep using them!), then wet one to three cloth wipes to wipe him clean. The dirty wipes and dirty diaper go straight into the diaper bag, as I use the “dry pail” system – a dry bag in my case.

When I have about 4 to 5 clean diapers left, usually about 2 or so days, that’s when I wash. The dirty diapers go straight into the washer, with the diaper bag. Since baby is exclusively breastfed, his poop rinses easily in the wash. When he starts eating more solids and his poop changes, I will have to see if I will use a liner. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

Wash cycle goes this way: Cold rinse, Hot wash (with ½ detergent required – I use Tide coldwater), then another cold rinse. By that point, most of the inserts of my diapers have been agitated out of the cover, then I completely turn them inside-out before drying in high heat setting. I keep everything in there, including the cloth wipes.

Money, Money, Money
Does it really save you dollars? I guess the answer will depend on a few things:

1. How long will you be using them? If you’re trying to save money, it will only make sense to switch if you’ll be using the diapers in as many times as it takes to make the cloth diapers start paying for itself, compared to using disposables. Does that make sense?

Let me put it this way. Just like shoes, the real cost of each diaper will be: price divided by how many times used. So if you’re potty training in a few more months, it won’t make sense to spend over $500 for a system you’ll use only for a short time. In my case, I will start saving sometime around my baby’s 8th month or so because I started cloth diapering when he was about 2 months old.

2. How often will you wash? Given that you need to consider water, detergent, and power consumption, you’ll have to factor this into your computation.

3. What other cloth diaper accessories do you intend to use? As I said previously, there are wipes, bags or pails, and sometimes liners that you have to include in the math. In my case, I bought wipes, because I didn’t want to have to put the disposable wipes in another container during diaper changes. I also thought it would save me more, because each disposable diaper wipe that I bought from Costco actually cost 3c each.

Not All or Nothing

Using cloth diapers didn’t convert me to a full-time cloth diapering mom. We still use disposables when we’re out. I had no intentions of lugging around dirty diapers with me. We also use them at night, because I noticed that they hold more overnight than the cloth dipes do, since I don’t change baby at night anymore.

Even with cloth and disposables combined, I will still get to save more than $600 for the time that my baby is in diapers, not including the time when baby #3 (if/when we do have another one) will be using them.

Aside from the savings, I also get to help save the environment. The thought that I am keeping landfills free of at least one more disposable diaper makes me feel good about this decision. And though I still have so much to learn about cloth diapering – like if I’m using the right detergent, and if or when I will have to strip diapers – making this switch makes it all worth it.

And then maybe this time I can ease up a bit about potty training my second boy early.

Potty Talk

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 27 May 2011 04:45:00 +0000

My son turned 3 in March and since then has learned to pee and poop in the toilet. The problem is, he will still go in ANYTHING he wears – diaper/pull-up/underpants, even just pants or shorts - anything that covers him up. When we let him go commando at home, he will run to the toilet on his own to do his business. Luckily, he won’t go on the floor, but I still don’t know how I can get him to wear something AND use the potty. He absolutely doesn’t mind being wet and is content just playing and sitting in his wet briefs and pants for the rest of the day if I allow him to (ugh).

His pediatrician told me to allow another year for potty training (he just had a baby brother who is now 5 months old) and went as far as telling me that as long as baby #2 is in diapers, he might not be fully potty trained. YIKES. There has to be some other way to potty train him fully before he is 5, right? It’s driving me crazy (not to mention that I get so disgusted when he poops in his pull-ups or diapers). I fear that with the rate we are going (we haven’t even began with night potty training – baby steps), he will be in diapers in college.

We tried putting him straight into underpants from diapers but because we had to throw a few away already (after he pooped and peed in them, making a huge, horrible mess in our living room), he is now in pull-ups (which I think are just expensive diapers). The only thing that worked to get him to sit on the potty to do anything was to bribe him with m&ms. But now he’s not interested in them anymore, and even after I’ve told him 1,000 times that pee and poop go in the toilet, or encouraging him to be a “big boy” and use the potty like mommy and daddy, or after reading potty book after potty book (you get the idea), he’ll still go in his pull-ups/underpants.

I’m running out of ideas. It’s not like he doesn’t have control yet or know how to use the potty. He has long learned control by peeing and pooping on the toilet before he was one, but because of our month-long vacation to another country, that was all erased. That's a whole other story. At least now he enjoys putting down the toilet seat cover and flushing, so I think he’s just being stubborn and “asserting himself” by going in whatever he’s wearing.

What to do, what to do?

After posting this question on one mommy network, the general answer I got was to wait until he's ready. Patience is really not my strong suit, especially when it comes to things I want. Like wanting to NOT change a poopy diaper again.

Guess I'll just have to ease up a bit on this one, because there just might be no winner if I keep persisting.

Bye Tantrums (for now)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 05:37:00 +0000

Today marks the first day my almost 3-year-old son didn’t throw a single tantrum. What a lovely day!

Together Forever

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 07:05:00 +0000

This is the first time since January, the time he started dreading coming to school again, that Milo didn’t cry at day care drop off. What changed? Lola and baby came with us in the car to take him to school. I guess he wanted all of us together for as much time as he can have.

The Ultimate Optimist

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 06:29:00 +0000

Hubby and I went to a class today for parents of baptism candidates at our church. I enjoyed it because we were able to reflect on what we wish for our kids. But what struck me most was something our facilitator said – that he wished our kids will be positive thinkers.

Optimists are very resilient, always seeing the bright side in any situation. They never give up and always hold out hope that they will get through anything. And they learn to be happy.

I remember being that way. Someone even went as far as saying I was her “ray of sunshine.” I do wonder what happened to that ray sometimes… guess a heavy cloud came over it and just stayed there.

I still think that optimist is still somewhere in me, and I do believe she will come out of her worries stronger than ever. Well, just by saying that makes me an optimist again already, doesn’t it. Then that’s one positive thought I’d like to keep.

Losing It

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 11 Feb 2011 06:12:00 +0000

I spanked my son for the first time today. It was at bath time, as he was wailing, screaming and stomping in the tub. Straight on his wet bum, no diapers. It got red and I felt super guilty and even more upset that I hit myself on the thigh too. I hit myself so hard my hand made a red mark. Guilty.

Where has my sweet baby gone? His tantrums have been unbearable for the past months that I literally am starting to lose my hair – I found a bald spot on my head where my alopecia used to be. My doctor said causes of alopecia are unknown, but one common denominator among those with this condition is STRESS. Hmm, I wonder where my stress is coming from. I hope this phase passes before I lose all my hair.

Cool Timer

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 02 Jan 2011 21:04:00 +0000

I saw this super cool contraption from one of my good friends while we were both pregnant, she with her first baby, me with my second. I think it’s one of the coolest gadgets any mom could have.

The ITZBEEN is a timer that records your baby’s last diaper change, feeding or nap, and reminds you of your next one. It has a 4th button for anything else you may need a reminder or a timer for.

Its name couldn’t have fit it any better, because it will tell you that “it’s been x hours y minutes since your last ___.” It’s a great thing to have, considering how many other things I have to think about and remember. Too bad I didn’t get to think about this first. This I highly recommend.

Toot-Toot!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 29 Dec 2010 16:51:00 +0000

I am hardly one to toot my own horn. But after being a mother for even just a short while, I could say I should.

I've been a stay-at-home mom since my first was born, 2 years and 9 months ago. Over that period, I've realized I am not SAHM material, and I personally believe that for this particular mom, being a working mom would have been much easier, having a break from childcare while at work, where I could eat my meals while they're hot and go to the bathroom unhurriedly. But that's a whole other story.

Mind

So I've learned to keep my mind sane by getting myself occupied with other non-motherhood related things. I volunteered for Taproot Foundation, an organization that provides teams of professionals to provide their skills to a non-profit organization's project pro-bono. TOOT!

I've also stayed a freelance copywriter while running two small businesses. Neither of them is earning yet, but I should say that wearing those many hats while raising a kid and running a household is something I should be proud of. I've always known I was a multi-tasker, but now I can say I'm a master at it. TOOT!

Body

My body has created two beautiful human beings, carrying them to term and fighting with all my might to push them out into the world. Both labors were quick but painful, and both pushing sessions lasted less than 15 minutes. My stitches, wounds and stretch marks will be a reminder that my body will never be the same after two kids, but these are a tribute to how strong my little body can actually be. TOOT!

My body has also allowed us to save over $1000 a year from formula, because I nursed my first boy till he was 2, and am now nursing my second one exclusively. I have absolutely nothing against formula feeding and will formula-feed my newest baby when I need to, but knowing that my body is able to nourish my kids is something I should also be proud of. TOOT!

Soul

Lastly, after spending our first Christmas with our 3-week-old in the hospital for RSV, I personally am a little amazed at how much I can handle running with only 8 hours of sleep – for the week. Despite the anxiety I had from having our tiny baby in the hospital while keeping up with the needs of the rest of my family, all with no rest, I give myself props for not falling apart.

Of course, this is not possible without the help of my ever-supportive and loving husband, as well as my mom who luckily, was with around for the first few days. They have kept me going, keeping my faith strong and knowing all will be ok.

Still, I've seen how much I can emotionally take. I know this may seem trivial to all the other mothers who are in their own battles much worse than I was in, but having a kid in the hospital will always be an emotionally challenging experience for me. And I've been there twice, with my first born spending his first birthday at the hospital, and our very recent Christmas experience. And I'm still sane and standing. TOOT!

----------

I wish I could put "being a mother" in my resume. Until I became one, I didn't realize how much work it is to be one.

So to all mothers out there, whatever your situation, let's give ourselves more than a little pat on the back. We know now that being a mom is a thankless job, so let's thank ourselves more often. We deserve more than we give ourselves credit for.

Here's to tooting our own horn. TOOT TOOT!

Mommy Meltdown

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 23:28:00 +0000

I had my first, true meltdown yesterday. I knew it was coming, but I didn't really imagine how.

Being 36 weeks pregnant, having Braxton Hicks contractions often and feeling so completely exhausted all contributed to that, and dealing with a particularly stubborn, tantrum-prone 2 ½ -year-old didn't help at all.

From early in the morning, he didn't cooperate with his first diaper change. Then he threw a fit when I wouldn't leave his toy tools on the kitchen floor before he had his morning cereal. I should have seen those as signs not to try to get him to do things he's been avoiding, like taking a bath.

For the past many nights, it has taken my husband and me a lot of coaxing to get him to take a bath. His old routine – bath, brush teeth, diaper, lotion, pajamas, book and lights out – has long been gone. He has since refused to do any of those in any order, maybe because he's asserting his independence in his 2-year-old way.

So my already-exhausted husband would often let it go at night, calling it "stress-free parenting" and not push our toddler to get cleaned up even after two days of no bath. He would do a shortcut – using antibacterial wipes to clean my son's hands and not forcing a toothbrush in his mouth.

Why I thought I could give my boy an uneventful bath yesterday by trying to coax him to play in the tub, is really beyond me. He did get in the tub to play with a couple toys, but when I started to shampoo his head, he began screaming, trying to climb out of the tub with his head full of shampoo that was starting to dry out.

With my big belly in the way, my energy level on -2, my contractions starting again and my patience wearing thin, I tried with all my might to keep it together, while I wrestled to keep him in the tub long enough to rinse his head. I failed on all of the above – miserably.

I threw the one of his bath toys in the tub and it shattered, splashing water everywhere while he screamed louder to get out of the tub, one leg already out, the bathroom floor (me included) soaked from water. I was losing it, and I knew it.

"WHY DON'T YOU WANT TO TAKE A FRIGGIN' BATH?! IS THE WATER TOO COLD? TOO HOT? TELL MAMA!!!!" I screamed back at him while he was screaming, bathroom echoes raising the original decibel levels.

I decided to join him in the tub, fully clothed, not caring how wet I was getting, if it was the only way I could at least rinse the shampoo from his head. He only calmed down when I was getting him out and wrapping him in his towel.

I, on the other hand, tried my hardest to calm down, telling myself I can do this, but it was too much to ask from my hormonal self.

As soon as we were out of the bathroom, I bawled. My toddler had no empathy, like nothing was happening, and darted to the bedroom leaving me holding his towel.

I cried because I was exhausted. Because I felt like if I didn't do it, my son will go a year without a bath. I cried because I can't reason out with my toddler, and he still can't talk to me. I cried because it was past 11AM and I had to think about what we were having for lunch and prepare our lunch. I cried because I had to take it easy for the baby inside me, but it seemed impossible with the toddler I was taking care of.

I felt so overwhelmed, pregnant and alone, thinking I had to take care of everyone else but nobody was taking care of me, when I needed some TLC, too. Not because my husband wasn't doing that – it was because he was at work where he needed to be, and I was at home alone with no extra pair of hands.

I eventually calmed down after my husband called, and after my little boy miraculously cooperated getting dressed.

I've never had a meltdown like that, but it was cathartic. It made me realize that I will never again get pregnant with a toddler and no help. And I will never again attempt to bathe an uncooperative 2-year-old by myself in my 9^th month of pregnancy.

I guess I now have to accept that the reality of my situation is that my son will sometimes go a few days without baths, sleep dirty with a stinky head, and not think that he will be harmed for life from not being clean like a toddler in a baby magazine.

How hard can that be from a clean-freak like me?

Daycare Jitters Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 07:16:00 +0000

Four months after we pulled Milo out of daycare that he never went to, I finally found a place I felt comfortable with. They were surprisingly affordable with a student ratio just as small as the most expensive daycare in our area, except I had to provide almost everything but snacks (which, because of Milo's allergies, I also had to take care of).

But more importantly, there was one teacher assigned to Milo, one caregiver my son can trust and run to when he feels upset, scared, hurt or when he needed comforting. So when we decided to finally enroll him, I was so excited for everything he was going to learn, for the friends he was going to make and of course, for the time I will have to myself two days a week, time I never had since he was born.

What I wasn't expecting was the rollercoaster of emotions I had the day before his first day. As I was preparing his lunch, labeling his food containers and fixing his things, I felt a pang of sadness – my baby is going to school! I thought I had 5 more years before I will have to start making lunches.

At the same time, I was also anxious, because he's never been watched by anyone else but me or his dad for a long period, much less a group of strangers. I was scared for him, but I knew that like any adjustment period, this anxiety, too, will pass.

On his first day at daycare, I spent almost an hour with him before we started their recommended "goodbye ritual" – I tell him I'm leaving, say goodbye, give him hugs and kisses, pass him on to his teacher and leave without looking back.

But when I said bye, he immediately climbed out of the bike he was on and said bye to his teacher, not realizing it was HIM I was saying goodbye to. The hardest part of it was stopping myself from looking back as I heard him start to cry and scream because I left him in the arms of his new caregiver.

I watched him from my car where he could not see me. Through the gates, I saw him screaming, crying, fighting to be put down and running to the gate where he last saw me. My heart broke watching him throw a fit, scared and anxious that I left him. I stayed in the car until I couldn't see him anymore, as his teacher carried him and led the other kids back indoors.

Throughout the whole 5 hours he was away from me, I did get some errands done and tried to be productive, all the while thinking about him. How ironic is it that when I was spending 24 hours a day, 7 days a week with him, I couldn't wait to take a break, but when I finally had the time to myself, he was all I could think of?

After over an hour of leaving him, I called to see how he was. His teacher said he cried on and off, but was fine in general. That was the only call I made, resisting the urge to call every hour to check on him.

Funny how I was counting the hours till I picked him up and saw that he was fine. So when I finally went, I saw him busy playing with toys, sharing them with other kids. The teacher saw me and I gestured to keep quiet, because I wanted to keep observing and didn't want him to see me yet.

She told me he did well on his first day. She said he held on to his teacher's pinky finger, following her wherever she went. He would go play, but periodically looked for her and held on to her finger again. He snacked, ate lunch and even napped, too. And he went exploring around his new territory lugging his lunch bag along – this only familiar thing unexpectedly became his comfort item. I felt relieved that he knew who to turn to for comfort – the plan, to get him to trust that he will be ok away from mom and dad, seems to be working on day 1.

As soon as he saw me, he ran crying, mad at me for leaving him. But after a few seconds of clinging, some hugs and kisses, Milo excitedly showed the toys he's been playing with, the fish in the aquarium, telling me in his baby talk about the new place he will call his second home.

Milo got through his first day in daycare better than I expected. I wish I could say the same for myself. I know there will still be tears in the next days and weeks to come, but those tears will probably be mine. My baby is growing up.

Parent Potty Training

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 17:50:00 +0000

We're in the middle of potty training right now, or rather, I'm in the middle of trying to start 26-month-old boy to potty train - AGAIN.

See, since he was around 8 months old, my son has learned to pee and poop every morning and after naps in the potty, after following my mom's advice to get him on the potty as soon as he can sit up at about 6 months old. There were even times when I'd re-use his diaper because it was soil-free. At that time, I learned we were practicing some form of "elimination communication," and at this point I was hopeful that potty training him by the time he could walk would be a breeze.

And then we went back home for a month-long vacation when he was 13 months old. There, he had to live in a completely new environment: different weather, different place, different people, with me as his sole constant. He refused to sit on the potty so I didn't force him to.

When we got back to our house in the US, I thought he'd be happy to go on his potty seat again – boy was I wrong. He wouldn't even want to come near it. I didn't force it on him, he was only over a year old anyway. I thought I had time. Little did I know that the possibility of a problem-free potty training experience would be flushed right down the toilet.

Now, as I look at the new truck-like potty seat we purchased to make him interested in the potty again, the cute underpants I have made ready and the fish and animal "reward stickers" I bought to bribe him to sit on the potty, I fear my boy will still be in diapers in college. He just refuses to start potty training, happy to sit and play in pee and poop diapers for as long as I allow him to.

He's just not ready, say the "experts." I thought he has long been ready, because he's done this before. He knows how to pee and poop, because he's told me before through signing that he is either in the process of going or has just gone. But now, he just won't do it.

I was hoping he'd be potty trained by the time another baby who needs to be changed every two hours comes. But I guess I'll have to wait a bit more and just keep my fingers crossed that he will be "ready" to be a big boy sooner than later. I'd rather really not have two kids in diapers at the same time.

Still, as with many other milestones, I know it will happen at his own pace, and allowing him to be ready before gently encouraging proper potty habits is what I should be doing.

I wish there some parent-training for learning to be patient and letting go of control. I could sure use that now.

Many Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 07:20:00 +0000

So many things going on in my head, I don't know where to begin. Please allow me to ramble on and on and on…

Kate Gosselin

I've been following the Gosselin family since I saw their show in 2008, as I was channel surfing during my first few months of motherhood. The first time I saw their family, I was hooked, because I could not, for the life of me, imagine how I was going to cope with their situation, given that I was already going crazy with only one child.

Putting myself in Kate's shoes, I probably would never get to see or hear about my family or friends back home again, many of whom I only get in touch with online. The internet was my window to the outside world since I became a stay-at-home mom, and if I had to do what she has been doing, I'm pretty sure I will only dream about ever going online.

This is why I think she is an incredible mother, regardless of what everyone else thinks. She is determined to raise her kids the way SHE thinks is best, and she has every right to – she is their mother after all, and a capable one at that. She is very organized and even anal – to a fault, sometimes – but I admire her for that nonetheless, because she has to be that way or else her household will be in shambles. It's not a joke running a home with one kid, much more with eight!

I'm happy she was able to come out of the past difficult year in a positive light, with kids who seem well-adjusted and the total opposite of brats. Good for Kate for having a genuine support system – may it stay as solid as it seems to be, both for her and her children's sake.

Where is my village?

Speaking of support system, I've always felt like we've never had any. I do have some relatives within a 30-mile radius who I know will be happy to help us out, if we only asked. And I've finally met some wonderful neighbors who I can relate to more than anyone else I've ever known since we moved here.

However, I still feel like we don't really have that "village" that we need to raise our kids (and I say kids with an S because we're now expecting baby #2 in 5 more months) because all of our immediate family (my or my husband's parents, brothers or sisters) are a Pacific ocean away.

Somehow, asking help from a cousin or an aunt you see twice a year feels like we are burdening them in some way. We know how busy people here are, and for them to go out of their way to help us just feels like we're asking for too much. I would definitely feel more comfortable asking help from my baby's grandparents or uncles and aunts, because it seems their role as our family's support system comes more by default.

If only they were here. Or if only we were there.

Coming back

I've never considered NOT coming back home, especially since my first baby was born two years ago. Despite what most people say about my situation, chalking up my feelings to post-partum depression, or adjustment in a foreign land (despite having been here for over 5 years), or just the need for hired house help or childcare, I say my thoughts have not changed. We're still coming back and raising our kids where I and my husband were raised.

I have nothing against those who were able to make it work for their families here – good for them! But for us, it's just not working, and not because we never tried to make it work. I do long for my huge family and many circles of friends who I know will be there for our family anytime we need them (not to mention the ease of hiring house help or childcare back there). It's not that I don't appreciate the small circle of friends we've found here – they have been our rock, our family's strength and source of joy during difficult times. It's just that we know what we're missing.

I want my kids to grow up filled with happy memories of their cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents. I want them to play in the streets all summer long, coming back home only to eat - or have their friends eat at my house, or have my kids eat at theirs. I want them to remember trips with my friends' families whose kids I want my own kids to grow up with.

In other words, I want the childhood I had for my own children – one filled with so many memories, so much love and so much freedom to explore and just be kids. I fear that I can't give them that while we are here for a myriad of reasons… that alone seems like reason enough to come back and at least TRY to make it work back in my homeland.

I just wish I knew how to make that happen now.

Daycare Jitters

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 21:15:00 +0000

I knew I had to deal with daycare jitters, but I didn’t expect it to be mine.

It was Milo's first pre-visit at his prospective daycare, and I stood quietly on the side, observing how my soon-to-be-two-year-old would adapt to his new climate once he comes in for four hours twice a week.

There were many other kids, each one busy with his or her own toy and activity, while the teacher was attending to at least one other – if there was even a teacher.

As I took Milo outside to play, I noticed 5 other kids around, three of them with snot running down their noses. I didn’t find a teacher anywhere – which was a real surprise to me because I thought there should be a teacher supervising at all times.

After a good 15 minutes of these kids on their own, I finally saw a teacher come outside with another kid. Apparently, this girl was being potty trained, so the teacher had to come with her inside to potty.

But is that the norm – that the kids will be left by themselves as one other kid needs to be brought to another area? What if one of the kids outside busts his or her lip, and there is no one around? Will he or she have to wait until a teacher gets back before his injury is attended to?

When we came back inside, I let Milo go and play. He seemed to do well with me just in the sidelines, but I guess that was because he knew I was there somewhere. When one of the bigger kids scared him, he immediately came crying to me, signing “owie.” This same kid – a bigger, older one -- seemed to have made it his mission in life to prevent Milo from playing with any toy, because whatever toy my son got, he forcibly took away from him. And as I predicted, Milo didn’t cry, but he became visibly upset and frustrated, and started to hit himself as he looked to me for help.

The teacher didn’t see any of these happening because she was handling at least 9 other kids. But is this something I should expect from a place we pay to watch over my son? Am I asking for too much to want my kid supervised most of the time? Am I dreaming that my son will be comforted when he feels scared or upset when another kid tries to take his toys? Or should I just let him deal with it on his own - at only two years old? Besides, shouldn’t that other kid be told not to grab toys? Or am I really expecting too much from a daycare?

While he was playing outdoors and noticed he couldn’t find me anywhere, he started to panic, crying as he tried to go back inside, thinking I was on the other side of the door. I wanted to see what the other teachers would do (any of the three who were there), but I guess because I, the mom, was present, they didn’t think they had to handle the situation. None of them did anything, so I came to his rescue.

Maybe this was because we were on an unpaid pre-visit, so the teachers are not really expected to interact with my son or get him to warm up to his new environment.

But I’m seriously worried, because judging from what happened today, I wouldn’t know how his needs will be met if none of them will be that one person he can trust to care for him. That would have completely defeated our purpose of sending him to daycare part-time: to help him trust that he will be ok in somebody else’s care.

I truly didn't enjoy this experience. Now my gut is making me second-guess our decision. Should I listen to my gut or should I chalk up this uncomfortable feeling to a mother’s over-protectiveness and paranoia? Should I give them the benefit of the doubt and just cross my fingers that everything will be fine?

We’ll be back for a second visit on Thursday. Hopefully that will be a better experience. If not, I don’t know how much longer I can shut up this nagging voice in my head telling me we’re making the wrong decision.

Tug of War

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 03:01:00 +0000

I’ve been a fulltime mom for almost two years – since the day my baby was born. And I’ve finally figured out why this job isn’t exactly giving me the fulfillment I was expecting it to.

It’s not only because I keep working even after 5pm, on weekends and holidays. Or because I don’t earn money for my own shopping sprees. Or because I don’t get to talk with fellow adults about last night’s TV show during lunch.

It’s also because it doesn’t have a performance review. No concrete appreciation for a job well done. No grades, awards or medals.

All my life, I’ve been used to reaping tangible rewards. With good grades came medals and certificates; with good job performance came raises, promotions, pats on the back from bosses and colleagues whose life I helped make a little easier.

This time, I don’t get rewarded for x number of diapers changed, or a token of appreciation for staying up all night to put my baby back to sleep. I don’t get anything back for keeping it together while my toddler throws an ear-piercing tantrum, or any pat on the back for efficient use of my time, like getting laundry and dinner done even while baby is awake.

The “rewarding feeling” I’ve heard about countless times comes in fleeting moments: when he gives me a kiss; when he runs to me squealing in delight in anticipation of a bunch of tickles; when he shows me a new dance move or says a new word.

More often than not, though, I feel worn-out by cleaning up after every mess, trying to wrestle with him during a messy diaper change and just being “on” until he falls asleep at night.

Don’t get me wrong - I do love being a mom to this sweet little boy, and knowing that I am very lucky to have the choice of staying home to raise my own kid is something I’m always grateful for. I’m amazed watching him grow from a tiny, helpless baby to a funny yet gentle little kid. He’s only little once, and I love how I can be there to comfort every owie and be the mom.

And though I know that the best people to care for and raise a child are his own parents, the parents should be happy and content to actually give the best care. A fulfilled woman makes for a better mom. But this mom has just realized that fulfillment for her includes going back to work, mingling with other adults and earning money. And getting a good performance review or nice revenues from a business I can run.

So now, these thoughts are playing tug-of-war in my head. And judging by my true feelings, I think some form of work will win.

Maybe I could work part-time, or seriously take action on one of the many business ideas we’ve been sitting on for years. It might be the best thing I can do for me, and more importantly, for Milo. Then I could have the best of both worlds: being mom, and being me.

Bad Mommy

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 22:41:00 +0000

If a child development or parenting expert would rate my parenting skills, I’m pretty sure I’d score way below what I aspired to get before I became a mom. Here are just a few of my many oh-no moments:

There have been days when my son has been in the same diaper in 6 hours. Thank goodness for diaper creams to combat diaper rash.
I sometimes forget to wash his hands before bed, even if he’s used them to eat his dinner (I do wipe him after dinner).
I use the “5 second rule” for food that’s fallen on our floor at home, but I’ve given up running to stop him from eating food he found on the floor that’s been there for a day (I swear I didn’t see the cheerios).
His high chair sometimes spends a couple days or more without being wiped or disinfected.
I haven’t cleaned his strollers or his car seat, EVER. Hello, crumbs and year-old germs!
I let him watch TV even if he’s not two yet (I do need to clean up after we eat), and there have been a few days when the TV was on for more than a couple hours. A day, to be more specific.
When he signs for his rice ice cream (he’s allergic to milk) during lunch time at home, I allow him to have it WITH his lunch.
I’ve chosen the past of least resistance and allowed him to get used to nursing to sleep. He hasn’t learned to sleep on his own, or soothe himself back to sleep.
He has never been away from me for a day since he was born. EVER. Therefore, he hasn’t learned to cope with separation anxiety, not allowing other people to even hold him for a few minutes. Or he could also just be naturally shy, taking after his dad.
I put my needs in the bottom of my to-do list, when I should have “taking care of myself” on the top (hence the cobwebs on my blog).

These don’t even come close to the full list – I can go on and on. But 20 months into motherhood, I realize that I can never be a perfect mom and it’s ridiculous to want to be one. I am only human and can only do so much, so I need to lower my standards a little. In fact, because I’m here where no help is available aside from my already-exhausted husband, I should lower the bar even more.

I do try my hardest to be the best mom I can be – making sure my son is healthy, fed and loved. I hope that’s good enough.

Pigs and ABC

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 22:18:00 +0000

Among all the ABC song versions I’ve ever heard, this by far is the most fun – it even gets me up dancing! My son often watches this in one of his sesame street home videos. Because of that, it has been my LSS (last-song-syndrome: that song that plays over and over in my head) for the past week.

Come sing with me!

A – oink! B-oink! C-oink! D-oink! Oink, oink! EFG – oink, oink, oink!!!!

Sunny Days

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 05:47:00 +0000

About a month ago, I introduced Sesame Street videos to my son so I wouldn’t feel so guilty having him watch TV while I clean up in the kitchen or make our meals (he’s not yet two, so supposedly no TV for him, but sometimes I need help from Ernie and Bert to baby sit). The collection I got shows a mix of new and old songs and animation that I haven’t seen since I was 6 or 7.

The first time I saw them again, some 20+ years later, I was instantly flooded with memories of running up the stairs to my parents’ bedroom to sing and dance along with the colorful characters of the street I’ve fantasized living in.

So when I chanced on Sandra O’s speech about her own Sesame Street time-traveling-moment at this year’s Daytime Emmy Awards, I can totally relate. And when I saw the tribute they prepared for Sesame Street (they were given the Lifetime Achievement Award on their 40th anniversary) that showed clips from way back in 1969, I couldn’t help but tear up.

Nostalgia hit me hard as I remembered how it felt to be in, as Sandra O put it, the warmth and safety of my own childhood. Right at that time, I felt more convinced than ever to have my own baby grow up “in” Sesame Street.

I want my son to learn his letters from Big Bird, count numbers with The Count, and sing and dance with the people in the neighborhood, the people that you meet each day.

Congratulations to Sesame Street and its founders. I pray for 40 more birthdays on the air, for more kids to get to know the delightful place that a lot of us have grown up with.

And I hope that someday, my kids will have the same chance of going back to that comforting place in their childhood as they enjoy their turn to tell their own children how to get to Sesame Street.

Signing Time Part 2: My Little (Silent) Talker

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 17:18:00 +0000

A lot has changed since my last post about my signing baby 7 months ago – or should I say, my then-still-not-consistently-signing baby. It amazes me to think that his signing vocabulary has grown so much so quickly!

We started signing to my with “Baby Signing Time” videos at 6 months old, but he didn’t start signing back until 3 months later. His first sign: MILK. The first time he did it, I was overjoyed, but because he wasn’t consistent with signing that yet, also a little discouraged (yes, I am indeed an impatient person).

A few weeks later, we saw more consistency as he signed milk, then eventually, MORE, and then CRACKER. Before his first birthday, he was signing more often, adding to his vocabulary new things like DOG and BALL.

At 15 months old, (a mere 6 months since he started signing) I updated his electronic baby book (thank you Outlook calendar) with words he can sign. Only then did I realize he was already signing over 40 words! That includes those not included in the videos, signs I had to find out for myself.

That also meant I had to keep my signing vocabulary growing. I have yet to learn the signs for cherries and blueberries, plate, fork and spoon and so many other things he tries to communicate to me through pointing.

As for his verbal communication skills, he can only say five: mama, papa, ball, baba and dede, which are Tagalog words for “down” and “breast/milk” respectively. Some people I know are worried of speech delay because he’s communicating so well by signing. Me, not so much.

That’s because current research has shown that signing encourages speech development because of baby’s success at communication. And even I see that clearly. He still signs ball as he says it, but with dede, he hardly signs milk anymore. Besides, I find it easier to have him sign over 40 words to me at this age rather than have him speak 8 or 15 while struggling to communicate the other 30.

Having my son sign makes me realize how much he really wants to communicate. One time, I took him out for a ride in his stroller as we went to check our mail. Because it was a scorching hot day, I had no intentions of staying out and baking in the sun, so as soon as we got the mail, I headed back to our house. As we reached our front door, he started to sign:

MILO: More
ME: We have to head back inside, it’s too hot out here. (I push his stroller inside).
MILO: (whimpering) MORE, MORE!!! OUT!
ME: (taking off his shoes) Later honey, it’s too hot. I promise we’ll go out again later.
MILO: (now upset, kicking as I try to take his shoes off) NO! SHOES!!! MORE! OUT!!! OUT!!! SHOES!!! PLEEEEAASE!!!

I was beaming with pride that he is able to communicate what he wanted – only I couldn’t indulge him, so that broke my heart. I did keep my promise and brought him outside again when the sun’s rays started to mellow down that afternoon.

There have been many other instances like this where he clearly communicated with me, whether it’s about something he wants, doesn’t want or simply just letting me know about what he sees or hears. These reinforce my belief that we made the right decision teaching him to sign. I never thought I could truly have conversations with my baby even before he could speak. And because I’m a chatterbox myself, I couldn’t be happier.

Bloody Nora

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 25 Jul 2009 07:32:00 +0000

I have never been afraid of blood – my own or others'. I even thought I’d make a good paramedic because blood never fazed me, no matter how much. But today, I learned that when it comes to your own kids, what you thought you knew about yourself may not really apply.

My 1-year-old was playing happily in our community playground this afternoon with one of the tot lot regulars, Hannah, while I was chatting with her mom, Hiroko. Then I saw Milo trip before the steps going up to the jungle gym, which was no big deal because he usually doesn’t hurt himself during his clumsy moments. Then I heard him cry.

I calmly walked to him to pick him up, and then calm turned to terror. I saw a lot of blood in his mouth, all over his shirt and his hands. I tried not to sound afraid, knowing it will scare him even more.

So I quickly picked him up, tried to calm him down, ran to get his burp cloth and wiped the blood off his mouth. My first thought was to make the bleeding stop, but I couldn’t see where it was coming from – did he bust his inner lip? Did he lose a tooth? Was he bleeding from his throat somehow?

Thankfully, Hiroko lived across from the tot lot, so we went up to her house and gave Milo ice water with crushed ice, which he willingly took. When his mouth was almost clear of blood, I saw the cut: right behind his front teeth. It turns out his chin hit the first step, cutting his upper gums with his lower teeth.

Hiroko said she was impressed at my composure, that I was very calm in handling the situation, soothing Milo with an unshaken voice. She was surprised when I told her my knees were shaking climbing up the stairs to her house, and that I was thinking if I should call 911, and that my heart was still pounding out of my chest even as we were about to go home.

Good thing my calm façade worked with Milo, because he did stop crying shortly after the incident.

Fifteen minutes later, he was feeling better enough to want to play outside again. Five hours later, I am still traumatized, finding it quite difficult to shake off the sight of my son’s bloody mouth at the playground, his blood-stained shirt and pants, my blood stained shirt, and all the blood I tried to wash off his burp cloth.

Now, I write this while having ice cream, trying to make myself feel better. I should already relax now that my baby is sleeping peacefully after a long day. I should feel comforted with the thought that it was nothing serious, and bad falls happen to every kid in the world. But the trauma just won’t leave me.

One thing’s for sure: I’m not afraid of blood, probably never will be, as long as it’s not coming from my kid.

To Work or Not to Work

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 06:43:00 +0000

Even before my baby was born, I knew I was going to have to quit my job and stay home to care for him. That decision was made out of the lack of having somebody we can trust to watch him, not really because I wanted to.

I honestly never imagined myself staying home to care for my kids, not until I had to live in another country, away from extended family. Plus, growing up with a working mom, I always envisioned myself as a career or business woman, leaving my kids to be watched by nannies – just like the way we were raised back home.

But because these were the cards dealt to me, I gave this SAHM (Stay-At-Home Mom)/housewife thing a chance. After several months of my identity forming into “just a mom and a wife,” my depressed self was convinced I really am not the stay-at-home-mom type.

“You’re blessed to have a choice not to work, especially in this economy.” This is what I always heard, and while I acknowledged that, the NJAM (Not Just A Mom) in me constantly screamed in agony for being ignored.

Finding work always seemed so tempting. Every time I got e-mail alerts of high-paying job opportunities where I was qualified, I quickly imagined the adult conversations I could have again, everyday lunches with new-found friends, gossip and TV show discussions – not to mention my purchase power: I could buy my own pair of shoes without having to tell my husband!

I got really excited, but very guilty. Like I was somehow committing a sin for even thinking of going back to work and leaving my baby to be raised by someone else, missing his milestones… missing him, period. But NJAM just wouldn’t shut up: I felt I was letting the achiever in me just die a painful, slow death.

So, I decided to compromise with myself: I found a part-time freelance gig that lets me work from home so I can fulfill my need to earn money (and not allow my creative juices to dry out) while staying with my baby. Still, that didn’t quite work for my social needs: I still felt isolated, yearning for some grown-up interaction.

For a while, I doubted the choice I made. It was a difficult choice to begin with, and being a depressed SAHM made me question my decision. I felt that strong tug-of-war between my need to be a productive, money-earning member of society and my priority to be a mom and a wife, taking care of my family’s needs. Before my son’s first birthday and around my 30th birthday, right at the height of my depression, I felt the NJAM was winning.

I’m a mom – wasn’t I supposed to be fulfilled? I felt so guilty for even questioning myself, but I had to admit to myself that I did not feel “that” fulfillment from being a SAHM. After talking it out with hubby, I decided to start finding work after coming back to the US from a month-long vacation with my family in our homeland.

And then, all of a sudden, I realized how much my baby was communicating with me, through signing, babbling and his attempts at actual speaking. He interacted with me more, showing me how quickly and eagerly he learned what I tried to teach him, showing me how proud he was of himself each time I was pleased.

And then it hit me – while it is true that being a SAHM is often a thankless, sometimes brain-numbing job, the “fulfillment” that comes from spending time with one’s child is real. I feel it each time he hugs and kisses me, each time he signs “sorry” when I show disapproval and each time he does his funny little tricks. Every time I see my baby happy and content, this rewarding feeling hits me, along with the realization that the biggest investment we can ever make in his life is our time.

“It” just came to me later than I expected, but as they always say, better late than never. And I’m glad these hit me before I made the choice to go back to work, a choice I may later regret.

Now, I have decided to embrace this homemaker role and apply whatever skills into it to make NJAM happy. I will blog more often. I will volunteer my skills in our community (among others) and design personalized chocolate bar wrappers as souvenirs for friends’ events.

And because I finally decided not to spend all my free time trying to find more ways to earn money, I will now be able to knock out all the projects I’ve never really made the time to do, like touching my son’s baby book and making an organized system for my recipes, meal plans and grocery list.

Who knows, maybe I can even make money out of it in the future. How’s that for extra achievement?

My Clingy Toddler: Dealing with Separation Anxiety

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 13 Jun 2009 08:02:00 +0000

If my 14 ½-month old son can Velcro himself to me, I’m pretty sure he would. That’s how attached he is to me ever since he was a tiny baby.

I always thought it was just a phase since he was only 6 months old. He wanted to be held a lot and would panic when he doesn’t see me in the room. Everything I read said it was normal for babies to be attached to one or two people – usually mom and dad – and separation anxiety was a healthy part of their development.

But when he turned one, I saw how other kids around his age would just forget about their parents and impatiently dive into toys and anything they can get their hands on. During his first birthday party, I looked at the little kids running around our house, then at my baby stuck to my hip. I know I shouldn’t compare my kid with others, but I couldn’t help it – I was hit with a huge pang of envy.

“He’s probably overwhelmed by this many people,” says one of my friends whose baby is so independent, she even feels ignored sometimes. She may be right, because my son doesn’t exactly get to be around people often.

“Maybe he’s just tired,” says another one. I could think of about 35 other reasons why this boy just won’t let go, and they could all be true. Still, for a while I questioned my parenting skills and asked myself, “why is my baby so clingy?”

These thoughts screamed in my head especially when he and I went to visit our family in another country – family he had no awareness of. Each time I left his sight to go on a bathroom break, he would wail like he was being tortured, only stopping the waterworks as soon as he was in my arms.

It didn’t matter how many people were more than willing to lend me a hand and watch him for a few minutes so I can at least shower. He would refuse to survive without my physical presence.

I knew this was going to happen – after all, we were in a strange place with oddly hot weather and a completely different time zone that threw off his schedule. Everything familiar to him was pulled off his feet, plus he got sick right after we landed, so I knew we were going to be in for a rough first few days.

Unfortunately, it lasted more than a few days. I was so exhausted and at my wit’s end – this vacation without his dad was turning out to be a bad idea, mostly because the break I was looking for backfired on me.

Somehow, we survived even before my husband finally arrived. Milo eventually warmed up to his grandparents, aunties and uncles, playing with them and walking around other places even without me in the room.

He would sign to them, babble and dance to their songs, and behaved perfectly fine as long as they didn’t attempt to take him away. And when he met his cousins, they played as if they’ve known each other all his life to a point where he wouldn’t even care where we were.

More importantly, I had to make some changes in perspective. Instead of “taking a break” from baby care, I decided to think of this whole trip as a long bonding experience and an adventure for me and my son. Though I desperately needed a break, I told myself this wasn’t going to last.

Before I know it, this boy will not want to hold my hand anymore as he learns to walk on his own - I will be the one running after him. Someday, he’ll refuse to kiss me as he runs to meet his friends. And someday, he will be keeping me out of his room… and then all I will have are memories of him as a little boy who couldn’t be without me.

So instead of pushing him to be independent, all I really needed to do was to cherish this short time that he is a baby, because it will be over soon.

See, my mommy instinct now tells me I am right. Since he has mastered his walking skill, he has become more and more independent, venturing into big open places, eager to explore. And when there are other kids around, I turn into wallpaper or a little shrub on the side. Independence is slowly growing into my boy.

Now, the bitter-sweet countdown begins.