Gymnastics

I started Matt at the SJ Gymnastics last month, and he has been loving it. We wanted to expose him to something else other than swimming, and thought that gymnastics would be good for general physical development in terms of strength, coordination and flexibility. He enjoyed the trial class, so there was no turning back since.

For now, the coach is happy for Matt to just explore and have a feel of the trampoline, the balance beam, the high bar, uneven bars, even the vault. I am happy that he enjoys the class, although at times, I feel he is not really listening well to instructions yet to be fully reap the benefits of the class. But I am a sucker for happy faces and ear-to-ear grins. Just as with swimming, the exposure made him comfortable in, and not be fearful of, water, and most importantly, he was having fun. So the same will apply for the gymnastics class. As long as he is happy.

on the balance beam

chuckling away on the still rings

Separation Anxiety

Somehow, something is happening (or has happened) to Matthew, and he is experiencing some serious separation anxiety issues all over again, similar to this and this.

Starting at the new school could have been the root cause, although I do not think so because he seems happily adjusted to it, and as of last week and this morning, he literally skipped from the car to the classroom.

Or perhaps I have also attempted "drop-off" at Sunday School and at Berries. The only negative experience was at Sunday School where I did it with force, but at Berries, I accompanied him throughout.

Whatever the reason, it gets rather exasperating that he wants only me to do the mundanest of stuff. Like brush his teeth in the morning. And no one can take his pyjamas off. No one else can touch or read his books. No one else can feed him breakfast. No one else can bring him to pee pee. I must sit next to him when he drinks his milk. He must hold my hand when walking from the sofa to the dining table. In the house.

Plus he has added a new dimension to his stickiness this time round. He outrightly rejects his papa. Kicks him even, in the most spoilt-child manner. Refuses to let his daddy touch any of his toys. If daddy wakes him up from his slumber, I'd better not be sitting on the throne doing my business, but be ready to soothe his nerves.

Please let this be short-lived.

Motherhood

A friend shared this note by someone on FB by the name of Amanda Motl, a note she wrote about motherhood which I thought was beautifully written. Sharing it here ...

We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentiones that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family."

"We're taking a survey," she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations ..."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read the newspaper without asking "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your own child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub.

That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood.

She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, the issue of independence and gender identity will be weighted against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years - not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesearan scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honour. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the babr or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

My daughter quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. This blessed gift from God ... that of being a Mother.

My Cheeky Boy

I Have Become My Mom

I remember trips home to my parents' when I was a little girl (since I was 13!) during my schooling years in Singapore. I would step off the train - my ma would hug me and cry. For one, she was very happy to see me. Two, she always felt I was malnourished, not getting enough food staying in the hostel, and would always beat herself up for sending me away so young!

So she was always on a mission during these school vacations - to fatten me up in that one month, twice a year. It was a joy to her to put food into my mouth. I think I ate 5 meals a day. It was as if I ate 6 months worth of food in 1 month. As I grew older, we would inevitably fight. Cos the amounts were impossible, and I didn't want to grow fat! And it would always end with her saying, "you don't understand, one day when you are a mother, then you will." In my angsty teenage ways, I would just stomp off after eating some.

Then I grew even older.

I began to understand that it was her way of easing her pain of not being there for me when I am so far away. It was her way of telling me she cares. It was her way of showing love. Till this day, she still feeds me more food than I can possibly eat each time I head back to my home town.

Still, I rebelled against her whenever I got sick of eating, although I try not to.

Now that I am a mother, I completely understand.

It counts as one great joy to be see Matt enjoy the food I cook for him. I am happy when I put food into his mouth. I am pleased and take great pride that the food I cook contain little or no msg. It makes me happy when I see him eat and grow physically strong. It saddens me when he doesn't have appetite when he is ill. I get stressed when he doesn't want to eat. Then I get happy all over again once his appetite returns.

It's crazy indeed. I guess I now feel what my mother feels each time she feeds me, as I do with my little boy.

More on School

Tueday was like Monday. Bleah.

Wednesday was a 180 turnaround. He waved bye bye after hugging me, and went with his teacher. And after school when I fecthed him, I was told he didn't cry at all.

Today was like Monday and Tuesday. Protest, crying. We parted on negative energies.

I asked him every night if he likes school. He will smile and talk to me about his bread and strawberry jam (his morning snack), tells me his teachers' names, and his friend's (he only knows Clarissa). I tried to rationalise why the erratic crying since I thought we had it nailed yesterday.

The only thing I did different yesterday was to tell him in the car that I was going to work. Today, because we were rushing, I only said that to him as I was handing him over to the teacher.

Lets see, maybe giving him a heads-up earlier helps him.

Numb

Second day of school last Friday, I just spent all my time with him in the class and not stay by the sideline. I did not attempt to distance myself. Cos seriously, it does not work.

Me: Matthew, mama has to go .. ?
M: Work work ... (gives a fierce hug, clings on like a koala) .. I don't want mama go work work!

He knows it. But doesn't mean he will accept it.

I know it has to be by force. Like this morning. The very pitiful scrunched up face. The tears. The plea. The wail. So real. So heartbreaking. I told the teacher, please take him forcefully away from me. I threw him a quick kiss. And just walked out.

I hate it. He hates it.

Why are we even doing this?

We drive silently out from the school. Hubs says he'll be okay. I know he will. But doesn't mean it doesn't hurt each time we go through it.

The gray weather certainly did not help my mood. I miss my little boy.

He Goes To School

We meant for Matthew to start school "officially" this year when we signed him up for N2 after the dilemma. The "official" start date was thwarted as months passed by because we were convinced he needed a "prolonged orientation" to get familiar to the idea of being away from me, from home, from comfort, so away he went to school at the childcare.

So, this is the real thing. A school school. Today is Day 1.

We woke up a good 1.5 hours earlier than usual, but I think I struggled more than him in this respect. I am just so not an early person. He slept badly through the night despite being at the tail-end of his cough/flu, so he is now deep in his afternoon nap, hopefully a long one.

I think his first day at the childcare 5 months ago was more emotional for me, I just felt like I was losing my little boy who is going to grow up faster once he starts school. No such emotion this morning, perhaps because I was also groggy from lack of sleep. He started to whine when he saw the new uniform (which is very similar to the one at the childcare), but he did not have much time to protest because everything was wham bam baroom bam bam. Breakfast was given on the way to school in the car.


Arriving in school, still chewing his bread

The children start the day singing praise and worship songs in the assembly hall, after which they go to their respective classrooms. I knew separation anxiety was going to be an issue, and I thought I would take it one day at a time, although the faster and earlier we do it, the quicker the anxiety will end. Not on the first day, I thought, it would be unfair on him, but I had a go at it nonetheless. That small part of me that hopes for no separation anxiety nudged me on, so I gently told him I had to go work, but I will pick him up after school.

He knew exactly which of my buttons to press, and with that scrunched up face with tears welling up so quick and that pitiful "mama" cry, I quickly decided that today was not the day to push it, what with lack of sleep, plus he's still recovering from his cough & flu.

So I stayed on with him till the end, observing all the children - some crying, some smiling, some stoning, and one really bossy kid. I chatted with some parents, all standing by the sideline giving support to their kids but knowing they will eventualyl have to pull that plug in the next few days. I observed the teachers, they seem to be in control despite the seemingly crazy mess of 16 children going in 16 different directions.


My buddy, Clarissa

In the midst of the organized chaos, I had some private moments when Matt was engrossed with his activities, and that was when I became somewhat emotional. Looking at him pitter-pattering around the class, he has changed so much in the last one year. He's a very sweet boy, and I am quite proud how he has turned out. I hope school can fill the areas where I have not quiet successfully nurtured him, although I can't help feeling like I am losing my little boy who is probably going to grow up so so so fast henceforth. Maybe these are silly thoughts, but I was fighting back tears thinking them. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, maybe it's the mid-cycle hormones ...


The stoning and the yawning came towards end of session

The hours passed by quickly, although he couldn't wait for his first day in school to end. He happily hopped home, because he is holding hands with mama dearest, whose thoughts have already wandered to the days beyond when the dreaded separation anxiety sets in.

Movie-Going

The very excellent Bourne Ultimatum was the movie I last watched. I enjoyed every minute of that heart-racing, non-stop action movie. Matthew was kicking inside me throughout the show, perhaps in acknowledgement that he felt the excitement I was feeling. I remember I was big as a whale pregnant with my boy, a few weeks away from full-term.

This was more than 3 years ago. Last Monday, we went to the cinema. Our first movie since Bourne Ultimatum. Since Matt was born. I escaped work early and and watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at 4pm with hubs. We were excited like little kids, buying popcorn and drinks, and sitting in the dark theatre. Like good ol' dating days.

We haven't been to the movies for so long because it has been hard to afford that 2.5-hour stretch away from Matthew. We have our couple night every Friday night, but I have a curfew set by my little boy. After hubs get off work, we have a maximum of 2.5 hours to kill, just enough for a relaxed dinner and perhaps a quick errand before it's time to head home to put Matt to bed. I can push that curfew to past midnight, but it will involve him crying until he falls asleep. The tears are surely not worth a movie, me thinks.

Hopefully, we will watch our next movie in 6 months time, when Part II of the same movie is out. Well, even if we fail, there's always the DVD ... or read the book ...

1.1.11

Didn't think anything significant would happen today, but ...

he finally royally pooped into the toilet bowl today!

He bought my tale of how we have no more diapers cos mama forgot to buy, and unwillingly did Round 1. Heaps of praises, hugs, and as promised, I let him open his racing car present from Christmas. I put on his diaper for bed (he promptly forgot the earlier tale), and saw him straining. Confiscated the racing car, which upset him but he felt threatened enough to obediently trudge to the toilet for Round 2. God only knows how many times I have begged, bribed and threatened him in my quest to toilet-train him in the last one year, but he never cared.

I am over the moon! It was long in coming, but the breakthrough finally did happen. I am majorly majorly proud of him! What a great 1.1.11!