It is hard for me to imagine the freedom days, I mean the days before I had a baby and yes I shamelessly call them the freedom days because those were the days when going for tea with the girls was no big deal and going out with friends till the wee hours was no big deal. This dear friend of mine and I had the time of our lives during my freedom days, but our escapades would make for a different story. Who knows maybe my next one will be about her.
Anyway, as I was saying, it is hard to imagine those beautiful glorious days not so long ago. I was probably one of those women who were annoyed by most things baby related. I am sure that seeing someone with 2 spots of liquid on their tee shirt made me sick, how was I to know that as a mother myself I would one day forget my breast pads and find myself rushing to the bathroom just before someone noticed the embarrassing creamy extracts deposited on my chest. Don’t these things just happen to the best of us.
I am almost certain that before I had a baby I was just sooo annoyed by the noisy crying babies in church. Not to mention the naughty toddlers standing on chairs and cheering the pastor on! Well, boy, wasn’t I just in for a surprise. As a baby my boy slept through most of the service, then he got to an age when he was too small for Sunday school and big enough to crawl. Those are the days when I would sit in church with a straight face and pretend that I did not know him. What options did I have? Me, who had cursed the naughty, ill disciplined toddlers as I called them. Me, who had vowed that when I had a baby I would teach them manners. Ha! TJ was not having any of it. He crawled, he screamed, he terrorized other babies. I remember very well the day when the little girl sitting behind us suddenly screamed at the top of her voice and hid her face in her mother’s chest. Apparently TJ had made a face at her. Boy was I not embarrassed to be the mother of a brat. The kind of brat that before I became a mum, I would have told my friends about and we would have all agreed that people just don’t know how to raise kids anymore.
No, I refuse to remember those days, at least not in that way. I just fantasize that before I became a mummy, I was a kindhearted woman who felt sorry for other mothers and even offered to carry their babies. I refuse to remember those days because I have learnt my lesson. I should never judge! And just because kids will do and say certain things does not indicate failure or triumph on the parents’ part. Children are a gift from God, and how they good they turn out is all the grace of God.
Now, let me try fixing this remote control that my sweet son threw against a wall…
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Back to reality after maternity leave
So I had been enjoying the whole motherhood thing, and it still felt like a dream. I was now one of those women whose conversations centered on breastfeeding, and one of my favourite topics was pampers or huggies? Yes I was that annoying mother who just could not stop talking about how my son smiled and how many times I breastfed him per day. Talk about milk formula, I knew all the brands and could give an impromptu milk 101 lesson. I just told myself that no one would be annoyed with me because everyone knew how much I had waited to have a baby so they would understand my being overzealous!
Yes, motherhood was doing it for me. I felt like everyone could see that I had just had a baby. I felt good and was like a kid who had just been given their favorite toy for Christmas. Normally in my culture a woman and her newly born baby remain indoors for a while because usana luzangenwa ngumoya (the wind outside is not good for the baby), not me. As soon I was able to drive and the fatigue had died down, I was out and about showing off my newly found jewel. Sometimes when he was sleeping, I would lightly tap his mouth so he could move it, then I’d know he was alive. I was toooooo excited!
Then reality set in, I had to go back to work! Work! Get this, before the baby, I was a workaholic of sorts, I worked in accounting for a reputable company and was well accustomed to ridiculous working hours. I had risen through the ranks and worked hard to prove myself. So it had always been a given that I would be back at work after my 98 days of maternity leave. All the preparations had been made, the nanny had been hired and trained, my sister continued living with me and she worked 2 minutes away so she would continue to check on the baby during my absence, and I would only work half days for the first three months. Yet still, I was terrified of leaving this bundle of joy behind. I couldn’t bear it and it called upon every ounce of willpower I had in me to do it. Needless to say, my mother was summoned back (more like she invited herself back out of worry tee hee) to come and make sure the transition was smooth. I wonder if my sister even got any work done those days, it seemed to me that each time I called she was at home checking on the baby.
The worrying was the minor of the issues. The major one was the guilt. It felt so good to be back at work doing what I loved, so I was guilty for being happy to be at work – understand? I mean was I not supposed to be miserable about leaving my baby behind? Did this make me a horrible, unloving mother? What was wrong with me? I was on flexi-time so I knocked off early, and sometimes instead of going straight home, I took advantage of the fact that he was a good baby and I went and did my own thing, then I would have feel even more guilty. It was a vicious cycle. At times I felt like I had a right to live my life, then at times it hit me in the face that TJ was now my life!
The guilt never stopped, I doubt it ever does. I’m sure I’ll feel the same guilt the first time I miss his soccer match or music recital. No baby magazine or television program prepared me for that. Yet somehow, each and everyday, I learn to deal with it by the grace of God. And I realize that yes; motherhood is a scary, exciting journey that will indeed last a lifetime.
How then do we stop feeling guilty, or worrying about leaving our little bambinos at home with nannys?
Yes, motherhood was doing it for me. I felt like everyone could see that I had just had a baby. I felt good and was like a kid who had just been given their favorite toy for Christmas. Normally in my culture a woman and her newly born baby remain indoors for a while because usana luzangenwa ngumoya (the wind outside is not good for the baby), not me. As soon I was able to drive and the fatigue had died down, I was out and about showing off my newly found jewel. Sometimes when he was sleeping, I would lightly tap his mouth so he could move it, then I’d know he was alive. I was toooooo excited!
Then reality set in, I had to go back to work! Work! Get this, before the baby, I was a workaholic of sorts, I worked in accounting for a reputable company and was well accustomed to ridiculous working hours. I had risen through the ranks and worked hard to prove myself. So it had always been a given that I would be back at work after my 98 days of maternity leave. All the preparations had been made, the nanny had been hired and trained, my sister continued living with me and she worked 2 minutes away so she would continue to check on the baby during my absence, and I would only work half days for the first three months. Yet still, I was terrified of leaving this bundle of joy behind. I couldn’t bear it and it called upon every ounce of willpower I had in me to do it. Needless to say, my mother was summoned back (more like she invited herself back out of worry tee hee) to come and make sure the transition was smooth. I wonder if my sister even got any work done those days, it seemed to me that each time I called she was at home checking on the baby.
The worrying was the minor of the issues. The major one was the guilt. It felt so good to be back at work doing what I loved, so I was guilty for being happy to be at work – understand? I mean was I not supposed to be miserable about leaving my baby behind? Did this make me a horrible, unloving mother? What was wrong with me? I was on flexi-time so I knocked off early, and sometimes instead of going straight home, I took advantage of the fact that he was a good baby and I went and did my own thing, then I would have feel even more guilty. It was a vicious cycle. At times I felt like I had a right to live my life, then at times it hit me in the face that TJ was now my life!
The guilt never stopped, I doubt it ever does. I’m sure I’ll feel the same guilt the first time I miss his soccer match or music recital. No baby magazine or television program prepared me for that. Yet somehow, each and everyday, I learn to deal with it by the grace of God. And I realize that yes; motherhood is a scary, exciting journey that will indeed last a lifetime.
How then do we stop feeling guilty, or worrying about leaving our little bambinos at home with nannys?
First days of motherhood
I am happy about being a mother. I waited long enough for it, I prayed, I fasted, I had people praying with me and fasting for me even when I was too weary to do so myself. And when it finally happened, I had to literally pinch myself and I wondered if I would wake up from this wonderful dream. Of course it was no dream and I am grateful for it.
Yet all my waiting, prayers, tears and preparations did not prepare me for this wonderful journey. Right from the first minute it was exciting yet challenging. TJ (my baby) was so impatient during meal times and during the first few trials at breastfeeding, he screamed if the breast did not get into his mouth on time. He would then continue screaming for a few minutes while I struggled with trying to properly position the breast. This frustrated me a great deal, but because I was still in a daze about having a baby in the first place, I did not dwell too much on it. I just told myself to focus and try again. Of course a day or two later it was smooth sailing. Thank God and thank bio-oil and happy events, I did not get sore nipples so breast feeding became an instant pleasure!
This was however just the beginning of my lifelong commitment, I say lifelong because I believe that even when he’s eighty, my baby will still be just that- a baby! So yes, this was just the beginning. The week at the hospital was the easiest, in spite of all the pain from the C-section,with nurses popping in and out to make sure all was well, bringing in a regular cup of tea to keep the milk flowing, it seemed like I could do this thing. Then I went home and realized I was supposed to bathe the baby myself! No ways, my mother had to do it. I was not going to risk dropping the poor fragile baby in the bath. Then the baby cried at night and I didn’t hear him, my sister had to wake me up, and on some days my mother had to do it. Needless to say my mother ended up staying for an extended period, just to make sure that I got with the program, she was not going to abandon her grandchild to me!
Imagine me bathing this tiny person - no ways!
I look back and wonder how I would have managed without my mum and sister during those first days especially the first 2 weeks at home when I was tired, and still in pain after the C-section. My appetite was low and any skipped meal would have meant less milk, so they went to pains to make sure I at least had something I enjoyed to eat. Not to mention that my husband was thousands of kilometers away and I missed him terribly and without my mum and sister I would have been alone. I will never look at them the same and I gained a new found appreciation for them. I don’t remember when I started bathing the baby because when my mum went back to her home, my sister immediately took over. When the baby cried, they quickly picked him and tried to calm him down. I still believe that without them those first days, I would have broken down.
I'm always curious to know how all the other first time, or even not first time mothers cope during the first few weeks. Who knows, your advice might help me with my next one!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
The margarine day
So here we were the other day, my husband and I, in a supermarket, arguing about which margarine to pick! Yes, yes, I know, times are hard and we’ve all been hit by the recession, even my two year old son knows better than to just waste his disposable nappies, but for me to be arguing about which margarine is cheaper in a supermarket! Well that’s just not on. Especially when the person I’m arguing with just bought himself a very unnecessary TV game!
I mean honestly, what happened to those good old days when supermarkets were a woman’s domain and we didn’t have clueless husbands towing along! Aren’t men supposed to be terrified of supermarkets and only venture there for condoms and cologne and even then only if there is no other stockist around the corner. Well ,yes I do appreciate men doing regular supermarket errands, but no, I do not want to be disturbed when I’m the one doing it. I am the lady of the manor, and I know best which washing powder works, which snacks Junior prefers and which floor polish lasts longer. I do not need competition in that department. So I do not want to find myself explaining to hubby what omega acids are in my preferred margarine, and trying to justify the price difference. That is a no-no.
So on that fateful margarine Saturday morning; I stood there wondering what had become of my sweet, usually laid-back-about money husband! Was it just the margarine or it was a deeper issue? As it turned out, it was actually a deeper, more serious issue! Apparently we were saving for a sports car and I had not been told about it. And clever hubby figured every penny would count, and omega fats or polysaturated fats or whatever, we would buy cheaper margarine. This was supposed to be his ammunition in trying to convince me that we had 101 ways of saving enough cash to buy his extremely important, necessary sports car.
Needless to say, the sports car proposal did not get board approval, and I calmly reminded the whole clan that they needed to leave the accounting and purchasing duties to me. Well yes….I am the accountant in this household and when it comes to money matters, I am king!
I mean honestly, what happened to those good old days when supermarkets were a woman’s domain and we didn’t have clueless husbands towing along! Aren’t men supposed to be terrified of supermarkets and only venture there for condoms and cologne and even then only if there is no other stockist around the corner. Well ,yes I do appreciate men doing regular supermarket errands, but no, I do not want to be disturbed when I’m the one doing it. I am the lady of the manor, and I know best which washing powder works, which snacks Junior prefers and which floor polish lasts longer. I do not need competition in that department. So I do not want to find myself explaining to hubby what omega acids are in my preferred margarine, and trying to justify the price difference. That is a no-no.
So on that fateful margarine Saturday morning; I stood there wondering what had become of my sweet, usually laid-back-about money husband! Was it just the margarine or it was a deeper issue? As it turned out, it was actually a deeper, more serious issue! Apparently we were saving for a sports car and I had not been told about it. And clever hubby figured every penny would count, and omega fats or polysaturated fats or whatever, we would buy cheaper margarine. This was supposed to be his ammunition in trying to convince me that we had 101 ways of saving enough cash to buy his extremely important, necessary sports car.
Needless to say, the sports car proposal did not get board approval, and I calmly reminded the whole clan that they needed to leave the accounting and purchasing duties to me. Well yes….I am the accountant in this household and when it comes to money matters, I am king!
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