Month: July 2014

Letters to, Zac

One month of Zac

yannisms

Dear Zac,

It’s been almost six weeks of you here with us and I am only starting to write this letter to you. It’s partly because mama is a bit of a procrastinator and also because things have been chaotic around here. As expected, with a baby and a toddler in one household.

Life with you feels complete and I am so glad that you are here with us now. I was telling your papa that it feels so right to say “my boys” and “my kids”. And even though we opted not to know your sex before your birth, I sort of had a hunch that you were going to be a boy. It’s pretty odd, actually. I was having a nap with your brother one weekend afternoon and I woke up dead certain that I was carrying a “Zac”. I just knew.

And now the pieces of the puzzle fit perfectly.

Maybe I am biased or perhaps it’s the experience talking, but you have been an easy baby so far. When you wail, we pretty much know why or have been able to pacify you somehow. And when you are not wailing, you are either sleeping or sitting quietly in your rocker (a gift from mama’s cousin, how blessed we are!). You are able to focus your eyes on us when we have a chat with you and you coo back at us too, sometimes.

Your coos are just about the cutest things in the world, I tell you. Actually, all your newborn sounds are really pretty damn cute. Your angry yell when I try to burp you against your wishes? Cute. Your little “eh eh eh” when nursing? Cute. Your sailor burps? Cute. Your little sighs after a good feed? Cute.

The only time your sounds are not too cute are when you are making a hell lot of them at night in your sleep. Good god. You have no idea how many times I jumped out of bed, thinking that you were awake and grizzling, when you were really just growling in your sleep.

When you came home with us, you weighed a grand total of 2.7kg. Granted, that was probably a whole 300g heavier than you brother, but you still felt so tiny and fragile in our arms. And now, you have crossed 4.1kg. Still small but so much plumper than before. Those chins! And wobbly cheeks! But I already miss your lightweight baby days.

I could stare at you the whole day, I could. And sniff at your little noggin. And cuddle you in my arms. And kiss your bouncy cheeks. I am so in love with you and so is your por por. She is besotted with you and it’s too adorable to see her shower her love and attention on you.

And so is your brother. He asks to carry you all the time, and is always clambering towards you to “sayang baby” or “kiss baby”. I’m so proud of him, and I hope that the two of you will always have each other’s backs.

It’s now 11.20pm as I write this and I am exhausted. I should be heading to bed soon. You are currently snoozing in your little crib at the foot of mama and papa’s bed, and you’ll probably be looking up at me, wide-eyed, in a few hours’ time.

I’ll scoop you up from your little bed, nurse you and then see you fall dead asleep soon after. I’ll cuddle you upright for a bit (reflux, you see) before placing you gently back into your own bed. And then rinse, repeat, in about two hours’ time.

Ah, all in the day (night) of a mother’s life.

My dearest second-born, welcome home.

Love you to the moon and back,
Mama

Motherhood

Pride

yannisms

I watched this video with Aidan the other day and he was fascinated. He waved to the people in the video and then asked to repeat it again and again. As we watched, my eyes swelled up with tears (postpartum hormones, uh-hmm) and I explained to him that we must accept everyone, no matter their shapes and sizes, colour, gender and sexuality.

I am not entirely sure the two-year-old fully understood what I was saying though. Although that Coldplay song (“uncle star song” to him) is currently his favourite tune.

Yes, we are the sort of parents who will take our kids to Pink Dot and show them videos of Pride Parade. It’s not really a big deal to us but to some of our, say, more conventional friends who are parents, we are sort of odd.

Actually, strike that. It IS a big deal to us. I think Mr Thick and I are of the agreement that we want our kids to grow up understanding that there are all kinds of individuals and families out there in our society. We want them to grow up in an inclusive society, one that celebrates the freedom to love.

As a mother, my yardstick is always this: if either of my boys tells me that he is gay, what would I do? My love for my children is unconditional, and it should remain unconditional.

The world is so full of war and conflict and hatred, we need more love, not hate.

(PS: Isn’t the video really, really cool? It makes me want to get a job at Apple and move to California. Actually, no, it makes me hope that my dear Apple fanatic of a husband is able to get a job there and make his lifelong dream come true.)

Aidan, Motherhood

Letting go

yannisms

Aidan started school this week and it’s been a rocky start so far.

Oh, we expected it. There were tears and a lot of wailing. He has been extremely clingy to me. At night, he wakes up sobbing and asking for mama. In the day, he wants me to carry him and play with him and read to him and take him to the potty and wash his hands. Basically, he wants mama for everything.

It’s been hard on us too. I cried when we dropped him off on the first day. And tears rolled down my cheeks when I picked him up and saw him sitting on the lap of the teacher, crying his little heart out. On the second day, I cried at seeing his joyful smile when he realised that I was there to get him. On the third day, I cried when his face crumpled at catching sight of me peeping through the doors.

In short, I cried a lot. Even though I know that eventually, he will enjoy school and it will be a good experience for him. At the present moment, I am still feeling my heart crack at seeing my child in this state of uncertainty and confusion and sadness.

Remember that quote from Elizabeth Stone? “Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

My heart wrenches when I see Aidan cry at being away from his parents at a new environment. My heart wrenches when I see Zac choke and sputter and then cry from reflux. My heart wrenches when Aidan waves goodbye and blows kisses at his teachers in the midst of his sobs. My heart wrenches when Zac wailed inconsolably on the bilibed.

It’s an awful feeling.

But then again, my parenting mantra has always been this: my role as a parent is to love them and nurture them, and then let them go. They need to learn to find their own way around in this big, bad world. I cannot hold their hands forever, nor baby them forever.

And so, in this little way, I am letting my son take his first step into the world by himself. I know, it’s only school and he is only 2 years old. But still, it’s a step towards independence and away from mama. And if I can’t even do that gracefully now, I will become that awful, controlling and overbearing mother who will insist on running my sons’ lives even when they are 50 years old.

I wish, though, that time would stand still and let me keep them so little forever. The way Aidan lets me cuddle and kiss him. The tiny newborn-ness that Zac is fast losing every single day.

Being a parent is so bittersweet, ah.