About a Boy

Baby, boy, rabbit, you are a sturdy boy of three. But I will never stop loving you with the tenderness and surprise as when I first saw you.

The first time we met was in doctor’s clinic. It was the first month of your conception. You revealed yourself as a beating heart encased within a sac only 2 centimetres long. I deeply desired a child. My tears of joy on seeing you for the first time, confirmed this.

Over the next nine months, your father accompanied me to every doctor’s appointment. We were expectant first-time parents not knowing what to expect.

For starters, what temperature of room does a baby sleep in? The book on raising babies said 19 degrees. Any hotter and the baby risks heat suffocation. Your father and I had a debate on this. We argued over the centigrades. We angsted over whether we were ready. We attended pre-natal lessons and started reading books and still felt unprepared.

The doctor blinked patiently at each of my questions. What temperature of room? What do I feed the baby? What does a newborn wear? He looked amused and gave me an answer which didn’t address my questions, yet it answered everything all at once.

Babies have very few needs.
Babies needs WARMTH
Babies need a CLEAN SPACE
Most of all, babies need LOVE

To this day, whenever I don’t know what to do as a mother, I fall back on the doctor’s answer.

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Your delivery story? I wanted a natural delivery. I chose a doctor who was reputed for his low rate of C-sections. The doctor was so in favour of natural childbirth, that he allowed me to labour voluntarily for 48 hours before the decision was made to have you by emergency C section.

After 48 hours of labour, I was disappointed but grateful for the medical intervention. They increased the painkillers until I experienced no pain except the sensation of several pairs of hands squeezing you out of me like a big nub of toothpaste. Your first cry was a low growl. Like a magician bringing a rabbit out of a hat, the doctor produced you like magic, behind the surgery curtain. This can’t be. It must be.

Your father was the first to hold you. He assured me “We have a cool one!” I was puzzled. How does one derive coolness at first sight? Then I saw you. My cone head baby, a scrape on your forehead where they had nicked you in the delivery, deep dimples on one, two cheeks!

Yes, we had a cool one.

Dearest Shane

When I was young, I was told what to do ALOT. Being bossed never felt nice. Till this day, I dislike being bossed. Like you, I have a big problem with accepting authority.

So when I tell you
“switch off the tv”
“stop pushing your mei mei”
“keep your toys”

I know how that sucks - being restricted from doing the things you feel like doing. One day, you’ll tell me to keep quiet and to stop telling you how to run your life.

I probably will keep telling you what you should do.

I might even maintain silence, but that won’t stop me from feeling responsible for the way you turn out.

I have a confession. Many times, I feel like shirking this responsibility.

Just after you started to walk by yourself, I brought you to Parkway Parade and let go of your hands so that you could walk down the shopping aisles yourself.

You started to grab all the stuffed toys at the Looney Tunes store. You upset the whole basket of Winnie the Poohs and Eeyores. I couldn’t stop you. It was embarrassing. When I tried to pull you away you started to cry and scream. You know what I did? I walked away, a safe distance so that I wouldn’t be associated as your mother. Immediately, I felt better. That isn’t my child. Where is his mom I wonder?

Your grandma bought me 2 canes. Spare the rod and spoil the child she said. I kept them in the shoe cupboard unsure whether I would ever use it until one day, when you whacked your baby sis. I took out the canes from the cupboard. I wielded it and smacked the floor. Hear that? How would you like that on your butt?

You, who had never felt the pain of the cane on your virgin butt, laughed out loud. You thought it was funny. I started to laugh too. I laughed for my son’s lack of fear for the cane. I laughed for my 7 year old self who locked herself in the toilet to avoid the cane.

Haha cane! You have no power over us now!

Lately, the humour has started to run out when you do naughty things. You have started to defy me. You have started pleading with me in preference to your papa who is stern with you. Before it gets too late, I have to start disciplining you before you get too spoilt.

So, I say this under my breath as generations of parents have said before (and despite how cute you look when you are defying orders)

“Much as I hate to, I have to do this.”

As a child being punished, I never got that.

In this divide between us, between what you understand and feel like doing vs the rules which are necessary, I stand as your big bad boss and very beloved asshole mom.

As for the cane, I've thrown it out of the house. Don't tell grandma.

Oh yeah,

Climb on your sister's diapered butt with your diapered butt just as she starts to crawl and go "yee hah! yee hah!"

Request for a battery powered spongebob square pants lantern and diss that in favour of the paper lanterns because they use real fire!

Refuse to eat your dinner at grandma's in favour of the yen yen biscuits. Now everyone knows I feed you junk.

Defy attempts to potty train you by throwing all your blocks into the pot and refuse to sit on it because hey, its a pot and that's where you cook!

You are too young, will not understand or have a voice to protest when I tell you this.

Your mother is relying on the kindness of others to raise both of you. This is a kind way of expressing the current situation. For most of the day, you are left in the care of people who perform this role because they are paid money.

This is also known as
"Daycare"
"Leaving it to the maid"
"Subcontracting the work of motherhood"
"Outsourcing to professionals"
"Throwing money at the problem"
"Not doing right by your child"

Call it what you will, your mother is not fulfilling her full time duty
because, because, because

She works

That's a nice simple explanation eh?
Except that its not.

She tucks you into bed at night
and leaves before you awake
Its only for the day, she says
the tears stream down your face

You ask if you can "go to work"
you dont know what that means
In turn she goes to work
without knowledge
without feeling
without seeing
your daily coordinates

What made you laugh
what made you cry
what new things did you do today?
Was that a dragonfly your teacher showed you?
Yes, a caterpillar becomes a butterfly
Planes fly up up !
How did you learn that blue is blue
and orange is orange?

Each day is a reunion
The magic time is seven
there is so much that she wants to catch up on
So little that you can say

Dear Teachers of the Infant Class
Nur, Jean, Mdm Foo, Grace, Janet and Angie

Last Friday, Gary and I popped Shane into the infant room after spending his first week in the toddler group. The first thing he did was to kiss Cynthia and Teacher Grace “Mmuak!” and run up to the toys which were placed at the locations he knew so well. I didn’t have to tell him where to go. He climbed up the rainbow and started whacking the orange balloon just the way he did the week before. He wanted to offer a kiss to Madam Foo but her hands were full and she could only offer him her lap - the same lap which he had run to so many times for comfort and security.

He seemed so relieved to be home.

I can’t describe the thankfulness we feel for your steady and assuring care and for being there with Shane and our little family through these 18 intense months in all its happy and trying moments (fever, diarrhea, baby tantrums, first steps and butterfly kisses). Far beyond just caring - you have nourished Shane’s spirit, deepened the dimples on his cheeks, wiped up his tears and lavished your love on him.

We couldn’t have made it this far in this parenting journey without your help and its very hard to say goodbye to the infant room…..but you know where to find Shane - somewhere over the rainbow, pointing his finger at the “bird!”.

Cutting your first tooth

First fever at 0020 hrs