Archives for category: boo boo

Someone's really hungry

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In the day, I must protect the daughter from a boisterous son. He’ll squeeze her cheeks together really hard or pull her roughly to him to be enveloped in a BEAR hug.

At night, I have to protect the son from the over-zealous daughter.

They sleep on the same bed though separately by a pillow to make sure none get mistaken as a bolster in the middle of the night (which has happened before). He usually sleeps before her so when she spies him on the other side, her eyes lit up and she propels her way there to gives him a few firm slaps in a bid to wake him up. Since that usually fails, she’ll take to grabbing his hair or face. And the brother will gladly let her do that.

Perhaps I should consider a career change.

The daughter’s latest habit is spitting saliva all over the place. Or rather, I meant playing with her saliva. I’m sure she think it’s fun because she looks you straight in the eye before doing it, and then flashing you a disarming smile after. Before doing it all over again.

The spitting part reminded me very much of Triple H.

If you’ve ever watched wrestling, you would have probably chanced upon him. I don’t know why and how he could ever think that walking into the arena with a water bottle (amidst all the angsty and angry music), drinking the water and then spitting it all above him could possibly be seen as intimidating.

For the benefit of the non-wrestling fans, here’s a preview. You can skip right to around 0:50 and get ready to be amused.

I mean, I imagine he would create more fear and trembling if he spit fire or something. But water?! Or it would be more awe-inspiring if he could spit it 5 feet high. Plus it lasts all of 1 second and probably end up on his face. Each time I witnessed that, I can only dissolve into laughter. And he has to carry his own bottle every time he does it.

Tsk. How unglam.

At least the daughter doesn’t have to cart around a water bottle to perform the feat.

I initially wanted to write a post about how much I dislike baby talk. And was prepared to find pages and pages of research that would support my belief that talking properly to a baby is way better than all the meaningless “ahgoo-ahgoo” or “gaga”.

And all I ended up were pages of research that showed that ‘by one year of age, children who are exposed to a lot of baby talk have better speech perception skills than others who were not.’ 

And look! Googoogaga is considered as proper baby talk.

Ahhh, so there goes the speech perception skill of my little one. Because even with all these research, it’s against my principles to say googoogaga to her.

If the girl could talk now, she’ll probably get into a problem with some girl gangs if she repeats the things her grandparents have been talking to her about.

Just imagine the conversation peppered with 做么 and 看什么.

Not very friendly.

Scenario: The son and I were having tea while the daughter was lying in the bouncer.

Son: *Seeing that I stood up* Mama, you don’t carry her ok? I’ll pat her and take care of her. You do your own stuff.

Is it time to book a 2nd honeymoon to Maldives?

We’ve always heard about how the older child become jealous when the younger one arrives and even though we didn’t purposefully prepare him for her, other than telling him that he’s going to have a 妹妹 aka sister, he has really taken to her from the day one.

And I am so thankful for that.

Perhaps when she’s a little older and more vocal, things might get a little different around here but for now, I thank God that he adores her very much and is protective of her.

Like how he announced to everyone to stay clear of her face (because she had some bacteria growth then and doctor advised us to keep it as clean as possible).

Or he would run to her when she cries and pats her to sleep again. Once I caught him singing “Jesus loves me” to her and on some occasions, she actually falls back to sleep. In the first few days, he was so worried about her crying that he even offered his cars to her.

He’ll ask about her whereabouts when he doesn’t see her and acts the role of her protector. He’ll entertain her while she plays the part of an appreciative audience. And I like to think she recognises his adoration because she’ll flash a toothless smile when he talks to her (or rather scream into her face sometimes) and her eyes lit up in recognition.

And as I look at them, I pray that their love will grow from strength to strength and will protect each other from the storms of the world.

Him & Her

How I love receiving things in the mail. Especially when they are lovely surprises (definitely not those tickets from my friendly Traffic Police).

I was so delighted when I saw this.

It was addressed to the kids and we opened it to find these.

Aren’t they adorable? (The yellow strips are not part of the design. Underneath are their names).

Thank you Auntie Corsage! It’s so heartwarming when someone’s thinking of you.

Sidenote: If anyone’s looking for personalised onesies and tops, you should try Pixie Thread (which was where they were from). This is not an advertisement because I actually ordered a onesie too, before I received these, and her service is impeccable. 🙂

And so I thought I should post a little about my confinement.

I had previously wrote about it and it’s going about as well as it can be, with our temperaments. I’m proud to say that we’ve only had one shouting march thus far so I think we’re doing ok.

But honestly, some confinement practices are so bizarre and ancient that I don’t even know what to make of it. I think we’re both suffering in a way. She, having to put up with someone who doesn’t appreciate her nagging and the old-school theories. From her perspective, it must really seem like a wasted effort on her part. For that, I try to bear with it as much as possible but I’m definitely not the happiest camper on earth.

So if I ever have another child, please knock some sense into me if I were to contemplate asking my mum to be my confinement nanny again.

It’s been almost 3 weeks since the little bundle’s arrival and I’m glad to say that I think we’re all managing pretty well.

I’ve been meaning to document the birth process but after procrastinating for 2 weeks, the brain has given in to post-natal amnesia so here’s the abridged version of it.

I discovered spotting on Saturday and decided to pop by the good o’ doc to see if today would be the day. No dilation and since I had the son with me, I decided to wait it out at home instead.

The contractions decided to come the next day at 5:30am but seeing how I had to wait it out in the hospital for the first pregnancy, I checked it (sounds like a hotel) only around 11am and was found to be 3cm dilated. Yippee.

On the drip

So the wait started.

Waiting

More than half the time was sitting around in bed, twiddling the thumbs, fiddling with the phone and falling asleep out of sheer boredom. The contractions really started to kick in the afternoon. I really wanted to bear it out without the use of pain relief but when the contractions came in wave after wave, and when strange moans and groans started to subconsciously emerge from my mouth, I decided to embrace the wonders of modern medical technology – epidural. And none too soon because not too long after, I was found to be 9cm dilated. Less than half and hour later, with a push, she was out and all pain was forgotten.