Sometimes Travelling with a Toddler Sucks

Sorry for the silence! Dinners out with friends, bookclub meetings and then a long weekend trip to Surabaya, Indonesia, have meant a lack of free evenings (when I usually blog). We are back in Singapore until mid-December (when we fly to the US for Christmas), so I should have plenty of time for blogging over the next few weeks.

Explaining the Borobudur reliefs to R

Sometimes I wonder if this blog gives a false impression of traveling with a toddler, with all the posts about how much fun I have visiting various third world countries with a two-year-old. It's not that the posts are lies: everything I wrote is completely true. It's just that often the recaps leave stuff out.

R telling me what her favorite relief is (the elephants)

For example: Borobudur. It was beautiful, amazing, I loved it, etc etc. I also went twice, because on our first visit R was having a bad day (I think all the late nights were not agreeing with her). She had one of the biggest temper tantrums she has ever had on the path up to the main structure: awkward not only because a whole selection of international visitors got to see me struggling with my flailing, screaming child, but also because typically I deal with her bad moods by removing her to a quiet, dark place and doing something soothing together like reading a story, which was obviously impossible under the circumstances.

This is a more accurate view of most of the visit

Eventually I calmed her down enough to actually tour the temple (the drive to Borobudur was at least ninety minutes one way from our hotel, so there was no way I was going home without seeing it!). But she remained grumpy, miserable and pettish.

Awww, so cute! It wasn't that she didn't enjoy it at all...

but it was exhausting...(Me talking to R about behaving nicely)

and only somewhat effective (Nice sneer, R! Glad to see you are in touch with your feelings)

I wouldn't say that Borobudur was completely ruined, but the experience was most definitely sub-par. I enjoyed what I could and took advantage of having a supportive husband to go by myself on a different day (when I could actually study the reliefs' artistry in detail). There's no denying, though, that overall R's behavior was the kind of thing that makes you wish you'd just stayed at home.

Face of rage: I WILL NOT HAVE A GOOD TIME!!!

As a fairly experienced traveller I know this is not a phenomenon unique to toddlers. Everyone has bad days sometimes, which when travelling can involve ruining the entire experience both for yourself and others. There was the time our trip to the Greek island of Samothrace was ruined because I stepped on a sea urchin and became immobilized for the entire time we were there; the way that we missed seeing most of central Vietnam (including Hue, which I really wanted to visit) because we thought B had Japanese encephalitis; or the way we spent our whole time in Leshan arguing over nothing, which meant we had an awful time despite the beautiful surroundings. It is true that toddlers are more volatile and troublesome than adults, though, which means these trip-damaging incidents are more common with them in tow.

Finally back at our hotel: I look so tired!

But I won't let that fact affect my behavior. Life is risky in general, and travelling is more so, because you are attempting to do something new and different (which is intrinsically risky). I don't want to limit myself out of fear (that R will have a meltdown, or refuse to eat anything, or otherwise be troublesome), and when I see other parents doing so it makes me sad. I try to remember that nothing worthwhile is attainable without risk and the potential for failure, and to force myself instead to be brave and just go for it. (A great book on the subject is Daring Greatly by Brene Brown: I highly recommend it!)

And honestly, while there are big fails like the first trip to Borobudur (or our visit to see wild orangutans, which I haven't written about yet), most of the time it works out. A good reminder to not let the "parent" label box me in or define me (at least not exclusively).

My Child Really Loves Me

Once she graduated from the grublike infant stage, R was always pretty affectionate (if not very interested in snuggling, too many things to do!). But lately with her new expressiveness it has become really pronounced and darling.

She said "I love you" for the first time a couple weeks ago, and now she says it multiple times a day, mostly to me and her father (but also to her dolls). She also says "I like you, Mommy!" and "I miss you" if I've been gone (even if it's just in the next room). She loves hugs now and frequently will give them spontaneously, especially if we seem sad, worried or ill. Today I was ill and she brought me water on her own initiative and suggested I go to the doctor "to get a shot".

I wrote before that I don't care if she loves me or not, which is still true. I do like seeing her little face smiling at me, full of genuine affection: there is something so pure and untrammelled about all her emotions, and her feelings of love aren't any different. It makes me smile just thinking about it.

It also makes me anxious. Since R cares about me and my opinion of her very much, I have a great amount of power over her. A few days ago I told her I was disappointed with her after she did something I didn't like, and her face got all solemn and sad; then she immediately started doing what I wanted her to. I felt really conflicted about the whole interchange: on the one hand, I was pleased that she did what I wished; on the other, it felt kind of manipulative and coercive. I was using her love for me as a tool to get what I wanted.

I suppose love is a bit like that though. It ties you down, it reduces your options, and it gives others power over you. But that's the price you pay for the far more wonderful benefits it brings.

R Has an Imagination

It's so much fun to watch R's developing imagination. Today she had a long, unprompted telephone conversation with Ami (who was at home) while we were on our way home (It went something like "Hello, is Ami there? This is R and Mommy. We are coming home now. Are you at home? How is it?" but with much, much worse grammar and pronunciation.) Plus all the games with her various "families" (her little toy rabbits, her stuffed animals, even her animal crackers).

Here's R feeding Baby at breakfast. She regularly asked her questions too, like if she wanted more food or some water. I was very stoic, as I didn't want to mess up her game, but inside I was dying. So amusing.

R Learns to Lie

Today R told her first lie.

She almost always brings books to bed with her, partly because one of the things she likes to do in the mornings/after naps is read (for up to 30 minutes, so I definitely encourage the habit). Last night was no exception: she selected Amos and Boris and Cars and Trucks and Things that Go. This morning I went into her room to get her up, and she was already awake, reading Richard Scarry intently.

I soon noticed that the other book had been completely destroyed: all the pages had been separated from each other into a pile of loose leaves. I said, "R, what is this? Who did this [stupid question, but it was early and I wasn't thinking straight]?" She replied, "Ami", which is the name for her beloved elephant feely that she sleeps with every night (they like to go to sleep by having long conversations with each other), and gave me a convincing nod (the kind with the eyes wide open and fixed on you, as you move your chin up and down) while holding up the offending elephant to me.

I was very pleased, because lying is an important developmental milestone and R's (rather ridiculous) attempt at deception shows that her brain is developing nicely. (She knows that destroying books is going to make me mad: books are sacred R!!!) Of course I still scolded her, but my heart wasn't in it.

I will have to be more careful about phrasing questions now though, because I certainly don't want to encourage a habit of dishonesty!

I Don't Like Playing with My Child

R got a bunch of art supplies for her birthday. She didn't have any previously because 1. I am not crafty and 2. making art with her seemed like too much trouble. She was really excited by the supplies though: in fact I semi-hid them, but she found them and brought them to me, asking to use them. So I tried to put aside my laziness and do some painting.

R loved it (though she didn't seem to be that interested in the artistic side of things: mostly she liked the mess aspect). In fact we painted two days in a row at her request.

But what a hassle! I had to undress her, get out paper (and secure it), paint with her (since otherwise she might eat the paint, dump it everywhere, or track it inside), shower her afterwards, dress her, wash all the paint supplies, and clean up the mess. It was probably 20 minutes of painting and 30-40 minutes of prep/clean up.

I'm not sure if I just am incompetent at craft/art projects (very possible), or if this ratio holds for everyone. If this is just how it is to do crafts, I cannot understand how so many mothers exist who are apparently thrilled to dedicate hours of their lives to doing art projects with their children.

In general, I don't play with R much. We play sometimes of course (especially when I'm trying to give her amusement suggestions), but usually, my goal is to get her happily started on some activity, so I can do what I want. Playing with her just isn't that fun because our mental levels and interests are so different: I didn't even like playing with much-younger children when I was a kid. Maybe I'm missing something (or am just a really selfish parent? I 'm not sure), because so many parents talk about how much they love playing with their children: "I could play all day long with them!" etc.

At least R will become good at independent play and amusing herself, right?

She even likes cleaning up (I try to encourage her to tidy up after herself, in hopes that then the great mess she creates will be reduced. So far it hasn't really made an impact.)

R Is Two

My darling R is now two years old. We celebrated with a very large (by my standards, anyway: around 40 people) party. R loved it of course; I enjoyed myself too but am mostly relieved it's over (as I find party planning stressful).

B is out of town (in Japan on business, sad both because of missing R's birthday and because I always feel like an orphan when he's gone) so the family celebration won't happen until next Thursday. R gets a birthday week, continuing my family's tradition: my mother is really into birthdays and gave herself a two-week birthday for her 50th, including a present each day.

Often I look at R and am filled with amazement by her. Of course she is just an ordinary little girl, but to me she is perfect: shining with beauty, intelligence, charm and personality. When I see her running towards me beaming with happiness, to fling her arms around me and joyfully shout "Mama! Mama!", it's hard to describe the great love I feel.

I don't find this frightening (although often parents will describe their feelings this way); what I do find frightening is R's love for me. It's a heavy responsibility to be so adored by a tiny, vulnerable creature. R has many interests these days, but I am still the center of her universe and she loves and trusts me completely. If R didn't love me so much, it wouldn't wound her when I snap at her, or am insensitive, or ignore her because I want to read the newspaper: but she does, and so I cause her pain.

I wrote before about how love and pain are inextricably bound together. But it's one thing to accept that loving others may cause you emotional suffering and quite another to accept that you are going to cause it in them: and with a small child, this is even harder, because they are so innocent (B can make an informed decision, and opt out if he wants to: but R is incapable of doing so).

R, I promise that I will be the very best mother that I can, and try to be the kind that you deserve to have, in all your loveliness and goodness. You are very special, and whatever you do or wherever you go in later life, I will love you always.

My Thoughts on Breastfeeding After Weaning

I weaned R right before we left for the US (so in mid-December, when she was almost 22 months old). Now she's been NOT nursing for almost two months, and it's become the new normal.

I always intended to breastfeed if at all possible, ideally for a year (per the AAP recommendation on the subject). My reasons were because of the extremely strong benefits to the baby (both physically and psychologically). I know that often people argue that these benefits either don't exist, or are not that impressive: but they are incorrect. Any objective review of the evidence will clearly show otherwise.

I never really loved breastfeeding. I was certainly lucky: I never really had significant health or supply problems, not even the fairly common complications of mastitis or thrush. It was a bit difficult and painful at first (bleeding blisters on my nipples=totally not awesome), but honestly it was just the to-be-expected learning curve of doing something new and relatively physically complex for the first time. Learning to ride a bike was harder, for me.

But it never filled me with joy or wonder either. I did think that it helped me to bond with R, but I always had a pretty matter-of-fact, functional attitude about it. For me, 90% of our feeds were kind of boring (I was never really able to multitask while feeding her, both because it made me terribly sleepy and because I am kind of clumsy, so had to concentrate fully in order not to drop/smother R). Generally my mind would wander as she nursed, onto my chore list or what I'd read last or other mundane topics. It was a lot more like changing diapers than some sort of emotionally transcendent experience.

Once R was a year, and my self-appointed deadline was up, I continued to breastfeed because 1. she still seemed to be getting benefits from it (a view generally borne out by the available scientific evidence); and 2. it wasn't much of a commitment anymore (by that point, I only fed her in private, at certain times, so that it didn't impact my daily routine that much). I told myself that I would wean her by two (the age recommended by the World Health Organization).

But then, rather suddenly, I was DONE. It irritated me more and more to breastfeed her. While I'd always found it boring, I began to feel grumpy and put-upon every time I fed her, counting the minutes until she finished. I felt tired of having my breasts reassigned to industrial/productive uses, of not having total ownership of my body, of leaking milk (which always made me feel gross), of being bound so intimately to another human being (because just as the baby needs its breastfeeding mother in order to live, the mother needs to feed the baby if she doesn't want to be in pain: it's a symbiotic relationship).

So I decided to wean her. At this point, she usually only ate twice a day, so I started by cutting out one. After a week, I stopped altogether. R protested slightly (by crying), but I just told her calmly that she was a big girl now and didn't need to nurse anymore. If she was thirsty, she could have water (I began always placing a full water bottle in her crib). I thought that she would object more, but actually she accepted it quite calmly, not crying after the first two days (and after the first week or ten days, did not even ask to nurse).

I didn't have any engorgement or other problems upon ceasing, because I had done it gradually. Much to my surprise (and displeasure), though, my breasts continued to produce small amounts of milk for weeks (months, really) afterwards. They still produce a tiny bit when squeezed, though for the most part they are back to normal (in terms of size, shape and softness: when nursing they were much firmer). I am glad, because I very much disliked my increased breast size (since I am already fairly busty, having even bigger ones was not attractive IMO).

I am glad breastfeeding is over. It is a big commitment, not just in terms of time spent (which is considerable, especially at first), but psychologically. If you are breastfeeding, your irreplaceability is very obvious, which is a great burden (not to say that non-breastfeeding mothers are replaceable, but it's easier to ignore the fact and fool yourself; viz all the people saying that their children are just as happy with their childcare providers as with their parents).

Breastfeeding was also hard sexually/emotionally. It considerably reduced my sex drive, and made sex less pleasurable for me (though I still enjoyed sex, and our frequency didn't change significantly). I disliked having my breasts touched (or even looked at, I began keeping my bra on during sex generally speaking), because it just reminded me of R (NOT sexy). It made it more difficult for me to step out of my "mother" role (especially because if you are breastfeeding, when you are sexually excited you tend to start leaking milk). Luckily for me, B was very supportive. I can imagine, though, that the reaction of one's husband must be a prime motivator in terms of breastfeeding: unless he is especially supportive, or nurturing of his child, a father's interests are fundamentally anti-breastfeeding.

I am still glad I did it: and if I had more children, I would breastfeed them as well. But I do understand why bottle feeding is so popular, and honestly can't blame anyone for making that decision. Breastfeeding is obviously superior in every way for children: but mothers are people too, and their welfare and happiness are also important. Sometimes the decisions you make as a parent will privilege your needs/desires above your children's, and that is OK.

Mothers' Nights Out

After I wrote this post, it worried me. Then I re-read it and decided it's awful as I sound like such a smug, spoiled person. I thought about deleting it but after all I thought it at the time (at least for 20 minutes, which is how long I usually spend writing posts), so I will leave it here anyway. Sorry if it annoyed you! It annoys me too, now.

It's commonly accepted that parents don't get to go out at night. This is such a cliche that it's a staple of TV comedies and it seems like most Americans accept it as a commonplace: you have kids, and thus have no adult social life (barring occasional date nights if you are lucky enough to have a reliable babysitter or family close by).

This is totally not true for me. I go out all the time with my friends. Looking back at the last month, I went out at least once a week (and often more): dinners, cooking class, drinks, book clubs...If anything, I go out more now than I did before R was born (because I want the mental break more after baby wrangling all day long; plus we have more money now so I don't have to be as conscious of my recreational spending). And in this I am typical for expats here (obviously, since I'm not going out by myself); in fact, I go out less than  average. 

Partly this is probably a function of the special childcare situation here: most people never have to worry about finding a babysitter (since they have a full-time, live-in maid) and are thus free to go out every single evening if they feel like it. But after all I have no maid, so I don't think that's really the full explanation. 

For me it's incredibly simple. R always takes a bath with B directly after dinner, he changes her into pajamas,  I read her 1-3 books and then lights out and into her crib. The bath can take quite a while (it's their bonding time so they play all sorts of games in there) but everything else is about 10 minutes, so anyone could do it (let alone highly capable B). When she was younger and still nursing as part of the bedtime routine, it was more complicated (I had to pump and leave supplies: what a hassle; plus she disliked this and would cry a lot), but that was really only for the first year. After that, though she was still nursing, she could have cows' milk as necessary.

So all that's seemingly required for an active social life as a mother is an agreeable husband. (I know some people lack this--single mothers, for instance--but that doesn't explain the near-universal cliche of parents staying at home all the time). Why don't all mothers go out? Even if your husband works late or travels, it's the rare person who isn't home at least half the time. 

Maybe it's just a cultural expectation: Americans expect both parents to stay at home and give up virtually all their adult social lives, while expats (most of whom here aren't American) don't? Maybe B is just a really indulgent husband? If I go out more than twice in a week he gets a bit grumbly, but otherwise doesn't mind, even when I come home drunk at 1 am (this happened once, don't worry!).

I feel like I'm missing something.

You Are Not the Mother Your Child Wants

I went to brunch with my friend a few days ago (when R was in school: I am so happy she's well enough to go again!!!). She has a daughter the same age as R so we were talking about being mothers and how easy it is to feel inadequate. I said that it's important to remember that right now, to our daughters we are perfect. This made us both feel better.

But it was a lie. I don't really think that at all. R certainly loves me, more than anyone else in the world: she enjoys my company, she longs for me when I'm not there, she is happy to see me whenever I appear, she trusts me completely, and just my presence makes her feel better. If she had a million dollars, she would gladly give it all to me (instead, she gives her equivalent, unsolicited hugs and kisses, bits of food, and toys). But I know she doesn't think I'm perfect.

In fact, a fair portion of the time she is furious with me. If she could talk, she would scream "I HATE YOU! YOU RUIN EVERYTHING! YOU MAKE ME SO ANGRY!" Right now she is screaming in rage, because I am night-weaning her (while she was ill, she started waking up at night to nurse again, sometimes multiple times, and now that she's better wants to retain this pleasant (for her) habit). 

I read the blog Love Live Grow (even though I disagree with pretty much everything the writer advocates, I think she's an interesting person) and she wrote a post about how she's "exactly the mother he [her son] needs and wants". It was in the context of her struggling with depression, so I didn't comment, but honestly this is a lie. Often, I am NOT the mother R wants (like all the time I am thwarting her will), and the same is true for any child.

Being a good parent means making unpopular decisions. I think most parents accept this, but to me it's equally important to accept that making those decisions will give R feelings of pure rage and even hatred. In order to be a psychologically whole person, she needs to know that all her feelings, even those which are scary and upsetting (like hating your mother), are OK. I want her to feel comfortable with being angry with me, and with expressing that anger (albeit only in socially appropriate ways). Otherwise I am just teaching her to lie, both to me and to herself. 

Being a Selfish Parent

I have refused to buy R a little car or similar vehicle, even though she loves them. Here she is at the park last week, so excited and happy because she's succeeded in taking another child's car. (Don't worry, it was a non-violent interaction. R is very good at getting her way using a combination of charm, persistence and quick action. I am not sure exactly where she learned this, because tact and diplomatic skills are certainly not my forte, or B's.)

Price isn't the issue. They aren't that expensive, and I spend lots on other R-related purchases (books, for example: she has around 150). The reason is purely selfish: they are bulky and ugly, and I don't want them in the house where I'd have to look at them. So R just has to keep buttering up her playmates if she wants to ride in a car.

Different day, different car: same reaction from R

Parenting a child successfully does require the willingness to make many sacrifices (sleep, tight abs, long stretches of free time, leisurely, quiet meals...) But I think it's important to preserve a little selfishness, for parental sanity, but also to teach children that the world does not always revolve around them.

Or maybe that's just what I tell myself (since this is an issue of mine). What do you think?

Staying at Home with a Toddler Is No Fun

Life lately has been really boring, because R has been sick for the last week with a bad cold. She infected me too, so the two of us have mostly been hanging out around the house feeling sick and fretful. I had to cancel everything this week (that's two afternoons at school, one swim lesson, one trip to the zoo, two playdates, and "free play" afternoon at the Reggio Emilia atelier).

R is fairly good at amusing herself, but only for limited periods. Let's say she spends 30 minutes looking at her books, 30 minutes playing imaginary games, and 60 minutes doing "house explorations" (stuff like running around with the mop pail on her head). If we are at home all day, that means the other eight hours of waking time are still unaccounted for: yet R is now bored of her own company. We couldn't even really go outside, either because she was too ill, or because the pediatrician told me she was probably infectious and should avoid other children.

I amused her by letting her watch much more TV than usual (I introduced her to Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood and My Neighbor Totoro, which are both incredibly awesome and wonderful for small children). We also did a lot of coloring, reading books, playing with light/lanterns left over from the festival and playing with water (R loves water in all its forms, from washing hands to swimming, sadly off-limits currently). And there's always "helping" me with house chores (R is very enthusiastic if not skilled).

But I am not a fan of this variety of stay-at-home parenthood. I honestly wonder how other parents do it without going insane (because I know our usual jam-packed schedule is rather unusual).

Evolution of a Tantrum

R looking sweet and innocent

Oh, wait, I want the camera. I want it!!! I want it!!!!

You are such a mean mommy. I hate you.

I feel betrayed and am full of grief. I will look at you reproachfully.

Oh, what's this? The cell phone? So interesting...

This all happened in about a minute. Toddlers are the original drama queens.

Bad Parenting Day: What Went Wrong

Today was not a very good parenting day, and now that it's done I am totally exhausted. How things went wrong:

1. I woke up with a bad attitude. I got up with R as always, went through the whole usual morning routine, and then like always went to wake up B. But instead of continuing on with the day, I crawled back into bed and hid there (making B get up with R instead). I didn't really sleep: I just couldn't face the thought of yet another day doing more of the same toddler stuff.

2. R is into everything, all the time. Eventually I had to get up. I made breakfast and fed R, running around doing the usual million-chores-at-once thing. I made myself coffee, and was waiting to drink it until she was fed, cleaned and safely playing: but just as I was almost ready, R decided to climb up on one of the dining room chairs to see what I was doing and accidentally knocked over the very large cup of coffee, spilling it all over the just-washed clothes there (waiting for me to iron them).

3. I lost my temper, and screamed at her. Because this is only the third or fourth time this has happened, R was really upset and burst into tears immediately. Bad parenting choice, especially because she hadn't actually done anything naughty (she is allowed to be on the chairs, and knocking the cup over was an accident). We made up (she needed some hug time after the trauma) but it still sucked.

4. I didn't plan anything for today. Usually we are very busy, but I neglected to make any plans for this weekend. That means we just hung out at home, which I dislike. It means more housework for me (as R is home all day to make a mess), more boredom (as I can't do any of the house-based activities I enjoy, like reading, and am not out experiencing other things), and a harder time parenting (because R then bothers me to entertain her, which means I am constantly redirecting her/going over the rules for behavior etc.). For one day it's fine, as R enjoys the rare opportunity to play with her toys, but after a few days of it, things become sticky.

5. R has a cold. This means she is whinier and more fussy than usual, and her ability to tolerate frustration (generally in the form of me not allowing her to do stuff) is much smaller.

The day wasn't all bad: R and I went for a walk around the condo in the morning, and in the afternoon, swimming, which we both enjoyed; we talked to my parents via Skype; B and I had a good conversation while R was napping. But mostly it was one of those days that seems like it will never end.

Tomorrow R has a playdate in the morning, preschool in the afternoon, and I am leaving the house early to attend a class, so things should be a lot better. I guess I will see!

R Started Preschool

Off on her journey

R had her first day of preschool!!! today. It's a very nice school, clean, well-lit, with lots of non-branded, open-ended toys, and meets all the qualifications that were important to me: warm, experienced teachers; a very high teacher-student ratio (there's 5 in her class and two teachers); a small class size (I thought a large class would be too overwhelming); and a play-based curriculum (I don't believe in academically based programs for such young children). In more practical considerations, it's close to our house and isn't too expensive.

She's only starting at two afternoons a week, for two hours a session (so four hours weekly). If all goes well (and she stops regularly sleeping in late), I will switch to three-hour morning classes for 3 or even 5 days a week. She cried when I left of course, but seemed to settle in pretty well (I hid behind a corner and watched; also they took pictures), so I'm hopeful.

I have been longing for her to go to school (at least for a few hours, no thoughts of boarding school here!) for months now. But now that the time has come it's kind of bittersweet. It made me a little sad to think of R having adventures without me: even if I hear about them, or see pictures, I will not share them. She will learn new things, make new friends, and negotiate complex social situations, but without me by her side. I'm (very slowly) losing my status as her gatekeeper to the world. Instead, she herself will decide what to accept, what to reject, and how to interpret it all.

This is natural and important, and I wanted it to happen (and even if I didn't, it would happen anyway). But it is a loss, of her babyhood and of the cozy cocoon I've created for her over the last 18 months. Sniff sniff.

R 'Expressing Herself" (By Misbehaving)

What can I get into?

Yesterday was not one of my favorites. R and I were supposed to go to music class at 10:30. But then she slept in to 9:30, meaning that I did too, and then felt all rushed (it's sad but true that getting a toddler ready in the morning does in fact take almost an hour). I nursed her, changed her, gave her breakfast, cleaned up the breakfast mess, cleaned her, dressed her for the day, dressed myself and got everything packed: right on time! Then R pooped (again). It was a messy and large one, meaning that I had to concentrate to clean her thoroughly.

While I was doing this, R reached her hand out into the basket attached to the changing table (where I keep various supplies), removed the sunscreen, unscrewed the top, and began gulping down the contents. I literally had my attention averted for about 30 seconds, and when I looked up from my scrubbing, there she was with sunscreen all over her mouth.I looked at the bottle and it said very clearly "Call Poison Control IMMEDIATELY if child ingests contents". Not what you want to see in this situation. So I put R down on the floor to play with her toys and called Poison Control (long distance in the United States, I don't know what the system is here). Luckily it seemed I did not need to take R to the hospital or do anything special. But now we were running very late, too late in fact to attend class after all.

I felt very discouraged: I had put in a lot of effort getting everything done for nothing, I had poisoned my child, and the money I'd spent on the class was wasted. But I told myself, "Don't get upset. We will just go to the baby play gym instead, and still have a fun time."

Off R and I went to the baby play gym. Usually I let her run around and burn off energy, while I sip coffee. I was hoping for the same yesterday, but it was not to be. R did not want to play by herself, but insisted on doing all the activities she can't do independently (meaning I had to help her constantly) and leading me around to "show" me things (an activity she greatly enjoys, but I find very dull indeed). Also, I discovered I had forgotten her water bottle at home.

When R started trying to take the other children's water bottles, I realized she was thirsty. So I bought her a juice (packaged for children in a stupid branded bottle). R almost never gets juice, so I thought it would be a nice treat for her. She drank about half right away. Then she wasn't thirsty any more, but she also didn't want to be separated from her beloved bottle (she has bad taste and was very excited by the branding, something else she usually doesn't have) and kept trying to take it into the play area. I wouldn't let her as 1. it's against the rules and 2. the bottle leaked, so she had a tantrum (her first in public!).

Eventually she got over it, I put the bottle away, and then I took her to the coloring corner. At first R behaved herself, but then she thought it would be fun to throw the crayons all over. I told her no, she did it again (on purpose, while looking at me: I hate this), so I took the crayons away. Then she had another tantrum. I took her out of the room, she calmed down, and then she played for maybe 20 minutes with the toy kitchen. But then she remembered the bottle again, fetched it out, drank about two sips, and then had another tantrum (over wanting to bring the bottle into the play area, again).

At that point I was done (and it was approaching naptime anyway), so we went home, where R refused to go to bed peaceably (running away and trying to hide in the curtains, even though she was obviously very tired). Once she was stowed, I sat in the living room and wondered what happened to my well-behaved, cooperative, even tempered baby (and contemplated the fact that I have 5 or 6 more months of the same to look forward to).

Just to mess with me, upon awakening it was as if the morning had never happened. We had a playdate, during which she shared her toys unprompted, gave the other baby a pat on the head when he fell down, and fetched numerous objects for me when requested (like our swimsuits). I started to wonder if I was just making it all up. (She reverted back to naughtiness with the approach of dinnertime, so the answer is no.)

Having a Life That Looks Like a Catalog

I read the blog Rockstar Diaries. I'm not a huge fan, but I enjoy it for the pretty pictures. However, from a more analytic perspective it's a very interesting site because it consistently portrays a particular aesthetic, heavily influenced by women's magazines, advertisements and an overall sentimentality.

I was curious about who reads it, so I looked this up on Alexa (because it's free; obviously it's not really the best source of information and not what I would use if my interest went beyond idle curiosity). Seems to be mostly young, educated women, who tend not to have children. This isn't surprising to me, because what Rockstar Diaries shows is a fantasy of a specialized kind, like the domestic equivalent of a romance novel.

I was thinking about this in particular when I saw her latest post, of the happy, perfect family just at sunset having fun in a lovely location, because sometimes B and I look like that too. We went out to dinner with R a few nights ago. We were all dressed well, me in high heels, makeup and a cute dress that coordinated with everyone's outfit. R was well behaved and greatly enjoyed her food in a polite and socially appropriate manner, while B and I animatedly conversed about various intellectual topics. After dinner, just as the sun was setting, we took R's hands and danced together on the lawn in front of the restaurant's patio as we laughed and laughed, the charming colonial architecture evident in the background (we were at Chijmes).

It looked like something out of a catalog, and while I don't know what the other people there actually thought, possibly they would have had a similar reaction to the typical one for Rockstar Diaries. I do know that at times people do have that reaction. One of our friends (while visiting us for a week) told us that we had a seemingly perfect relationship and family, that we seemed to truly like each other, and that he hoped to have the same someday.

Hahahahaha. Of course, B and I do truly like each other (most of the time...). But real life isn't like a catalog at all. R cries and has tantrums, my hair inevitably looks awful because I can't style it, B usually looks like a hobo... and those things aren't really the difference that's important.

The big difference is in the emotions supposedly portrayed by idyllic family photos showing mutual love and enjoyment and carefree happiness. Often B and I can't stand each other: some weeks we quarrel constantly about anything and everything. I start fantasizing about my new single life and make lists of everything that he does wrong and ways he's disappointed me; he tells me that I'm impossible to get along with or please, and locks himself in his study for hours to avoid having to interact with me. And R, darling and cute as she is, drives both of us crazy with her energy and neediness and naughtiness, until we start bickering over who gets to escape to the coffeehouse. (R is too small to talk, but I know that sometimes she feels the same way about both of us: fed up with our rules, our ineptitude, and general slowness/boringness. She's bitten both of us, after all.)

It's not that the idyllic family photos or memories are a lie: B and I really did dance with R on the sunset-lit lawn. But to focus just on that gives a completely false impression of how human relationships work. They are messy, and painful, and boring, and complicated. Whenever there is great intimacy, there is also the ability to cause great pain: and humans being what they are, great pain is thus pretty much a given.

I think that's why mostly young non-mothers like the Rockstar Diaries. People with more life experience know the truth: that even happy marriages are full of days (or weeks, or months) of mutual dislike; that often parents and children hate each other (though those feelings are rarely anything but transient); that the sand in the vacation photo got all over you and made you itch; that the babies screamed all night because they weren't at home in their accustomed cribs.

I don't get jealous of others very often (to be quite honest, because I am too snobby), but when I do, I want to remember that things are never as they seem. Everyone is full of misery and angst and suffering, at least some of the time, because life is like that.

My Child Drives Me Crazy

R is a really great toddler. She very rarely has temper tantrums (maybe once a week, and so far never in public or for more than 2 minutes), is generally cooperative (allows diapering, dressing, and grooming; obeys instructions; will actually proceed with caution when so instructed), and is almost always happy, affectionate (she just learned how to give kisses, so cute), and generally so excited to be alive!!! She also shares without prompting (she loves offering toys to other kids, though it's as a somewhat self-interested move: to get their friendship or a chance to play with their toy).

But she still drives me crazy. I know, I'm awful and ungrateful. But the constant neediness (her desire to follow me around all the time! how she wants to check in every 15 minutes!), limit testing (can I do this? how about this? how about this? ad infinitum....), and OMG energy: she is like the Duracell bunny. Lately I've been thinking a lot about preschool (which typically starts at 18 months in Singapore).

I feel guilty about this, because she is so "easy" and good-tempered, and generally darling, charming everyone who comes into contact with her (R's latest thing is greeting strangers by waving and saying 'Hi!', which of course wins her lots of friends). I know other people have 'high intensity' children, who do everything R does, but at 10X the frequency. How they cope I do not know. (Maybe alcohol? or lots of household help? It's not the kind of thing you can ask.)

The good news is that my new parenting guru tells me that ages 16-24 months are the hardest in all of early childhood (and my mother said the same). The bad news is that I still have seven more months to go, during which things will only get harder (can't wait for the public tantrums! and attacking other children!).

Happy Birthday to Me

Birthday photo I made B take: see my new dress!

Yesterday was my birthday (I am now 34, which seems soooo old I must say. B and I decided to promptly forget how old we were in favor of vagueness.)

Before baby, I was obsessed with my birthday. They are a really big deal in my family (my mom has been known to celebrate her birthday for up to two weeks); when I was a kid, my parents would decorate the whole house, buy me a mini-toystore, make three special meals (forget just one!), etc. At least one of them would take the day off work to spend it catering to my desires.

It was always a day dedicated to doing exactly what I wanted, which since adulthood has meant homemade breakfast (by B), lunch and dinner out somewhere nice (with B), and the rest of the day visiting either museums or historical sites (accompanied by B). Obviously my birthday means a lot of work for B, but he has always obliged me by taking the day off work and spending it on spoiling me instead (he is a nice husband).

This year I actually forgot it was my birthday until the afternoon before. I did remember eventually (mostly only because it was my mom's birthday, which is the day before mine), but somehow I just wasn't that into it. In the end I did have a good time. B got up early with R and made us breakfast, we went out to lunch and then visited a museum (Ukrainian gold exhibit at the National Museum, quite interesting). Then B took R swimming while I read. Later B and I went out to dinner (Peranakan food at Blue Ginger, very good though I think Guan Hoe Soon is better) and drinks (at PS Cafe). 

What most of the other pictures look like: it's all about R

I wrote before about being parent-centered. I still think this, but it's impossible to be parent centered much of the time when you have a willful toddler. I can make her go to the museum, but then B has to spend most of our visit supervising her to prevent her from yelling, running, climbing on exhibits, or touching things she shouldn't (she is pretty well behaved but unfortunately has to learn all society's rules from scratch). We can go out to eat, but then a portion of my attention has to constantly be on R, to make sure she is following all the rules (sitting politely in the chair, being quiet, not making a mess: she can do this but forgets easily) and has what she needs. Though I am deciding on the path we go on, R can't follow me without my constant help, so anything we do means a lot of R-focused activity.

Thus having a very self-indulgent birthday in celebration of ME ME ME! just can't happen. Maybe that's why I'm not that excited about my birthday lately. Someday I know R will grow bigger, and then I can conscript her into my birthday plans (as my mom does with me). Until then, I guess it's a good opportunity to practice being less greedy.

My Child Is an Extrovert (and I'm Not)

The farm animals could only be fed lettuce:
we didn't bring any. R wanted to try, so
she just asked for some from other visitors.
Success!

We arrived in Singapore today (at 2 in the morning). It's good to be home! This trip went surprisingly well. R slept for large portions of both legs (we transferred in Tokyo again), and when she was awake she was mostly cheerful and quiet. It was still awful though.

R amused herself on the longer of the two flights by making friends with the baby in the row ahead of us. They had long conversations in jerba-jer (what I call R's "speech"), with R gently patting his arm and gesturing meaningfully. R did most of the "talking", since she is totally extroverted and completely at ease in most social situations.

This had the side benefit of enabling R to borrow his books and toys: she has learned how to request stuff from strangers (usually toys or food). She does this by approaching them, catching their eye, and then pointing at the desired object while saying "lala la? lala la?" Sometimes she will sidle up and lightly touch it while asking if they don't understand her. It works at least 90% of the time (unless her target is under 8, in which case they aren't necessarily so keen on sharing).

I am constantly amazed at this aspect of R's personality. Both B and I are introverts (in the sense that social interaction tires us and we enjoy solitary activities). In addition, B dislikes most people (he is very particular). I have a lot of problems with self-confidence, and tend to feel that everyone hates me. This makes social interactions pretty anxiety-provoking. R, on the other hand, loves everybody, and seems to be completely assured that they are going to love her too (and give her their candy). She thrives on meeting new people (especially if they are other children: more people to play with!). 

I always thought that I would have a shy, sensitive, retiring child. I imagined that I would be completely supportive of their timidity and need for tender support in the noisy, overwhelming world, giving them the total understanding for their struggles that always eluded me as a child. (I really liked this vision of myself, and to be perfectly honest sometimes I'm a little sad it was never needed.) 

Instead, I have the kind of kid who has figured out how win friends and influence people at 16 months. Maybe she can give me lessons?

Can't Stop Me Now

R is on the move! Walking all over multiple countries, running, standing on tiptoes, climbing on and up everything...she's a busy little person.

I often don't even bother to take the stroller when we go out (our museum visit on Sunday was entirely stroller-free, for instance), because she's perfectly capable of transporting herself.

The stroller's main function is now one of containment: as in, a portable baby prison. R is highly mobile, but has no sense whatsoever (and thus could bolt into traffic at any time). At the same time, she is not good at following directions. She understands them 90% of the time, but actually doing as we desire is a whole separate issue. So the stroller is important if I don't have both hands free, or will be in heavy traffic/crowded conditions.

Not surprisingly R detests the stroller and screams with rage whenever I put her in it. It cramps her style. Here she is doing what she likes best, running around, throwing toys on the floor, "talking" to herself and generally causing havoc (all those objects ended up on the floor in less than two minutes of work).