Bloody Nora

I have never been afraid of blood – my own or others'. I even thought I’d make a good paramedic because blood never fazed me, no matter how much. But today, I learned that when it comes to your own kids, what you thought you knew about yourself may not really apply.

My 1-year-old was playing happily in our community playground this afternoon with one of the tot lot regulars, Hannah, while I was chatting with her mom, Hiroko. Then I saw Milo trip before the steps going up to the jungle gym, which was no big deal because he usually doesn’t hurt himself during his clumsy moments. Then I heard him cry.

I calmly walked to him to pick him up, and then calm turned to terror. I saw a lot of blood in his mouth, all over his shirt and his hands. I tried not to sound afraid, knowing it will scare him even more.

So I quickly picked him up, tried to calm him down, ran to get his burp cloth and wiped the blood off his mouth. My first thought was to make the bleeding stop, but I couldn’t see where it was coming from – did he bust his inner lip? Did he lose a tooth? Was he bleeding from his throat somehow?

Thankfully, Hiroko lived across from the tot lot, so we went up to her house and gave Milo ice water with crushed ice, which he willingly took. When his mouth was almost clear of blood, I saw the cut: right behind his front teeth. It turns out his chin hit the first step, cutting his upper gums with his lower teeth.

Hiroko said she was impressed at my composure, that I was very calm in handling the situation, soothing Milo with an unshaken voice. She was surprised when I told her my knees were shaking climbing up the stairs to her house, and that I was thinking if I should call 911, and that my heart was still pounding out of my chest even as we were about to go home.

Good thing my calm façade worked with Milo, because he did stop crying shortly after the incident.

Fifteen minutes later, he was feeling better enough to want to play outside again. Five hours later, I am still traumatized, finding it quite difficult to shake off the sight of my son’s bloody mouth at the playground, his blood-stained shirt and pants, my blood stained shirt, and all the blood I tried to wash off his burp cloth.

Now, I write this while having ice cream, trying to make myself feel better. I should already relax now that my baby is sleeping peacefully after a long day. I should feel comforted with the thought that it was nothing serious, and bad falls happen to every kid in the world. But the trauma just won’t leave me.

One thing’s for sure: I’m not afraid of blood, probably never will be, as long as it’s not coming from my kid.

To Work or Not to Work

Even before my baby was born, I knew I was going to have to quit my job and stay home to care for him. That decision was made out of the lack of having somebody we can trust to watch him, not really because I wanted to.

I honestly never imagined myself staying home to care for my kids, not until I had to live in another country, away from extended family. Plus, growing up with a working mom, I always envisioned myself as a career or business woman, leaving my kids to be watched by nannies – just like the way we were raised back home.

But because these were the cards dealt to me, I gave this SAHM (Stay-At-Home Mom)/housewife thing a chance. After several months of my identity forming into “just a mom and a wife,” my depressed self was convinced I really am not the stay-at-home-mom type.

“You’re blessed to have a choice not to work, especially in this economy.” This is what I always heard, and while I acknowledged that, the NJAM (Not Just A Mom) in me constantly screamed in agony for being ignored.

Finding work always seemed so tempting. Every time I got e-mail alerts of high-paying job opportunities where I was qualified, I quickly imagined the adult conversations I could have again, everyday lunches with new-found friends, gossip and TV show discussions – not to mention my purchase power: I could buy my own pair of shoes without having to tell my husband!

I got really excited, but very guilty. Like I was somehow committing a sin for even thinking of going back to work and leaving my baby to be raised by someone else, missing his milestones… missing him, period. But NJAM just wouldn’t shut up: I felt I was letting the achiever in me just die a painful, slow death.

So, I decided to compromise with myself: I found a part-time freelance gig that lets me work from home so I can fulfill my need to earn money (and not allow my creative juices to dry out) while staying with my baby. Still, that didn’t quite work for my social needs: I still felt isolated, yearning for some grown-up interaction.

For a while, I doubted the choice I made. It was a difficult choice to begin with, and being a depressed SAHM made me question my decision. I felt that strong tug-of-war between my need to be a productive, money-earning member of society and my priority to be a mom and a wife, taking care of my family’s needs. Before my son’s first birthday and around my 30th birthday, right at the height of my depression, I felt the NJAM was winning.

I’m a mom – wasn’t I supposed to be fulfilled? I felt so guilty for even questioning myself, but I had to admit to myself that I did not feel “that” fulfillment from being a SAHM. After talking it out with hubby, I decided to start finding work after coming back to the US from a month-long vacation with my family in our homeland.

And then, all of a sudden, I realized how much my baby was communicating with me, through signing, babbling and his attempts at actual speaking. He interacted with me more, showing me how quickly and eagerly he learned what I tried to teach him, showing me how proud he was of himself each time I was pleased.

And then it hit me – while it is true that being a SAHM is often a thankless, sometimes brain-numbing job, the “fulfillment” that comes from spending time with one’s child is real. I feel it each time he hugs and kisses me, each time he signs “sorry” when I show disapproval and each time he does his funny little tricks. Every time I see my baby happy and content, this rewarding feeling hits me, along with the realization that the biggest investment we can ever make in his life is our time.

“It” just came to me later than I expected, but as they always say, better late than never. And I’m glad these hit me before I made the choice to go back to work, a choice I may later regret.

Now, I have decided to embrace this homemaker role and apply whatever skills into it to make NJAM happy. I will blog more often. I will volunteer my skills in our community (among others) and design personalized chocolate bar wrappers as souvenirs for friends’ events.

And because I finally decided not to spend all my free time trying to find more ways to earn money, I will now be able to knock out all the projects I’ve never really made the time to do, like touching my son’s baby book and making an organized system for my recipes, meal plans and grocery list.

Who knows, maybe I can even make money out of it in the future. How’s that for extra achievement?