Toot-Toot!

I am hardly one to toot my own horn. But after being a mother for even just a short while, I could say I should.

I've been a stay-at-home mom since my first was born, 2 years and 9 months ago. Over that period, I've realized I am not SAHM material, and I personally believe that for this particular mom, being a working mom would have been much easier, having a break from childcare while at work, where I could eat my meals while they're hot and go to the bathroom unhurriedly. But that's a whole other story.

Mind

So I've learned to keep my mind sane by getting myself occupied with other non-motherhood related things. I volunteered for Taproot Foundation, an organization that provides teams of professionals to provide their skills to a non-profit organization's project pro-bono. TOOT!

I've also stayed a freelance copywriter while running two small businesses. Neither of them is earning yet, but I should say that wearing those many hats while raising a kid and running a household is something I should be proud of. I've always known I was a multi-tasker, but now I can say I'm a master at it. TOOT!

Body

My body has created two beautiful human beings, carrying them to term and fighting with all my might to push them out into the world. Both labors were quick but painful, and both pushing sessions lasted less than 15 minutes. My stitches, wounds and stretch marks will be a reminder that my body will never be the same after two kids, but these are a tribute to how strong my little body can actually be. TOOT!

My body has also allowed us to save over $1000 a year from formula, because I nursed my first boy till he was 2, and am now nursing my second one exclusively. I have absolutely nothing against formula feeding and will formula-feed my newest baby when I need to, but knowing that my body is able to nourish my kids is something I should also be proud of. TOOT!

Soul

Lastly, after spending our first Christmas with our 3-week-old in the hospital for RSV, I personally am a little amazed at how much I can handle running with only 8 hours of sleep – for the week. Despite the anxiety I had from having our tiny baby in the hospital while keeping up with the needs of the rest of my family, all with no rest, I give myself props for not falling apart.

Of course, this is not possible without the help of my ever-supportive and loving husband, as well as my mom who luckily, was with around for the first few days. They have kept me going, keeping my faith strong and knowing all will be ok.

Still, I've seen how much I can emotionally take. I know this may seem trivial to all the other mothers who are in their own battles much worse than I was in, but having a kid in the hospital will always be an emotionally challenging experience for me. And I've been there twice, with my first born spending his first birthday at the hospital, and our very recent Christmas experience. And I'm still sane and standing. TOOT!

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I wish I could put "being a mother" in my resume. Until I became one, I didn't realize how much work it is to be one.

So to all mothers out there, whatever your situation, let's give ourselves more than a little pat on the back. We know now that being a mom is a thankless job, so let's thank ourselves more often. We deserve more than we give ourselves credit for.

Here's to tooting our own horn. TOOT TOOT!

Mommy Meltdown

I had my first, true meltdown yesterday. I knew it was coming, but I didn't really imagine how.

Being 36 weeks pregnant, having Braxton Hicks contractions often and feeling so completely exhausted all contributed to that, and dealing with a particularly stubborn, tantrum-prone 2 ½ -year-old didn't help at all.

From early in the morning, he didn't cooperate with his first diaper change. Then he threw a fit when I wouldn't leave his toy tools on the kitchen floor before he had his morning cereal. I should have seen those as signs not to try to get him to do things he's been avoiding, like taking a bath.

For the past many nights, it has taken my husband and me a lot of coaxing to get him to take a bath. His old routine – bath, brush teeth, diaper, lotion, pajamas, book and lights out – has long been gone. He has since refused to do any of those in any order, maybe because he's asserting his independence in his 2-year-old way.

So my already-exhausted husband would often let it go at night, calling it "stress-free parenting" and not push our toddler to get cleaned up even after two days of no bath. He would do a shortcut – using antibacterial wipes to clean my son's hands and not forcing a toothbrush in his mouth.

Why I thought I could give my boy an uneventful bath yesterday by trying to coax him to play in the tub, is really beyond me. He did get in the tub to play with a couple toys, but when I started to shampoo his head, he began screaming, trying to climb out of the tub with his head full of shampoo that was starting to dry out.

With my big belly in the way, my energy level on -2, my contractions starting again and my patience wearing thin, I tried with all my might to keep it together, while I wrestled to keep him in the tub long enough to rinse his head. I failed on all of the above – miserably.

I threw the one of his bath toys in the tub and it shattered, splashing water everywhere while he screamed louder to get out of the tub, one leg already out, the bathroom floor (me included) soaked from water. I was losing it, and I knew it.

"WHY DON'T YOU WANT TO TAKE A FRIGGIN' BATH?! IS THE WATER TOO COLD? TOO HOT? TELL MAMA!!!!" I screamed back at him while he was screaming, bathroom echoes raising the original decibel levels.

I decided to join him in the tub, fully clothed, not caring how wet I was getting, if it was the only way I could at least rinse the shampoo from his head. He only calmed down when I was getting him out and wrapping him in his towel.

I, on the other hand, tried my hardest to calm down, telling myself I can do this, but it was too much to ask from my hormonal self.

As soon as we were out of the bathroom, I bawled. My toddler had no empathy, like nothing was happening, and darted to the bedroom leaving me holding his towel.

I cried because I was exhausted. Because I felt like if I didn't do it, my son will go a year without a bath. I cried because I can't reason out with my toddler, and he still can't talk to me. I cried because it was past 11AM and I had to think about what we were having for lunch and prepare our lunch. I cried because I had to take it easy for the baby inside me, but it seemed impossible with the toddler I was taking care of.

I felt so overwhelmed, pregnant and alone, thinking I had to take care of everyone else but nobody was taking care of me, when I needed some TLC, too. Not because my husband wasn't doing that – it was because he was at work where he needed to be, and I was at home alone with no extra pair of hands.

I eventually calmed down after my husband called, and after my little boy miraculously cooperated getting dressed.

I've never had a meltdown like that, but it was cathartic. It made me realize that I will never again get pregnant with a toddler and no help. And I will never again attempt to bathe an uncooperative 2-year-old by myself in my 9^th month of pregnancy.

I guess I now have to accept that the reality of my situation is that my son will sometimes go a few days without baths, sleep dirty with a stinky head, and not think that he will be harmed for life from not being clean like a toddler in a baby magazine.

How hard can that be from a clean-freak like me?

Daycare Jitters Part 2

Four months after we pulled Milo out of daycare that he never went to, I finally found a place I felt comfortable with. They were surprisingly affordable with a student ratio just as small as the most expensive daycare in our area, except I had to provide almost everything but snacks (which, because of Milo's allergies, I also had to take care of).

But more importantly, there was one teacher assigned to Milo, one caregiver my son can trust and run to when he feels upset, scared, hurt or when he needed comforting. So when we decided to finally enroll him, I was so excited for everything he was going to learn, for the friends he was going to make and of course, for the time I will have to myself two days a week, time I never had since he was born.

What I wasn't expecting was the rollercoaster of emotions I had the day before his first day. As I was preparing his lunch, labeling his food containers and fixing his things, I felt a pang of sadness – my baby is going to school! I thought I had 5 more years before I will have to start making lunches.

At the same time, I was also anxious, because he's never been watched by anyone else but me or his dad for a long period, much less a group of strangers. I was scared for him, but I knew that like any adjustment period, this anxiety, too, will pass.

On his first day at daycare, I spent almost an hour with him before we started their recommended "goodbye ritual" – I tell him I'm leaving, say goodbye, give him hugs and kisses, pass him on to his teacher and leave without looking back.

But when I said bye, he immediately climbed out of the bike he was on and said bye to his teacher, not realizing it was HIM I was saying goodbye to. The hardest part of it was stopping myself from looking back as I heard him start to cry and scream because I left him in the arms of his new caregiver.

I watched him from my car where he could not see me. Through the gates, I saw him screaming, crying, fighting to be put down and running to the gate where he last saw me. My heart broke watching him throw a fit, scared and anxious that I left him. I stayed in the car until I couldn't see him anymore, as his teacher carried him and led the other kids back indoors.

Throughout the whole 5 hours he was away from me, I did get some errands done and tried to be productive, all the while thinking about him. How ironic is it that when I was spending 24 hours a day, 7 days a week with him, I couldn't wait to take a break, but when I finally had the time to myself, he was all I could think of?

After over an hour of leaving him, I called to see how he was. His teacher said he cried on and off, but was fine in general. That was the only call I made, resisting the urge to call every hour to check on him.

Funny how I was counting the hours till I picked him up and saw that he was fine. So when I finally went, I saw him busy playing with toys, sharing them with other kids. The teacher saw me and I gestured to keep quiet, because I wanted to keep observing and didn't want him to see me yet.

She told me he did well on his first day. She said he held on to his teacher's pinky finger, following her wherever she went. He would go play, but periodically looked for her and held on to her finger again. He snacked, ate lunch and even napped, too. And he went exploring around his new territory lugging his lunch bag along – this only familiar thing unexpectedly became his comfort item. I felt relieved that he knew who to turn to for comfort – the plan, to get him to trust that he will be ok away from mom and dad, seems to be working on day 1.

As soon as he saw me, he ran crying, mad at me for leaving him. But after a few seconds of clinging, some hugs and kisses, Milo excitedly showed the toys he's been playing with, the fish in the aquarium, telling me in his baby talk about the new place he will call his second home.

Milo got through his first day in daycare better than I expected. I wish I could say the same for myself. I know there will still be tears in the next days and weeks to come, but those tears will probably be mine. My baby is growing up.

Parent Potty Training

We're in the middle of potty training right now, or rather, I'm in the middle of trying to start 26-month-old boy to potty train - AGAIN.

See, since he was around 8 months old, my son has learned to pee and poop every morning and after naps in the potty, after following my mom's advice to get him on the potty as soon as he can sit up at about 6 months old. There were even times when I'd re-use his diaper because it was soil-free. At that time, I learned we were practicing some form of "elimination communication," and at this point I was hopeful that potty training him by the time he could walk would be a breeze.

And then we went back home for a month-long vacation when he was 13 months old. There, he had to live in a completely new environment: different weather, different place, different people, with me as his sole constant. He refused to sit on the potty so I didn't force him to.

When we got back to our house in the US, I thought he'd be happy to go on his potty seat again – boy was I wrong. He wouldn't even want to come near it. I didn't force it on him, he was only over a year old anyway. I thought I had time. Little did I know that the possibility of a problem-free potty training experience would be flushed right down the toilet.

Now, as I look at the new truck-like potty seat we purchased to make him interested in the potty again, the cute underpants I have made ready and the fish and animal "reward stickers" I bought to bribe him to sit on the potty, I fear my boy will still be in diapers in college. He just refuses to start potty training, happy to sit and play in pee and poop diapers for as long as I allow him to.

He's just not ready, say the "experts." I thought he has long been ready, because he's done this before. He knows how to pee and poop, because he's told me before through signing that he is either in the process of going or has just gone. But now, he just won't do it.

I was hoping he'd be potty trained by the time another baby who needs to be changed every two hours comes. But I guess I'll have to wait a bit more and just keep my fingers crossed that he will be "ready" to be a big boy sooner than later. I'd rather really not have two kids in diapers at the same time.

Still, as with many other milestones, I know it will happen at his own pace, and allowing him to be ready before gently encouraging proper potty habits is what I should be doing.

I wish there some parent-training for learning to be patient and letting go of control. I could sure use that now.

Many Thoughts

So many things going on in my head, I don't know where to begin. Please allow me to ramble on and on and on…

Kate Gosselin

I've been following the Gosselin family since I saw their show in 2008, as I was channel surfing during my first few months of motherhood. The first time I saw their family, I was hooked, because I could not, for the life of me, imagine how I was going to cope with their situation, given that I was already going crazy with only one child.

Putting myself in Kate's shoes, I probably would never get to see or hear about my family or friends back home again, many of whom I only get in touch with online. The internet was my window to the outside world since I became a stay-at-home mom, and if I had to do what she has been doing, I'm pretty sure I will only dream about ever going online.

This is why I think she is an incredible mother, regardless of what everyone else thinks. She is determined to raise her kids the way SHE thinks is best, and she has every right to – she is their mother after all, and a capable one at that. She is very organized and even anal – to a fault, sometimes – but I admire her for that nonetheless, because she has to be that way or else her household will be in shambles. It's not a joke running a home with one kid, much more with eight!

I'm happy she was able to come out of the past difficult year in a positive light, with kids who seem well-adjusted and the total opposite of brats. Good for Kate for having a genuine support system – may it stay as solid as it seems to be, both for her and her children's sake.

Where is my village?

Speaking of support system, I've always felt like we've never had any. I do have some relatives within a 30-mile radius who I know will be happy to help us out, if we only asked. And I've finally met some wonderful neighbors who I can relate to more than anyone else I've ever known since we moved here.

However, I still feel like we don't really have that "village" that we need to raise our kids (and I say kids with an S because we're now expecting baby #2 in 5 more months) because all of our immediate family (my or my husband's parents, brothers or sisters) are a Pacific ocean away.

Somehow, asking help from a cousin or an aunt you see twice a year feels like we are burdening them in some way. We know how busy people here are, and for them to go out of their way to help us just feels like we're asking for too much. I would definitely feel more comfortable asking help from my baby's grandparents or uncles and aunts, because it seems their role as our family's support system comes more by default.

If only they were here. Or if only we were there.

Coming back

I've never considered NOT coming back home, especially since my first baby was born two years ago. Despite what most people say about my situation, chalking up my feelings to post-partum depression, or adjustment in a foreign land (despite having been here for over 5 years), or just the need for hired house help or childcare, I say my thoughts have not changed. We're still coming back and raising our kids where I and my husband were raised.

I have nothing against those who were able to make it work for their families here – good for them! But for us, it's just not working, and not because we never tried to make it work. I do long for my huge family and many circles of friends who I know will be there for our family anytime we need them (not to mention the ease of hiring house help or childcare back there). It's not that I don't appreciate the small circle of friends we've found here – they have been our rock, our family's strength and source of joy during difficult times. It's just that we know what we're missing.

I want my kids to grow up filled with happy memories of their cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents. I want them to play in the streets all summer long, coming back home only to eat - or have their friends eat at my house, or have my kids eat at theirs. I want them to remember trips with my friends' families whose kids I want my own kids to grow up with.

In other words, I want the childhood I had for my own children – one filled with so many memories, so much love and so much freedom to explore and just be kids. I fear that I can't give them that while we are here for a myriad of reasons… that alone seems like reason enough to come back and at least TRY to make it work back in my homeland.

I just wish I knew how to make that happen now.

Daycare Jitters

I knew I had to deal with daycare jitters, but I didn’t expect it to be mine.

It was Milo's first pre-visit at his prospective daycare, and I stood quietly on the side, observing how my soon-to-be-two-year-old would adapt to his new climate once he comes in for four hours twice a week.

There were many other kids, each one busy with his or her own toy and activity, while the teacher was attending to at least one other – if there was even a teacher.

As I took Milo outside to play, I noticed 5 other kids around, three of them with snot running down their noses. I didn’t find a teacher anywhere – which was a real surprise to me because I thought there should be a teacher supervising at all times.

After a good 15 minutes of these kids on their own, I finally saw a teacher come outside with another kid. Apparently, this girl was being potty trained, so the teacher had to come with her inside to potty.

But is that the norm – that the kids will be left by themselves as one other kid needs to be brought to another area? What if one of the kids outside busts his or her lip, and there is no one around? Will he or she have to wait until a teacher gets back before his injury is attended to?

When we came back inside, I let Milo go and play. He seemed to do well with me just in the sidelines, but I guess that was because he knew I was there somewhere. When one of the bigger kids scared him, he immediately came crying to me, signing “owie.” This same kid – a bigger, older one -- seemed to have made it his mission in life to prevent Milo from playing with any toy, because whatever toy my son got, he forcibly took away from him. And as I predicted, Milo didn’t cry, but he became visibly upset and frustrated, and started to hit himself as he looked to me for help.

The teacher didn’t see any of these happening because she was handling at least 9 other kids. But is this something I should expect from a place we pay to watch over my son? Am I asking for too much to want my kid supervised most of the time? Am I dreaming that my son will be comforted when he feels scared or upset when another kid tries to take his toys? Or should I just let him deal with it on his own - at only two years old? Besides, shouldn’t that other kid be told not to grab toys? Or am I really expecting too much from a daycare?

While he was playing outdoors and noticed he couldn’t find me anywhere, he started to panic, crying as he tried to go back inside, thinking I was on the other side of the door. I wanted to see what the other teachers would do (any of the three who were there), but I guess because I, the mom, was present, they didn’t think they had to handle the situation. None of them did anything, so I came to his rescue.

Maybe this was because we were on an unpaid pre-visit, so the teachers are not really expected to interact with my son or get him to warm up to his new environment.

But I’m seriously worried, because judging from what happened today, I wouldn’t know how his needs will be met if none of them will be that one person he can trust to care for him. That would have completely defeated our purpose of sending him to daycare part-time: to help him trust that he will be ok in somebody else’s care.

I truly didn't enjoy this experience. Now my gut is making me second-guess our decision. Should I listen to my gut or should I chalk up this uncomfortable feeling to a mother’s over-protectiveness and paranoia? Should I give them the benefit of the doubt and just cross my fingers that everything will be fine?

We’ll be back for a second visit on Thursday. Hopefully that will be a better experience. If not, I don’t know how much longer I can shut up this nagging voice in my head telling me we’re making the wrong decision.

Tug of War

I’ve been a fulltime mom for almost two years – since the day my baby was born. And I’ve finally figured out why this job isn’t exactly giving me the fulfillment I was expecting it to.

It’s not only because I keep working even after 5pm, on weekends and holidays. Or because I don’t earn money for my own shopping sprees. Or because I don’t get to talk with fellow adults about last night’s TV show during lunch.

It’s also because it doesn’t have a performance review. No concrete appreciation for a job well done. No grades, awards or medals.

All my life, I’ve been used to reaping tangible rewards. With good grades came medals and certificates; with good job performance came raises, promotions, pats on the back from bosses and colleagues whose life I helped make a little easier.

This time, I don’t get rewarded for x number of diapers changed, or a token of appreciation for staying up all night to put my baby back to sleep. I don’t get anything back for keeping it together while my toddler throws an ear-piercing tantrum, or any pat on the back for efficient use of my time, like getting laundry and dinner done even while baby is awake.

The “rewarding feeling” I’ve heard about countless times comes in fleeting moments: when he gives me a kiss; when he runs to me squealing in delight in anticipation of a bunch of tickles; when he shows me a new dance move or says a new word.

More often than not, though, I feel worn-out by cleaning up after every mess, trying to wrestle with him during a messy diaper change and just being “on” until he falls asleep at night.

Don’t get me wrong - I do love being a mom to this sweet little boy, and knowing that I am very lucky to have the choice of staying home to raise my own kid is something I’m always grateful for. I’m amazed watching him grow from a tiny, helpless baby to a funny yet gentle little kid. He’s only little once, and I love how I can be there to comfort every owie and be the mom.

And though I know that the best people to care for and raise a child are his own parents, the parents should be happy and content to actually give the best care. A fulfilled woman makes for a better mom. But this mom has just realized that fulfillment for her includes going back to work, mingling with other adults and earning money. And getting a good performance review or nice revenues from a business I can run.

So now, these thoughts are playing tug-of-war in my head. And judging by my true feelings, I think some form of work will win.

Maybe I could work part-time, or seriously take action on one of the many business ideas we’ve been sitting on for years. It might be the best thing I can do for me, and more importantly, for Milo. Then I could have the best of both worlds: being mom, and being me.