How did I survive a two-hour walking tour with three boys under seven?
I don’t quite know. But I’m sure my sarong sling had something to do with it. Months ago I wrote a comparison of the baby carrier and sarong sling. Since then Aramis has outgrown the carrier, but the sling is still extremely useful as a baby hands-free kit 🙂
The more interesting comparison now is between the sling and a pram. Although the pram is less physically demanding (I don’t have to bear the baby’s weight), I’ve come to the conclusion that most times, the sling wins hands down. Here are 5 reasons why: Continue reading
I had a rare morning off work today. So after dropping the boys off at school, Aramis and I had a little date at the Singapore Botanic Gardens.
Now gung-ho as I was, I thought it would be wiser to attempt this only after having some caffeine in my system. (Despite my earlier bravado about weaning, I am, I’m sorry to say, still nursing at night. We don’t call him Suckzilla for nothing….)
And here is where I start my rave about the newly renovated Botanic Gardens. Continue reading
I wrote about my decision to start weaning in an earlier post.
Now that I am down to about 2 or 3 expressions/feeds a day, I felt that The Time had come. No more Milo or herbal-infusion-of-exotic-plant for breakfast. This week, after 21 long months of abstinence, I, Pilgrim Mom, was going to have a COFFEE.
On the way to work, Pilgrim Dad and I stopped off at the venerable Killiney Kopitiam for breakfast, where I declared, probably a little too loudly, Continue reading
Last week, Grandma gave Aramis aka Suckzilla his first ever bottle of formula, and so began the process of weaning.
I hadn’t really been thinking about weaning, except that 11-month-old Suckzilla, who usually nurses like so:
…last week decided to adopt this position: Continue reading
All mothers are consummate multi-taskers. Just ask anyone who’s ever had to change a poopy diaper on a squirming baby without the help of a change table.
But tonight, I took multitasking to a whole new level of achievement. I was having dinner and Athos asked to play chess. Then Porthos, who was struggling to finish his dinner, asked to be fed. And then Aramis wanted his snack too. So there I was – feeding myself, nursing my baby, supervising my middle child and playing chess with my eldest.
Pilgrim Mom takes a bow and curtsey….
I would celebrate except that science has told us multitasking is terribly inefficient… At least now I have an excuse for losing to a 5-year-old at chess!
Pre-motherhood, I used to wonder about the idiom “Don’t cry over spilt milk.” It didn’t make sense to me because, for heaven’s sake, why would anyone cry over spilt milk? Unless you lived in crushing poverty, just wipe it up, get a new glass, or drink OJ….
Of course, that was then. When Athos was born, I experienced huge difficulties with breastfeeding. One night, during a period when my milk supply was very low, Athos woke up in the middle of the night to be fed. To give me some rest, Pilgrim Dad did the honours. He went to the kitchen, warmed up some expressed breastmilk, brought it to the bedroom, whereupon in his bleary half-awake state he knocked over the bottle and spilled half the contents. When I saw the precious stuff all over the floor, I promptly burst into tears. And Pilgrim Dad, the dear (barely awake) man, responded “Don’t cry over spilt milk. Haha.”
Suffice to say he will eternally regret the joke.
Anyway, all this is simply to say I now have an intimate and intuitive understanding of the idiom. And I’m also starting a new category called “Spilt Milk” for about the travails of motherhood. We read to know we are not alone.
Our new year began not with a bang but with a whimper.
Several whimpers, to be precise.
It started with Aramis and his midnight feed. His lower front teeth are just about to break through so he nurses more intensely these days – Athos has christened him “Suckzilla”! – So even though he was done with his feed, he would wake every time I tried to unlatch. It was frustrating.
He finally slept, and I crawled gratefully back into bed. But just as I was about to fall asleep Porthos stomped in – it seemed a mosquito had decided to use him for target practice and he was itching in several places. So I bring him back to his room and dutifully help to scratch him here, there and everywhere. He kicked and fussed, tossed and turned, and after what seemed like an eternity, he finally calmed down and fell asleep.
Again I crawled back to bed, thoroughly exhausted by now. And again just as I’m about to fall asleep, Athos comes in saying that he’s wet himself. I couldn’t believe it. After settling him, I went back to bed, and before I could sleep, Aramis awoke for his next feed. By the time I was done, it was 4am and I hadn’t slept at all.
I can see why sleep deprivation is an effective form of torture…. Amid the festivities, it’s a good reminder to me of what I should be prepared for in the new year.