“Hello, welcome to Parenthood…”

I find myself being over-explanatory to Louise*, “his face had a few meetings with the coffee table over the weekend, as you can see”, pointing to the scars under his chin and over the bridge of his nose.  

“Oh you know what Fiona, they’re at that age where they’re knocking their head into things”, Louise replied. 

“Phew!” was the response in my head.  

 

Here I am, handing over my 13.5 month old son to the Daycare Manager, trying to explain the marks on his face to the point that I find that I have to defend myself for my son’s clumsiness and spatial unawareness. I almost fear that Child Protective Services might knock on my door and start interrogating me. Me being me who dislikes conflict will probably start crying. Cry to the point where I can’t breathe. Stumble for words. Choke. And eventually lose it.  

 

...and that’s what I did. Rewind back to 10th June 2020. 1 week after the birth of my son. I lost it. I actually lost my temper at my husband. I couldn’t believe my reaction. I feel it was a culmination of things that all happened sequentially; baby born, baby getting antibiotics because mamma (me!) got a fever during labour, baby got jaundice, baby lost too much weight because mamma (me again!) had low milk supply, baby had to have formula (parents weren’t prepared), insert “no sleep” in there a few times as well. I was however somewhat relieved to know that HelloFresh was at our disposal, but husband accidentally threw out all the protein. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. When I realised, my reaction was mute. I didn’t say a thing. I went to bed, threw over the doona covers and cried. All the bottling up of emotions within the one week came flooding out into a steady stream of tears. As a mum, and more importantly to note, as a first time mum, I had this sense that I had to be strong-minded and tough. I now had someone to care for. And they wouldn’t tell you how you were performing with words, it’s through cries. It was simply overwhelming. No amount of pre-reading, antenatal classes, or talks with other mums ever prepared me for this. I was just simply overwhelmed and went into this thinking that this whole parenthood thing was text-book. How wrong I was!

  

My ever-continuing parenthood journey has been shaped by 90% instinct, 5% world wide web and 5% advice (taken with a grain of salt). Every Margot and Maggie will tell me to do this and do that, including my mother. My mother was brought up in a different generation and different culture understandably has a different mindset to mothering. She is a very strong-headed and minded woman. She is the youngest daughter out of eight children so I guess she had to be resilient growing up with older siblings. I remember when I was about 7 years old, I was chased by a German shepherd and my mother was the one throwing herself in front of me, forming a protective shield. I could see myself doing that now with my son if that ever so happened. She is a very protective mother and physically strong for such a petite woman. I know that I didn’t get my strength from her unfortunately (I’m still building on that) but I’m most certain that stubbornness is maternally inherited.  

 

Most of our conversations end with a “let’s agree to disagree”. Her motto, from my perspective, is ‘A chubby baby is a healthy baby. A skinny baby is sick.’ Do I feel it’s an Asian mentality? Mayhaps. So fatten him up mummy! 

She has mentioned certain things I have been doing well, and more notably, things I have not performed exceptionally well in (but in a not-so discreet way); Are you sure he can eat pasta at his age? He should still be having mashed foods, shouldn’t you give him a cup of milk or freshly squeezed orange juice? Little man sure has lost some weight. Are you sure his still not hungry? etc. I’ve learnt very hard to ‘accept’ the advice even if I don’t believe in it. It’s better for my mental health to accept it than rather debate it to wits end. I’m still learning to ‘accept’ by the way. We’re very different, my mother and I, in terms of how we raise children (or feed them for that matter). I follow baby led weaning, she doesn’t (mashed foods all the way for her) and creating mess. We’ve had several instances when little man starts coughing on his food. I’ve learnt that’s normal (in certain circumstances of course). That’s how they’ll learn what their mouth is capable of. I believe bare feet is best (until they are fully able to walk). My mother’s subtle suggestion is “let’s go shoe shopping for the baby”. Hence the 5% advice. 

 

My son is 13.5 months old. Is he walking yet? No – well not confidently. Do I care? No. He’ll eventually learn to. He took his time to roll over, and when he did, he just never stopped. He would roll himself over to the electrical cords some days and the floor fan on other days. He loves furniture cruising. He’ll use the side coffee tables to hoist himself up. He knows how to get down safely – but that’s after a couple of instances when he dived head first into the floor and then we consequently had to teach him to land on his feet first.

 

He loves books as well. His all-time favourite is ‘We’re going on a bear hunt’. He will pick it up from a pile of other books. My husband and I started reading to him when he was only a few weeks old. Now we’re starting to see the fruits of our labour; his recognition, his understanding of emotions, his anticipation when the family see the big brown bear in the cave. Oh my, this feeling I cannot put into words. I’m doing a good job. We’re doing a bloody good job.  

 

Reading is one aspect that both my husband and I strongly instil in our son. My mother-in-law is an educator so my husband grew up knowing reading was very important. She was also the one that brought all those children’s books. On the other hand, I grew up having little to no books until my teenage years. It was either free books you received when you purchased a certain soft drink or a packet of chips back in the 90s. I couldn’t read properly until I was in the fourth grade. I was a late bloomer as one would term it. But once I learnt and I had a library card, I went mad! Knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t want my son to go through that learning delay that I had, if I knew I could do something about it. Now here’s to hoping he has the same love of Sherlock Holmes as I do. 

 

He is growing and I’m growing. Self-growth, if ever there’s a word for it. There should be a game where there’s a treasure chest you can unlock called ‘self growth’ but only if you go through birthing a human and choose, if you so wish, to take on the responsibility of being their full-time carer.

  

I had social anxiety pre-pregnancy. I feel that I still do, but to a lesser extent. I feel stronger not only because am I voice for myself but for my son. That requirement as a parent to speak up for their children has been acquired. Achievement unlocked.

 

All I know is that for now I need to be there for my son. Be present. Accept. Share emotions. Confront the unconfronted. Be brave. In the end, you win. Game Over! 

 

 

*Name changed