Just Because It's June

The Merry Month of May is gone. With June came the rains. And ten days short of celebrating his 23rd month on earth, my son decided he had had enough of milk. One day he was drinking his usual 2 cups a day, the next he went on what is now going on a two week milk strike.

The first night he refused his milk, I put it down to being too full after a big dinner. Next morning, I allowed it as well, since he ate plenty of breakfast. As the days went on though, he has shown no signs of wanting to ever drink milk again, despite many failed attempts to trick and coax him into ingesting some. (Chocolate milk? Disgusting. My son would rather eat his own poop. Changing cups? He refused them altogether and only accepted water from a clear glass.) Clearly, I am not wily enough to outsmart a 23 month old.

As all mothers will know, parenting is largely a matter of trial and error. From the time of a child's birth, you try new things, different things. Nappies, (some give them a rash, others have sharp tapes that cut their skin, others don't absorb well enough) teats, in the case of bottle drinkers, and sippy cups, (some spouts are too hard, others too soft, yet others weirdly shaped in a way they don't like) soaps and body washes, (some dry the skin, others cause eczema) laundry detergent, the list goes on and on. When a child begins to eat, they will try every type of mashed, pureed, bottled and fresh fruit, vegetable and food combination. Entire sections of baby books are given over to Baby's Favourites, which automatically implies that the process of selection and elimination for each has been laborious and lengthy.

Going back to my son's milk strike, I'm considering the alternatives. He's rejected 4-6 types of formula in the past, and with age 2 coming up certainly won't need it any more anyway. I could try soy or rice milk, but chances are as long as the liquid is white, he'll reject it anyway. But that won't stop me from buying a number of variants nonetheless.

I have a terrible feeling this is the beginning of the Twos, when most children become more active about asserting their independence. While Little A still won't speak, he no longer allows us to make his digestive decisions for him anymore. A box of rabbit-shaped organic cheese biscuits recently arrived from grandmum, which in the past would usually languish on the table to be finished off by mum and dad, but Little A knows they are his, and now looks for them before, during and after every meal. If we take away the biscuits, he'll refuse to eat the food. For now, he is eating both. Fingers crossed it stays that way. Now maybe if I dipped those cheese rabbits in milk...

The Emperor's New Shoes

I've read that as children grow and learn new skills, they may stop doing, but not forget, old ones. This is certainly true for my son, who recently restarted doing some things he used to do but seemed to have forgotten.

To Poop or Not to Poop

A couple of months ago, I started putting Little A on the potty to poop. Since he isn't talking yet, he can't tell me when he needs to go, but when I would see him assume the pooping position or make his "pushing" face, I would take him to the toilet and let him do his stuff there like a big boy. This was successful for a couple of weeks, but then the au pair came and let him poop in his nappy when I wasn't around. He quickly realized that pooping on the go was more fun than doing it big boy-style and soon refused to cooperate when I would put him on the potty.

A month or so later, I've started putting him on the potty again. It's very early days yet, but so far, so good. I'm hoping it stays this way as he is now 22 months old, and according to my mum I was toilet trained by this age or thereabouts. I'm keeping my fingers crossed on this one.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Another thing Little A has recently relearned is his dislike of footwear. As we live in a flat with lovely wooden floors and for a time had a crawling baby about, we go barefoot when indoors. Most of our guests take their shoes off at the door and make themselves at home since our toddler still spends much of his time sitting and playing on the floor.

Little A started walking on his own at 9 1/2 months, with no assistance. My husband and I didn't do the hold-his-hands-and-let-him-practise thing that most parents do, nor did we use a walker. Our son wanted to be mobile as quickly as possible and we wanted him to find his own balance instead of leading him about drunkenly as most learning-to-walk babies are, so we only held his hands to keep him steady when he had already made his first short sets of solo steps.

Naturally, all this learning to walk on his own was done barefoot, and his first "shoes" were those ideal for new walkers with soft suede soles that allowed him to still feel the floor. A former professional ballerina, I know how important it is to feel the floor through your footwear, and I also know the discomfort caused by feet being squeezed into shoes, no matter how comfortable, for long periods of time. At any rate, I love being barefoot, and my son clearly inherited this trait.

Once he was ready for proper shoes, the struggles began. He didn't like the feeling of things on his feet, and perhaps they impeded his ability to walk, or so he thought. No matter how flexible the sole, it still wasn't the same as being free of footwear, so we went though countless attempts to coax him into his shoes, whereupon he would insist on being carried or put in his stroller and refused to walk at all. Eventually though, he capitulated and accepted that shoes needed to be worn when going outdoors. Hooray! Just in time for trips to the mountains and Hong Kong, where the weather was far colder than sultry Manila and shoes were a must.

When summer arrived in February, Little A had just about outgrown his favourite pairs of lightweight, waterproof shoes and the next size up was still too big. Uncomfortable in overly large shoes and complaining about too tight ones, he has taken to being barefoot again, even out of doors and in shopping malls. We force him into a pair of lightweight sandals now, but he still complains about them.

One thing my husband and I have noticed lately though is that when there are shoes on his feet, our dynamo of a son, who normally loves to run, climb and bounce about, turns into the type of child I marvel at when I see one - almost catatonically still in his stroller. Perhaps that is the simple secret to a perfectly behaved child - footwear.

Much Ado About Nothing

I've never been much of a t.v. watcher. Thanks to catching the reading bug at an early age and parents who brought my sisters and myself up to appreciate the myriad of other things life has to offer that are far more interesting than a small box of moving pictures, watching television has never been high on my things-to-do-when-you-have-nothing-to-do-at-home list.

That said, there is the occasional t.v. series that I enjoy, and when I do find one I try and wait until the entire season is available on dvd, buy that and then watch it in as few (or many) installments as my free time allows. Gone are the days when my husband and I could devote entire weekends to marathon viewing of an entire series season, stopping only to eat. He can still do that if he so chooses of course, but I have a son to bathe, amuse and put to sleep.

Two nights ago, we bought the latest season of what has long been the only t.v. series I still follow. As soon as Little A fell asleep that night, my husband and I crept out into the living room to watch at least the two-hour first episode before going to sleep ourselves. Confident that our son would sleep at least three hours before his first possible night wake-up, I was surprised to hear the patter of feet down the hall fifteen minutes into the first episode.

Little A burst into the room as I stood up from the sofa, grabbed my hand and led me back into the dark bedroom. I noticed the front of his shirt was wet and thought he may have overfilled his nappy and perhaps wet the bed. He climbed onto the bed and sat right in the middle, where he usually sleeps between my husband and myself.

When I looked at my pillow I saw two wet spots and a large one on the duvet where Little A normally lay. Grabbing a towel to soak up what I still thought was pee, I then spotted the glass of water that normally stood on my bedside table on its side and empty on the bed. My little boy had woken up thirsty, seen that no one else was in the room and gotten the full water glass himself. He'd spilled some on my pillow but was careful enough to get the glass right to the middle of the bed before drinking some and then spilling the rest on himself and the duvet. Because no one was there to see it happen, he ran out to get me at once.

While my son may be mischievous, he always remains at the scene of the crime when he does something he knows is wrong. If he spills something or throws up, he immediately tries to clean it up with his hands and stays right where he is until someone sees him and comes to help. I hope he maintains this sense of honesty as he gets older. In the country we live in, it seems far more common for people (and politicians) to try and get away with committing figurative (and sometimes literal) murder than to admit their mistakes and try and fix them instead of pinning the blame on someone else.

Frogs and Snails and Puppy Dogs' Tails

My son is 20 months old now. Just the other day, while getting him ready for bed, it struck me that he was no longer a baby. Maybe it was the long limbs, maybe it was the way he helped me by taking his shirt off; whatever it was, it hit home that he is really a little boy now.

This little boy is discovering more of his world every day, and more about the people in it. When someone kisses the top of his head, he looks up to see who it is instead of just carrying on with whatever he's doing. Lately, he has also been studying our faces - mine, my husband's and the au pair's. He is no longer afraid of the big slide at the playground, though he does go down carefully, on his tummy, feet first. And where he used to largely ignore the other kids around him, he is starting to notice them and sometimes attempts interaction now.

He is a true toddler, but in many ways still our baby boy. He babbles constantly but has yet to form real words. He is fully aware of his bodily functions, but refuses to use the toilet. He can sleep in his car seat and stroller but will not go down for the night unless I am next to him on the bed.

In month and a half since the au pair's arrival, my husband and I have managed a half-dozen or so dinners out with friends. We usually come home between 1030 and midnight, and each time our son is waiting patiently for us, very tired and very sleepy. 

Yesterday, he had an unusually short nap. My husband and I had dinner with friends who lived half an hour away so we thought this would be the night our son went to sleep on his own. At 1045 pm, the au pair called. Little A had fallen asleep in his stroller, but woke up half an hour later and was furious that we weren't there. He cried and cried until he threw up everything he'd eaten for dinner two hours earlier. We rushed home.

I walked through the door and saw my son with tears in his eyes, clutching a framed photograph of himself, my husband and me taken on his first birthday. As soon as he saw me, he ran to the door, looked at me closely, then ran back to his corner. His stroller was upside-down on the floor where he had thrown it in anger. When my husband came in after parking the car, Little A did the same thing, looking at him closely, but approaching neither of us, perhaps because he felt betrayed.

According to the au pair and the day girl, while crying, Little A searched the flat for us, looking in the bathrooms and opening and shutting all the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen. He then indicated that he wanted the photograph, which was hanging on the wall, and when they gave it to him he kissed it, went to look for us, and failing to find us threw the photo on the floor. He picked it up again, kissed it, and went on another hunt, with no success.

I quickly popped him into a warm bath to clean up and then he went to sleep immediately by my side. Early this morning, half asleep, he sat up in bed and felt for me to be sure I was still there. Later in the morning, while playing, he looked up from his toys and studied my face for a long time. 

I have a trip to Hong Kong scheduled next month for work, and was hoping to leave Little A with his dad and the au pair for the two nights I will be gone. After last night, I may have to rethink leaving him behind. But there's a month to go. Who knows, by then he may be able to fall asleep on his own. When that time comes, he will have realized he no longer needs me, but chooses to spend time with me because he wants to. I wonder how I will feel. 

Back in the Saddle

I recently accepted a writing/editing project that covers the first quarter of this year. Income, whoopee! The pay is so low that I may as well be doing the work for free, but hey, every penny counts, and it's a start to what will hopefully become a part-time, if not project-based, career.

Thanks to the new au pair, I have less time on toddler duty and more in front of the laptop. So far my husband and I have gone out twice with groups of friends and attended one children's party where we could actually sit down and talk to fellow parents instead of taking turns entertaining Little A, who still hates loud, crowded places, we discovered.

He spent the entire time we were at the party outside the party room walking, reading, playing and then falling asleep. I can't say I really blamed him as I too have a dislike for loud party hosts who never stop talking, and at this particular event, when the host wasn't chattering incessantly into his microphone, there was music blaring out of the speakers.

Despite the au pair's presence, however, my son still refuses to fall asleep without me by his side, and looks for me immediately upon waking up. My husband and I are working out our strategy for this, so that I can be free during the afternoons instead of limited to before and after naptime as I am now.

This afternoon, I will be entertaining a couple of girlfriends at our flat, and tomorrow my husband, son, myself and my entire family (2 parents, 2 sisters, 2 brothers-in-law and 6 nephews and nieces) fly to Hong Kong for my parents' wedding anniversary, which this year falls on the same day as Chinese New Year. It is our third wedding anniversary as well, so let the good times roll!

Playschool

Last week, my 16 month old son started attending "structured play group," a prelude to preschool. Three mornings a week, we walk across the street and take the lift one floor up to a small room where up to half a dozen children about 2 years old are left in the care of three very competent teachers.

Nannies and parents wait outside the play area as classes are only an hour and a half long, and snack time takes place midway through, during which time they need to assist their respective charges.

Most of the children who attend these classes live in our condominium complex, as does the owner herself, who has a son just five months older than mine. Little A seems to be the youngest in the class, and it shows in the way he flings himself about with total abandon and doesn't sit still or follow along with the structured activities like the hello and goodbye songs and the prayer before meals.

My main goals in enrolling him in these classes are: 1) to get him used to interacting with other caregivers (and children, of course), 2) to expend his morning energy while hopefully learning new skills and honing others, and 3) to move forward in what is turning into a long and seemingly impossible weaning process.

So far, things seem to be going well. The first day, he was challenged by the new environment and enjoyed having other children around him. From time to time, he wanted me to come into the play area so that he could show me around, or just have me nearby as a comforting presence. Other nannies were in there too with their charges, and there was one boy who was 21 months old and absolutely refused to leave his father's side, nor have his father even stand up to make a telephone call.

Seeing this boy made me realize that Little A's separation anxiety issues were nowhere near as serious as I'd thought. My son runs into the play area willingly and only looks for me 10-15 minutes later. Once he gets his cuddle or has me near him for a minute or two, he busies himself with another activity and doesn't notice or mind my leaving the play area again.

The second day, we started attending the mid-morning "class" as it was more convenient for both his wake-up time and my morning routine. However, he was borderline sleepy this time, and as there were only 2 other kids (and therefore less distractions?) he insisted I stay in the play area most of the time and interacted with me more than his teachers. He tried to nurse a few times, but was didn't really complain when I prevented him from doing so.

This morning I only had to enter the play area once, for about two minutes. He took my hand and led me to the toys, and once distracted, I stepped out and let the teachers do their work. During snack time I sat behind instead of next to him, and only intervened to give him a drink of water. He still didn't follow instructions during the movement activities, but neither did he look for me again, nor try to nurse at all. At the end of the session, I had to pick him up and take him home or else he would have continued to play through the teachers' lunch hour.

Almost immediately after each morning session, he sleeps. For these three mornings, at least, partial weaning has been accomplished. Hooray! While I realize these "achievements" are only baby steps, they are a good start. There may be some backward slides, but on the whole there's nowhere else to go but forward.

Baby Love

Sometimes, when he's having a hard time falling asleep, my son wraps an arm tightly around my neck, pulling me close to him so that my cheek is against his on the pillow. His other arm goes around my shoulder, keeping me close. When I try to turn my face or lift my head to breathe, he clings on tighter. All the while staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take him.

I cherish these moments because I know a day will come when he will no longer want to wrap his arms around me and hold me tightly. For now, in bed, I am more than happy to be his human teddy bear and he is more than happy to be mine.

Hong Kong Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease

One week ago, we were in Hong Kong. Little A went on his 3rd ever plane ride, all of which have been to the same destination. My husband had work to do, so we tagged along. It was Little A's first plane ride since January and now that he's very much mobile, we were a little worried he'd go ballistic, bouncing off the walls.

We took an evening flight to get settled in before my husband's meetings started early the next morning. Little A hit the airport fresh from a long nap and, as expected, was like a toy with brand new batteries. He ran around while we checked in, while his dad lined up at Immigration, and through the terminal areas. We blagged our way into an Executive Lounge where he calmed down, had a bite to eat, and picked up a spoon that he ended up holding onto until the plane ride home.

By the time we boarded, he was tired. Hooray! The first half of the two-hour ride, he was fast asleep. When he woke up, he got to his feet and ran straight into the galley area, where the stewardesses where packing away the food trays. We amused him as best as we could, and the plane landed shortly afterwards.

At Hong Kong airport, he raced about again as my husband lined up at Immigration. During the train ride into the city he was a little impatient, wanting to get out at every stop (there were 2 before ours.) When we finally got into the cab to go to our hotel, he was very glad to be sitting on his own and not in my lap.

The hotel room was a new playground. As we checked in close to 9pm, we ordered room service immediately while Little A enjoyed dimming the lights, turning on the tv and watching a Baby Einstein video. He then went for a swim in the bathtub and played some more before finally falling asleep at midnight.

My parents came along too, though they stayed at a different hotel, because they wanted to give me a hand with Little A. As it turned out, he was feeling separation anxiety in a big way, and refused to let anyone else so much as carry him. That first morning, we went for a walk and stopped at a nearby bookstore before he went down for his nap. My parents came over and insisted I do some shopping while they watched him, but almost as soon as I stepped out of the hotel I had to rush back as he woke up and cried furiously because I wasn't there. We then left for my parents' hotel, which was atop a big shopping mall. After lunch and a couple of errands, Little A explored my parents' room and took another short nap, whereupon my mother insisted I have tea at the Executive Lounge. Within 10 minutes, she had Little A up there, as he'd woken up again and was looking for me.

The second day was no better. He cried angrily the entire time my dad carried him around H&M, and ended up back in my arms. After a nap (during which time we sat at Starbucks nursing a cup of coffee), we hit a baby store where my parents insisted on buying him a new travel stroller (which he immediately hated). It ended up carrying our shopping. I took him back to the hotel in the mid-afternoon, and my parents went back to theirs to pack, as they were leaving early the next morning.

On Saturday, things were marginally better, though Little A refused to let even his own father carry him. We did our shopping and took him back to the hotel for a proper nap, and when he woke explored the immediate area, discovering an entire floor full of children's stores in the building right next to our hotel. The next day, we would fly home.

On Sunday Little A was irritable, crying as we checked in and throwing a huge tantrum on the train to the airport. He finally fell asleep, right up until it was time to board. The plane ride was a little tense, but I put that down to ear pain and as we were about to land, he fell asleep again, waking up just in time to get into the car and ride home.

That night, he had a hard time sleeping. He woke up twice crying, and I figured that since he was drooling madly, his back teeth may have been coming through. Monday was more of the same - waking from his nap crying three times, and being very clingy. Both days he didn't take much milk, though his appetite seemed fine.

On Tuesday I saw a blister on the palm of his hand. When I saw tiny ones on his feet, I realized my son had hand, foot and mouth disease. My husband left work at once to drive us to the pediatrician's, where Little A had another crazy crying fit after the doctor forced his mouth open to check for sores. She didn't find any, but told me to watch out for them in the next 2 days. Otherwise, he'd be fine within a week.

Wednesday was another hard day, but by the evening, Little A was better. His milk appetite had returned and he was more energetic. Most importantly, he didn't wake up crying anymore, though since the previous day, I'd taken to rubbing teething gel on his mouth when he'd start pointing to his cheeks. I found one sore on the inside of his cheek, a long one.

This morning, he was almost back to his old self, but I woke up with a mouth full of sores. The reading I'd done said adults are generally immune to hand, foot and mouth disease, though it seemed I was one of the few in the world who wasn't. Just my luck.

Meet Little A (1)

I wanted to write something today, and since this blog is mostly about me, this seems like the best place to do it.

I am Little A. I am almost 15 months old. Here is a list of things I like and don't like right now:

I like:

- water. Splashing, swimming, drinking. Puddles, faucets, ponds and pools, anything liquid will do.

- climbing. Walking and running are okay now. I don't fall so much anymore, so the next challenge is stairs. I am practising as often as I can, and always hold someone's hand going up or down, but if no one is there I use my hands to help get up safely. Lately I have successfully been climbing chairs and the tv stand. All that is left are the bed and the bathtub.

- books. No one has to read them to me, I like the pictures, but when mom or dad tells me what's on the pages that's fine too. They have boring books with no pictures. The covers are interesting to look at though.

- Baby Einstein and the Little Einsteins. I watch 2 or 3 of these a day. I pick a dvd and mum or dad plays it for me, though I am figuring out how to operate the dvd players already.

- mummy's milk. She keeps trying to give me yucky cup milk. I drink it sometimes but don't like it as much as hers.

- tasting things. I lick everything because things taste different. Mum and Dad don't like it when I eat paper, plastic and rubber, though.

- fresh air and wind. Mum and I play outside a lot in the day, except when she says it's too hot or raining. If I was strong enough to open the doors though, I would still play outside in the sun and rain.

Things I don't like:

- grass. It's prickly and weird on my feet. I will walk anywhere but don't like grass much at all.

- loud, crowded places. When mom and dad bring me to parties, I don't like staying inside the party room for very long.

- people who try to hug or carry me, especially when I don't know them. If I like you, I will play with you, but you need to give me time to get used to your face first. If you just grab me I will push you away or reach for my mum or dad.

That's it for now. I'm going to play.

The Trials of Toddlerhood

Ever since he was born, Little A would wake up every 45 minutes to 1 hour during his naptimes to feed. I can't find any information on this on parenting websites. Everyone else's kids just seem to nap in one long stretch from birth. It's frustrating, because we're trying to wean and I have no idea what to do about these mid-nap feedings. A bottle would make the most sense, but I haven't been brave enough to try one yet. While feeding, he strokes my chest and makes sure it's really me there. Sigh. I know I should just bite the bullet and see what happens.

Toddlerhood seems like it will be much more challenging than babyhood, what with toilet training and weaning and disciplining and all the rest of it. I hope I can do a good enough job. Big A is just not around long enough, since he leaves for work before we are awake and often comes home at night when Little A is about to go to sleep. So the burden of responsibility will rest mainly on my shoulders. Already we're having temper tantrums when I pull him away from the swimming pool (he tries to jump in at every possible opportunity) but most of those don't last long, and he does seem to be learning. Now he walks along the pool and just puts his hands in, but still tries to get into the kiddie pool every chance he can get, as he knows that one is where he is allowed to bathe.

Luckily, my son doesn't seem to be a sulker, the way I was as a child. I would go off by myself and sulk for ages. Now though, my temper cools as quickly as it heats up. Little A may get angry with me for disciplining him, but when I put him down he still runs back into my arms, crying. Maybe he understands that stopping him from doing something doesn't mean I love him less, but that I love him more and don't want to see him hurt. At any rate, he doesn't seem to love me any less for it. Let's hope it stays that way.