#38weeksemo

For reasons which some of my Very Patient friends (well, if they've felt like giving me a good spanking but were too polite to say so, I don't blame them) and mother (who will probably never be closed to  the possibility of giving me a good spanking I think, despite the fact that I turn 30 this year) have likely had to listen to one too many times in the past few weeks, I'd tentatively made arrangements to induce labour at 38 weeks' gestation, which was last Friday. Since I am sitting on my sofa writing about #38weeksemo, and am still leaking pee in the middle of the night when I cough, it is safe to conclude that I chickened out of the induction, for various reasons which my said Very Patient friends and mother have been very patient and understanding about. One of those reasons was also that it didn't seem like the best decision medically, so I've given it another week. If all goes well, we will meet Andy Lau some time this Thursday or Friday. And if you, like me, think that electing for an induction is desirable because it gives you some control over when things happen and enables you to make arrangements which suit everybody, especially if you are having a second one and have no helper, do not Google "Is electing to have an induction selfish", because Google and your pregnancy hormones will make you feel like the most horrible mother who ever lived. 

***

The chickening out was a last minute decision, made in my gynae's office whilst I grumbled to him Can you believe my husband is going back to work later?!, which meant that I spent a good part of the past two weeks or so planning things around giving birth last Friday. The Friday before, Daniel's school planned a trip to the River Safari, in line with this month's animal theme (and what 23 month olds will learn from a barely 2-hour long excursion to the River Safari, I have no idea). Although my gynae said "Why cannot go zoo?", the unbearable heat and the fact that I was 37 weeks pregnant led me to decide not to go, and to take leave to spend some time with Daniel, because there was a distinct possibility that we might become a family of four in a week's time. 

I'd had ideas about how it would be a lovely, restful morning at home before we went for brunch with Y and Jon picked us up (he had a reservist call-up) and we dropped Daniel at childcare before I went back to the office. At about 8.30am, it dawned on me that I should probably make Daniel some porridge, but we were out of vegetables and protein, so a trip to the mini-market opposite our house, whilst tiresome, was necessary. We made it there and back, Daniel happy to be toddling about, but I had to carry him all the way home, and when I started making the porridge, he grew steadily more whiny and clingy, making it near impossible to get the porridge cooked, and get us both showered and dressed. When I finally managed to get us both presentable, I found that my house keys could not be located. This was particularly irritating because Jon had tried, and failed, to find his house keys earlier that morning (we knew that Daniel had probably hidden them), and if I couldn't find my house keys then we were probably housebound unless I wanted to leave the door and gate unlocked. I'd seen Daniel playing with my house keys barely 20 minutes before that, so I asked him where they were. Where keys?, I said, in what I felt was a winning and cajoling manner.

In that absolutely annoying way of toddlers, he gave me his best wide-eyed stare, then proceeded to follow me around the house repeating "Where key?", as I frantically burrowed into the unopened stack of mail on the study table (please remind Jon that it is his duty to clear it), and upended the sofa, ever conscious that I was getting later and later for brunch. 

And so, even though it was probably my fault for leaving my child unattended with the keys, and also Jon's for not putting his keys in the key drawer, in my frustration, I spanked Daniel and sent him to the naughty corner. 

After which I felt so bad because this was supposed to be one of the last few times it would be just us - for a while at least - and he looked so contrite and hurt, that I burst into tears and gave him a big hug, raining copious tears down the front of his school uniform in the process. I apologised and told him that he had to stop being so naughty because he was going to be a kor kor soon, which made me cry even more, and hug Daniel even harder, because He is so small, how is he going to handle all these changes? What happened to our nice morning together? Why am I letting that stupid Huffington Post article which I poo-pooed as absolute rubbish a few weeks ago mess with my mind?

(Confess your mummy guilt to the world, and you shall be forgiven.)

I eventually located Jon's keys in the back of the sofa, at one end, and further digging revealed that my house keys had been hidden at the other end. We left the house, I was only half-an-hour late for brunch (having a child is no excuse, but. BUT.), and Daniel ate most of his porridge, spinach and all. It started to rain, heavily, prompting exclamations of "Rain! Rain!" with much excited pointing and attempts to run out into it, but we got through brunch with only one time-out (following a bout of violent table-kicking for fun, which I had tried in a reasonable tone and manner to put a stop to (see what all this mummy blogging is doing to me, I need to clarify that I tried a reasonable approach first)) and then Jon came to pick us up, and I left my toddler prostrate and throwing a mini-tantrum at the entryway of his childcare centre, yells of "Eyeeeeee waaaaan maaaaa maaaaaaa" ringing in my ears. 

Moved as I was that he still wanted to be with me despite our frazzling morning together, I thankfully made my way back to the car and to the haven of The Office. 

***

I've re-read some of my first few posts about being a parent, and it both astonishes me and makes me cringe, just a little, at how naive I was, and how little I knew. I admit that I still don't know s**t and probably never will, but I do think one thing I was right about (thankfully) was giving me, Jon and Daniel time to get to know each other because we are all our own persons after all. Of course, I was more often than not as impatient as the next parent for Daniel to stop being so mind-numbingly boring (eat, sleep, cry, cry some more, and more) and start showing some signs of being a person, and simultaneously worried to death that I would never feel love for my child because some of my earliest memories after giving birth were of feeling shackled and longing for a lack of responsibility again. 

But finally, I am able to say with conviction that it's been nice getting to know Daniel these past two years, and he has, and continues to bring Jon and me much joy. Plodding through the boring, frustrating days, waiting out tantrums, hiding my tears when I felt overwhelmed and unappreciated - the stuff all relationships are made of, really. And more recently - laughing with Jon at his antics and lack of self-consciousness, trying to keep a straight face when Jon is scolding him, watching him fall asleep and resisting the urge to bite his chubby cheeks. The cuddles, the singing, his solid chunkiness and his resting his head on my shoulder as I ferry him about in my arms despite the discomfort it causes. 

***

The next time I write anything (and I WILL share about the food that was worth throwing up in my first trimester at some point), I will probably be wondering how I ever thought that having another child so close in age to my first would be a good idea and/ or be about to tear my hair out, if it isn't already falling out. Indulge me and my twee sentiments today, I'll see you again soon.