Four more Wednesday morning spin classes and I'll be back at work full-time. It seems like just yesterday I was at the gym staring at the bottom of the swimming pool right after my no-pay leave was approved, wondering how on earth I was going to survive the many months ahead not being gainfully employed.
***
It's the last day of August, and it is evident that I haven't felt much like writing the past month. I cooked many things - as I went through a severe spate of boredom at the beginning of August, I decided that we should host a pizza party at our place over the SG50 public holiday. I made oodles of pizza dough and pizza sauce (I used half a teaspoon of ground fennel and crushed canned tomatoes instead of tomato sauce) and while the guys were playing soccer, I expended lots of eye power directing the wives and girlfriends in the rolling out and making of many thin crust pizzas which were devoured with suitable appreciation. I also made a humongous shepherd's pie, macaroni and cheese, and Xinjiang spiced chicken drumlets and mid-joints, in a bid to prevent the guys from ordering the special spicy National Day chicken from KFC. The mix of spices I used can be found here, and I also added some soy sauce to the marinade. You can bake the chicken in a 170C fan-forced oven for about 25-30 minutes. If you're using bigger drumsticks/ chicken parts and making a smaller batch as per the original recipe, you can dredge the chicken parts in cornstarch before sticking them in the oven. Roast them for about 15 minutes on one side, then flip them to the other side and roast for 15 minutes, then flip them back and roast for about 10-15 minutes or until nicely golden brown.
The beginning of August also saw Jon going for three weeks of reservist. Just before it started, he was confident that he would be able to come home early for dinner every day and that it wouldn't be too taxing a programme. He was dead wrong, and this led to much unhappiness and quarrelling during the first week. To top it all off, FBC was sick that week, finally succumbing fully to whatever he had picked up during the Home Improvement Scheme with EASE ("HISWE", and what an inaccurate name for something which was not easy At All).
The period during which FBC was sick was one of the lowest points of this entire SAHM journey thus far. I was exhausted from having to constantly clean up after the HISWE took place in our flat, and was recovering from whatever virus it subsequently transpired FBC had caught as well, despite my hoping against hope that it wouldn't escalate.
There is a Thursday which stands out in my memory, it must have been the week after the SG50 public holiday. I'd dropped FBC off at my in-laws', and when I picked him up, was told that he had been as good as gold when he was there, and had eaten all his Heinz baby food without complaint. When we got home, it was as if someone somewhere had turned on a cranky switch, and he refused to nap or be left alone. When it came to dinner time, he refused to eat any of the food I had prepared. It would be apt, for dramatic effect, to say that I had prepared it "painstakingly", but as I had the use of my thermal pot and really, tasty porridge is all a matter of time once you have one of those, I shall not toot my own horn (seeing as I have already done it when describing our SG50 pizza party. Hur hur hur). He spat out whatever I could get into his mouth, which included some bits of spare rib which I later found rolled into a short, thin, grey roll on the living room floor.
In hindsight, the virus was probably beginning to take hold and FBC had probably just been too distracted at my in-laws' to unleash his unhappiness at being ill. But I didn't know - babies can't bleddy communicate with adults in a way the latter understand, can they?! - and I felt bitter and outraged because I felt like I had done so much for him but he couldn't even behave himself properly at home.
Of course, FBC also woke up about twice that night and was inconsolable. Usually he is quite good and goes right back to sleep if you give him a bottle, and he sleeps through the night unless he is going through some growth or other developmental spurt.
This did nothing for my mood, and because I still refused to believe that he was falling sick, when he refused to take his mid-morning nap the next day and kept making noise and wanting to be carried, I was so frustrated and angry that I left him in his cot, went to the kitchen, and swore in a loud, angry whisper (can a whisper be loud? Thankfully, I still retained enough of my sanity to exercise some self-restraint). I also declared in the same tone that I hated being a SAHM, ****** this ******. I leave it to you to fill in the asterisks with your choice of swear words (the ones I used don't require six asterisks. FYI).
After that, repentant, I went back to FBC's room, gave him a hug, asked for his forgiveness, and prayed with him. I asked God to forgive me for losing my cool, and I asked Him for patience and understanding. I told FBC that I was trying very hard to understand him but I just couldn't, unfortunately, and I prayed that even though I didn't know what was wrong with him, that God would comfort him in his distress. And of course, I prayed that FBC would just SLEEP. Which he did.
FBC only developed a fever a day or two after that episode and a few more nights of wailing and having to be carried and sung to for hours on end. Which was when I realised that I had been terribly unfair to him, and that he had just been sick all that time. But that's looking after a baby, and human nature, for you. What can we do but strive to give it our best, and depend on God's grace when we're spent?
What this experience taught me was not to take what babies do so personally. Most of the time, they have no idea that certain things they do hurt their primary caregiver (especially if you're their mother), and they are just unable to express that they are feeling uncomfortable and distressed in a language other than Inconsolable Crying (a dialect of Whale and Seal), in actions other than Carry Me Or I Will Continue This Horrible Screeching.
I think it is good that I have reached this understanding, especially since it has enabled me to see other things more rationally, for instance that ALL caregivers should be working together for the good of the child and my unhappiness that FBC sometimes prefers his grandmothers to me (wouldn't you, if you had a mother who left you crying unhappily in your cot while she went to the kitchen to whisper swear?) has no place in this scheme. Also as a parent, my job is not to be liked all the time. Which brings me to the issue of Discipline, and that I will share about when I've thought about it a bit more.
***
I met B on Saturday, and she asked me what I missed about working life. I said that I missed interacting with adults, but what I missed the most was probably having time to myself and not having to worry about someone else... And as I said it, I realised that I would never not be worrying about someone else ever again. There's a double negative there, so what I mean is that I will always be worrying about FBC, and I miss the feeling of not having him to worry about.
***
I took the bus home from lunch with R and Z today, and as FBC banged his head against my chest, eyes closing, I looked at our reflection in the plastic panel in front of us and smiled wistfully at myself, already nostalgic for these languid, sunny days where we had the luxury of these long bus rides together.
