In the days of my not-so-distant youth, before I met Jon but after I realised that 80% (more?) of Singapore's population lived in HDB flats and not, as I used to think, primarily in houses (i.e. landed property) of varying sizes (small, medium, large and super duper I don't want to know what my parents do large), I had a vague idea that I would one day like to live in a smallish-medium sized house, have three kids, an SUV, and a Golden Retriever. If not, then a large, airy unit in an apartment complex (think walk-ups, or Pandan Valley) would do. All this, despite the fact that my maternal grandparents lived in a four-room HDB flat in Marine Parade and we visited them every single Sunday after church. The floor was tiled in light grey marble which my mother told me my grandparents had purchased and laid themselves, hence the rather haphazard pattern formed by the grain.
I know this makes me sound like a snob and perpetuates the Methodist school stereotype, but I hope I will be forgiven, simply because I never gave much thought, in my immaturity, to what the rest of Singapore was like. I lived near enough to MGS to walk to school, and up until I entered junior college (ACJC, which was only about a 10-15 minute bus ride from my parents' house, depending on traffic), there was no real need for me to think outside a radius of 3km or so. My parents are two of the least snobby people I know, and are thrifty to a fault, so it's funny that I grew up with what I now recognise are rather appalling ideas about what I wanted from life.
Over time, I lost the desire to study overseas - I'd had some ideas about doing a liberal arts degree in New York - and wanted nothing more than to get into law school at NUS and be with my family in Singapore in my university years. My thinking towards marriage and starting a family changed, along with increasing inflation and property prices. I didn't think about having children any more, nor about having a dog (all that fur and drool! And I'm a cat person anyway, it's just that a dog would have gone with the house) or living in a house or condominium after I got married. I just wanted to get married and have a nice HDB flat (atas-ly decorated, hopefully) to call home.
I turned 30 just over two weeks ago, and I think I can say, truthfully, that I've more or less achieved what I wanted to in life, and then some. Of course, there are now other things to "achieve", like growing old with Jon and bringing up the children (plural!!!), and I think it is apt at this juncture to quote Damian in Past Imperfect:
"But I do approve of these people. I admire their ordinariness. When I was young I couldn't deal with anyone who lacked ambition. I couldn't see the point of a life that just accepted and had no wish to change. . . I sympathised with any vaulting goal, no matter how ludicrous. But those with no desire beyond a decent life, a nice house, a pleasant holiday were quite alien to me. They made me uncomfortable. . . Now, I see the ability simply to embrace life and live it as noble. Not always to drive yourself like an ox through a ploughed field, which is what I used to admire. I suppose, hundreds of years ago, it was the same when people entered convents and monasteries to give their lives to God. I feel these men and women, in just getting on with it, are also in their way giving their lives to God..."
There are days when I wonder what the point of it all is. You get through life, one day at a time, and then you die at some point. By all accounts, the world is dreadful and depressing. When will Jesus come again, when will good finally triumph over evil once and for all? What's the point of having children, if we are in the last days? Despite being quite sweet and entertaining, Daniel is going through the Tiresome Twos, and of course you can't fault a baby for simply being a baby (cry, sleep, eat, not show you any appreciation for cleaning his multiple and very smelly poos). I'm constantly annoyed and irritable because I can't do what I want, whenever I want, and even when I finally get out on my own, I'm thinking about how Jon, Daniel and Andrew are doing.
But there are other days where I am seized with a sudden awareness that there is intrinsic value in having children (shades of Finnis), days where the air is cool and fresh and I manage to have an hour or two outdoors, all to myself. These are the days where I realise that true contentment and satisfaction with life are not actually that easy to come by, and I am thankful that I am. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I am "noble", because I believe contentment is one of God's blessings - but whatever it is, I highly recommend simply embracing life and living it, if you haven't already.
***
So! My baby is almost 9 weeks old, and I expect you ploughed through all that navel-gazing in the hope that I would write about having two children with my usual wit and candour (SELF-PRAISE IS NO PRAISE). I think it's a bit early to say anything definitive about what life with two is like because, as I have mentioned, Andrew is only 9 weeks old and does little more than eat, sleep, cry and poo - and pee. Daniel seems to like him so far, but I'm convinced that that's because Andrew can't really do anything yet. Of course, I hope and pray that they will come to like each other and be friends in the weeks to come, but for now, I'm happy with Daniel's "See Baybee!!" 's, not so thrilled with his over-enthusiastic pats and not very sure how to feel about his slobbering over Andrew's forehead in a show of affection.
We had a confinement nanny for 6 weeks, and while it seems ungrateful to say this, I am glad she's gone. She was kind and good-hearted and a huge help after Andrew caught Daniel's cold, but oh, she was so auntie*. And funnily enough, her being with us made me quite certain I don't want live-in help, though I suppose I should wait and see how I cope after I go back to work.
*As you know, there are different types of auntie. I am auntie, but not the same kind. And just so you know I am not running down one of my own, she was not of the annoying auntie ilk.
The week after she left, Jon came up with a song showcasing her pet phrases. It's nothing more than a deranged, repetitive chant, but for what it's worth, I reproduce the lyrics below in hanyu pinyin and phonetics. It more or less sums up the first six weeks of Andrew's life, and do note that it is also more entertaining to perform for your family in your living room if you have a toddler who likes repeating things. Malaysian Chinese accent optional.
Yu yee yu yee yu yee you (如意油; this is Daniel's favourite line. Think: imitate ambulance)
Yi4 zhi2 da4 bian4 (echo: pi4 gu3 lan4)
Hen3 jing1 shen2 (you must say heeeeeeen3)
Bi2 zi3 hen3 sai1 (Sterimar proved quite useful. Unfortunately, this also led to -)
Yi4 zhi2 bu4 yao4 shui4 (yiiiiiiii4)
Repeat each line as many times as desired. For non-Chinese speakers, here is a rough translation of the song, along with my thoughts where they matter:
1. Medicated oil which nannies and parents swear by for getting rid of bloatedness and gas. All I know is, the day the nanny left, we stopped using it, and Andrew's sleep, mood and feeding improved drastically. Until his intestines got stuck now and then when he coughed, resulting in the right inguinal hernia, but that's fixed now.
2. There was a period of time where Andrew kept pooping despite being mostly formula-fed. Contrary to what the nanny said, his buttocks did not "rot".
3. Very lively. Veeeerrrrrryyyy lively (this, usually at 11pm or so).
4. Very blocked nose. It was difficult not to feel frustrated with Daniel for sneezing on him within an hour of his arrival at home, but that's life.
5. Keep on not wanting to sleep. Keeeeeeeep oooooonnnnnn not wanting to sleep (because, see above).
I recommend PEM Confinement Nanny Agency. They did a good job of matching us with a nanny according to my written specifications of "Nanny must not make me breastfeed and must allow me to bathe. Without herbs."
Yu yee yu yee yu yee you. Birth story to come.
