"Mummy, the water is boiling! Quick!" Zelda cried in a shrill laced with fear.
Of late, Zelda got all the jitters whenever she caught us boiling water. She would plead pitifully with us not to boil any water.
She was never like that before and was indifferent towards us boiling or not boiling water. It did not take much to guess the reason. What's so scary about a boiling kettle? The mystery is why now but not then?
As guessed correctly, she feared the high-pitch whistling of the kettle when the bottle boiled. We had to assure her that we would turn off the stove as soon as the kettle started to whistle and that she would not get to hear the sharp shriek rending the air.
After much probing, we came to understand why.
"每次我在房间做东西，那个kettle响，我就做错了。" she finally coughed out why.
Of late, Zelda got all the jitters whenever she caught us boiling water. She would plead pitifully with us not to boil any water.
She was never like that before and was indifferent towards us boiling or not boiling water. It did not take much to guess the reason. What's so scary about a boiling kettle? The mystery is why now but not then?
As guessed correctly, she feared the high-pitch whistling of the kettle when the bottle boiled. We had to assure her that we would turn off the stove as soon as the kettle started to whistle and that she would not get to hear the sharp shriek rending the air.
After much probing, we came to understand why.
"每次我在房间做东西，那个kettle响，我就做错了。" she finally coughed out why.
Clueless of where she has acquired her palette for Japanese food, I have never thought that her favourites are unagi which she always mistakes for chicken and cold soba. Honestly, I have never ever thought that any food will appeal to this recalcitrant difficult eater.
For someone who takes an eon to complete her every meal, she polishes every single strand of the noodles effortlessly on her own in less than half an hour.
me: 你等一下要吃什么？
Zelda: 我要吃冷面！
For someone who takes an eon to complete her every meal, she polishes every single strand of the noodles effortlessly on her own in less than half an hour.
me: 你等一下要吃什么？
Zelda: 我要吃冷面！
I have possibly found the antedote to my troubling whole-day-long morning sickness. Let me test it out a few more times to confirm if it is 3-in-1 coffee.
It's a bizarre remedy for a coffee teetotaller.
It's a bizarre remedy for a coffee teetotaller.
Zelda has a new personal item.
Her latest eye check-up revealed a mild lazy eye with long-sightedness and astigmatism. The bad news is she has to start wearing glasses at the age of four years and seven months even before she starts attending K1 classes. The good news is that the glasses are to correct rather than to compensate her slightly impaired eyesight. The opticians are hopeful that her eyesight will improve if she uses her spectacles every day after a period of time given her young age.
We'll wait and see if there will be an improvement in her review two months later. Meanwhile, it's the incessant reminders of asking her to put on her glasses and stopping her from fiddling with it like a new toy.
With the glasses, she looks a few notches more mature, learned too, the latter perhaps only in my eyes. I still prefer her face clean and will work hard to help her restore her perfect eyesight.
Her latest eye check-up revealed a mild lazy eye with long-sightedness and astigmatism. The bad news is she has to start wearing glasses at the age of four years and seven months even before she starts attending K1 classes. The good news is that the glasses are to correct rather than to compensate her slightly impaired eyesight. The opticians are hopeful that her eyesight will improve if she uses her spectacles every day after a period of time given her young age.
We'll wait and see if there will be an improvement in her review two months later. Meanwhile, it's the incessant reminders of asking her to put on her glasses and stopping her from fiddling with it like a new toy.
With the glasses, she looks a few notches more mature, learned too, the latter perhaps only in my eyes. I still prefer her face clean and will work hard to help her restore her perfect eyesight.
I have always found the last five weeks of every year too short. Year 2009's last five was however one that could not be longer or more torturous.
Worst of the three pregnancies, this 11-week old taught me just too well what morning sickness is. Other than fatigue and occasional headaches experienced in my first two, this third one is plagued with prolonged exhaustion, nausea accompanied with persistent headaches and dizziness that never leave for a second.
For someone who does not fall sick easily, this first trimester is everything related to a rude invasion of my body. Absolutely taken over by excessive level of progesterone and oestrogen, I have forgotten how it feels like without a headache. Not a day, not even one, was I spared from a spinning head. What made it worse is that there is nothing I can do to help dispel it besides waiting and counting down to the second trimester, that is provided I am lucky enough. There are some ladies who suffer morning sickness throughout their whole pregnancy. Certainly, I keep my fingers tightly crossed that I am not one of them.
I miss my body and my health. Please do not take too long to return.
Worst of the three pregnancies, this 11-week old taught me just too well what morning sickness is. Other than fatigue and occasional headaches experienced in my first two, this third one is plagued with prolonged exhaustion, nausea accompanied with persistent headaches and dizziness that never leave for a second.
For someone who does not fall sick easily, this first trimester is everything related to a rude invasion of my body. Absolutely taken over by excessive level of progesterone and oestrogen, I have forgotten how it feels like without a headache. Not a day, not even one, was I spared from a spinning head. What made it worse is that there is nothing I can do to help dispel it besides waiting and counting down to the second trimester, that is provided I am lucky enough. There are some ladies who suffer morning sickness throughout their whole pregnancy. Certainly, I keep my fingers tightly crossed that I am not one of them.
I miss my body and my health. Please do not take too long to return.
We have a Thomas and Friends rubber mat in the living room. It is where we sit most of the time if we are not on the sofa.
The rubber mat has puffed up tiny squares and grooves on its surface.
This morning, standing up from the mat, she toddled to her daddy. She stretched out her arms and showed him her two little palms. I found it hard to believe, but I was certain that the expression she wore on her face was one that spoke volumes of worry.
"是印来的，等一下会不见的。你看，爸爸也是有。"ZH explained to the little girl.
Not fully convinced, Tessa turned towards me to show me her palms, imprinted with square marks from the mat.
"It's ok. These are marks from the mat. They will go away after a while," I assured her and pressed hard on the mat to show her how those marks came about.
Having heard the same explanation again quelled her worries. She broke into her usual cheerful smile and padded away to carry on with her own play.
The rubber mat has puffed up tiny squares and grooves on its surface.
This morning, standing up from the mat, she toddled to her daddy. She stretched out her arms and showed him her two little palms. I found it hard to believe, but I was certain that the expression she wore on her face was one that spoke volumes of worry.
"是印来的，等一下会不见的。你看，爸爸也是有。"ZH explained to the little girl.
Not fully convinced, Tessa turned towards me to show me her palms, imprinted with square marks from the mat.
"It's ok. These are marks from the mat. They will go away after a while," I assured her and pressed hard on the mat to show her how those marks came about.
Having heard the same explanation again quelled her worries. She broke into her usual cheerful smile and padded away to carry on with her own play.
In the latest issue of the Charlie and Lola publication, we are supposed to make a fictitious creature, the sea-tickler. To my dismay, we turned the craft set that came with the magazine inside out only to find that the two pairs of googly eyes for the two ticklers were missing from the pack.
"Did you see the googly eyes when you opened the pack just now?" I asked Zelda.
"Nope," she answered with certainty.
Disappointed, we made ticklers without the eyes.
Perhaps, we might find the googly eyes hidden somewhere. They could have flown out of the pack when Zelda ripped it apart and were lying in some corners waiting to be found.
This morning, I asked Zelda again, "Are you very sure that you didn't see the googly eyes in the pack last night?"
"I found the googly eyes, Mummy," she replied.
Delighted, I asked, "Really? Where did you find them? Now we can stick the eyes on your ticklers!"
Zelda said, "In my bed. I was sleeping and I kicked on something hard. I wondered what that was. It's the googly eyes!"
"Shall we go find them from your bed now?" I urged, could not wait to complete the incomplete project.
"But now, it's stuck inside my blanket," she said.
"It's okay, we'll search for them in your blanket," I said, pleasantly surprised that what lost were found.
"But I want to stick the eyes tomorrow," came an answer least expected. I sensed something amiss.
"Did you really find the googly eyes?" I questioned.
"No," she admitted with not a tinge of hesitation or guilt.
"And you spoke about having found them as if it was so real? Were you trying to trick Mummy?" I asked, both tickled and disturbed by the whole episode. She was so natural. Was that humour or deceit?
She chuckled, "Yes, Mummy."
There were no googly eyes after all. But there is a newly found inclination to manage.
"Did you see the googly eyes when you opened the pack just now?" I asked Zelda.
"Nope," she answered with certainty.
Disappointed, we made ticklers without the eyes.
Perhaps, we might find the googly eyes hidden somewhere. They could have flown out of the pack when Zelda ripped it apart and were lying in some corners waiting to be found.
This morning, I asked Zelda again, "Are you very sure that you didn't see the googly eyes in the pack last night?"
"I found the googly eyes, Mummy," she replied.
Delighted, I asked, "Really? Where did you find them? Now we can stick the eyes on your ticklers!"
Zelda said, "In my bed. I was sleeping and I kicked on something hard. I wondered what that was. It's the googly eyes!"
"Shall we go find them from your bed now?" I urged, could not wait to complete the incomplete project.
"But now, it's stuck inside my blanket," she said.
"It's okay, we'll search for them in your blanket," I said, pleasantly surprised that what lost were found.
"But I want to stick the eyes tomorrow," came an answer least expected. I sensed something amiss.
"Did you really find the googly eyes?" I questioned.
"No," she admitted with not a tinge of hesitation or guilt.
"And you spoke about having found them as if it was so real? Were you trying to trick Mummy?" I asked, both tickled and disturbed by the whole episode. She was so natural. Was that humour or deceit?
She chuckled, "Yes, Mummy."
There were no googly eyes after all. But there is a newly found inclination to manage.
Turning our words on deaf ears, she jumped and bounced on the sofa. She leapt and hopped on it like it was a trampoline. A slight miss in coordinating her footing, she fell and landed hard, not on the hard cold floor, but on the sharp corner of the wooden magazine rack standing beside the sofa, on the back of the head.
The crash alone was enough to send shudders. The scream of excruciating pain that followed was more than adequate to freeze a strong pumping heart.
She started crying with her head buried in the sofa.
And I started screaming away inside me, "See? How many times were you told not to jump on the sofa or the bed? You see what's happened to you now?"
I put her head on my lap, fingering through her hair to examine the damage. What was I supposed to expect as my fingers ran through her head? A bump? A cut? A gash? A dent? With each stroke, I held my breath. Clear scalp, no damage. Tension mounted as her crying did not cease. Where was the source of pain? I combed through the other side of her head and finally saw it.
Blood.
I looked at the corner of the magazine rack which was undoubtedly sharp enough to inflict torn skin gauging from the loudness of the collision.
I pulled out a piece of tissue paper and applied pressure on where the blood was oozing. The sight of blood was worrying but I was utterly relieved that the bleeding not one that was threateningly cascading from the wound. It was slow and not even trickling. The bleeding stopped after a while after making a few remarkable patches on thank-goodness only one piece of tissue paper.
The wound was home treated with a coat of Zam Bak.
The bearer of the wound was treated with a stern round of reminders and warnings laced with comforting words.
Did she learn her lesson? I hope she did. I just wonder why physical pain is always more superior in teaching her a lesson?
The crash alone was enough to send shudders. The scream of excruciating pain that followed was more than adequate to freeze a strong pumping heart.
She started crying with her head buried in the sofa.
And I started screaming away inside me, "See? How many times were you told not to jump on the sofa or the bed? You see what's happened to you now?"
I put her head on my lap, fingering through her hair to examine the damage. What was I supposed to expect as my fingers ran through her head? A bump? A cut? A gash? A dent? With each stroke, I held my breath. Clear scalp, no damage. Tension mounted as her crying did not cease. Where was the source of pain? I combed through the other side of her head and finally saw it.
Blood.
I looked at the corner of the magazine rack which was undoubtedly sharp enough to inflict torn skin gauging from the loudness of the collision.
I pulled out a piece of tissue paper and applied pressure on where the blood was oozing. The sight of blood was worrying but I was utterly relieved that the bleeding not one that was threateningly cascading from the wound. It was slow and not even trickling. The bleeding stopped after a while after making a few remarkable patches on thank-goodness only one piece of tissue paper.
The wound was home treated with a coat of Zam Bak.
The bearer of the wound was treated with a stern round of reminders and warnings laced with comforting words.
Did she learn her lesson? I hope she did. I just wonder why physical pain is always more superior in teaching her a lesson?
If you start getting all envious simply to the knowledge that both my girls are in bed by a quarter past eight this evening, you really don't have to.
Yes, they are both fast and sound asleep at this early hour. It must be one of those good days, you might think. With the young night, what a luxury of personal time I can indulge myself in!
Well, well, well, I am more relieved than grateful that they hit slumberland earlier than usual for in the day, they, more so Tessa, had also given it to me harder than all other usual days. It's not a good day. It's a bad one, quite a bad one indeed.
Sundays are packed back to back with Zelda's ballet class and Tessa's music class. It's a nice arrangement for during Zelda's 45-minute ballet class, we can do some grocery shopping. Thereafter, I will take Tessa from my mum's to her class after sending Zelda home.
The day went all awry today because I was left alone to take the girls to the classes. The plan was to leave Tessa at mum's (like every other Sunday) but she got so cranky that I had to take her along to the ballet class. On the MRT, I was hoping for her to get some sleep during the journey so that she could be better managed after that. Tired children are top killers to patience.
Not only did she stay wide awake despite those wide yawns after I had put Zelda in her class, she refused to be pushed in the stroller, leaving her poor 8-week pregnant mother grappling with the close to 12kg load in one hand and wheeling the stroller in the other. If she had been good and quiet, that did not pose much of a problem at all.
The inconsolable, super loud-wailing Tessa was struggling and wiggling with such violence that I was so afraid she might just slip off my arms. Weakened by morning sickness which I recall now might be forgotten during the fight, I was almost catching every breath to keep her in place. So tempted was I to deliver two tight slaps on her cheeks! Anticipating that she could only get more uncontrollable, the two imaginary tight slaps embarrassingly materialised to a pinch on her left cheek.
Embarrassed I was, with passers-by throwing glances at us, a helpless mummy and an ultra-irascible toddler. More embarrassed I was that I had to at some points raised my voice at and resort to using corporal force on one who is merely 21 months old.
There were moments of stand-offs and both refused to budge. And I had to give in to scoop her up with brute force in the end as Zelda's class was ending. I thrust the stroller with an occasional free hand and grabbed an untamed wrestling and screaming Tessa into the ballet school, hoping that she would soon calm down.
Right outside the studio, the wild girl miraculously decided to quieten down. By then, I could not muster a huge sigh of relief after all those countless breathless breaths that I had fought to catch.
After some distance of lugging her in my arms with Zelda offering to help with the stroller, she was finally cajoled into the stroller and succumbed to tiredness soon after.
Thankfully, she was in her good nature when I had to stir her for her music class.
A tough day it is. A tough day it was and I survived it.
And now, it's my hard earned rest-time after a tough day. Good night...
Yes, they are both fast and sound asleep at this early hour. It must be one of those good days, you might think. With the young night, what a luxury of personal time I can indulge myself in!
Well, well, well, I am more relieved than grateful that they hit slumberland earlier than usual for in the day, they, more so Tessa, had also given it to me harder than all other usual days. It's not a good day. It's a bad one, quite a bad one indeed.
Sundays are packed back to back with Zelda's ballet class and Tessa's music class. It's a nice arrangement for during Zelda's 45-minute ballet class, we can do some grocery shopping. Thereafter, I will take Tessa from my mum's to her class after sending Zelda home.
The day went all awry today because I was left alone to take the girls to the classes. The plan was to leave Tessa at mum's (like every other Sunday) but she got so cranky that I had to take her along to the ballet class. On the MRT, I was hoping for her to get some sleep during the journey so that she could be better managed after that. Tired children are top killers to patience.
Not only did she stay wide awake despite those wide yawns after I had put Zelda in her class, she refused to be pushed in the stroller, leaving her poor 8-week pregnant mother grappling with the close to 12kg load in one hand and wheeling the stroller in the other. If she had been good and quiet, that did not pose much of a problem at all.
The inconsolable, super loud-wailing Tessa was struggling and wiggling with such violence that I was so afraid she might just slip off my arms. Weakened by morning sickness which I recall now might be forgotten during the fight, I was almost catching every breath to keep her in place. So tempted was I to deliver two tight slaps on her cheeks! Anticipating that she could only get more uncontrollable, the two imaginary tight slaps embarrassingly materialised to a pinch on her left cheek.
Embarrassed I was, with passers-by throwing glances at us, a helpless mummy and an ultra-irascible toddler. More embarrassed I was that I had to at some points raised my voice at and resort to using corporal force on one who is merely 21 months old.
There were moments of stand-offs and both refused to budge. And I had to give in to scoop her up with brute force in the end as Zelda's class was ending. I thrust the stroller with an occasional free hand and grabbed an untamed wrestling and screaming Tessa into the ballet school, hoping that she would soon calm down.
Right outside the studio, the wild girl miraculously decided to quieten down. By then, I could not muster a huge sigh of relief after all those countless breathless breaths that I had fought to catch.
After some distance of lugging her in my arms with Zelda offering to help with the stroller, she was finally cajoled into the stroller and succumbed to tiredness soon after.
Thankfully, she was in her good nature when I had to stir her for her music class.
A tough day it is. A tough day it was and I survived it.
And now, it's my hard earned rest-time after a tough day. Good night...
Superseded by the you-know-what, I did not go for the run which I had signed up. Nevertheless, I still showed up at the most popular running event in Singapore last Sunday morning to do the Kids Dash with Zelda.
When we arrived at City Hall MRT station, it was 1046. The standby time for Zelda's category was 1045 and the flag-off 1100. I held Zelda's hand in mine, told her we had to hurry or we might be late.
We had not expected to start running before the race and I was panting like a dog. To make it worse, we had a real hard time locating the start point. Circling in the underground station, we saw at all exit points indicating with yellow signages bearing bold black words "START". We followed the signs only to see no more directional signs to the start point. After checking with some, we were directed by runners who have completed the runs to different directions.
Racing against time with us were some other parents with their kids caught in the same plight. We were finally navigated to the right place at the last minute and made it for the run!
Along the throng of parent-child dashers, we had our eyes roving everywhere in search of Zelda's favourite cousin, Fu. He was nowhere to be seen even till the finish point. We streamed with the crowd to collect her finisher's medal and I jokingly asked her why I was not given one when I had completed the run with her.
"I'll go and ask them to give you one," she let go my hand and were ready to approach one of those volunteers. I laughed, wiped off those sweat that were stinging my eyes and explained why I was not entitled to one.
"Oh," she said.
We continued to keep our eyes peeled and the two cousins finally met. A mini kids dash ensued.
When we arrived at City Hall MRT station, it was 1046. The standby time for Zelda's category was 1045 and the flag-off 1100. I held Zelda's hand in mine, told her we had to hurry or we might be late.
We had not expected to start running before the race and I was panting like a dog. To make it worse, we had a real hard time locating the start point. Circling in the underground station, we saw at all exit points indicating with yellow signages bearing bold black words "START". We followed the signs only to see no more directional signs to the start point. After checking with some, we were directed by runners who have completed the runs to different directions.
Racing against time with us were some other parents with their kids caught in the same plight. We were finally navigated to the right place at the last minute and made it for the run!
Along the throng of parent-child dashers, we had our eyes roving everywhere in search of Zelda's favourite cousin, Fu. He was nowhere to be seen even till the finish point. We streamed with the crowd to collect her finisher's medal and I jokingly asked her why I was not given one when I had completed the run with her.
"I'll go and ask them to give you one," she let go my hand and were ready to approach one of those volunteers. I laughed, wiped off those sweat that were stinging my eyes and explained why I was not entitled to one.
"Oh," she said.
We continued to keep our eyes peeled and the two cousins finally met. A mini kids dash ensued.
Strange as it is, I cannot deny that it happened once I confirmed the new pregnancy. Many old wives will say that if the kids get exceptionally clingy, whiny and cranky, chances are that their mothers are expecting.
Perhaps made believe psychologically, the two are indeed more unreasonable, fastidious and even quarrelsome. Tessa refused to change after wetting herself. Zelda began testing her boundaries more fervently. Was it a myth turned reality or was it sheer coincidence? There is no way to prove which is which and I don't really care in this period of perpetual nausea and tiredness, weird change in taste buds and the confusion between hunger pangs and bloatedness.
For a whole week, Tessa, who had been sleeping through the night for more than half a year, woke up in the middle of the night, left the room in search of me. I had to take her back to her mattress and lie down next to her to help her return to her sleep. I am wishing that she would not repeat her new attention-seeking behaviour tonight though I am totally not too hopeful about it.
I can't wait for the morning sickness which also takes place in the afternoons and evenings to go away.
That will be at least 6 to 8 weeks away!
It will certainly help if the girls are more sensitive to their mother's discomfort. Let's see if they will in the next few entries.
Perhaps made believe psychologically, the two are indeed more unreasonable, fastidious and even quarrelsome. Tessa refused to change after wetting herself. Zelda began testing her boundaries more fervently. Was it a myth turned reality or was it sheer coincidence? There is no way to prove which is which and I don't really care in this period of perpetual nausea and tiredness, weird change in taste buds and the confusion between hunger pangs and bloatedness.
For a whole week, Tessa, who had been sleeping through the night for more than half a year, woke up in the middle of the night, left the room in search of me. I had to take her back to her mattress and lie down next to her to help her return to her sleep. I am wishing that she would not repeat her new attention-seeking behaviour tonight though I am totally not too hopeful about it.
I can't wait for the morning sickness which also takes place in the afternoons and evenings to go away.
That will be at least 6 to 8 weeks away!
It will certainly help if the girls are more sensitive to their mother's discomfort. Let's see if they will in the next few entries.
Just this morning, I was still teaching and giving lots of guidance to Tessa on the shape and colour sorter. The Vtech sorter, purchased from Toys R us before she turned one, comes with 5 pieces: a green cylinder, a red crescent, a blue cube, an orange triangular polygon and a purple star.
Modelled after a rocket, the battery operated toy blasts off when the nose at the top is tapped.
The toy sat on the TV console in the living room, together with a very affordable dollhouse from Kiddy Palace, a teaching clock, a bumble bee balance and a 100-piece mega works blocks. It is played once in a while, each time not longer than half an hour and strong guidance to put the correct piece into the correct hole.
This morning, Tessa pointed at it. I gladly obliged and spent some time on it with her, turning the toy every now and then so that she could push the right piece into the right hole with success. She had no problem with the cube and cylinder for they could get through the right whole in any orientation. The crescent was the most challenging as only one orientation fits. She picked the piece, I turned the toy to match the chosen piece, she pushed in the piece successfully, she clapped and I clapped and cheered for her encouragingly. This went on for a few rounds till she lost interest.
She was not ready to play the sorter toy by herself yet. Next time, maybe next next time or perhaps next next next time.
This evening, she took the toy from the TV console and got her Daddy to switch in on. Before pulling myself up from the sofa, all prepared to help her with the matching, she amazingly turned the toy to fit every single piece in perfection with no fluke in the right hole with zilch help. I could not believe it! How did she progress from where she was this morning to her impeccable mastery? I marvelled at the wonders of little brains and their learning capacity.
What was the key to her success in mastering the play ? Repetition? Our patience in waiting? Maturity? Practice? The sudden spark of getting it right?
I've got no answer for that. Have you?
You did it, Tessa! Good job!
Modelled after a rocket, the battery operated toy blasts off when the nose at the top is tapped.
The toy sat on the TV console in the living room, together with a very affordable dollhouse from Kiddy Palace, a teaching clock, a bumble bee balance and a 100-piece mega works blocks. It is played once in a while, each time not longer than half an hour and strong guidance to put the correct piece into the correct hole.
This morning, Tessa pointed at it. I gladly obliged and spent some time on it with her, turning the toy every now and then so that she could push the right piece into the right hole with success. She had no problem with the cube and cylinder for they could get through the right whole in any orientation. The crescent was the most challenging as only one orientation fits. She picked the piece, I turned the toy to match the chosen piece, she pushed in the piece successfully, she clapped and I clapped and cheered for her encouragingly. This went on for a few rounds till she lost interest.
She was not ready to play the sorter toy by herself yet. Next time, maybe next next time or perhaps next next next time.
This evening, she took the toy from the TV console and got her Daddy to switch in on. Before pulling myself up from the sofa, all prepared to help her with the matching, she amazingly turned the toy to fit every single piece in perfection with no fluke in the right hole with zilch help. I could not believe it! How did she progress from where she was this morning to her impeccable mastery? I marvelled at the wonders of little brains and their learning capacity.
What was the key to her success in mastering the play ? Repetition? Our patience in waiting? Maturity? Practice? The sudden spark of getting it right?
I've got no answer for that. Have you?
You did it, Tessa! Good job!
The biological voice was screaming incessantly. Something inside me was different. I could feel it sharply, jabbing hard and fast at me.
Early in the morning before I stirred from my sleep, my half awake mind was fleeting wildly with 2-syllabled names, five letters long and ending with the letter 'A'. Moira? Julia? Fiona? Gloria? Nope, that's 6 letters long.
Girls' names, what about boys'? Not one emerged.
The day began like every others till noon when I could not stop yawning and finally conceded to fighting the losing battle to fatigue by giving up stifling those yawns that only got longer, louder and more frequent.
The same voice rang in my ears again. I shut my eyes tight to shut it out in vain. The shrill seeped deeper than the ears. It penetrated rudely into every bone and every nerve right down to the tips.
It was all loud and clear. Did I hear it right? How could I have heard it wrongly when the same voice had been echoing in persistent zeal for the past 24 hours?
Back at home in the bathroom an hour later, I held my breath and waited. What would I see? What did I want to see?
The display window took less than a jiffy and I saw, not one but two lines, beckoning playfully, "See? Do you still want to dismiss what you hear?"
A roller-coaster ride of hormonal changes awaits.
Another nightmare, my mother's exact words, when I broke the news to her the following day.
Early in the morning before I stirred from my sleep, my half awake mind was fleeting wildly with 2-syllabled names, five letters long and ending with the letter 'A'. Moira? Julia? Fiona? Gloria? Nope, that's 6 letters long.
Girls' names, what about boys'? Not one emerged.
The day began like every others till noon when I could not stop yawning and finally conceded to fighting the losing battle to fatigue by giving up stifling those yawns that only got longer, louder and more frequent.
The same voice rang in my ears again. I shut my eyes tight to shut it out in vain. The shrill seeped deeper than the ears. It penetrated rudely into every bone and every nerve right down to the tips.
It was all loud and clear. Did I hear it right? How could I have heard it wrongly when the same voice had been echoing in persistent zeal for the past 24 hours?
Back at home in the bathroom an hour later, I held my breath and waited. What would I see? What did I want to see?
The display window took less than a jiffy and I saw, not one but two lines, beckoning playfully, "See? Do you still want to dismiss what you hear?"
A roller-coaster ride of hormonal changes awaits.
Another nightmare, my mother's exact words, when I broke the news to her the following day.
While Tessa has become a more confident walker, Zelda is regressing as one. Lately, she has forgotten how to stand and walk properly.
All day long, instead of standing and walking, she twirls, swirls, spins.
Then she skips, gallops and leaps.
Next, she jumps, kicks, dances.
She hops, trots and moves in all sorts of ways.
She forgets how to stand still.
She can't walk as well as Tessa now.
All day long, instead of standing and walking, she twirls, swirls, spins.
Then she skips, gallops and leaps.
Next, she jumps, kicks, dances.
She hops, trots and moves in all sorts of ways.
She forgets how to stand still.
She can't walk as well as Tessa now.
Tessa heaved herself to stand on the weighing this morning. The reading showed 11.1(kg).
All but one part of her is growing well.
I am waiting for her head of sparse and still very undergrown hair to grow faster. She is always mistaken as a boy for she really looks more so like one in her thin hair.
All but one part of her is growing well.
I am waiting for her head of sparse and still very undergrown hair to grow faster. She is always mistaken as a boy for she really looks more so like one in her thin hair.
4.30 p.m.
Thinking that the collection of the girls' international passports at ICA yesterday would not take long, we conveniently left the bag of spare diapers and clothing in the car.
When things did not happen the way it should, I could not help reproaching myself for assuming that things would not go awry in that window of circa 30 minutes.
The crowd that showed up at the collection department was unbelievably huge at 4.30 p.m. There was hardly any extra room for an extra pair of feet even when the entire building would be closing in half an hour. The girls were standing close in front of my feet, thankfully quiet and patient. The queue display board showed numbers flashing in a pace much more slowly than desired.
There were at least another 20 more before our queue number and I was keeping my fingers crossed that my girls, especially Tessa, could last the wait. When the display board blinked again, skipping many numbers, I was elated that we would be served after two more numbers.
I picked up Tessa, and chivvied Zelda along to follow close as we jostled through the sea of awaiting people.
Something was not right. Tessa stuck her butt out when I carried her, shifting it to avoid it from sitting on my supporting lower arm. This position was awkwardly familiar. I sniffed the air and caught a whiff of poop drifting around me. Though quick to realise that Tessa had done her BIG business during the wait, I was still hoping against hope that my nose had played a trick on me. We had no spare diaper with us!
I held her up and got ZH to confirm my worry. He smelt her bottom and gave a nod!
"Shit!" I cursed in silence.
I scanned around, looking out for parents with toddlers of Tessa's size. I was quite sure they would not mind at least selling me a diaper if they knew my plight. Parenthood is one of the most effective ways to make ultra-sensitive and understanding beings.
I caught sight of one and approached her with some apprehension. "Excuse me, may I know if your baby wears diapers?"
"Yes," replied the mother, rather taken aback by my question.
Hopes soared.
"My girl has pooped in hers and I don't have one with me. Do you think you can spare me one of yours?" I asked, almost pleading as politely I could.
"Oh dear! Ours are in the car," she answered apologetically.
Hopes plunged.
"Oh, it's ok then. Thank you anyway," I was disappointed but very comforted by her willingness to help if only she could.
The hunt continued and I spotted a father with two toddlers with him. I braced myself and asked thick-skinnedly, "Excuse me, may I know if your children wear diapers?"
"Yes, but not now. They only wear them at night!" he responded.
I briefly explained why I needed one urgently and took my leave in search of my next potential saviour.
By then, the passports were collected and we were ready to go to the car to get the diaper.
Heaving a hefty sigh at the fruitless hunt, I was resigned to tussling with Tessa to get her changed in the car.
Then, my eyes fell upon a young couple with a toddler boy about the age of Tessa in a stroller. "I'll do it just once more!" I goaded myself on.
"Excuse me, may I know if your baby wears diapers?"
"Yes," replied the mother, rather taken aback by my question.
Hopes soared.
"My girl has pooped in hers and I don't have one with me. Do you think you can spare me one of yours?" I asked, almost pleading as politely I could. (ctrl c, ctrl v)
The mother pulled out a diaper and shoved it to me. "Take it," she said, "do you need wet wipes?" She retrieved from the storage compartment of the stroller and insisted that I should take it.
"Take it, it's an emergency," the father encouraged in humour.
Moved by their readiness and generosity, I poured my profuse gratitude to this wonderful couple.
Had it been delayed by another minute, the poop would have leaked and stained Tessa's jeans. She had done a humongous one this time.
I returned the unused wipes without forgetting to thank them for the last time and we left ICA, with a heart singing praises to the kindness from the parents I encountered and to the ease of the passport-collection experience.
5.00 p.m.
Thinking that the collection of the girls' international passports at ICA yesterday would not take long, we conveniently left the bag of spare diapers and clothing in the car.
When things did not happen the way it should, I could not help reproaching myself for assuming that things would not go awry in that window of circa 30 minutes.
The crowd that showed up at the collection department was unbelievably huge at 4.30 p.m. There was hardly any extra room for an extra pair of feet even when the entire building would be closing in half an hour. The girls were standing close in front of my feet, thankfully quiet and patient. The queue display board showed numbers flashing in a pace much more slowly than desired.
There were at least another 20 more before our queue number and I was keeping my fingers crossed that my girls, especially Tessa, could last the wait. When the display board blinked again, skipping many numbers, I was elated that we would be served after two more numbers.
I picked up Tessa, and chivvied Zelda along to follow close as we jostled through the sea of awaiting people.
Something was not right. Tessa stuck her butt out when I carried her, shifting it to avoid it from sitting on my supporting lower arm. This position was awkwardly familiar. I sniffed the air and caught a whiff of poop drifting around me. Though quick to realise that Tessa had done her BIG business during the wait, I was still hoping against hope that my nose had played a trick on me. We had no spare diaper with us!
I held her up and got ZH to confirm my worry. He smelt her bottom and gave a nod!
"Shit!" I cursed in silence.
I scanned around, looking out for parents with toddlers of Tessa's size. I was quite sure they would not mind at least selling me a diaper if they knew my plight. Parenthood is one of the most effective ways to make ultra-sensitive and understanding beings.
I caught sight of one and approached her with some apprehension. "Excuse me, may I know if your baby wears diapers?"
"Yes," replied the mother, rather taken aback by my question.
Hopes soared.
"My girl has pooped in hers and I don't have one with me. Do you think you can spare me one of yours?" I asked, almost pleading as politely I could.
"Oh dear! Ours are in the car," she answered apologetically.
Hopes plunged.
"Oh, it's ok then. Thank you anyway," I was disappointed but very comforted by her willingness to help if only she could.
The hunt continued and I spotted a father with two toddlers with him. I braced myself and asked thick-skinnedly, "Excuse me, may I know if your children wear diapers?"
"Yes, but not now. They only wear them at night!" he responded.
I briefly explained why I needed one urgently and took my leave in search of my next potential saviour.
By then, the passports were collected and we were ready to go to the car to get the diaper.
Heaving a hefty sigh at the fruitless hunt, I was resigned to tussling with Tessa to get her changed in the car.
Then, my eyes fell upon a young couple with a toddler boy about the age of Tessa in a stroller. "I'll do it just once more!" I goaded myself on.
"Excuse me, may I know if your baby wears diapers?"
"Yes," replied the mother, rather taken aback by my question.
Hopes soared.
"My girl has pooped in hers and I don't have one with me. Do you think you can spare me one of yours?" I asked, almost pleading as politely I could. (ctrl c, ctrl v)
The mother pulled out a diaper and shoved it to me. "Take it," she said, "do you need wet wipes?" She retrieved from the storage compartment of the stroller and insisted that I should take it.
"Take it, it's an emergency," the father encouraged in humour.
Moved by their readiness and generosity, I poured my profuse gratitude to this wonderful couple.
Had it been delayed by another minute, the poop would have leaked and stained Tessa's jeans. She had done a humongous one this time.
I returned the unused wipes without forgetting to thank them for the last time and we left ICA, with a heart singing praises to the kindness from the parents I encountered and to the ease of the passport-collection experience.
5.00 p.m.
Tessa always enjoys her bath-time. She requests for her baths when it is about time by padding to us while attempting to undress herself. She picks up plastic toys (any receptacles) from the toy box and drags her 'bather' (either my mum or me) to the bathroom.
At the entrance of the bathroom, she continues pulling down her pants which she has never succeeded. Eagerly, she waits to plonk herself into the bathtub as soon as she is stripped down to her now less chubbier bareness.
She scoops and pours, punctuating amidst refining her motor skills with chuckles and smiles. She bails and splashes, wetting herself and everywhere around her bathtub.
Pointing to her teeth to mutter the word 'teeth' without the ending consonant, she watches as her First Teeth toothpaste is squeezed on her toothbrush. Like a veteran, she sends her toothbrush in the mouth, not to brush her teeth but to suck the sweet banana flavoured toothpaste. When she decides that she has had enough, she dunks her toothbrush into the water and then, the challenge of cleaning those 16 little milk teeth ensues.
I pick up the toothbrush and go 'ahh ahh' to coax her to open her mouth with little success. She either clenches her mouth tight or bites hard on the bristles. "Eee eee eee," I coax further for her to flash her front teeth. Not a single bit does she like those bristles moving on her teeth.
In the final round of teeth-brushing, I wrap my pointer finger with her flannel and squeeze toothpaste the size of a tiny peanut on it. Sticking the thickly swathed finger into her mouth with some force, I rubbed it hard on as many teeth as I can reach. This set of teeth must last her six to twelve years. Good oral hygiene habits start young and there is no way she will get away with it!
Like Zelda, Tessa dislikes having water trickling down from her head. She puts up a struggle and shows her displeasure by bolting herself upright on her feet with a yowl when I pour water over her head. She only agrees to sit down when I promise that there will not be any more showering on her head.
She lets me wash her body with no resistance while she is engrossed with her own play. She will lift and tilt her bump to a side obediently for me to wash her bottoms when I say, "I need to wash your backside now."
All's done and she will look at you, wave and say 'Bye bye' in spontaneity to declare it is her private play time before she officially ends her bathtime.
"Bye you!" she quips.
Bye you? It's Tessa's way of saying "Bye bye, see you!"!
At the entrance of the bathroom, she continues pulling down her pants which she has never succeeded. Eagerly, she waits to plonk herself into the bathtub as soon as she is stripped down to her now less chubbier bareness.
She scoops and pours, punctuating amidst refining her motor skills with chuckles and smiles. She bails and splashes, wetting herself and everywhere around her bathtub.
Pointing to her teeth to mutter the word 'teeth' without the ending consonant, she watches as her First Teeth toothpaste is squeezed on her toothbrush. Like a veteran, she sends her toothbrush in the mouth, not to brush her teeth but to suck the sweet banana flavoured toothpaste. When she decides that she has had enough, she dunks her toothbrush into the water and then, the challenge of cleaning those 16 little milk teeth ensues.
I pick up the toothbrush and go 'ahh ahh' to coax her to open her mouth with little success. She either clenches her mouth tight or bites hard on the bristles. "Eee eee eee," I coax further for her to flash her front teeth. Not a single bit does she like those bristles moving on her teeth.
In the final round of teeth-brushing, I wrap my pointer finger with her flannel and squeeze toothpaste the size of a tiny peanut on it. Sticking the thickly swathed finger into her mouth with some force, I rubbed it hard on as many teeth as I can reach. This set of teeth must last her six to twelve years. Good oral hygiene habits start young and there is no way she will get away with it!
Like Zelda, Tessa dislikes having water trickling down from her head. She puts up a struggle and shows her displeasure by bolting herself upright on her feet with a yowl when I pour water over her head. She only agrees to sit down when I promise that there will not be any more showering on her head.
She lets me wash her body with no resistance while she is engrossed with her own play. She will lift and tilt her bump to a side obediently for me to wash her bottoms when I say, "I need to wash your backside now."
All's done and she will look at you, wave and say 'Bye bye' in spontaneity to declare it is her private play time before she officially ends her bathtime.
"Bye you!" she quips.
Bye you? It's Tessa's way of saying "Bye bye, see you!"!
Zelda went on a field trip to the Civil Defence Heritage Gallery at Hill Street last Friday. There, the preschool children, aged from 2.5 to 6, visited the Central Fire Station. The school had organised this trip in line with the fortnight's theme on Transport.
Zelda returned with a booklet entitled 'My First Fire Safety Book' and she earnestly completed all but two pages of the activities on her own in two days. Colouring interested her less than dot to dot joining, maze puzzles, matching and others. So it is not difficult to guess that the two incomplete pages are the colouring pages.
In these two days, she got herself aquainted with fire engines, firemen a.k.a. firefighters, fire hydrants, fire extinguishers, firefighting tools, hoses, stretchers and some basic knowledge of fire-causing agents and how to prevent fires.
I was very tickled by what she did at the back of the cover page where she was to write her name, class and school. Take a look below!
Zelda returned with a booklet entitled 'My First Fire Safety Book' and she earnestly completed all but two pages of the activities on her own in two days. Colouring interested her less than dot to dot joining, maze puzzles, matching and others. So it is not difficult to guess that the two incomplete pages are the colouring pages.
In these two days, she got herself aquainted with fire engines, firemen a.k.a. firefighters, fire hydrants, fire extinguishers, firefighting tools, hoses, stretchers and some basic knowledge of fire-causing agents and how to prevent fires.
I was very tickled by what she did at the back of the cover page where she was to write her name, class and school. Take a look below!
卖相不及味道
味道不怎样
但
Zelda喜欢
We were at the lift landing, awaiting the elevator to take us home. Tessa, with her signature blue denim tote in her arm, was standing in front of me. ZH was looking away, at I-don't-know-what, and Zelda was nearest to the lift, all ready to charge once the lift doors opened.
The familiar alert beep to announce the arrival of the lift was yet to be heard when a soft rumbling of bicycle wheels rose in decibels from behind. I spun and gasped in horror to see a bicycle cruising in Tessa's course on the gentle downslope.
As a reflex, I lunged a step forward and stretched my arms as far as I could to reach the little cyclist to stop an imminent collision. Unfortunately, laden with a big bag, my reactions were not as fast as I wanted them to be. The bicycle ran into Tessa, hitting her at the back of her knee. Tessa, paled in comparsion in terms of size, was thrown forward but was caught by ZH and was spared from falling.
Thankfully, Tessa was unscathed, save that she had a frightful shock.
The familiar alert beep to announce the arrival of the lift was yet to be heard when a soft rumbling of bicycle wheels rose in decibels from behind. I spun and gasped in horror to see a bicycle cruising in Tessa's course on the gentle downslope.
As a reflex, I lunged a step forward and stretched my arms as far as I could to reach the little cyclist to stop an imminent collision. Unfortunately, laden with a big bag, my reactions were not as fast as I wanted them to be. The bicycle ran into Tessa, hitting her at the back of her knee. Tessa, paled in comparsion in terms of size, was thrown forward but was caught by ZH and was spared from falling.
Thankfully, Tessa was unscathed, save that she had a frightful shock.
Syndicate
Profile
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
amothersjournal- amothersjournal