You Melt My Heart

I am self-quarantining myself for a suspected case of HFMD–which means that since yesterday, I have not been able to: be in close proximity with my son Timothy, nor bathe him, nor sleep near him… In short, I shouldn’t breathe the same air he breathes. (…I might exaggerate a bit on that last point, but you get what I mean.)

Thankfully yesterday was a public holiday, and today my wonderful hubby took a leave from office to take care of Timo while I am being a useless invalid. (…That last point is also exaggerated. But the number of exaggerations in this post so far shows the present state of my mind :p)
So Timo has been mainly with his dad, and Hans is an awesome dad who makes Timo laugh all the time, but usually after some time Timo will get antsy and ask for me.

This time however, he has NOT asked for me, knowing that I’m sick and I can’t be near him. And just now after dinner (which we ate semi separately–they eat first and I start when they’re almost done), he came near me and smiled very sweetly. “Mama is Bombom, hehehe… Bombom!” (Bombom is his favorite stuffed dog’s name) then he moved to my other side and smiled again, “Bombom! Hehehehe” and then he went towards the bedroom and said:
“Mama I love you!”
Me: “I love you right up to the moon and back!”
“Mama good night!”
Me: “Good night sayang…”
“Mama cepet sembuh ya… (Mama get well soon)”
Me: “Yes dear sorry mama can’t sleep with you…”
“It’s okay mama…”
“Mama good night!”
And then peeking from behind our bedroom door, he blew me kisses.
Me: “Timo, mama will pray for you. Timo pray for mama too, ok?”
“Okay!”
Me: “God bless you Timo….”
“God bless you mama…” (His first time saying this!)

This is actually not a rare occurrence because we say I love you’s a lot, but my heart was already breaking because I can’t hug him, or kiss him, or snuggle him, or do nose rubs with him… And seeing him bearing it so calmly and so unselfishly just melts my heart.

I am strict and can be annoyingly self-centered; like a 5-yo I get cranky when I don’t get enough sleep, and I want to get my way most of the time. But having a son has helped thaw me, and as I’ve said in a previous post, it seems that I learned so much more from him than him from me.

Being a mom can be busy, can be maddening, and most definitely is tiring; but the reward is–as VISA ads go–priceless beyond any treasure.

I love you, Timothy, and I thank God every day for the gift that is you. Please forgive this mama who doesn’t always behave her best… I can’t wait until I can hug and kiss you again.

11 into 12

It’s 2012 already. And I will write down my resolution for the year so I can have some accountability check at the end of the year..

1. I will pray and have daily devotion DAILY. No excuses, even in the form of baby or travel or overtime at work.

2. I will try to be less negative in responding to people and in my general attitude. I will listen more, and will say yes more.

3. I will be strict with my skincare :p

4. I will do regular yoga or pilates with hubby. Most important thing: find a workable schedule and drag hubby to it.

5. I need to save more than I did in 2011.

6. I will knit 12 gifts, learn 12 new knitting techniques, use up 12 stashed yarns, and knit 1 big lace project (Crown Prince Shawl?)

7. I will spare time everyday to call family.

There. No tick boxes but I hope I can cross them all by December 31, 2012.

What’s your New Year Resolution?

It is alive and well

Have you ever been shocked by something foreign, only to realize later that the shocking thing actually exists much, much closer than you previously thought? Like being shocked by the news of a snake appearing in a toilet bowl somewhere in Papua, and thinking to yourself: “what a different place Papua is! We’re really coddled by modern luxury. I can’t imagine a snake suddenly appearing when I’m taking a crap. It must be the wilderness out there…” And then suddenly a few weeks later a friend sent you a picture of her toilet bowl, with a huge honking snake head peeking out from the water. A friend who lives in a posh urban house with good sanitation and electricity and technology and no wild jungles visible from the window.
Have you?

I just had a similar experience today. Only, instead of a snake (freakish, I admit, but it doesn’t shake your core belief or fundamental sense of self), it came in the form of FGM (female genital mutilation). It is something I learned from the pages of Cultural Anthropology textbook about African cultures. It is something I read in feminist books condemning the widespread African practice of it. It is something that shocked me when African victims made video testimonies. It is something I’m passionately, personally against. It is something shocking, outrageous, alien, foreign. It’s African.
Only it might not be so African as I thought.
Apparently the practice is not only alive in Indonesia (my own country, for crying out loud), it is very much alive and well and widely practiced and and and… accepted as a norm!
The snake has suddenly appeared in my living room!

There’s this article in (6-12 August 2011 edition, if you’re interested in reading the article and can get your hands on one) highlighting the practice of ‘female circumcision’ in Indonesia. And I just happen to be sitting in a hair salon, and I, in self-righteous shock, blurted out to my hairdresser, “Hah?? Sunat perempuan (female circumcision)?” And what did she say? (And her three other friends who happened to be around) “Oh yeah. Sure. Usually done together while piercing the baby girl’s ears (tindik).” Like talking about their daily menu!

So am I the only one being rendered speechless, slack-jawed, and reeling from this mind-boggling revelation? Or am I just not well-read/connected/updated enough?

I guess it’s the fact that FGM’s not such an ‘aboriginal’ concept after all that boggles me. (Or that Indonesia is not as ‘civilized’ (insert my culturally-tied definition of civilized here) as I thought. One or the other.)

I had further discussion with my hairdresser about it, including its ties with regional customs, religious beliefs, and local medical practices, but I’m not going to elaborate about it here because it’s too loaded. If anyone comments and asks about it maybe I’ll write some more (some time). For now, suffice it to say that I’m still tipsy and reeling from the culture shock.

Motherhood 101

In Motherhood 101, there’s no grade. You either pass, or you fail. You might barely pass, pass alright, or pass with flying colors. But if you fail…there’s only one way to fail: miserably, irreparably, disastrously.

Every little thing I did wrong makes me question myself: would it permanently harm Puffy? Would he hate me? Would it make him antisocial/self-righteous/rebellious/any other malignant trait I can think of?
Just yesterday, while bathing him, I accidentally dunked his face under water for a split second. He must have snorted some water into his nose or mouth or eyes, for he started bawling. And I felt like I just scored ‘Klutziest/Worst Mother Of The Year’.

I’ve always liked the motto ‘it’s the thought and effort that matters most, not the end result.’ Oho, but would that work for motherhood too? Only if you want your child to be a failed social experiment. He won’t thrive on good intentions alone–you need a mixture of affection, tough love, informed knowledge, common sense, and a willingness to learn new things for the sake of teaching it to your baby. And then you need to find the right amount of each ingredient–put in too much tough love and he’ll grow up rebellious, extra dollops of information makes you one confused parent, etc.

In th end, I am the one being taught by Puffy. When I was worried about him being addicted to swaddled sleeping, he squirmed his own way out of his swaddle and resolved my problem. When I was worried about his frequent spit-ups and acne flares, he suddenly grew out of it and one day just stopped spitting milk and sprouting acne. When I was worried about his crying spells, the next day he returned to his usual angelic self and forgave whatever it was I did that frustrated him yesterday.

I am so in love, in love with you, my baby, my Puffy.
Had never thought myself capable of such love, like a spring that wells up and flows into a gurgling brook, and grows and grows to be a mighty river that drowns my selfishness completely.

white silence

my tongue is tied
when you hit a barrier where would you go?
if you’re assaulted from above, beyond, left, and right
east, west, north, and south
where would you run?
how would you dodge?
i couldn’t

you laid landmines
in veiled hopes
vague pleas
masked confessions
how could i dodge?
in the end, i lose
i always lose
shattered to pieces,
vanquished and alone

no one wins in
this war, no one wins

it’s me and white silence
i’ve lost
my
voice