Playing Catch up … Again

April 6, 2009March 26, 2013 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

I had so many plans for my time off which started on Monday, but apart from an almost complete thorough cleaning project, defrosting a fridge that closely resembles an ice-age glacier and scheduling long-delayed dentist and ob-gyn appointments, I managed very little progress elsewhere. Needless to say that my blog is one badly neglected area.

For one thing it seems that I do far more reading than writing, and reading the web has become one major time-suck for me, and my problem is that I am addicted to my reading from Slate, Salon and the New York Times in addition to a number of “selected” blogs in my numerous areas of interest, it is the curse of the curious I suppose.

Apart from this little window for my curiosity and my little ray of sunshine I have a very boring life, so lets move on to the real and metaphoric sunshine.

After a brief cold spell, then a few baking days of 30+ temperatures that are more worthy of summer, the weather has now mellowed into my favorite seasons, the beautiful autumn, we have settled on pleasant mid-twenties with golden warm sun and just a whisper of sea breeze cooling us down early morning and late afternoon. Perfect day at the park weather.

Robert has come out nicely from a nasty episode of ear infection, flu and cough, but just as I thought we had the worst behind us he started on with an eye infection which I treated with a little of left over eye-drops from a previous episode. Once the eye cleared I decided to keep him home an continue treating the eye with an over-the-counter ointment, because I cannot stomach taking him to the doctor again, we have been there twice already this month.

The teachers at school are all very nice to my little one, and school seems to bring out the sunniest parts of his personality, giving him a lot of space to his curiosity and urge to explore without allowing him to wreak havoc in the surrounding. Unfortunately I cannot say the same for our home environment, where the limited space and the existence of “adult” tools make it a potentially dangerous grounds. I either have to frustrate his every effort at explorations, or put up with collateral damage. This week’s list include: Breaking an almost full bottle of my favorite bubble bath, smearing bum cream all over our duvet cover, and of course the very frequent accidents with food. So I find myself constantly wiping up greasy hand and thumbprints from table, and all baby-height surfaces. The clean-up of my late beloved honey-almond bubble bath was a little less complicated, but at least I got to enjoy a sweet-smelling lounge for a couple of days.

Apart from being a mess generator and a very physically demanding toddler, I am proud to notice Robert’s developing social and mental abilities. I bet this is the reason why his teachers love him so much, because he is an absolute charmer. One of his teachers said that he learns new words every day, and it does not take long for him either. Yesterday he insisted that I give him “denta foss”. I can hardly remember teaching him the word.

His observation of the world and his surrounding has also improved. When I went to pick him up from school on Monday, he was sitting in the hall in the middle of a row of children, watching some cartoon movie on the large-screen television. He was so absorbed in it, he never noticed me at the door. This is the first time I see him showing any interest in television content, and his teacher said so as well.

He has also taken to watching and noticing what other people are doing. Whereas in the past there were only isolated observations of likeness – I still chuckle when I remember the story his dad told me : Robert pointing out the picture of George W. Bush and saying: dada- He still does that of course, when he calls any oriental woman he notices : A-man (his name for my neighbor May-Lan). Now he also points out people in action, yesterday morning he pointed out a man walking ahead of us “man walking”, then a woman eating a banana in the minibus : “eating a-bana” and then when she finished “A-bana gone”. I am waiting for the day when he points out potentially embarassing things… He always comments that “bus boken”, but that somehow escaped the notice of the proud taxi drivers/owners.

He might be developing some sense of humor as well. Today I took a picture of him which I called “peanut butter face” and it amused him so much he wanted to see it on the camera time and time again. The picture of course is cute, but it gives an idea why a toddler mother does not have much time for anything else when the little ones are awake. Yet like every mother I am torn between taking him to school for the day or enjoying his company on my day off. I am all too aware that these toddler days are very short, so I might as well enjoy them while they are here, mess and all.

Two Definitions for Nasty

March 15, 2009August 25, 2022 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

Robert and I both can attest to the definition of nasty this week.

The little one has been teething and his canines (eye teeth) are giving a lot of trouble. At the beginning of the week I noticed that his top right canine has cut through, and two days later the bottom one followed. Then of course it was the turn of the teeth on the left side. I saw him during the week rubbing his gums, and even resurrected the teething ring which was a gift from his ex-aunt Jackie. He now frequently asks for it, calling it “bite” and rubs it vigorously against his aching teeth. I always heard that canines are the worst, and now I know that this is probably true, because this was the first time I saw Robert crying with teething pain. This did not even happen when his four molars erupted at once. On Thursday, he developed tiny red spots of rash which were localized to the left side of his face. I did not think much about them at the time but on Friday the teachers were worried and asked me to get the ladies at the office to have a look. One of them gave me the diagnosis of “measles” and I was extremely annoyed with her. She is already out of favor with me because she keeps calling me Mrs Jxxx, which annoys me to no end because I never took my ex-husband’s surname while we were married, and was definitely not going to start adopting it after I divorced him. Her grim diagnosis not withstanding, Robert was allowed to stay at school, because he simply did not have any other symptoms. The principal said that they will call me if he developed a fever. As my luck will have it, Robert did develop a little temperature, but only when we got home, and we spent some miserable time on Friday night and all through Saturday. I still maintain that the teething is the culprit, because it is obvious that only his gums are hurting.

While Robert slowly gets used to his teething. I am suffering my own teething pains with the translation project I am currently working on. I have never experienced such slow progress since I started freelance translating. I sleep very little, I eat on the run and only get out to buy the necessities, but still I cannot seem to catch up. A good friend of mine is in Cape Town on holiday at the moment and I was only able to meet up with her for two short visits, I feel bad but I cannot help it because my deadline is looming and I am not even halfway there. All I want is for this job to end, and I promise myself and my son that I will never ever accept such horrible work.

Never Underestimate A Toddler’s Memory

March 11, 2009March 11, 2009 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

One of Robert’s favorite teachers at school (actually the assistant at his class) has been absent for the last few days. I was chatting to his teacher when I picked him up today and I commented that he must have forgotten her already because when I mentioned her name to him he ignored it and just uttered another teacher’s name.

I guess the little tyke wanted to prove me wrong today. We got off the minibus taxi and started our walk home up the long hill. This is normally a very hard walk because I carry Robert most of the way, while trying to dodge the piles of dirt (and droppings). I also struggle to dissuade him from wanting to “wok” until we get to a cleaner part of the street. When I set him down, he usually walks quickly for a few metres then starts exploring sidewalks, walls, trees, fences and whatever else we pass (That is why I never set him down on the dirtiest part of our street).

I have a rule that whenever he starts touching the dirty street, he gets carried again (no walk , in his language), which inevitably leads to arguments and crying. He was having one of his fits when an African lady came towards us down the streets. She must have been a nanny or domestic worker finishing her day at work, and those women are usually very sweet to young babies, but this one came straight to me and took him in her arms, pretending to take him with her. She started saying: “bye mummy” and I played along for a few seconds. Of course, in the face of this new calamity Robert forgot his distress about wanting to (wok) and his bottom lip stretched forward as he looked at the “intruder” with distrust. Soon the woman set him down and said goodbye and went on her own way. Robert watched after her, a little puzzled, then blurted out “Woosie” (Lucy)… Waoo, the boy still remembers his nanny Lucy, even though it has been almost two months since we last saw her. She would be impressed if she knew.

18 Months

February 28, 2009March 23, 2013 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

On the week Robert turned one year and a half I received the first folder of his artwork from school. I cannot see him becoming a Picasso anytime soon. So far I haven’t been able to develop his artistic talents, because he still needs to learn that crayons are something to draw with, not eat or throw around. It seems that his teachers at school are having a little more success in this respect.

Last Sunday, Robert’s father was looking after him, and he told me something that I did not know (seriously this time): Robert can sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I was amazed and tried to make him repeat this feat, but whenever I started the rhyme he would wrinkle his forehead and say in a little sad voice: papa. I hope he does not mean that he will only sing it for papa, that would be too cruel a punishment for his poor mom, even for having to leave him with “papa” for a full weekend.

Yesterday Robert gave ME one of these firsts when he recited: one, two, three and later before bedtime : eight, nine, ten. So it looks like he is learning new things at school, which is very nice.

School is going fine for Robert. He still fusses a little bit when I leave him there in the morning, but he is also not too enthused to leave when I come to get him in the afternoon. He still gets himself stuck in the little chairs and “helps” the teachers stack them and carry them around. It is actually a problem to separate him from his beloved chairs (tayss as he calls them).

I am glad to say that at 18 months my son is fully weaned. If it wasn’t for pressure of propriety I would have gladly continued breastfeeding him, and I think my body knows that because I still produce milk. Evenings are still our bonding time and we both enjoy our good night cuddle, so I haven’t completely lost out.

Meanwhile our life at home is terribly busy and disorganized. I am chipping away at a translation project, and the household chores are getting last priority. To add to the chaos, I have a plumbing problem in my flat, which makes my lounge area flood regularly with bath or laundry water mostly from the next door flat, but sometimes from our drain system as well. I have spoken to the landlord several times and he always promises to send a plumber to look at it, but I am still waiting. In the past his universal solution for this problem was to pour a bottle of drain cleaner down the drain in the flat next door. Last Saturday he brought me a bottle of the stuff which I poured in my kitchen and bathroom sinks, it was horrible. The stuff is DEADLY and I never ever want to handle it again, not with Robert in the same space. The poison fizzed and did its thing down the drain and there was a terrible ammonia stink for a whole day, but did not do a wit of good for my flooded apartment, so it seems the problem is far more serious this time. Meanwhile, I just mop the floor and wait for the plumber, but in my mind I am already planning to leave this place, I cannot imagine tolerating this in winter. But for now, and until my translation project finishes, I am stuck here and have to put up with this.

The Way We Talk: Introducing the Adjective

February 20, 2009March 26, 2013 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

I have been doing more reading than writing in the past week. I waste my time reading a large blogroll consisting of must read news articles and analysis, knitting blogs, parenting blogs, language and translation blogs. I should perhaps cull this unwieldy flock and start over, but I cannot bring myself to do it. The bloggers I read have become like friends, and it is not easy to cut them out of my life after following their trials and tribulations for so long.

In addition to this electronic reading addiction, I have succumbed to procrastination syndrome. I always feel I have time, it will be done some day, but that someday never really comes. I still have a large hole in the blog that needs to be fixed and updated, and I have my notes about many missing posts, but it is all some day. Now yesterday I got this huge translation job that will keep me busy for the next month, but instead of putting my head to the grindstone and starting to work on it, what do I do? I feel this irresistable urge to update my blog, so here I am.

I think Robert’s first adjective used correctly merits a post by itself. One of the knitting bloggers I follow has a daughter who is approximately two months older than Robert, so it is interesting to read about her development and anticipate what will come next. Around 18 months the little girl made up a sentence that went like : flower .. pretty.

Robert is very much a boy, so he is not interested in flowers. I doubt that he has a word for plant either, and his interest there stops at pulling parts from growing things. The poor jade plant sitting just outside our door bears sad witness to this activity. So it is normal when his choice for a first adjective was typically male as well : it-di-gadin (it’s disgusting). This came about while Robert and I were having a bath. He was happily playing in the warm water while I washed my hair. Because my child is such clean freak (at this tender age, and he does not get it from me either) I continuously fish out my stray long hairs from the water while we bath. I roll it into an unappealing but perfectly harmless hairball for later disposal. My son however, caught this thing, wrinkled his face and nose at it and exclaimed : it-di-gadin. It did not take me long to understand what he was on about, because yesterday this word was cause for much amusement. I told him that his nappy was disgusting, and gave emphasis to the pronunciation. It’s obvious that he liked the sound “disgusting” made, because we repeated it time and time again to the chorus of his laughter. Today he remembered the word and used it appropriately.

Babies apparently start to remember more and more things at this particular age and I am beginning to notice that. A week ago I pointed out the waxing gibbon which rose just before Robert’s bedtime. Yesterday he pointed to the direction where the moon was and said clearly : moon. Maybe he thought I was pointing to the palm tree which is in the same general direction, but still the fact remains that he remembered something I showed him once a few days back. I still fail sometimes to understand him, paper and pepper sound exactly the same for example, and there are things that he remembers or connections he makes that I do not know anything about. In our daily commute, for example, from home the kindergarten and back we pass the Sea Point library on Main Road. And if Robert happens to look towards the library he would get excited, and start shouting Ki-kah, Ki-kah repeatedly until something else catches his attention. I have wracked my brain for the meaning of this ki-kah, and I even asked his father but we both remain clueless. It could be the library, the fountain in front of it, or even an experience he had inside it, but I cannot figure it out.

We are also at the very early stages of combining words. Yesterday Robert was climbing the steps barefoot, when he suddenly stopped and started whining and pointing to his foot. I think he said: bain..foot (pain..foot?). He might have stubbed his foot in his rush, but it is also possible that I misheard or overinterpreted his reaction.

Reflections on Breastfeeding

February 12, 2009March 26, 2013 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

I am grateful that my little one got over “mama” (mom’s breast milk) so quickly, even though it is still a big deal for me, emotionally.

As I was reflecting on this wonderful bonding gift that I gave myself and my son, I spotted this article in the guardian.co.uk. I found it because the local radio stations made such a big deal out of it : Salma Hayek breastfed a malnourished African baby while visiting Sierra Leon. The article above links to the actual video. Most commenters agreed that it was so beautiful and natural, but of course to the westernized world this is such a big deal. One commenter even mentioned the dangers of cross-breastfeeding. In Middle Eastern and Islamic culture the practice is not so unusual. So much so that there is a degree of kinship resulting from breastfeeding in Islamic tradition. A woman who breastfeeds a baby becomes “a mother by nursing” and the child becomes a sibling “by nursing” to all her biological children because he or she was fed from the same breast. Children who nursed at the same breast are not allowed to intermarry even if they are not biologically related. I find it interesting that Islamic tradition recognizes the importance of nursing and the kinship that result from it, especially if you consider that the same culture does not recognize step-brother or step-sister as a valid relationship.

In my family I became a little bit of an oddity, because I breastfed Robert for almost 18 months. The Islamic tradition recommends two years until weaning, but in my mother’s days the practice was in sharp decline. It was considered somehow less than modern to extend breastfeeding beyond six month. Yes, there were those moms who nursed for much longer, but they were mostly uneducated housebound moms from conservative religious families. I do not know what the practice is like in my birth country today, but it has returned to favour in the west or at least here in South Africa. Even in my playgroup I was not the only mom who chose to extend breastfeeding. Salma Hayek is still breastfeeding her daughter at 12 months, so I am not such an oddity, I am glad.

In the past 17 months I enjoyed almost every aspect of nursing: the closeness, the bonding, and the carefree relaxing time with my son. I failed, however, to appreciate what it physically endowed me with: A perfectly womanly hourglass figure. In the absence of their primary function my breasts have shrunk to their pre-pregnancy size, and I realize with dismay that I am very small, blast that.

Check out this funny video of Salma Hayek in a talk show, talking about insecurities on this particular issue.

Weaning… Who is suffering most

February 10, 2009February 15, 2009 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

The night of the 7th February was the first night I let Robert sleep without the nightly comfort of breast milk. I know that I have been procrastinating on weaning for very long, but I maintain that I had my reasons.

During November Robert was frequently ill and was not interested in any other food or drink, and in December I was trying to build up his strength. During January he formed a very close attachment to me after the long school holidays, and up until last week the act of nursing was a great way to ease my guilty conscience over working long hours and abandoning him for two full days at the creche while I interpreted on a movie set.

But recently I became convinced that his need for this comfort has diminished. Twice last week he went to sleep with the bottle and instead of nursing him we cuddled and I tickled his belly until he fell asleep. But when he woke up during the night things were not as amicable. He insisted loudly on “mama” and cried inconsolably for a long time. I had a difficult time balancing between my loving instinct and my rationality. I managed to calm him down with loving talk and he resigned himself to drinking from the bottle. As Robert suffered his withdrawal symptoms, I had a terrible attack of guilt and sadness, while the neighbors suffered with insomnia I think, having been awakened in the small hours by a crying toddler.

As early as the next day Robert was open to gentle talk and convincing. He seemed to listen when I told him that “mama” was only for little babies who cannot eat or drink anything else. But as he went to sleep I was stricken with melancholy. I realize that my boy is growing independent of me and I will never recover this special closeness again. Two years ago he was still part of me, and yesterday I was still nursing him, but today this is one more thing he does not need from me anymore, and one day he will not need me anymore. I know it is stupid to think that way, but I cannot be rational all the time.

Today I am more concerned with the physical suffering from weaning. I had to express some of my milk to relieve the pain. A friend once told me that African women who are trying to stop lactating throw the milk they express against the wall. The popular belief is that if a woman disrespects and rejects the milk in this manner, her body will stop producing it. Maybe I will try this method if things do not improve, but I am a firm believer that my body will adjust naturally, and there is no need for African superstition or western medication.

Robert has taken the transition in his stride, and does not ask for “mama” anymore. At sleep time he cuddles up to me and drinks from his bottle. He has even taken to calling the bottle “mama”, ungrateful little rascal. So it seems that I am permitted to call these part of my anatomy my own again. Their curiosity value to him is now only a little more than a pair of “iya” (ears). I am relieved of course, but still slightly wistful. I doubt whether I will have the pleasure of nursing again.

A bonus of the weaning: Robert does not wake up as often during the night. In fact he sleeps right through. I should have known that my watery milk is a poor substitute for rich full cream cow milk. Another reason to breathe a sigh of relief.