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.

Seventeen Months

January 27, 2009March 26, 2013 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

My baby is growing into a toddler and his personality is developing rapidly. The re-introduction to school at the beginning of the school year was much easier, but I hope his health will not suffer much this time around. Today I had a scare when the school supervisor called me to fetch Robert because he was not feeling well and had a fever. As I walked to the school I was so despondent and unhappy and started seriously thinking again quitting work. It is really not worth it to make my little one suffer in this way.

Robert’s father is now working full time and I cannot rely on him too much for looking after Robert and even the situation with my nanny Lucy seems a little tenuous as her employer(s) do not like her to come and help me out even in her off time, so I really did not know what to do. When I arrived at school my spirit was somewhat lifted when I saw that Robert was fine and I did not feel that he was feverish. His teacher told me that he perked up as soon as he heard that I was coming to get him. I don’t know what could have been wrong this time, the adverse effects of teething should be gone because his fourth molar cut already last week. He has a little bit of a runny nose but I am hoping that this time his body will fight it out, we will wait and see.

His teachers at school say he is always busy in class especially pushing the little chairs around. This is his favourite activity at home as well and it is quite unpleasant for me and my next door neighbor when he starts at it first thing in the morning. Also I am noting his increased independence; the daycare encourages that, for example at snack or meal time the children sit in on little tables and chairs and start feeding themselves. Robert is starting to get good at eating by himself, but I can still tell what he had for lunch by examining the stains on his shirt. He also insists on “brushing” his teeth on his own. I usually start out the proper brushing then I leave him to bite and suck the toothbrush for a few minutes.

Robert’s verbal skills and his diction continue to improve. Instead of Naah for no he now says noo, it sounds quite cute like a little kitten miau. I still speak to him primarily in English but I encourage German vocabulary sometimes whenever I feel he is receptive.
The most obvious advantage to his growing verbal skill is his ability to tell me what he wants. He names the books he wants me to read “oppodi” (Opposites) and tells me that he wants “gam” (jam) or egg.

It is interesting to note also the way he perceives things and people. His father told me that he exclaimed “dada” when he spotted a picture of George W. Bush in a magazine. I am surprised that my ex even mentioned the story to me because I am sure he was not impressed. I cannot ask Robert why he made this comment but maybe he sees his father as an older person who is not too bright.
One morning he watched me write his name with a marker on his milk bottle and sippy cup as I was preparing his school bag. I pointed to the writing and said Robert, and the next thing I know he surprised his father by pointing to the writing and saying : “bobbet”.

Another area of marked improvements from previous months, is Robert’s appetite. He eats regular meals and does not snub his food after the first bite. The experience of feeding him is still quite messy, because he loves to try feeding himself, and explore the texture and substance of food with his fingers, but most of the food ends up in his stomach rather than on the floor and the furniture.

One thing that I am still procrastinating at seventeen months, and this might come as shocker to my family, is complete weaning. Robert still has a nightly breast milk dose and sometimes he wakes up twice for a little sup. I believe that it is time for him to move on, but I do not have the heart to go through with it. For one I still enjoy the special loving connection of breastfeeding and secondly I find it easier just to give in to his demand at night, rather than tolerate his prolonged crying. I think I should get some backbone and be firm about it, I do not want to break any records on extended breastfeeding.

Sunday’s Fun and Follies

January 18, 2009March 23, 2013 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

We treated ourselves to a predominantly lazy day today. Mom, baby and cat played at home for the whole morning.

I consciously try teaching Robert the ability to laugh at his own mishaps. Here he is acting out a funny incident that happened a few weeks ago, while we were playing with soap bubbles (the non toxic, kid friendly variety; I always make sure to buy those). Normally I do not let Robert take the bottle of soap from me, but I relented on that day because there was very little soap left. It was a mistake of course, as toddlers are very apt at doing exactly what they shouldn’t and within a split second. I think Robert was looking inside the bottle when he tipped it bottoms up right onto his face and mouth. I just heard a loud gulp, and then he started crying and denouncing it as : ka-ka. Initially it was funny but then I remembered the horrible pain that one gets at the back of the throat when salt water goes up the nose. Robert must have felt the same. The liquid, which I tried when the crying did not want to stop, tasted so bitter that it numbed my tongue. This explained why Robert refused to drink or eat anything right after he gulped it. Thirty minutes later he settled to sleep exhausted and I thought this was the best thing for him to forget that awful bitter taste.

A day later I started acting out the incident, with sound effects and exaggerated facial expressions. Robert picked the whole act, and now does it by himself.

I thought today would be free of such misadventures, because we kept it such low key. In the afternoon we headed to the park and enjoyed the peace until a family arrived with their picnic supper. Robert of course went right in there trying to look inside cooler bags and generally being the inquisitive little toddler he is. Mom kept close trying to prevent him from making a nuisance of himself, but at the same time not wanting to curb his natural curiosity, especially that the family seemed friendly enough. Soon he started to become part of the picnic and took a fancy to the juice they offered him in tall plastic cup. He kept coming back to the dad and asking for “mo” (more). When I tried fooling him and pouring his own juice into the tumbler he promptly dumped the contents on the grass. Everyone thought this was wildly funny (including myself) but then he repeated the trick with the juice offered by our hosts, so I thought that was enough and we excused ourselves and headed home.

On our way back I stopped at a shop offering soft serve ice cream. Robert had eyed some kids on the road having it and I thought it would be a nice treat for him. We never got to taste the ice cream because when I offered the tall soft server to Robert for a first sampling the whole soft serve column tumbled onto his shirt and lap. He looked on unimpressed and confused as I mopped it up using the all purpose cloth/wipe which I always keep in the backpack. The poor shop keeper was also hovering around offering tissues and waste basket. As we were leaving he gave us another ice cream, a chocolate coated Popsicle, which we were still able to enjoy.