Almost There

I’m in my 35th week of pregnancy. A few more weeks to go before I get to meet this little boy I’ve been carrying in my belly. Sometimes I feel he can’t wait to get out and meet the world too. This pregnancy has been more tiring, aching, and demanding, both physically and mentally. Perhaps, it is because my 3-year old daughter is going through her rebellion phase at the same time. There are more tantrums and screaming to deal with. I have to say, I do lose myself. It is horrible because we both end up in an emotional wreck of guilt. Being a mother, truly ain’t easy. Speaking of which, people who are not parents yet really don’t understand how it works. They think they know it all. They think they have better solutions. But they just don’t know it, especially for those personalities who love to justify every single little thing.

It is annoying. Sometimes, I just wish people will keep their mouths shut; just walk away and let the parent handle the situation. Sure, they mean well. They want to help you resolve the situation. They want to help ease the burden. But most times, it makes things worse. Children are unbelievably smart these days. You know the saying that too many cooks spoil the broth? The same goes with raising a child, especially during the time at which the disciplining is taking place.

I love my daughter to the end of the world. I cannot imagine my life without her. But there are also times where I need a break. Everyone in the household seems to need my undivided attention, and that is where the burden mostly is I believe. It’s a strange love-hate relationship I have with my child. I’m sure I am not the only mother who feels this way. When I am with her too long, I feel like hiding in the closet. When I am away from her, I cannot stop thinking about her. And when things go awry, the first person to get the blame is always myself – the mother. I cannot help but feel every single decision I make, every word I say, and every reaction I show, is inadequate parenting.

Maybe it’s time we move on. We need our own space. Our own home. A place where we can just reconnect with one another, without any distractions from anyone else. Things could prove to be simpler, even though it is harder work for all of us. Maybe I need my own place where I can call the shots. I am the leader. I make the rules. And I don’t have to care a shit about traditions, culture and heritage. I just execute what I believe in without any prejudice staring back at me.

Perhaps, I’m just tired of putting everyone else’s priority before mine. I’m glad I took some time today to attend a prenatal yoga class. I think I’m a little late in the game, but at least I start somewhere. It felt good listening and sharing stories with other mothers. We all have our own share of problems in the household. But when I am there, I can forget about it all for a moment, and just focus on me. Breath, is such a powerful healer when you know what to do with it. It is for this very reason I keep going back to yoga classes. I’m not a hardcore yogi or anything. I can’t do any headstands or fancy poses, but I do feel it brings its benefits when it comes to connecting with your body through control of your breath. I’m hoping I am able to better manage the labor pains this time around and minimize the risk of a c-section delivery. I don’t plan to have a third child, and so I really want to feel what it’s like to give birth naturally to a baby. I have to believe. I have to tell myself I will do it. And this time, I will breastfeed my baby. I wish I could have breastfed Emma longer. When I see the way she falls sick frequently with colds and flu, I cannot help but question my fault in giving up breastfeeding so quickly. Her immunity seems to be a little weaker. She is quite a fussy eater. And she seems to be quite an anxious child. So many regrets I have for the decisions I made after giving birth to her. This time, I will not give in to naysayers. I will not follow what I do not believe in. I do not care what my mother or my mother-in-law thinks, I will fight for what I believe to be the best for myself and my baby. I’ve written about superstitions during pregnancy and post-natal confinement. Somehow, recent events have triggered me to ponder the rationale behind some of the practices. It has made me question a lot of things, and I now see the bigger picture of where I want to be in this whole mumble-jumble.

I do not want these practices of superstition or post-natal confinement to turn me into a depressed mother. If I become depressed, Emma will take the brunt of it. And I don’t want to hurt her this way, not when she is this young and innocent. If I become depressed, I cannot bond with my new baby. I am not like my mother. Or my mother-in-law. We grew up in different eras, they were conditioned to appreciate having whatever food there is to survive. So ultimately, they succumbed to just giving their babies formula milk. Yes, I am more fortunate now, but that doesn’t mean what they practised or believed in is the best choice in this era and age. Times have changed. Women are more educated and informed. There are more resources readily accessible and available. It’s not a matter of just listening to the older generation just because it has worked for them through experience. It is about what makes sense in my head even if things to go wrong at the very last minute.



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