I couldn’t decide which was the best thing about this moment.

The fact that my husband and I were sitting at a cafe table, having a cup of tea, enjoying the weather, having an adult conversation, with no children noises.

Or, that my three children were sitting by themselves – beautifully sharing ONE ICE CREAM.

I wrote this post in May 2004, when my first born, Callum was 1 year old. It was the first – of many – “midnight scares” I have had as a parent.

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It was 2am. I was sleeping like the dead. Passed out. Utterly unconsciousness from a long day’s work. I was dreaming of tropical sunsets, pineapple cocktails and 7 large Thai men massaging coconut oil into my back.

That is, until I heard a noise.

A strange, cold howling noise that made my eyelids fly open. I stared into the darkness. I didn’t dare move. I just laid very very still. WHAT THE F*** WAS THAT NOISE??

It sounded like a dying cat. A dog? No a SEAL. A BABY SEAL! THERE’S A BABY SEAL IN MY SON’S BEDROOM! I leapt up and fumbled around in the darkness as I tried to find my pants. My head was in a blur of tropical seals drinking coconut oil.

The noise was horrific. A dying baby seal, tortuously gasping for air.

I stumbled down the hall, into my baby’s room and switched on the light. There was no seal. But no seal meant MY SON was making THAT NOISE. And one year old boys are NOT supposed to sound like DYING SEALS.

I found my son, red faced and gasping for air. Was he choking? Was there something wrong with his lungs? Is he convulsing? Nothing in my entire life had prepared me for the feeling that exploded in my stomach. It was sickening.

I was frozen, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Callum was crying. He was trying to breath in, but made barking seal noises instead. He obviously wasn’t getting enough air and was red-faced and gasping. I was horrified. Zillions of first aid steps whizzed through my head. Check for breathing. Check his air passages. Check his temperature. Good lord, it was the scariest moment in my life as a parent.

There was nothing stuck in his airways. He was still in control of his body. He just wasn’t getting enough air and he was freaking out.

I screamed for my husband.

I suddenly remembered reading a home remedy for a congested air passage. We grabbed Callum and ran to the shower. We turned on the hot water and hovered his head over the steam. The heat from the steam soothes the constricted muscles.

All three of us sat on the floor of our steamy bathroom.

Silent. Hearts racing. Heads dizzy from shock.

Callum started to feel feverish and started to shake.

My husband and I looked at each other sharing only one thought, “Oh god, do we really want three kids?”

Things calmed down after we took his temperature, gave him some baby panadol and called the 24 hour health nurse. I was so relieved.

Callum’s mood lifted considerably after the drugs, food and cuddles, so we decided we weren’t going to drag him to the doctor at 3am.

Which turned out to be a wise move, because he happily went back to sleep by 4am.

The next day I was still edgy and tense. I didn’t sleep well.

I was exhausted.

I told my mum about it, hoping for some sympathy and offers for babysitting. But she laughed, as she waved me off with her hands. “Aiyah, why so dramatic? No big deal lah. It happens to all babies.”

And in a matter of seconds I felt happy that I wasn’t the only mother in the world to wake up to the sound of a choking baby, and somewhat pissed off that I’ll never have an original baby story to tell the world.

…

It turns out that the night before, we gave Callum a whole cup of cow’s milk. He’s not allergic to cow’s milk per se. Only large quantities of it bring about a mild swelling in his throat, hence his inability to breathe properly.

Thank God I read all those parenting books with all those “stupid” home remedy tricks.

This is my 2.5yo, Liam throwing a tantrum.

This is also Liam looking up at me to make sure that I was WATCHING HIM THROW A TANTRUM.

The truth is, I am so indifferent to tantrums in public, so much so, I think he looks quite cute. I suppose I can say that without any fuss at all, because 1) he’s my third and last baby, and 2) I’m completely OVER the whole tantrum thing. What-ever kid.

We were at our weekly gymnastics class, during the free play session…

Liam stepped off a pink car (as it was the end of his turn anyway) and a little girl took the pink car from him.

Liam decided he wanted the pink car back, so he pushed the girl away, and at the same time, the girl’s dad found a BLUE car and gave it to Liam.

But Liam refused to have the blue car, because he likes pink. The dad was like WTF, and I tried to explain that Liam prefers PINK things…

But at the same time I decided that Liam wasn’t having any car because he shoved the little girl…

And so here he is throwing himself on the ground, rolling and shouting,

“I WANT THE PINK CAAAAAAAR!!!”

The whole car exchange happened in 5 seconds…

And the tantrum lasted 15 minutes.

(Which isn’t that bad actually.)

(And I still love him to bits.)

I wrote this post in July 2003, when my first child, Callum, was 3 months old.

In Australia you can go to a special indoor, heated hydro-therapy pool and have swimming classes for your baby. The mother (or father) is in the water with the child, and everyone sings and does actions.

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Our 2nd baby swim class!

Callum was much more relaxed this time.

We swished and swayed in the water and he ALMOST gave me a giggle. But he was distracted by the 6 month old baby (all the other babies are only 3 months) who was showing off by paddling with his hands and doing somersaults in the water.

Cal still hasn’t got full control of his neck muscles, so he loved floating on his back. The rest of the time, he was Mr Floppy Head.

I find it cute – but frustrating – how babies and kids just LOVE nursery rhymes and kid songs. I can’t STAND them. Grrr. They are just so twinkly and silly and irritating!

There’s only so many times I can sing along to ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ in a high-pitched, chirpy sing-song way while gritting my teeth. Sigh.

I guess as long as the kids are enjoying themselves, I’ll be happy to put up with it :)

The other day I was reading some of my old posts and I was filled with a wonderful sense of nostalgia and strength. I love that I have an online record of my life as a new mother… and I really wanted to share some of it again with everyone. Enjoy!

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Apr 17, 2003

Callum was born Saturday 12th April 2003, 3:00pm.

I was in labour for 15 hours and although I had an ‘au naturale’ birth, I did end up having an epidural.

That was fine with me, because after the birth, I lost quite a bit of blood, I got whipped up to intensive care and had a 9 hour blood transfusion. I was also on standby for emergency surgery (to surgically remove my uterus,before I bled to death).

But I recovered and went home 4 days later.

Nonetheless, I’m doing GREAT!

I’m on this SUPER-DUPER high.

My baby is happy and healthy and adorable and burpy and pooey and hungry and just doing really REALLY well.
He’s a *dream* baby. I’m sooOOooOoo happy.

Lots of people have asked about the name we chose.

Callum : Scottish Gaelic form of the name Columba – which is Latin for dove-like. Columba was the name of the 6th Century Saint who brought Christianity to the West of Scotland.

These pictures were taken when he was 4 days old – looking all cute, crinkled and pink and puffy.  So very cute!

It’s been a tough week at our house.

My 2 year old has been sick with the flu, had a runny nose, a chesty cough, a high fever for 3 days… and not to mention a really shitty attitude.

His sleep has been disrupted. He’s been lethargic and floppy. He’s been losing weight and getting sicker and sicker by the day. He has been very miserable, and I have been cuddling him a lot, and GIVING IN TO HIM A LOT.

It’s kind of amazing and funny at the same time… that as a parent, when your child is sick, you find yourself suddenly filled with so much love and patience. So much more than you ever thought possible for yourself.

When you’re in that situation, you seem to have an overwhelming sense of strength, clarity and purpose, and yet helplessness and vulnerability too. You’d do anything to make your child better. Anything to keep them alive.

I guess in a way, it is an enriching experience.

But other than that…

Having a sick child is a fricking PAIN IN THE ASS.

Liam would go the whole day and refuse to drink anything. Complete, utter refusal.

First he wouldn’t drink any water or milk. So we started offering him other fluids like orange juice, then apple and blackcurrant cordial. He would sip and spit it out.

Heck we even went to the shops to buy him all the stuff that he loves, but he isn’t usually allowed, like – chocolate milk, a can of fizzy raspberry soft drink, a can of soya bean drink. He wouldn’t go near any of it.

I mean, how do you make a kid drink fluids?!? That is, without forcing it down his throat and choking him, otherwise known as the Chinese Aunty Torture method.

I remember my aunties would squeeze open the lips of children, flip their heads way back and pour medicinal drinks down their throats… until they were coughing and spluttering it all back out, through their noses… and it just makes a terrible mess all over their face and necks.

I personally don’t remember having that done to me, maybe we were all lined up and it happened to my cousins? Or my little sister? Then again, only one of us needed to go through that in order for the rest of us to get the message.

Anyway, I was getting really, really stressed and frustrated with my 2 year old.

For 2 days, we tried ignoring the whole situation and treating The Drinking Of Water like it was no big deal. Then we tried bribing, giving rewards, offering special treats, happy talk with lots of kisses and cuddles. Then we tried scolding, punishment, time-outs, and all that jazz.

The number of times he spat out everything we gave him, threw it all over the floor, threw a tantrum, threw furniture around, cried, screamed and flung his body around – it was countless. I was at my wit’s end.

Then (in this photo above) I casually handed Liam yet another cup of water. It must’ve been a good couple of hours since the last drink I offered him. And I was so nice to him in those hours. He sat on my lap. We played puzzles. We watched his favourite movie. We read books and I sang to him.

But he must’ve sense how tense I was about “the drinking of water”. He saw that my casual gesture was forced and desperate, and that in this battle of the wills, I was vulnerable.

Because instead of drinking it, he poured it down the front of his shirt.

And then he gave me those apologetic eyes. He was all squeaky and pleading, “I’m so sorry mummy. It was an accident.”

But it was SO NOT an accident.

I almost lost it. In that moment, I wanted him to be very, very far away from me. But I also felt so sorry for my poor, sick, miserable child.

I wanted to explode in a fit of frustration and anger, guilt and compassion.

(I took a photo of him instead.)

So. Yes. It is possible to feel equal amounts of love AND loathing. At the same time.

It’s crazy. But that’s parenting for you.

There has been a lot of rain these last few weeks.

And at the end of the day, there’s only one thing you can do with 3 very active, rowdy, young boys bursting with energy and excitement.

You put raincoats and boots on them and take them to the park.

This is the creek that cuts through the middle of our local park. It’s basically a water catchment for all the drain water flowing from the streets.

It’s not exactly a sparkling blue lake with meadowy aspects.

BUT it’s got flowing water, rocks, stepping stones, muddy islands, tadpoles, a waterfall, lots of trees and a narrow section of the creek where kids can jump over to get to the other side. It’s absolute heaven for little people.

Usually my husband takes the kids to the park at the end of the day.

But because he’s away at the moment, I have to do it. I irritates me a little, because I have a zillion things to do back at the house. And I have to be honest, I get very bored, standing around doing nothing, for an hour… in the cold, wet rain.

Not to mention, in winter it gets pretty dark by 5:30pm. And I feel absolutely crazy, being that irresponsible mother who lets her children play in the dark, on slippery rocks, in the pouring rain.

But, sigh, the kids love it.

They always come home wet, muddy, exhausted, smelling disgusting, but with big, wide, happy smiles on their faces.

So I always try to slow myself down and try to enjoy the moment.

Yesterday, I took this snap (above) with the camera on my phone.

Quick, scroll up to have another look!

I let my 2 year old climb the rocks by himself. He negotiated all his footsteps very carefully and made it to the waterfall’s edge.

The whole time (and every time) I watch my children play – I am at war with myself.

On one hand I think – Holy crap! That’s so dangerous! I shouldn’t be letting them do that!! What if they fall and split their head open on the rocks? Break their teeth and lose an eye? Blood will spill and it’ll be on your watch Karen.

And on the other, I’m all – Oh just chill Karen. Kids have to be kids. You can’t go around wrapping them up in cotton wool. This is what childhood is all about. Remember all the stuff I used to do when I was a kid? They’ll be fine.

And I just stand there, in the rain, tense and tormented by my own thoughts. This is one of the things I dislike about being a mother. All this constant worrying is such a drag.

Anyway. Funnily enough.

This particular day, my middle child (6yo), was perched on the OTHER SIDE of the waterfall, after I took this photo.

He took a step, slipped off a rock and PLOOP! He went in face first, straight into the lake. He was completely submerged in brown water and sludge… and re-emerged 3 seconds later, spluttering and shouting and looking like a swamp monster from outer space.

I saw everything in slow motion. And what did I do?

I laughed. I totally cracked up.

I can always rely on Sean for slapstick comedy. It completely made my evening. Just what I needed to shake me out of my own self-inflicted grumpiness.

He was a bit shocked, but thankfully he saw the funny side of it and was very cool about it in the end. Not to mention, I was all – Aww you poor baby. Did you hurt yourself? Are you cold? Let me give you my jacket.

We all walked home… wet, smelly, exhausted and very happy indeed.

It was Sunday afternoon and my husband and I were feeling lazy. Really lazy. I was considering what to make for dinner, and all I could come up with was… toast.

Maybe I would even spread some butter on it.

A thought like that makes me chuckle – because as if I – with The Chinese Mother Gene cruising through my veins – would even consider anything less than a 3 course meal plus broth for dinner.

But, hey my children would totally go for an idea like toast for dinner.

Heck, they’d be happy with frozen, sliced bread served straight from the freezer.

And they would still love me. Which is what I love about having boys. My boys. They are low maintenance. They’d wear the same pair of underwear, socks, t-shirt and shorts for 7 days, until I’d complain that I had nothing to put in my washing machine.

In fact, if I didn’t insist… they’d probably grow their hair out, never cut their finger nails, never brush their teeth, never have a shower, they’d wear their shoes from school, to the park, into the house and then to bed. God help me when they grow into teenagers.

And suddenly the image of 3 big, smelly, dirty gorillas draped around my lounge room drinking milk from the carton made me snap out of my lazy toast daydream.

I jumped up from the couch, poked my husband in the ribs and announced that we’re having a BUSY BEE! RIGHT NOW!

I threw mops, brooms, buckets and sponges at my sons. I told one to attack the bathroom. The other was assigned to the toilet. And the last one (who is only 2 years old) was on picking up duty.

Funnily enough, they quite enjoyed the tasks.

I swear I’ll make gentlemen of my boys.

The latest milestone in my 2 year old’s speech development is… swearing.

Well, he doesn’t actually say swear words (yet), but he says rude things. And of course, he learns those things from his older brothers.

He says things like, “You’re a stupid head”, “Move your fat butt!”, “You idiot poo bum”.

But then he started saying something else.

Whenever my 2 year old heard or saw something surprising, he would shout out “WATERHOLE?!”

Which, I must admit, I found it to be utterly hilarious and cute.

Ooooh it was so funny… it made me and everyone else in the family laugh and laugh.

We’d be at the shops, and he’d see a man dressed up as a rabbit and he’d go, “Waterhole! Mum! Look at that man!”

Or I’d surprise everyone and serve chocolate cake for dessert, and he’d spit his food out and say, “Waterhole?! We eat chocolate cake for dinner?!”

Because I was always choking back with laughter and wiping the tears from my eyes… I never corrected him or scolded him for saying it. And that was weeks ago.

But I’m paying for it now. Because his pronunciation has improved. And now I realise what it was that he was actually saying the whole time. Just what his brothers have been teaching him – in secret.

It’s not “Waterhole”.

It’s “What The Hell?”

As in “WHAT THE HELL!! Are we going for a bike ride!?”

I cringe under my skin everytime he says it. It’s just so wrong to hear it from a little 2 year old.

I have begun to correct him, but it has been close to impossible to change the habit.

Hopefully, it’s just a phase.*crosses fingers*

Just look at the red in his hair!

My 2 year old toddler is an absolute chatterbox. He just does not shut up.

Lucky for him, he is insanely cute. And I can spend all day talking to him and listening to him chatter for hours.

He’s so naturally well-mannered and polite – saying thank you, you’re welcome, ‘cuse me, sorry, see ya later! And he’s so caring and sensitive, always asking me, “Are you ok mum?” “Are you good?” “What happened?”

My other two children were never like this. They were either self-centred (as children naturally are) or just totally oblivious to the feelings of other people (as children naturally are).

I used to believe that other parents made this stuff up. Naturally polite children? No such thing!

But Liam likes to crawl into my lap, wrap his arms around me like a koala bear, squeezes me tight, then leans back to look at me with his deep brown eyes and asks “Can I have a back scratch please mummy?” and he’ll flop his body into my chest and nuzzle his face into my skin… and go, “Ahh, that’s really nice mum.”

And my heart – oh my heart – it melts into a glorious mush of love.

Did I mention he is my last baby?

My children’s school recently held a “Harmony Day” where they all celebrated the community’s cultural diversity.

There was a mini costume parade at the school, and friends and family were invited to a multicultural picnic on the oval. A simple and casual event, with an excellent attendance!

I promised the kids that I’d be there.

The last couple of years I’ve been very non-committal and uninvolved with school events. I’ve just been too busy with work, life, and it’s tricky when I have a baby/toddler to look after. I’ve been happy to help with money and permission slips, but not my time. Ha isn’t that just the usual story?

I suppose for the kids, the school community is their life. They get so excited about upcoming events, and man, when they can’t be a part of it, the look of sadness and disappointment on their faces is enough to bring any parents to their knees. Oh the guilt.

Anyway, I thought I’d try a bit harder for this event.

Our family is a mishmash of cultures – Australian, Chinese, Scottish, English and Singaporean. I made a huge dish of Asian-style noodles, I put together Australian-style pavalovas, and we sat on a Scottish-styled tartan picnic rug, while drinking a hot cup of English Breakfast tea and orange juice.

I even made an effort to wear a Chinese-style silk top with a blossom print, and one of my sons wore Chinese silk pyjamas while playing cricket. It was very cute.

I sat there on the rug, on the grass, in the beautiful sunny weather, surrounded by hundreds of other smiling families and children from all over the world, and I wondered how I ever came to a point where I had to be driven by guilt to make myself be a part of this.

Then I laughed at how mothers are. Feeling guilty for feeling guilty.

I let the thought slide and was decided to enjoy the rest of the picnic.

The children were so happy, in a “I’m so proud of you mum” kind of way.

And I guess I was too.

My little toddler, Liam, loves the water. And it scares me.

The kid has no fear.

The other day we went to the river for a swim.

He walked down the grassy slope, walked across the sand, stepped into the water and just kept walking and walking… all the while looking out at the horizon with glassy eyes.

I followed closely behind him, with my camera around my neck, shouting, “YO LIAM! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

He just waded and waded – without looking back at me – until the water touched his chin.

Then he just stopped. And stood very still.

I was an arm’s reach away from him, but I just waited to see what he was doing.

It looked like an incredible moment.

What is my kid feeling right now?

He looked like he was playing out a movie scene where a person goes for a peaceful and tranquil swim in the ocean, signifying a watershed moment, of freedom, of cleansing, and savouring every precious detail and sensation of the moment – the bubbles tingling over the skin, the clicking sounds of the sea, the soft ebb of the waves.

But after a few moments, he turned around and said, “Did a wee mum”

“Ok.” I said.

And he returned to the shore.

One of the best things I’ve done as a mother was to find and join a good mothers group.

Although I’ve changed groups a few times (because of my location and the age of my kids) I’ve always had a solid bunch of girlfriends to meet up with on a weekly basis.

Well I just thought I’d share this great photo that sums up how much I love my stay-at-home-mum friends.

I enjoy the friendships, the warmth, the laughter, the tears… and the midday celebration just because.

My first and oldest child is almost 8 years old.

I don’t talk about him much these days, mainly because I’m aware he’s growing up. I’m aware that he has friends who surf the internet, and I don’t want to go around telling the whole world about things that will embarrass him. Like the way he talks in his sleep. Or how he hates wearing underwear.

Anyway, my kid sleeps on the top of a bunk bed, which is higher than my head. And yesterday I happened to see this little arrangement on the end of his bed –

A careful row of all his favourite books.

Yes, my first born child READS NOVELS NOW!

My heart gushed and I was all “OMG my baby is growing up!“

It was a terrifying, but beautiful.

Liam is almost 2 years old.

His is definitely his own little person now – with his own little personality. I say that with such surety, because he is now doing things that his older siblings do not do, and have never done.

He is a little fuss pot. If there is a boy-version for the word PRINCESS, then Liam is it. He is so picky about everything.

And trust me, my first two kids were NEVER like this. They were all relaxed and not-fussed about small things.

But Liam! He doesn’t like sand in his sandals, he doesn’t like to have dirty hands, he doesn’t like to wear certain t-shirts, he only wants to drink from the PINK cup, and the pink cup has to be CLEAN.

It’s kind of annoying, but at the same time very cute. And because he is my last baby, I can feel myself looking past all his peculiarities and going all lovey-dovey on him.

Playtime

Liam has two big brothers to entertain him all day. He is constantly surrounded by noise and movement and talking. So when the older kids are at school, Liam comes to me looking to be entertained. He wants someone to read him a story, someone to talk to him, someone to wrestle him, someone to just watch.

He’s not great at playing by himself, or with other kids his age.

But again, that’s fine because I just love hanging around the little guy. Did I mention he’s my last baby?

Usually I have to take him out during the day – or else he will trash my house.

I can’t do many chores at home while he plays around me in the house, because he gets bored and “tries to help” by throwing all the kitchen stuff onto the floor, pulling all the books off the shelves and tossing them into the hallway, yanking all the shoes out of the cupboards.

Liam is super active, but he loves his sleep. At night he sleeps, from 7pm to 7am. He needs to take a 1.5 to 2 hours nap sometime during the day. And he drinks half a cup of cow’s milk before bed.

Eating

Liam eats whatever we eat. I don’t make him a separate meal. But most times he pushes the meal away and says, “I no like it.”

Some weeks he will refuse to eat anything but corn chips for dinner.

Other weeks (like this week) he will only eat green lettuce, peas, corn and carrot sticks. In fact, yesterday he hungrily ate 6 large lettuce leaves for dinner and kept asking for more. Crazy!

So I figured that within a month, he’ll get enough vitamins and minerals to keep him healthy and well balanced! I hope!

Development

He just LOVES the Mr Men characters.

If there was a hero to sum up his early childhood, it would be his favourite character Mr Messy, followed closely by Mr Bump.

We read Mr Men books ALL DAY, we draw Mr Men characters ALL DAY and he drags around a stack of Mr Men books wherever he goes. He can identify 30 of all the Mr Men listed on the back of each book.

None of my other two kids were particularly interested in the Mr Men series. But I really like them… they’re hilarious!

Turns out that he’s remarkable at identifying shapes. My other kids never did this at such an early age.

He loves his pointing and shouting “SQUARE! SQUARE! RECTANGLE! RECTANGLE! RECTANGLE!” at every single brick on a paved pathway. It takes us forever to walk anywhere.

So I’ve started teaching him shapes, numbers and letters of the alphabet.

He can now point to letters on the street and on signs boards, he can recognise numbers on food packaging, and he can identify his own name. It’s kinda scary if I think about it too much (argh he’s growing up so fast!), but most of the time I’m very nonchalant about it.

Liam is very, very, very talkative. It surprises a lot of people. And he’s like a little parrot – mostly repeating the last three words of everything anyone says.

His older brothers have taught him to say words like “Stupid” and “Disgusting”. Which really annoys me. But I don’t turn it into a big deal, so he doesn’t say it around me. He just says those words (and others!) around his brothers, who respond with laughter and lots of new words.

Sometimes Liam will say something that will totally floor me, like…

“Mummy! Liam watch TV. Despicable me! On TV.”

or “Mummy, play scissor, paper, rock with me!”

The kid’s not even 2 yet!

…

A few months ago, I wrote a post called, The Relentless Rollercoaster about how Liam’s development was driving me totally batshitcrazy. Well, I can’t believe that was the same kid! Things are peachy at the moment. It is a rollercoaster indeed.

And lastly, here are some interesting photos. They are of Sean (my second born boy) looking exactly the same as Liam does now. Scary!
Me and Sean (1 year old)
Sean at 22 Months
Sean at 23 Months

My 20 month toddler is at a really difficult stage at the moment.

He’s at the age where he is learning to communicate, and discovering how to change the world around him.

He is impossibly frustrated by his own lack of words. So he spends all day crying and shouting at me.

MAH-MEEEEEEEEE MAH-MEEEEEEEEE MAH-MEEEEEEEEE MAH-MEEEEEEEEE MAH-MEEEEEEEEE MAH-MEEEEEEEEE MAH-MEEEEEEEEE!! MAH-MEEEEEEEEE!! MAH-MEEEEEEEEE!! MAH-MEEEEEEEEE!! MAH-MEEEEEEEEE!! MAH-MEEEEEEEEE!!

He demands that I stand next to him at ALL times. That I play with him, talk to him, give him food. He wails and calls out to me when I’m out of his sight. He clings on to my legs. He shouts for me to pick him up. He shouts in my ear for me to walk to the door. He shouts at me to put him down. He shouts at me because I’ve put him down. He is utterly inconsolable. Everything I do, there are tantrums, tears, wailing, crying, howling, and he just shouts and shouts and shouts at me till it drives me TOTALLY AND UTTERLY BATSHIT CRAZY.

I was so stressed that when getting Liam dressed, I grabbed the first items of clothes I could find. I later realised that I dressed him in CLASHING DOUBLE STRIPES. The stress is affecting even my fashion sense!

I’ve tried to teach him “No Shouting”. I’ve use a kind voice, calm language, cuddles, eye-contact, rewards, distraction, ignoring, a stern voice, putting him in his room… you name it.

You’d think I’d be pretty ace at this parenting thing, given the fact I’ve already had TWO OTHER CHILDREN, who are like, way past this stage. This is like so 5 years ago. I’ve been screamed at, spat on, and pooed on for the last 8 years. This ain’t new.

But I still stoop down, look deep into my toddler’s eyes and say with undeniable, genuine interest, “Are you speaking to me Liam? What would you like? Oh you want me to take off my shoes? Sure! Let’s turn this into a game! Again!”

6 hours a day I am at home alone with my toddler. 5 days a week. Every 5 seconds the little guy shouts at me to MAKE POPCORN! DO A DRAWING! PUT MY SOCKS ON! LET’S THROW A BALL! GIVE ME WATER! I WANT AN APPLE! I’VE DONE A POO! CHANGE MY NAPPY! I WANT A NEW T-SHIRT! NOT THAT T-SHIRT! LOOK AT THAT CAR! I SAID LOOK AT THE CAR!

But of course, he can’t talk properly, so it all comes out like this:

MUMMY MUMMY POP POP! NO NO MUMMY MUMMY DRAW! NO NO MUMMY SOCKS! NO! NO! NO! MUMMY BALL! MUMMY THROW! NO NO NO NO MUMMY WATER! NO NO MUMMY APPLE! NO! NO! NO! MUMMY POO! MUMMY NAPPY! NO NO NO MUMMY CAR! NO! MUMMY CAR! CAR CAR CAR MUMMY! NO! NO! NO!

To have a person you completely, unconditionally love shout and shout at you for fricking hours… I want to bash my head against a wall until my head is numbed.

By the end of the day I am exhausted. I am crushed, at my wit’s end, tense, lonely, in tears. I don’t want to be shouted at. I don’t want to be a mummy. I don’t want to be in the house. I don’t want to cook any more food. I don’t want to clean up any more crap. Or sweep under the table. Or pick up any more toys. I just want to run very, very far away.

Then I pick up my other children from school. Each of them is a gift from heaven, but they grunt at me and they tell me that the sandwiches I made for their lunch were crap. WHY do they have to do their homework? WHY can’t they play computer games? WHY can’t they go to their friend’s house? WHY haven’t I made them an after-school snack yet? WHY do they have to eat rice for dinner again? WHY WHY WHY? It’s the same old after-school routine.

But, I’m *so happy* that I can actually talk and reason with the older kids. Much better than having them shout senselessly at me. I can at least make them do things by threatening them with no computer games (a fate they think is worse than death!).

But then my toddler starts up again, and clings onto my pants and starts shouting at me. Again. MUMMY MUMMY MUMMY MUMMY! SNACK! SNACK! SNACK! MUMMY MUMMY MUMMY SNACK! NO! NO! NO! PLAY MUMMY! PLAY! PLAY! MUMMY NO! NO! MUMMY MUMMY MUMMY!

On and on and on.

So these last few weeks have been rather… awful.

I’m a bloody wreck.  I love the little guy. Really I do. But it feels like loving him is eating my very soul.

However…an hour after my husband and I wrestle all three of them to bed, I often sneak into their rooms. I watch them, their bodies finally abandoned to sleep. I see the beautiful calm on their faces. I listen to them breathing, and I wonder what they are dreaming of.

And I am overcome with the miracle that they grew inside my body, and how impossibly lucky I am to have them in my life.

I am filled to overflowing with deep, deep, deep contentment.

And even though I know it will all start again in the morning, in those quiet moments – I wouldn’t change my life or kids for anything in this world.

And that, folks, is what it is like to ride the rollercoaster of parenting!

Remember that little lump of a baby I used to carry around in my sling?

Look at him now! He’s a fricking toddler!

He wears sandals! And carries around a bag of biscuits! He tells me when he has a poo in his pants!

Oh I am so in love with this photo of us.

It just oozes with happiness. And I really wanted to share some happiness this week.

I love my son’s cheeky little smile. I love the way he’s leaning into my arms and the way his legs dangle over my thigh.

I snapped the photo as we were getting ready to go to the fruit and vegetable market.

I wish I could bottle him up and keep him like this forever.

I admit that I am SO NOT ready to talk to my 7 and 5 year old boys about sex.

*They are too young!*

Right???

I grew up in a very conservative Chinese Christian environment. And my parents certainly never sat me down and explained the birds and the bees to me. I just worked it out from playground gossip, health education lessons at school and girly magazines.

So I guess I’ve grown up believing that, when people get together and talk, you’re not supposed to talk openly about sex!

But my husband was raised very differently. He grew up believing that kids should be very well informed with all the nitty gritty details about sex, drugs and alcohol by their parents. Especially before they are taught these things by their friends, media and other people in their lives.

Which, yes, is my view now.

So since he is more practiced at it, he got the job of talking to the kids about it!

But how much information is too much?

He decided to answer their questions fully, but not to go beyond that.

Walking home from school one day, one my kids said the “F” word, which they had learned from other kids in school, and my husband reminded him that he is not allowed to say it.

This is kind of how the conversation went.

SON: “Sorry Dad.”

HUBBY: “That’s okay… just remember not to say it again, especially not to your teachers, and not to Mum, and ESPECIALLY not to your grandmother!

A long silence.

SON: “Dad, what does “F##K” actually mean anyway?”

HUBBY: “Well, it means the same as sex. It’s a rude word for sex.”

SON: “Oh.”

A long silence.

HUBBY: “Do you know what sex is?”

SON: “Of course!”

A long silence.

HUBBY: “Well, what do you think sex is?”

SON: “It’s what mum looks at on her computer all the time.”

HUBBY: “REALLY?!!”

SON: “Yes, she is always looking a those people with no clothes on, in their underwear. And in those magazines she has.”

HUBBY: “Oh! No, that’s not sex. That’s just fashion.”

SON: “But they haven’t got any clothes on!”

HUBBY: “Um. Um. Er… Um. When you haven’t got many clothes on, that’s not sex, it’s just being naked.”

SON: “So what IS sex?”

A long silence. Dad sighs deeply.

SON: “Well?!”

HUBBY: “Weeeeell… Sex is when two adult people take all their clothes off and have a really close cuddle, and kiss.”

SON: “That’s yuck! Why do they do that??”

HUBBY: “Because it feels nice, it’s exciting, and they want to be really nice to each other.”

SON: “Don’t they get germs?!”

HUBBY: “Yes, you can get germs. So you have to be really careful who you have sex with.”

SON: “I don’t want to do that… it’s disgusting!”

HUBBY: “ Well, yes, it is disgusting, but when you’re an adult, you’ll really want to do it.”

SON: “Why?”

HUBBY: “Let’s see… why… okay. It’s nature’s way of making babies. When a man and a woman have sex, a little bit of the man goes into the woman, and that’s how the baby starts to grow inside the woman. It’s really amazing. But you have to be very careful not to make a baby until you are sure you are ready for it. Babies are a LOT of work.”

Another long silence.

SON: “Do you and mum have sex?”

HUBBY: “Ah..well, yes, yes we… have. That’s how we got three babies. That’s where you came from!”

Another long silence.

SON: “That is soooo disgusting.”

Awkward silence.

HUBBY: “Hey, look at the cool old car!! That’s a 1964 Model S Valiant!”

SON: “Wow, COOL! Can we get one!?!”

And hubby was SO RELIEVED that the son didn’t want to know the EXACT PLUMBING DETAILS OF SEX and exactly how the little bit of the man gets into the woman.  But no doubt, that question will come soon enough.

And when the question comes, I’ll be saying…”GO ASK YOUR DAD!”.

My baby is 1½ years old! And he is definitely the most easy-to-look-after kid I’ve had.

He is at a SUPER CUTE age – constantly exploring the world, happy with the simplest things, full of smiles and giggles, and not old enough to talk back!

I took this photo of Liam in our backyard. We were eating an apple together and I peeled off the “Grown in WA” sticker and stuck it on his nose. He laughed and walked around the garden with it on his scrunched up little nose, snorting like a pig. Too cute.

At this age, people seem to ask me these questions.

Does he say any words?
His latest favourite thing to say is “READY GO!” Tragically, he picked it up from the computer game Super Mario Kart.

He says heaps of other words, I think 24 in total, like – daddy, mama, ball, water, down, book, draw, star, car, ear, pop corn, banana, meow, see ya, bye, poo, wow, more, gor gor (Chinese for big brother), bike ride, shoe, sock, and of course, ready and go.

Lots of people have told me that this is pretty advanced for a 18month old, so please don’t compare if you have a toddler too!

He can also point to his ears, head, mouth, nose, and belly button. And follow lots of verbal instructions.

Does he eat well?
He doesn’t drink any milk at night, formula or cow’s milk.
He can eat like there is no tomorrow, if he likes the food. He is a little fussy. He loves pasta, rice, broccoli, cauliflower, peas and corn, carrots, noddles, toast, sausages.

How many teeth does he have?
He has 16 teeth. 8 top, 8 bottom.

His sleep patterns?
He still sleeps from 6:30pm at night to 6:30am in the morning. He likes to have at least 1 hour nap sometime during the day, but he’s not too fussed WHEN he has it.

Is he active?
Hell yes.

Does he get along with his older brothers?
Yes! The other two kids are really, really good with him. They know all the rules and how to look after him. They are pretty helpful with keeping an eye on him.

Have you begun toilet training?
HA! No! But he does walk over to tell me when he’s done a poo. (He looks at me with a worried expression and pats his tummy.) It’s rather convenient.

I didn’t teach him that at all. He just does it.

Photo: We were going to a wedding and I bought Liam a special little outfit. Shirt $2 and pants for $3 from an op shop. And just as predicted, he smeared tomato sauce over the shirt.

At this age, kids also start to pick up “weird little habits”, and they just keep doing them no matter what. It’s actually quite cute, but weird and annoying.

Weird habit #1
When he wants to eat a banana, he screams NANA-NANA-NANA!
If I peel a banana for him, he throws it on the floor, and keeps screaming NANA-NANA-NANA!
So I give him another UNPEELED banana – and he’ll sit there happily eating the banana, peel and all – starting from the middle, and tearing it open with his teeth like a monkey.

Weird Habit #2
He likes to be bare foot on his right foot. EVERY SINGLE TIME I put shoes on him, he’ll take off his right shoe and sock. He then hides the shoe and sock somewhere. So it’s impossible for me to find it, and I get so frustrated, that I just leave him with one bare foot.

And sometimes when I’m in a rush trying to head out the door, I can’t find ANY matching pairs of shoes or socks, so I feel like a dumbass dressing my son in mis-matching shoes. And he’ll still take off the right shoe + sock.

People will come up to me in the shops, and say “Are you aware your son has lost one shoe?”

(He’s happy to wear sandals on both feet though.)

Weird Habit #3
He loves drawing and shouting DRAW DRAW DRAW!
But when I give him a pencil and he munches the lead bit off. To him, pencils are a kind of fibrous snack.

Weird Habit #4
He likes to put stickers on his face. I wonder where he learned that from?

Weird Habit #5
Maybe not a “weird” habit – he sucks his thumb! We really didn’t mind it when he was little, and he only did it for a few minutes before he went to sleep.

But now he does it all the time, and it’s just a comfort and boredom thing. He sucks it so often that a few months ago, the skin on his thumb became soft (read: digested), gross red, and badly infected, and he had to be on antibiotics.

Since then, we’ve had to sew up the hands of his bed clothes, so he can’t get to it at night.

So, it finally happened. My first son, Callum, has reached the age where his baby teeth have started to fall out.

Most of his classmates already have large holes in their smiles (like they’ve been in a boxing match), and some already have front teeth that are too big for their mouths (so they look like rabbits).

And Callum couldn’t be happier about joining them.

But he’s not concerned about “keeping-up” with the other kids… it’s a money thing!

When Callum’s first tooth began to feel loose, my husband was so excited that he made the mistake of promising that the “tooth fairy” would pay Callum $5 per tooth.

Callum quickly worked out that he had 20 teeth to lose, which means he could make $100 in total! (He is saving up to buy a Nintendo DS, and he needs all the money he can get.)

I tried to get husband to reduce the price to $1 or $2 per tooth, but he says “a deal is a deal”.

So now we have to STOP OUR SON FROM PULLING HIS OWN TEETH OUT!!!

His logic is… they are going to come out anyway, right?!