I’m writing to you as a 36-year old woman who has battled with demons of insecurity for most of my young life.
As a young girl, I have told myself, I’m not smart enough. I’m not beautiful enough. I’m not tall enough. I’m not sweet and gentle, and soft-spoken enough.
You would have told yourself some similar things too.
You would have compared yourself to the images you see on television, in magazines, on the Internet.
The images of ‘beauty’ as projected by the media.
The tall, leggy, flawless-complexioned goddesses with perfect hair, teeth, breasts and lives. (more…)
He is relaxed, his head lolling slightly on my shoulder, mouth open just so, tired eyes finally closed.
I feel his weight, comfortable in my arms, all 15 pounds of soft baby and fuzzy hair, warmly nestled where he should be.
I listen to his gentle breathing, slowing, as he falls into deeper sleep. Only then, do I dare lower him into his crib, tucking him under the linen swaddle blanket.
I watch my almost-4-month old sleep for a few more minutes, willing him fervently to stay asleep. Quietly, I creep out.
Already, I miss his solid babyness in my now empty arms.
I joked once that with two children now, my arms will never truly be empty.
That is my truth, and a reality I love.
For no sooner do I lay the baby down for his nap, my toddler comes barreling into me, throws his arms around my neck and I’m surprised at how big he seems. (more…)
Sleep is a big topic in my house.
I’m willing to bet a dozen cupcakes it is in yours, too.
Does the 2 year old get enough sleep? Will I ever get a full night’s sleep ever again? Will we co-sleep with the second child? Do we have a good bedtime routine for the toddler? How will the new baby sleep when he arrives? Will the baby wake the toddler or vice versa?
Sleep does not come easy for any of us in my household.
Due to the nature of his work, and that he suffers from insomnia off and on, my husband goes to bed late (think after 2.00 a.m.). There is also a lot of tossing and turning going on before sleep finally comes. (more…)
Family traditions – every family has at least one, particularly during the holidays.
I was asked a few months ago what my family traditions were.
I racked my brain and sadly, came up with nothing.
Not a thing.
My little family of three, soon to be four, is relatively new. We’ve been married just over four years and our son has just turned two. Most couples go into a relationship carrying traditions from their respective families – be it decorating the Christmas tree a week before the actual date; opening presents the night before; collecting personal ornaments, each with a story; celebrating birthdays with an experience and no cake; pizza night every Friday and game night every Saturday.
We came into our marriage empty handed, as far as traditions went. Our families were not big on celebrating occasions, especially birthdays and anniversaries, so we ended up being the same. (more…)
Image used with permission from E By Elaine
When I think back on my childhood memories, I see moments — like it’s on a patchwork quilt.
I am two. My second brother pushes me, and I fall and land on our pet dog, Rufus. Sweet, gentle Rufus turns his head as I land, then growls and snaps at my ear. I remember being horrified and offended at the same time. At my brother. Lesson learned – watch where you fall, little one.
I am two and a half. I sit proudly with my baby sister in my lap. I smile at her, she’s my new doll. Except she moves, and gurgles! I’ve never loved anything or anyone more. Lesson learned – sisters are awesome.
I am four. In kindergarten, a bigger girl pushes me off the swing. I shrug, walk to the sand pit and start digging with a little spade, pouring sand into a bucket. She comes over, snatches the spade off me, throws it. Outwardly, I shrug. Inwardly, my four-year old self holds a deep-seated grudge that would last for over 20 years. Lesson learned – forgive and forget.
I am six. Running, screaming from my second brother (again) wham! Right temple makes contact with a wall, sneakily hiding behind a thick curtain. Six-year old head splits, blood spills and a scar forms, forever reminding me of this lesson learned – watch where you’re going, literally and metaphorically. You never know what’s behind that curtain.
I am seven. My nanny and the housekeeper, who’s looked after me since I was born (I was told) is leaving. There are tears. From my mother. She told me years later she was terrified of having to look after 4 children all by herself. She couldn’t even cook. Lesson learned – never, ever depend on just one person. Also? Learn to cook.
I am eight. My parents are out for the night, leaving us kids with my 13 year old brother in charge. He slights me in a manner which I can’t recall now. I threaten to tell my father. I do. I hear yelling, then screaming. He’s being belted. I lie in bed and whimper, thinking how much trouble I’m now in with my brother. Lesson learned – don’t be a telltale.
I am ten. Standing behind my second brother (yet again), who’s holding a lit match, balancing on the bathtub, as he lights the old-fashioned water heater. A swift turn of the body, a lit match goes straight into my eye – fortunately, my reflexes are faster than my screams. Result, a burned eyelid and no lasting effects. Lesson learned – stay away from your sibling who seems to attract danger.
I am twelve. Teetering on the edge of puberty. I pick a fight with my younger sister, ten. It’s a battle of hair pulling, scratching and arm biting. Result? I get blamed and punished. Lesson learned – older siblings are supposed to know better.
What lessons did you learn from your childhood?
This has been an original post to World Moms Blog by Alison Lee in Kuala-Lumpur, Malaysia. She can also be found blogging at Mama Wants This!
Photo credit (with permission) to E By Elaine.