I know it’s morning time, perhaps 6, because there’s some stirring next to me, kicking me more. I am wishing for a lie in today… go back to sleep, go back to sleep. No success. He cried, as if I was the one who has rudely awoken him. The cries pierced into my sleep deprived brain, like a glass piercing through….Now I wished I slept earlier last night. Why why, I do this every night! I scrambled for my phone, youtube youtube, where are you youtube. I know badparenting101 but we can discuss this later once I have some sleep, thank you very much.
Some time later….
Zayan is now walking around the room. He has possibly just gone into our closet, took out the clothes from his drawer, used my bedside lamp as a microphone, switched off our alarm clock, scrounged through M’s bedside drawer. But it’s ok. He’s still intact, nothing has been destroyed (yet), and the bedsheet has not been stained today with an ink pen. All is well. Except Zayan is not happy. He wants attention now, he may also want some milk and breakfast.
I sigh. M is still deeply asleep. Alright then….
Mornings are always the best for mealtime with Zayan. He is happily eating his porridge by himself. During these times, I am thankful for my independent little child. I potter around, doing the washing that should have been done last night, putting laundry in, making breakfast. Today is a day off, a welcome break of a weekend. All I want to do is just sleep though. It’s ok, two more hours and nap time for Zayan.
Zayan is now in peak form. He’s had breakfast and milk. He is acting all cute, giving me his grins and pretending to feed me with his spoon. “Blech,” I pretend to vomit. This results in lots of giggles. Such a weird child, I smile, all these unexpected things that makes him laugh.
He still has bounds of energy. I put him onto bed. I am ready to have a nap, therefore Zayan needs to have his nap. He giggles and pretends to sleep. I pretend to sleep. This made him giggle. He pokes my nose. More giggles. I try not to smile. “Zayan, TIDUR!” He stopped smiling, looked at me with a neutral expression. I feel bad. But the boy needs to stick to his routine, no? He curled next to me, closed his eyes. YES, TIDUR TIME! Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. After a few tossings and turnings and “Zayan, TIDUR”, we both go into la-la land. Well, I don’t remember going into la-la land. I just remember waking up 2 hours later.
Mama rejuvenated, TIME FOR LUNCH!!!
Hmm, when did I change his nappy last?
Probably should change his nappy again…. It’s been awhile.
Zayan looks at me. He stops whatever he was doing, his face turning red. And then off again he goes.
And suspicious it is, a strong offensive smell coming from my child, or specifically his buttocks.
I wipe his bum and tries to ward off his hands that wants to play with his willy. Seriously, what is up with boys and their willies?? LET.IT.GO!
This sparked an unreasonable anger of emotion, which I know is irrational. Let it go. I breathed in and out, he can sense Mama is angry and lay there quietly. I am sorry and try to keep my emotions check. I don’t know why I get really annoyed when he does this.
Zayan is in dire need to get out. Trapped into these walls of our apartment, it’s bound to get a rambunctious toddler bored and cranky. Ok, time to get some milk and eggs, an excuse to get out. And whilst we’re out, let’s go to the park.
I want to go and buy some summer work clothes, now that it’s getting hotter, I realise I don’t have any light clothing suitable for work. But I can’t be bothered to drive to town and work my way through the crowds just me and Zayan. I have no energy for that today. Plus I know Zayan wants to walk around and not be strapped in his stroller. which means shopping is almost impossible. At least, not if I want to make rational decisions on my work clothes.
Zayan is laughing. He loves the swings. And the slide. And the park. He loves running around the vast green grass, oh the freedom. I wish we have a garden. I can’t wait till we have our own house with a garden. Ah, the dream.
He throws everything from the dinner table. He climbs onto the sofa near the book shelf and begins to ‘read’ the books and then throwing them down.
I should tell him off. I do this half heartedly. I tell him to pick it up, he just stared at me. I stare back in what I hoped to be “DO IT NOW OR ELSE MAMA MARAH” look. The thing is I can’t be bothered now. I have learnt to choose my battles.
He came to me a few minutes later. I told him to pick up the books. He picks it up.
Thank you, Zayan.
Dinner done, I mentally give him a warning – 15 more minutes and then time for mandi. Often I say this out loud though “Mandi in 20 minutes, ok Zayan?” He says ok. He always says ok or yup for everything. He has not learnt to say no yet. (When he refuses to do/have something, he just cries or push it away or lie himself on the ground.)
Around this time, he is in a good mood again. Maybe it’s having food in the belly after dinner. Maybe he knows he’s about to go to sleep and wants to show me that he can be good and play longer. It’s times like this that I want to prolong his time to mandi. But we like to stick Zayan to a routine…plus I need to get dinner/washing/laundry done and this can only be done in peace when he’s asleep.
Grinning at me in his vest and PJ bottoms, I can’t help but grin back. His smile is infectious. I know I’m biased because I’m his mama. I tell him that he looks like a little old man. He does, oh so adorable. Time for bed though. Lights out. Milk consumed. He crawls onto my chest as with our everyday routine. He lay there, initially wriggling around. I tap on his back in what I hoped to be a rhythmic manner – it reminds me of the comfort of sleeping with my mama and nini. Why is it so comforting to sleep with the important women in your life? Is it the comfort and safety they make you feel?
His breathing gets calmer. He is no longer wriggling. I put him to the side, still holding him, like how I did when he was a small little baby.
My boy is growing. Time flies so fast, too fast. I can just about remember him as a newborn sleeping on my chest. He still does it but now his legs are all the way down my thigh. I really should put him in his cot, but I don’t want to, not yet. It feels nice holding him, I kiss his soft cheeks and ruffle his hair softly.
I lie back, milking these precious peaceful moments.
I close my eyes and am reminded of the dinner that is not yet done, the mess of the living room, the laundry not yet folded. Oh and my audit report that I need to hand in. Ok, time to put you to your cot, my boy.
Good night, baby boy.
I’ll see you tomorrow insyaAllah.