Yaya Mom
All about:
full-time mommyhood,
parenting,
time off from work
As far as taking over someone's job went, this one took all the honors. I got a 3-day leave from work to take care of the boys full time. Nursing the tail-end of a flu, on the second cranky day of my period and in the muggy heat of a full-blown summer, I woke up dreading incompetence and clumsy panic.
And I wondered why I was fretting. I am the mother of these angels, am I not? I am the keeper of this house (ok, apartment), am I not? I am woman, hear me roar. And roar I did. Eli was clingy and Woog tested the full complement of my limits on the first day I took over. In the early afternoon during siesta, the power failed twice, shutting down the air-conditioning and causing the kids to wake all sweaty and whiny. I resorted to turning myself into a human fanning machine, which fooled them not a bit. So siesta was cut short and we spent the afternoon outside, courting the errant breeze. When Atch arrived from work that night, I practically collapsed from the tension, only to remember too late that I had to get up to breastfeed.
It seemed strange not to have to rush in the mornings throwing on the uniform and putting on the face. Even stranger still that my little darlings minded not a bit if I forgot to gargle away the morning breath or wash the encrusted sediment from my eyes. No problem. Mommy's here. I fed them and gave them their baths, read to them and sang along to nursery rhymes. They struggled against siesta time, but I soothed them to sleep, and when they awoke, I put them on bike and walker and tired them out in the courtyard.
Three days turned to 8 with no sign of a replacement for Yaya Rose. And I found myself actually hoping no replacement came. Hell, I could get used to this. I actually imagined myself handing in my resignation at work and becoming a house mommy full-time. How else would I continue to relish Woog's arms around me, telling me constantly, "I missed you, Mom, don't leave me." Or Eli kiss-biting my cheeks and chin, slobbering and yammering all over my face.
Perhaps fearing I was going out of my mind, my father picked us up and deposited the boys in my parents' rubber pool. The boys had ecstatic splashy fun, while I relaxed with ice-cold glasses of Coke.
Still, I looked forward to the three of us being together: mom and sons. I'd missed out on how independent Woog was growing. How could I have taken for granted that he made his own bed, got dressed and hung his own p'jamies in the mornings. Or that he brought his plate and mug to the kitchen after every meal. Or that I could rely on him to fetch the baby's bottle, or my cellphone, or my sinus medicine, or any damn thing I might have forgotten to bring downstairs. He even gathered and put away the baby's rubber floor mats without my having to ask. And he's four. Four!
I had recently worried that Eli was a mite behind in the physical development department. At 9 months, he still hadn't learned to crawl. Or even sit up by himself. It took a lot of tough-love days to re-wire the circuits that Yaya Rose had welded into my 'Pokey Bear. Eli was clingy and cranky, but I refused to pick him up unless it was absolutely necessary - something that Yaya Rose could not fathom. She had carried him around constantly. When I took over, Eli spent mucho time on the stroller, on the walker and on the floor. Lots of hugs and kisses, but sorry, 'Pokey, no carrying. By day 4 he sat up by himself. By day 6 I taught him some rudimentary sign language. And by day 8, he pulled himself up to a bona fide standing position. Oh, I am so proud of the both of us!
Making up for lost time
He's totally delighted about his newfound mobility, he's been driving us nuts with all his wriggling around to see what else he can do and how far he can go. Good for you, Pipsqueak!
But as always, reality came and took a huge bite off my complacent ass. One of my clients called and asked me when I was coming back. He must have come by the office an awful lot of times that the admin. officer just had to give my home phone number. Mamsie told me the big boss had noticed my long drawn-out vacation. Ten loyal years in the company - I did have a responsibility, after all. My extended time with the kids was drawing to a close.
Filled with a sense of remorse, I haggled with Atch to take over so I could take up my backlog at the office. I looked lovingly at my sons, and inside I longed for more time.
Is this trade-off even worth it?
And I wondered why I was fretting. I am the mother of these angels, am I not? I am the keeper of this house (ok, apartment), am I not? I am woman, hear me roar. And roar I did. Eli was clingy and Woog tested the full complement of my limits on the first day I took over. In the early afternoon during siesta, the power failed twice, shutting down the air-conditioning and causing the kids to wake all sweaty and whiny. I resorted to turning myself into a human fanning machine, which fooled them not a bit. So siesta was cut short and we spent the afternoon outside, courting the errant breeze. When Atch arrived from work that night, I practically collapsed from the tension, only to remember too late that I had to get up to breastfeed.
It seemed strange not to have to rush in the mornings throwing on the uniform and putting on the face. Even stranger still that my little darlings minded not a bit if I forgot to gargle away the morning breath or wash the encrusted sediment from my eyes. No problem. Mommy's here. I fed them and gave them their baths, read to them and sang along to nursery rhymes. They struggled against siesta time, but I soothed them to sleep, and when they awoke, I put them on bike and walker and tired them out in the courtyard.
Three days turned to 8 with no sign of a replacement for Yaya Rose. And I found myself actually hoping no replacement came. Hell, I could get used to this. I actually imagined myself handing in my resignation at work and becoming a house mommy full-time. How else would I continue to relish Woog's arms around me, telling me constantly, "I missed you, Mom, don't leave me." Or Eli kiss-biting my cheeks and chin, slobbering and yammering all over my face.
Perhaps fearing I was going out of my mind, my father picked us up and deposited the boys in my parents' rubber pool. The boys had ecstatic splashy fun, while I relaxed with ice-cold glasses of Coke.
Still, I looked forward to the three of us being together: mom and sons. I'd missed out on how independent Woog was growing. How could I have taken for granted that he made his own bed, got dressed and hung his own p'jamies in the mornings. Or that he brought his plate and mug to the kitchen after every meal. Or that I could rely on him to fetch the baby's bottle, or my cellphone, or my sinus medicine, or any damn thing I might have forgotten to bring downstairs. He even gathered and put away the baby's rubber floor mats without my having to ask. And he's four. Four!
I had recently worried that Eli was a mite behind in the physical development department. At 9 months, he still hadn't learned to crawl. Or even sit up by himself. It took a lot of tough-love days to re-wire the circuits that Yaya Rose had welded into my 'Pokey Bear. Eli was clingy and cranky, but I refused to pick him up unless it was absolutely necessary - something that Yaya Rose could not fathom. She had carried him around constantly. When I took over, Eli spent mucho time on the stroller, on the walker and on the floor. Lots of hugs and kisses, but sorry, 'Pokey, no carrying. By day 4 he sat up by himself. By day 6 I taught him some rudimentary sign language. And by day 8, he pulled himself up to a bona fide standing position. Oh, I am so proud of the both of us!
Making up for lost timeBut as always, reality came and took a huge bite off my complacent ass. One of my clients called and asked me when I was coming back. He must have come by the office an awful lot of times that the admin. officer just had to give my home phone number. Mamsie told me the big boss had noticed my long drawn-out vacation. Ten loyal years in the company - I did have a responsibility, after all. My extended time with the kids was drawing to a close.
Filled with a sense of remorse, I haggled with Atch to take over so I could take up my backlog at the office. I looked lovingly at my sons, and inside I longed for more time.
Is this trade-off even worth it?
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