It’s been awhile since I last blogged on Bubsicles.
Things had gotten a little hectic and we got lost in the whirlwind of winter travels, Chinese New Year, a babymoon, jetlag, independent parenting (yes, we survived our first time in 3 years without the luxury of grandparents’ help – albeit only for 2 weeks), work, pregnancy insomnia and coughing husbands.
Even when we finally settled back into the calm of the daily routine, my sleep-deprived brain couldn’t function beyond formulating basic sentences – much less produce a blog entry. I was just relating to my fellow bubsigirls how I wrongly read aloud from a storybook that “The sun is black”. On a separate occasion, I grandly proclaimed that the “Hired” sign on taxis was pronounced as “hee-red”.
The husband and children have yet to stop laughing.
Well, here we are – 6 weeks or so from No.3’s arrival.
Time is passing so fast that I find it hard to remember. Hard to create memories – in my heart and mind, not in my phone – of precious childhoods. Often, the memories are as fleeting as the moments themselves. Sometimes, they float up in the present – only because Facebook called up a photo on my timeline from a year ago.
So I’ve started making a conscious effort to be present to what life presents to me. To stop constantly formulating To-Do lists in my head. To fight the urge to whip out my phone to note down an outstanding task – because there are more important things to not forget. To stop emptily spacing out in a sort of mental fog (tempting as it is).
Instead, I focus on the image and sensation of a little hand firmly clasped tightly around mine, and marvel at its tininess and softness. Remember this, I tell myself throughout the 20-minute ride home.
I try to file in my heart the expression on Coco’s face as we presented her with her first congratulatory bouquet of flowers at her inaugural cello recital – a mixture of surprise, delight, pride and pure happiness. I drink in the memory of her elfin face and tell myself, remember this.
Much as I fear the girls getting hurt and am proud that they put on a brave front when they take (yet another ) tumble, I relish the secret enjoyment of kissing bumped heads and comforting sobbing babies when they pitifully clamour for me to “sayang my head, mummy” and to “wipe my tears, mummy”. Remember this, I tell myself as I calm their little torsos heaving with childish sobs.
Now well into my 3rd pregnancy, I am plagued by strange aches and pains never before felt in my earlier pregnancies. The little one rolls, jabs, tugs and pushes against me in-utero – and it gets downright uncomfortable at times. I can’t wait to meet her and yet, I feel sad that this is the last time that I’ll feel life blooming within me. I close my eyes, place my hands on my belly and focus on the sensations. Remember this.
Oh, and you know those repetitive conversions about the most mundane of matters such as whether Mickey Mouse has had his bath or what new plastic cuisine they are serving up for the Nth time? I wish my brain could store every report on how good “yai-en” (lion) was for “pinishing” (finishing) his dinner and how “Goopy” (Goofy) can’t have ice-cream because he’s “copping” (coughing). Remember this, I tell myself, while trying my darnedest to squeeze their cute toddler speak into a permanent space in my head.
These are but a fraction of the precious moments that present themselves to me every day. And yet, I can remember so little of them. In a few weeks, life as I know it will change when I transform from a mother of 2 to a mother of 3. Once again, I’ll be wondering where the time has gone and how in the world did we get from June to December in the blink of an eye.
Which is why I need to remember.
To remember this.