We discover a new park! So many vehicles, so many possibilities
My husband often tells me — sweetly so — that I’m always talking about the park. It’s true, I do melt his ears off about it since I’m always sharing my observations and analyses with him. I can’t help myself; I’m hard-wired to be observant, contemplative, and analytical. A nuisance as it can be in my life at times — queue all over-thinkers in the room — I actually appreciate this aspect about my personality, because as a mom now, it allows me to always be aware of my son, especially as complex words for him are still left unsaid at his age, and emotions and thoughts only felt and experienced.
Keaton is almost 18 months now and he’s only starting to interact and socialize with other children. My husband and I sometimes wonder if the pandemic has somehow affected his social development and his sense of belonging, or lack thereof, in the context of the world around him. I think it’s a fair question that many parents have asked themselves, and will continue to ask themselves, especially as the pandemic progresses to play an unfeeling game of yo-yo. We’re all living in unprecedented, uncertain, and abnormal times when even the thought of our kids being next to each other, can concoct a crippling sense of anxiety and unease. Life’s not normal as we know it, and even our parenting values and styles have had to adapt to fit with the times and circumstances.
It’s hard and it’s heartbreaking. For my husband and I, there’s something unnatural and deeply wounding to ourselves as parents, and especially to our child, that we’ve had to shield him from fellow children and peers and the world at large — and for so long. There’s a heavy amount of guilt and self-blame that we carry on our shoulders on a daily basis for what may come of our child — or had already come of our child — as a result of our decisions and fears. And Keaton isn’t at the toddler age either where we could explain complexities to him as to why he can’t hug or touch other kids or vice versa. All he sees and understands is that he can’t, and that it’s a bad thing because we pulled him away. We could see the confusion and sadness in his eyes, and this burns our soul to no end. We feel ourselves to be monsters.
We’ll never know if we did the right thing or not. Our number one priority since his birth at the start of the pandemic was his safety, thus we kept him home from daycare, and, up until recently, have social distanced him and ourselves from every other human being possible on this planet (save for family members). The decision to withhold our child from other children is so unnatural and inhumane that it’s a crippling experience to behold. But as parents, like every other parent out there, we’re learning as we go. Some parents have been comfortable with their kids interacting outside at the park, and have been laissez-faire since the start of the pandemic. Meanwhile, some parents still aren’t ready for this kind of commitment. We’ve been the latter sort since the beginning of it all, but it’s only presently that we’ve started taking small, manageable steps towards being less cautious. While we’re still vigilant and mindful about keeping our child safe, we’re now OK with Keaton briefly interacting with others outside in the playground. And we’re enjoying this immensely. It feels refreshing. It feels free.
Little did he know, a fellow toddler would later come play with his sand toys, and he sweetly shared. He was actually pretty shy, too, and watched from a distance.
So far, Keaton has had a few adorable and pleasant interactions with other kids — some younger and some older. It makes my heart smile seeing him this way. He’s never been at a daycare or interacted with other kids before, so I felt anxious about how he’d behave and intermingle with them at the park. After all, we could only teach and show him so much; he needed his own life experience. What we witnessed was how gentle, sensitive, and mindful he was with other kids. Today, for example, when he saw a little girl his age, he approached her and waved and smiled so sweetly, and then proceeded to sharing his ball with her. His movement, gesture, and body language — so gentle and kind. Shy, too, but oh so cute. I guess that would’ve been a normal occurrence for the everyday parent who witnesses these things on a daily basis, but for us, it was monumental and profound. It was one of the firsts of him interacting with another child. I felt emotional. We felt so proud of him. We also felt like we did something right in the midst of all this self-doubt. There was a sense of healing and peace that ensued in us.
As time goes by and Keaton begins interacting with other children, I also begin to understand myself better, especially my anxieties regarding parks. For one, as an introvert, the park is literally the bane of my existence. There are so many tiny humans that I must be physically aware of — I call them little COVIDs — that it feels like I’m playing Minesweeper with my feet. (Not that I’m any taller by contrast. I’m a gnome.) Then there’s the inescapable reality of handling social situations that are part and parcel of park dynamics, which is debilitating for my old, tired and introverted soul. This is true when I’m compelled to acknowledge or socialize with tiny humans — and therefore, potentially their larger human counterparts — if my own tiny human approaches them. It’s a challenging phase for me right now as a first-time parent, too, because I’m learning to navigate situations where by my own value and principle, discernment is needed to assess whether I ought to step in and guide my child away from another or not. For example, if I see that Keaton and another little one are expressively open to greeting or even playing with each other, as indicated by a smile or a wave or a physical approach, then I let them be. But if, say, Keaton approaches another child and I see that the child is unresponsive or is perhaps shy or reserved and shows no obvious indication of want of interaction, then I’ll gently guide my son away. Something I’d like to teach Keaton is that while it’s important to always be aware of other people’s emotional landscape and body language — it says a lot more than we think — it’s still not his place to decide or to guess what other people’s intentions are, and that includes whether they wish to befriend him or not. If he’s in a situation where he’s unsure, it’s best policy to not force a connection and to give space for others to exercise their own agency.
It’s strange to say, but even if as an introverted parent I’m thrown into situations that are uncomfortable for me, paradoxically, I do find peace and healing in it, because I understand that I’m learning and evolving in the process. Even more strange of all, and perhaps the sweetest note, is that it’s actually my son who’s the one holding my hand and bridging me with others and guiding me to live life more daringly. It’s through him interacting with other kids that, I, too, feel open to and interested in also interacting with their parents, and therefore with the world at large. Sometimes there’s nothing more to it than simply addressing that my child was interested in their child’s activities, which often garnishes warmth and smiles. Frankly, it feels good. It feels good to feel myself part of something greater than myself — a community. In spite of myself and my introversion, I love most of all when we share smiles and laughter with other parents, and when I see Keaton and another child sweetly exchanging connections, if but for a brief moment in time. I think what this pandemic and the postpartum period has done, is made me forget how to open myself up to the world and to assert myself in society the way I had pre-COVID and pre-motherhood. I’ve lost confidence in myself along the way. Now, I feel like I’m getting back up on my feet again and learning alongside Keaton, and there’s something ever so raw and human about that. This little guy, so small in stature, is already my wise teacher; and I have much to experience.
Splash pads, wading pools, and parks have made up the majority of his life here so far, and I’m grateful for these moments as summer comes to an end.
Every time I try to take a photo of Keaton or “Chou,” I always end up getting a photo of him in motion instead. He’s just too quick for me to take a still photo of him. Yet these photos, where he’s in action and being himself, are indeed the perfect kind of photos because they’re authentic and true to the moment. In fact, they depict who he is very much: a little guy in constant motion in such a big world. It’s no surprise that I have countless photos of the back of his head, which I find so cute and funny, especially with his one big curl.
“Chou” is French for cabbage. We’ve been calling him “Petit bout de chou” (little cabbage) since he was a baby.
These days, I enjoy frequenting the coyote park with my husband and Chou. It’s actually a nature trail next to a lake — not exactly a coyote park — but we like to call it as such because we know that sometimes, though more rare, there are coyote sightings, which, although can be a worrisome phenomenon, is actually not that odd of an occurrence given how, for a long time now, they’ve been coexisting in the city amongst us. (I still laugh when I think of the couple who brought a coyote home thinking it was a dog, and bathed it.)
This trail is currently my favourite place. We’re lucky, too, because it’s so close to us, so while it’s walking distance from our home, every time we tread there, I always feel as if we drove a long way to hike somewhere in the mountains. And that feels expansive. I have my husband to thank for discovering the trail out of curiosity. I’ve lived here my whole life and have walked in the vicinity numerous times, but never have I thought to venture to that side of the lake. And now, I’ve discovered someplace wonderful: quiet, serene, and full of possibilities. (Except when a dog appears out of nowhere and slobbers all over me, thinking I’m a chicken of some sort.) I can’t wait to see it in the autumn with my family. Romantic!
There he goes, running offI can’t deal with the cuteness of his head and physique. Unfortunately, you can’t see the curl… it’s been brushed and tamed.
Keaton loves being there; he’s always been a nature boy. He loves brushing the trees with his fingers, picking up leaves, and grabbing branches and walking with them, as if he were an elderly gent. The only paradox and bummer for us is that he’s at the age where he wants to be held constantly. Do I blame him, though? I think it’s pretty smart. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be held cozily by mommy and daddy, and feel that much closer to the towering trees and sky? Though, if that’s really his intention, he better choose daddy to carry him, because at gnome height, mommy is not going anywhere far, or high, with him.
Chou is now over 17 months old, and he already feels like a mini adult. How one little guy — I actually hear he’s quite tall from fellow parents — can harbour so much responsibility on his little shoulders and can be so perceptive, and at such a young and tender age, is beyond me. The other day, I didn’t have my wedding ring and when he found it on the kitchen floor, he looked worried and rushed to my husband to show it to him, as if to say “this is mommy’s,” and then he ran over to me in the bedroom and handed it to me and gestured to me to wear it — that it was important for me. My heart expanded. He’s always been wildly analytical and detail-oriented since he was a baby, and very in tune with our emotions.
This little guy is always trying to analyze and understand the people he loves and his surroundings. He tries to understand how we feel and why, and how things work. For example, when he was just a baby — not even at the crawling stage yet — rather than playing with the toy at hand, he’d obsessively flip it upside down and back and forth to understand the mechanics of it; and if he sees that we’re doing something technical, he’d try to emulate it, too, with his own toys. Yesterday we got him a bike, which he approached slowly with gentleness and appreciation, but as we expected, rather than riding it, he enjoyed flipping it most of all to see how the wheels and structure worked. He also took daddy’s tool, which he studied intently, and tried to tighten the seat himself with it.
He went from studying the mechanics of his bike to studying the mechanics of the door of his truck
He makes us laugh often because he’s just his own person, and we’re constantly in awe of him. (He makes us cry and tear what little left we have of our hair, too, to be sure.) We love how amazingly helpful he is, most of all. He even makes coffee for us in the morning. He knows how to open the Keurig lid, pop the pod in, close the lid, and press the strong and largest size buttons. He also loves to bring the cleaning supplies to me when he knows I’m cleaning. He’ll even sweep the floor next to me, with his own mini broom, as if to copy me whilst also giving me moral support.
We also love that he’s very communicative and expressive. If he’s hurt, he’ll communicate to us where his “bobo” is on his body and proceed to show us where he hurt himself. For example, the other day, he hit his face on the corner of the kitchen table and he went to show us the exact place of origin. Also, if we hurt his feelings, he’ll let us know by expressing it to us using his unique sounds and gestures. In a similar vein, he’s very meticulous and detail-oriented. He’ll tell us where objects go if they’re in the wrong place. The funny part is when daddy can’t sleep on his side of the bed — not because he’s mean or doesn’t want to share — but because he knows that daddy belongs in his big adult bed, so he’ll roll him off and away!
Little Keaton has little quirks that are adorably unforgiving for the faint of heart. So far, I can see that he’s very perceptive, obsessive, and resilient like me, and very energetic, distracted, kind, and social like his father. I know that if he learns to embrace his strengths and weaknesses as two sides of the same coin, and to embrace the light and dark parts of himself and to channel them healthily, that he’ll be OK in life. I hope he remains true to himself as he gets older. Self-awareness and self-knowledge are key to his personal evolution, if he’s to assert himself as a wholesome individual in the world; and as his parents, we wish for nothing more than to provide him with the tools and confidence to navigate the maps of his own soul as he grows and walks through life independently.
As parents now, our job is plentiful, dynamic, and multifaceted. It’s continually learning our son — who he is, how he works, his temperament, and his joys and pains — and continually learning ourselves as individuals, as a couple, and as parents. It’s also continually learning and creating our role within the social fabric of society, whilst also providing our son with the tools to find and create his own place within this social strata. Daily parenting, whether done through conscious efforts and actions or through our own unknown subconscious makeup, is often times an under-appreciated and low-key yet mountainous task, and the effects are deep and long-lasting.
Although most parents wish to raise good individuals in society, in practice, the seemingly clearly defined line between raising kind, compassionate future adults and creating wounded and hurtful individuals is so thin and complex, it’s enough cause for pause and self-reflection. We all hold the future of humanity in our hands, and it’s both empowering and dangerous — especially the latter if we’re wounded and not self-aware. Anyone can teach their kids what to do, or how to behave or share or be kind. That makes for well-behaved children. But character and critical life skills are more complex to cultivate — they reflect our own personal evolution and who we show ourselves to be as individuals, and therefore as parents. To be able to think critically, to be able to feel others, to be able to discern between contexts, to be able to exercise discipline and strive for personal excellence, to be able to learn oneself and to admit fault and defeat but still rise from the ashes — these are the traits of warriors. Self-mastery is a mastery of life itself.
I think the best gift we could give our child and future children is our self-awareness as individuals. My husband and I tend to discuss our role as parents, the evolution of our relationship, and our strengths and weaknesses. We’re constantly evaluating and re-evaluating our identities, and our opinion of ourselves and each other. For us, it only makes sense: there’s no growing without being aware of or coming to terms with the dark aspects of ourselves, and continually so. If we wish to cultivate the best version of our child(ren), then we, too, must cultivate the best versions of ourselves first and foremost. Yet for individuals like us who constantly keep ourselves in check, it becomes a blessing and a curse in day to day life. The playground, a seemingly innocent and relaxing place, is a prime example of our constant hyperawareness because we’re constantly aware of ourselves and our behaviour, and of other people’s behaviour — even if they’re not aware of it themselves.
The park or the playground is my arch-nemesis. While I take my son there every day in order for him to exert his energy and to learn to co-exist with other children, especially since he’s not in daycare, and of course, for him to have fun, it’s actually a highly stressful environment for me. I’m constantly on high alert because for one, my son is a tornado of sorts and is bound to fall or hurt himself; secondly, it’s a pandemic, and no matter what anyone says about kids’ superhuman immune system, no, I’m not going to risk him catching the virus. Moreover, as someone who’s hypersensitive and hyperaware of my surroundings and other people, all the stimulation at hand is a lot for my brain to deal with. Considering safety and handling interactions, while it tends to be a normal and mundane everyday occurrence for many people, is an exhausting feat for me. Not only is my natural aptitude towards human psychology a big enough burden for me already, but it’s also my nature’s desire to take care of other people, that makes me feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.
Taking care of others in this context is synonymous to me being aware of them and how they’re feeling, especially when I’m at the park with my son. I’m always reading other parents’ body language and emotional landscape. Often times, people have contradictory thoughts and emotions without even realizing it on a conscious level, and give themselves away through their microexpressions and body language; and it’s important for me to catch that in order for me to better accommodate them. (I guess it’s human decency.) The park is an interesting environment where order and chaos co-exist peacefully and subtly. It’s also a fickle place where one could feel one’s faith in humanity being restored one day, and shattered the next. It’s a sweet sight when Keaton and another child lock eyes and muster a shy smile and show interest in each other. It’s also a pleasant experience when I exchange smiles and interactions with fellow parents and have light conversations with them. I live for these fleeting, yet humane moments in time.
One of the most genuine moments for me is when I see Keaton waving at other children and curiously observing them. He frequently does it when they turn to leave and can no longer see him, which is amusing because he can be quite shy about it. I also find it super adorable when he follows a fellow child — often times older — and watches what they’re doing. I habitually let him observe, and after a while, I’ll hold his hand and take him away, and explain to him that the child is doing their thing and that it’s mindful to give them their space and privacy. (Unless of course the child clearly is fascinated by Keaton, too, and wishes to interact.) It’s always important to me to observe and assess children and their parents’ body language and level of comfort. Again, it’s another jarring experience for me, because while I appreciate my son’s experience that’s very natural to him at his age — that is, learning another child and observing their activities — I can’t help but also take the other child and their parents’ experience into account. This is why simultaneously parenting my son and naturally being in tune with the world around me — more so than normal — can be so taxing.
Sometimes, it’s also heartbreaking for me when I see my son waving at a fellow child for want of a brief interaction, and it’s overlooked. I understand it’s without malice, but it’s still sad for me nonetheless, especially when I see how Keaton knits his eyebrows with sadness (even if he tends to move on rather quickly). As time goes by, I’m already beginning to see visceral moments that are shaping Keaton’s self-image and his understanding of the world at large. Everything, big or small, has an enduring effect. Keaton is so young and the playground can be a brutal and ruthless teacher — and an asshole at that (excuse my language). Yet for my husband and I, he’s never too young to learn boundaries or to learn that other people needn’t like him or wish to befriend him, and that it’s their choice and right. But that it’s his responsibility to himself to live his truth, and to have enough self-respect and integrity to stand upright even if the ground beneath his feet shake and shatter. This is self-love and self-respect.
Even comments from the most well-meaning of strangers and passersby — and said long and repeatedly enough over the course of his life — can affect his sense of identity within the social world. Something I don’t appreciate is when strangers greet him and expect him to be a smiling kid who waves back at them like a happy clapping seal. My personal favourite is when a neighbour, through no mean intention, would often say, “Oh, he doesn’t look too happy.” While I don’t feel like justifying my child’s social persona to other people, much less strangers, I now feel comfortable telling them, with my own smile and politeness, that he’s simply analytical. And frankly, I like that about him very much. I like that he assesses a person deeply before deciding to smile at them, or to even like them for that matter. Society tends to reward those who are extroverted, social, outgoing, and friendly. And as a parent now, I see that it starts early, and in very subtle ways. A child gets comments from a well-meaning stranger (who’s more pitifully untactful than anything else), is demeaned by a teacher for being introverted or quiet, or is told to be someone else by a parent who’s self-absorbed and downright ignorant.
Keaton isn’t even one and a half yet. Yet I could already feel and see how the harsh realities of life and people are already playing a role in his life, even if he’s just a mere nugget. There are those who stop to say hello to him and to appreciate him wholly with the utmost presence. (His cuteness is often cause for happy smiles for passersby.) I could feel the warmth emanating from these kind souls, and I’m very thankful for them. They’re the majority of those whom we stumble upon, and it always makes my day. Then there are those who also stop to say hello and to appreciate his cuteness, but also expect him to act the part of their preconceived notion of what children should be. In his lifetime, there will be those who will guide him to his light, and those that will dim his essence. This is a fact of life in all its beauty and imperfections, and it’s his job to carve his place and make peace with the context of the world — and to do so with the utmost conviction and integrity.
I think, what it is for me right now, is that when I look at Keaton and see how smart, kind, and gentle he is, there’s a level of pre-emptive sadness I feel for the imminent loss of his innocence as he grows older and experiences life in all its rays. No, I never wish to shield him from the world in all its beauty and pain. I actually wish for him to learn in the midst of adversity — it’s the only true way to build character, strength, and determination. Yet where I feel sad, is in knowing that one day there’s going to come a time when he may feel broken, and I can’t help the pain I feel in knowing this, because I’ve been there — we’ve all been there — and I love him so much. I do know, though, that when the time comes, I’ll be his pillar of strength and the compass for him to search his own soul. I hope that when the tide passes and the sea finds its calm again, that he’ll be able to look at life again with newfound innocence. From a place of having died and rebirthed, and of having loved and lost. From a place of wisdom, acceptance, and growth. From will and choice itself. And that’s when he’ll know he’ll have become a man.
My husband and I held hands and tip toed quietly to take a sneak peek at Keaton while he was sleeping peacefully. It was surprising for us to see him fall asleep so early after arriving home from Kong Ma’s (my parents). After screaming in the hallway three times — it seems to be his tradition to tell the world that he, the Little Lord, is home — he fell asleep on his daddy’s shoulders shortly after he picked him up from the stroller. This was so uncommon for us because we expected him to grow fussy and cry for milkies, since it’s often the case that he gets overtired after a long day of fun with his grandparents, and therefore cranky at home.
But tonight was different. He accepted his daddy holding him, and even cuddled against the nook of his neck and shoulder. “Is he okay?,” we pondered. And for good reason: earlier today, he fell face forward at the park and hit his face on the cement. His forehead was badly scratched with spots of blood; a little bit of blood trickled from his nose; and later, a big bruise ensued in the middle of his forehead. When I saw him fall and heard his harsh cries, I wanted to die. I felt the rush of anger towards myself and the self-blame, while lovingly and gently patting him on his back, dancing with him, and assuring him that he was OK, all the while also pointing to his beloved plants and trees so as to distract him from his current pain.
I wish I hadn’t taken him to the park today. After all, it was a rainy day and perhaps we both needed a break, since I do already take him out on walks or to the park daily, sometimes for hours on end. So a day like today would’ve been ideal to just go to my parents’ and nestle inside. But therein lies my weakness and downfall as an individual, and therefore, as a parent: I refuse to take a break or let things go. If I hadn’t taken him to the park and just accepted that today would be a day to rest, he wouldn’t have slipped on the slippery cement. But it was my obsessive thought that he needed to be outdoors every single day, which stemmed from a place of fear, that, in the end, hindered my judgement. If I may psychoanalyze myself, I’d say it’s a major source of anxiety and stress in my daily life.
The greatest hardship right now for my husband and I is seeing him hurt. Yesterday, he also had a rough fall off the wagon in the playground, that ended in him falling forward and banging his chin and jaw — his head jerking back. The scene is still fresh in our minds — a nightmare. “What if he’d broken his neck?,” my husband cried. As parents, we always blame ourselves, even if 99% of the time we’re present and with him. With Keaton, however, we can never drop our guard — not even for a split second, because he’s scarily explosive and quick. All it takes is one second for anything to go wrong. I’m a walking tremor for this reason. Every day my mind is filled with constant worry. My husband and I joke that it might be genetics, for his mother also had to put him in a harness when he was a toddler. We laugh about it, but I do feel a lot of empathy for her and for all parents whose children are the Usain Bolt(s) and David Blaine(s) of toddlerhood.
Little Keaton has experienced many falls on his head and face over time — almost daily. His face is constantly covered with cuts and/or bruises, and often times in the same location. I worry that all the hits and falls might cause damage to his brain over time. So far, though, I feel it’s safe to say that he’s never displayed any symptoms of abnormality. In fact, even after having experienced hard blows, he’d continue playing and smiling. He even hugged his Kong Kong (grandpa) today when we arrived at their house, as if life for him was all sunshine and rainbows. It was an endearing sight and such sweet relief to see him act like himself. I’m always in awe of how resilient and mentally strong he is. Yet there’s something sad about this powerful sight: that even a little toddler has the will to go on, when we adults sometimes don’t. There’s much wisdom in it.
Our little Keaton is a tornado of sorts, on all levels. He’s physically agile and explosive; he’s mentally sharp with an impressive ability to problem solve and utilize his wits; and he’s also very caring and loving. He’s a lot to handle in a small package. In fact, I’d often faint when I was pregnant with him. There were times when I fainted on the street or in my office at work, and those around me had to call an ambulance. As expected, all hospital results turned out normal. Back then, I made a joke to my husband that his energy level in my belly must’ve been so high that it was causing me to faint. Lo and behold, my assessment was quite accurate. After his birth at the hospital, the only cries that the staff and floor heard, were his. No other baby was as vocal as he was, and thus I knew: this child of mine would turn out a tad extra. And every day after that day has been a testament to it.
I’m oh so tired. Sometimes I secretly wish he was more calm like other toddlers his age — whose parents have the freedom to actually talk to each through dinner or enjoy a coffee — but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t appreciate his very essence. I love him so much, more than life itself. I’ve gone through much pain to see to it that he’s healthy and thriving. The mastitis was the worst pain of my life — worse than labour itself. I felt like my breasts were being cut and sliced open with knives, over and over again. I cried breastfeeding him and scrunched my toes and bit my tongue throughout those days and nights. I also grew a debilitatingly high fever that left me feeling lifeless — I felt like I was going to die. All during a time when the pandemic had just begun and hospitals and clinics were in a panicked frenzy. At a time when I had absolutely no help. No physical or moral support. It was my husband who fed me back to life. But I kept going and going, and never gave up on breastfeeding. When I looked at my son, I knew there was no pain in life that I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, endure.
And 16 months later, today, I feel no different. There’s nothing in this world that could weaken my knees when it comes to my son. Sometimes there are days when little Keaton makes me want to bang myself upside the head with a frying pan so that I could perhaps see stars and retire from life for a brief moment, for want of peace, if anything. There are also days when he exhausts me so much that I want to just hide in the closet and sleep, and not come out for another three decades or so. But as difficult as he (and parenting) can be at times, when I see him sleeping peacefully or smiling at me, I thank life and the universe for this blessing. I feel so incredibly in love with him. And the sweetest blessing is knowing deep in my heart that he was born mine for a reason.
***
To Keaton,
Being your mother has been, by far, the most difficult yet joyous feat of my life. You’ve shaken me from the inside out, and in the process, you’ve brought me forgiveness, strength, and healing. I smile in the midst of it all because I have a very cute little teacher by my side, and every day I feel humbled that you have the power to transform me, just by being who you are. The unwinding road of motherhood and of self can sometimes be unforgiving and ruthless, but never unfair. Don’t you agree? Thank you for continually bringing me back to myself.
With your innate perceptivity and compassion, you bring healing, growth, and love to all that cross your path. I hope you’ll grow to honour your light and soul’s purpose; the world needs it. It’s already more colourful and vibrant with you in it.
It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged or done any journalling, or taken the time to ponder my thoughts and emotions. To those of you who’ve liked my posts, commented, or followed me, thank you kindly for your love and support.
It’s been almost two months since we moved to Ottawa — my childhood home. Sometimes I do miss Montreal a great deal, and wonder if we’d made the right decision. I miss our small cozy apartment, and balcony that’s adorned with fairy lights and colourful plates; I miss our neighbours and the children that we befriended since they were tiny peas; and I miss the parks that we used to frequent with our son. Most of all, I miss the memories. Especially memories of Keaton’s first steps and first explorations at his beloved playground.
Yet somehow, life is as it should be. I left Ottawa at a time when I was wounded and thirsting for life — longing for my sense of self and identity. Now, I’m back, in what I can now call my thirties — more seasoned and grounded, with a child of my own. (Still not any less clumsy.) I’m also reunited with my parents — I missed them dearly in the midst of motherhood and an unmerciful pandemic — and now, they’re able to build daily connections with their grandson, and he with them. I feel like I’ve come full circle in my life, and that I’ve had my closure.
I’m forever grateful for my parents’ role in our lives and how much love and support they provide us. Motherhood has been both challenging and rewarding — and doubly so during a pandemic. Fortunately, ever since we arrived, I’ve begun having some space to exist. My son is vibrant, perceptive, expressive, highly inquisitive, and amazingly helpful. But he’s also full of energy, demanding, and relentless. In Keaton’s 16 months of life, I can’t remember a moment when I truly felt at peace in my heart. His energy level and temperament is comparable to handling at least three children at the same time — and everyone can attest to it. Might I add that he’s the love of my life, and also the death of me?
Recently, for the first time, I noticed my hands visually shake when I reached out to grab my son’s smoothie and napkins at the counter. That day, since I was going to take a long walk with him to grab scones, I stopped midway to buy a fruit smoothie to entertain him — he loves smoothies — so that he wouldn’t grow fussy on our long journey. When I realized that I couldn’t control my shaking hands, even if I’d consciously tried to, I felt both self-conscious and heartbroken to see myself in this state — to viscerally witness my own struggle. “Is this what motherhood has done to me?” I ask myself as I feel my throat constrict.
Motherhood has gotten pragmatically easier in certain ways, and harder in others. I’m learning that the road to raising children is long, sweet, rewarding, clumsy, arduous, and full of mishaps and mistakes. And that most of all, Keaton needs a happy mother that takes care of herself and her needs. After all, I’m worn out to the bone and have raccoon under eye circles; I feel like a dried squid that’s hung out to dry for too long in the sun; I’ve lost all butt, with only skin and bone for some cute loving; and my sagging breastfeeding boobies might just hit the floor walking tomorrow.
But in the midst of all these comical adventures, I’ve found peace, solace, and gratitude in the daily moments. I’m happiest when I see my son in his swimsuit enjoying the waterpark; I’m happiest when he gives his daddy a reluctant but successful kiss on the cheek; I’m happiest when I see the unyielding love between my parents and son, and how much he laughs when he’s with them; and I’m happiest when Keaton grabs his Giorgio monkey and a towel for me, to signal to me that it’s time for milkies.
I’m happy when I see the sunny skies and trees towering above me; I’m happy when I exchange a smile with strangers and passersby; I’m happy when I’m able to lie down and rest my heart, body, and soul, and let it all melt into the comfort of my couch; and I’m happy when I cook meals for my family. I’m also happy right now, as I type this, because I’m creatively exploring the inner workings of my heart and mind.
I’m happy when I paint, too. When I do have some downtime late at night, I appreciate letting loose and being creative. I painted the two paintings above recently; it was relaxing, calming, and fun. I even listened to music and lit a candle. I forgot the feeling of adventure, creation, and possibility until then.
While I’m just starting to explore the world of paint and colours — I’ve got much to learn — I find that these paintings turned out quite cute and pretty. They’re meaningful to me because they symbolize, in many ways, my coming home to myself. I can’t wait to put them up on the wall above our couch, for some character and feminine presence.
“If people ask how old he is, we’ll just say he’s twelve,” we both laughed.
There’s a joke my husband and I share about our son: he’s not a baby, he’s a pre-teen. Not only does he sport the physique, but he’s already sassy enough to be one. Oh, how he asserts his individuality and independence. As for us, R.I.P. We’re exhausted — just picture old dishevelled alley raccoons with missing hair on their tails from a street brawl. We’ve got dark under eye circles and we’re pitifully half-baked, but are we ever happy and appreciative.
Parenthood is a comical and mercurial thing. How being miserably depleted of any remaining mental faculty can co-exist proudly with butter-like feelings of immense joy and satisfaction, is a mystery to me. It’s like being slapped upside the head repeatedly yet still finding yourself smiling and wildly whispering, “Yes… yes…give me more.” It damn hurts, who wants that? Let’s be real: parents are nuts. We’re nuts. And I love it.
It’s surreal to think that one year has passed since our son’s birth. Between motherhood, debilitating fatigue, and my suspected depression — and, an unpitying pandemic — there’s a feeling of having lost my awareness of time. There’s a sense of amnesia I experience where every day feels strangely different yet familiarly the same — when each day rolls out into the next unscathed. Life has been far from normal — our identities, core values, characters, relationships tested through it all — but when I look at our son and see how happy and vibrant he is, I know that everything is worth it and as it should be.
Keaton is now a tiger-esque One, and it’s been a real treat to watch him grow and thrive. I adore how obsessively analytical and perceptive he is; how stealthily and quickly he prances like a tiger; and how his soul emanates compassion and sensitivity. When I look at him, I know that he’s truly ours. There’s much I’d like to write about him here — I wish the world knew and witnessed just how wondrous he is — but at the same time, I wish to reserve him for the private recesses of my heart. There’s a certain injustice in attempting to paint a portrait of him — I feel as though I’m doing him a disservice. My goal as his mother isn’t to try to convey to the world who he is; rather, it’s to provide him with the necessary tools and guidance that will enable him to reveal himself to the world, on his own terms, in due time.
Yet that’s our catch-22, and the most emotionally-charged part of our current experience. It wasn’t the isolation and lack of support throughout the pandemic, nor the crippling fatigue of caring for a baby. It wasn’t the mastitis that felt like razors to my breasts, and that provoked cries of agony. It wasn’t even the emotional trauma of motherhood — the other side of the coin that’s rarely discussed. If you harbour wounds, and are aware of it, you know that something unexpected happens when you have your first baby: unresolved and repressed pains surface. The journey to motherhood is all-encompassing: sweet and joyful, and also dark and traumatic. Yet there’s no healing time between diapers, meals, and laundry.
Nevertheless, none of that could’ve weakened my knees in the grand scheme of things. I was the child of parents who’d survived a genocide and forced labour, and who’d lost children in the process. I was also the child who was fearful of the sound of roaring thunder, but when my father told me that bombs were twenty times louder and scarier during the war, grew to understand that fear was a state of mind. And thus was my mantra from a young and ripe age: if my parents had survived the worst of life, there was nothing in this world that I wouldn’t be able to overcome. My silhouette was my own to meet and greet over many times, under different circumstances, no matter how menacing it may appear.
As a mother now, however, I realized the following: I may be unyielding and resilient as an individual, but as a mother I was vulnerable. I had something to lose that was beyond myself, just as I had something to love that was beyond myself. Keaton was that whom I loved beyond myself, and therein lies my deepest heartache: we were never able to share him — our greatest pride and joy — with our families and the rest of the world since he was born. He was our first baby, our first love. Yet no one was able to see and experience him as we had. The pleasure of sharing our first bundle of joy would’ve been just as paramount as acquiring support from loved ones in times of distress, and through it all, I felt robbed of my most natural need.
Many of us had been struggling in some way, shape, or form. Throughout my transition to motherhood, I realized just how much I needed my family and support network — to feel their reassuring touch and warmth. And I knew that throughout this pandemic, they needed us just as much. When I look at our parents who’d lived difficult lives and are old and vulnerable, I come to feel ever more that time is indeed of the essence and that every moment counts. Life doesn’t wait for anyone, especially not when you’ve reached old age — and more so when you’re a real victim of COVID-19. In one year of our lives — the young and healthy — life has remained relatively stable. In one year of our elderly parents’ lives, whether they’ll ever see their grandson is a gamble in a spec of time.
Yet I could no longer wish for a world that wasn’t — that was unbearable, and insanity to say the least. The only way out was through. And that was to make amends with the current situation of our lives and to accept without reservation that being happy and grateful was a matter of adapting to the present moment, and to the ever-evolving whims of life. All of life was, after all, but perception, attunement, and a comedic and lighthearted dance with the cosmic forces of nature and humanity’s collective psyche — if one so chooses. There’s immense power and healing in yielding. Keaton’s birthday became one of the happiest memories of my life, because I willed it to be. And so it was.
His chalkboard of milestones
Keaton’s first birthday was the climatic point of my pride and joy, and this post, so heavily charged, pays honour to it. His birthday, and the elated happiness I felt, wouldn’t have been what it was without the past and current context of our lives. It was at once a celebration of him and a testament of our resilience and strength as a cohesive unit and family. One year later, I was still breastfeeding my son — a point of pride because I’ve lived through much pain without help or support at a time when the world fell into a state of chaos. My husband and I also became all the wiser and stronger, and our son grew beautifully into our beloved kindred spirit. As my husband would say, “We’ve struggled, but we’re doing something right.”
Thank you to my dearest husband for all of his love and support. For loving me gently and kindly at a time when I didn’t have the strength. For his utmost patience and dedication as a father and a family gentleman. For the smiles and laughter he’s brought to Keaton and me.
I’ll always remember Keaton’s first birthday, even if he most likely won’t remember it himself, much less babyhood in a pandemic. The day was ever so sweet. He immediately noticed the “Happy Birthday” banner on the wall of his play space as soon as we walked into the room in the wee hours of the morning — the curtains still hiding the morning light outside. I could tell that he was observing the banner intently, and the cutest part was that he kept smiling while looking at it. It’s as if he knew that a surprise was awaiting him later that day. I couldn’t wait for him to see the kitchen — the real birthday setting. Yet when we walked in, rather than react with surprise and excitement, he quietly analyzed and assessed his surroundings.
The afternoon was young, and Keaton was in a good mood throughout the day. (Phew, such sweet relief for an anxious event planner like mommy.) Auntie Mel Mel arrived at the scene like Santa Claus at a birthday party — bags and boxes of gifts weighing her down as she walked up the stairs to our apartment. I was just as surprised as Keaton when we witnessed fun orange and green helium balloons slowly emerging from the bag that sheltered them — the colours paying homage to our jungle theme, and orange to his spirited personality. In fact, I joined my son in sheer excitement and clapped like a happy seal. (I’m a big kid, I must admit. And I have no shame.)
Peek-a-boo flavour: red velvet with cream cheese
My favourite token of his jungle-themed birthday was his custom cake. Since we often refer to him as a baby tiger, due to his fearless and determined nature mixed with a sassy tint of stubbornness and charm, I asked the cake decorator to create a baby tiger fondant as the centerpiece to symbolize him. It looked so stinkin’ cute. We even kept the tiger fondant in the freezer, with the intention of showing it to him in the years to come. Funnily, his grandparents really had a kick watching him eat his birthday cake slowly but surely on video. As with everything he does, even eating his cake was done with careful tact and calculation.
The heartwarming part of it all, was that in spite of the pandemic and lockdown measures, our loved ones and those that mattered most to us got to be present — we celebrated Keaton’s birthday virtually. When it came time to singing “Happy Birthday” and cutting the cake, we video-called our parents and siblings, and while I comically thought we’d lose one or two along the way — imagine old parents using technology — the event was much more smooth-sailing than I’d anticipated. I couldn’t be happier than seeing Keaton studying the screens, curious of his grandparents’ many facial expressions, even if he didn’t really understand who they were or what they were communicating, only that they were cheering for him. There was something honest and beautiful in that moment: his grandparents felt his presence, just as he felt theirs.
That was his first birthday in quarantine: fun, thematic, and fit for a little guy with a big personality. Even if the world was imperfect and his grandparents and relatives couldn’t be there in person, we were blessed because we still had technology. Our parents had the opportunity to see him smile and laugh, which was enough to equip them with courage and strength. As for us, we were surrounded by love and support. Keaton is so deeply loved, and seeing him burst with laugher on his birthday while delighting in the sight of all the decor and treats, was all I needed.
It feels like it’s going to be a turquoise summer. It’s a warm and sunny afternoon, and here I am, sitting on the balcony with my delicious iced coffee and my laptop and headphones — basking away in my sweet and much-needed bubble.
There are certain burning moments in life when you appreciate the small details with every atom of your being, as if they’re the catalysts that fuel the deep inhalations that you require but can no longer humanly muster. This is true for me presently, especially now that we’re in a quarantine and the world around me feels strangely deserted and lifeless, and now that I’ve become a first-time mother which itself produces a set of challenges.
“Remember when you used to enjoy quiet mornings and staring out the window while contemplating life, with a cup of coffee for sweet company?” My mom would comment and laugh, with both a comical reality check and empathy, as she watches me scurry around with my shaggy lioness hair that hasn’t been brushed in weeks. It’s true, life was no longer about me and my whimsical longings for silence, solitude, and reflection. Coffee mornings were no longer existent, and if they were, they were inundated with anxiety-filled thoughts that the Little Lord would wake up and feed at any moment. (If I can’t poop in peace, forget drinking coffee in peace.)
I bow down to my mother’s feet with gratitude. I’m forever thankful to this beautiful woman, mother, wife, and soul who’s been pregnant with five children, and who’s mothered us with dignity, strength, and uttermost compassion and kindness.
Motherhood is currently, and always will be, my dearest life journey. Yet it can be clumsy and challenging at times, especially when it’s your first experience. And when you give of yourself fully and relentlessly and finally receive something in return — a little something that’s enough to re-ignite your soul — it almost feels as if you’ve been gifted the sky and the mountains. It feels that good to me — and increasingly so — now that something as simple as going out for a serene walk has become an abnormal occurrence in our everyday lives during this quarantine and for the most part we find ourselves cocooned inside our small apartment, and now that I’m a new mother that rarely has time to herself.
Then came this Keurig machine by mail this morning. The excitement and anticipation grew as I watched Bruno carry in the box from the stairs, and I felt like a little kid who was just given an ice cream cone. It gave me a reason to be giddy and cheerful. A different reason. One that wasn’t about the world out there in its state of chaos and neuroticism, that wasn’t about my family and dear son, and that wasn’t about the pile of laundry that needed to be folded. It was about me, if only for a brief and candied moment. This coffee machine would become a place of solace.
This summer will be short and arduous if the coronavirus lockdown persists, but knowing that I’m fully equipped with my sweet love and son, and knowing that there’s a world in which I can always slip into the kitchen to make myself a cuppa coffee during my little one’s late morning naps — and knowing that there’s life and beauty in that fleeting moment of great escape — makes it all the better and the more bearable. It’s enough to cheer me up and grow fluttering butterflies of joy inside my belly.
My vintage vanity is another turquoise piece that’s my happy place. (I do have a fiery and passionate love affair with turquoise.) I fondly remember sitting there last summer — I was in the early days of my pregnancy — and putting on my makeup and getting ready to go hand-in-hand with my love to the market or to a vintage bazaar. It was my very own personal space and soulful corner of the home where I could bask in my femininity — and that felt refreshing. Even if I won’t be dressing up to go anywhere anytime soon, and life may feel like a surreal dream, it will still be my happy place alongside my coffee machine. A turquoise summer is most definitely in order.
***
I showed a photo of this turquoise Keurig to my sister in passing, and as usual, she made it a dream come true with my parents’ tribute and support. She scoured the market to order it for me. I’m head-over-heels crazy about it! It’s as cute as a button. Thank you, Mel, and mom and dad for this thoughtful Mother’s Day and birthday gift.
Thank you to my big sister who’s always been there for me since I was a shrivelled little prune, and who knows my heart well. And thank you to my parents who’ve been deeply loving and supportive, even from afar, and whose familiar faces through a video call never ceases to warm my soul.
To Bruno, my sweet love, cheers to many romantic coffee mornings on the balcony this summer. Cheers to coffee made for you with love and joy by your Tiffipoo, with her dainty coffee machine that’s enough to make her glow.
To Keaton, my sweetest gift of life, as you grow older, just as mommy learns the map of your soul, you’ll in turn learn mommy’s idiosyncrasies and little moments of joy.
I’m officially a mommy, and my heart is elated. Baby Keaton was born in early March, and he is, and always will be, our greatest joy, accomplishment, and adventure. We’re deeply and wholly in love with our sweet baby boy — a sacrificial and wholesome love we never knew before.
He’s grown much since his birth, and it’s heartwarming to learn the maps of his heart, mind, and soul on a daily basis. I have mommy guilts already — I’m learning to be more compassionate with myself as a new mother — but something I’ll never regret, is not having been present enough with him. I can say that so far, I’m proud of myself for being relentlessly present with him with each passing breath he takes.
I love him so dearly, so tenderly, so compassionately that my heart could explode. I love that his personality is shining through evermore each day; I love the way his toe beans curl around my finger; I love the way he throws his arms up with glee as we change his diaper; I love that his hair’s growing fuller and into a light ash brown shade, that I myself have always dreamt of; I love pondering if he looks more like me or his daddy; I love the sense of safety and exuberant joy he feels when we place him between us in bed and attack him with kisses.
I love him to the moon and back, and beyond.
2020 has been bittersweet. The arrival of our son was the climatic point in our lives, both individually and as a cohesive unit. Yet what was intended to be a celebratory time, became a trying moment. Therein lived an inescapable lesson in life: there was no light without dark, and no dark without light. Both were inextricably linked — the yin and yang of the cosmic law, and the Romeo and Juliet of our human existence. This was the dance where tragedy and romance fell in love and became forever intwined.
Shortly after the birth of our boy — the happiest time of our lives — the coronavirus pandemic began, my grandmother passed away, and we cancelled our wedding. It felt as though the universe was mocking us, and laughing at the naiveté of our all-encompassing joy. An all-time high was followed by an all-time low. Life was no longer the same, and sometimes I found myself shaking my head as if to try to wake myself up from a dream.
Hopes to take our newborn to a farmer’s market on a warm spring day to pick up fresh flowers to adorn our home, felt light years away. Instead, we were now watching the trees and birds and bees from the confines of our windows. Grieving my grandmother’s passing also became an individual experience within the confines of our walls, when what we needed was to be with family, and to hold and be held. Everything felt impossibly surreal. Possibilities felt so close yet painstakingly far — a dream within a dream.
Yesterday was our scheduled wedding day. Reminiscent, I looked at our wedding decorations and fairy lights, and there they were, nestled in the closet — coated with memories of the past. Soon after, it was 4 PM and I turned to Bruno and said, “It would’ve been the time of our ceremony, when we got married.” He began tearing up and I felt my heart twist and churn. Yet we knew that the only sane thing to do during an insane crossroads of our lives, was to simply be. To simply be present with each other — with what still is. We had our love and our strength to celebrate, and best of all, Keaton.
All was as it should be. Timing was always right in the grand scheme of life. Baby Keaton was proof — a small and cute one at that — of the synchronicity of events. He arrived at an uncertain moment in all our lives, and for good reason: he was needed. He was the uplifting joy to his grandparents’ day, and the smile that made life a little more bearable in the midst of unpredictability and darkness. He was the bearer of love and light, of strength and courage, of will and resilience.
In the end, we had our son. He was the emblem that married us, that tied us together evermore intimately and sweetly. No, life is never as it should be. We never had the chance to introduce my grandmother to her great-grandchild for the first and last time, nor have we had the chance to show him the world, nor did we ever get to walk down the aisle together hand-in-hand. But then again, yes, life is always as it should be. And every day, I thank the moon and the stars for our son, for he’s the greatest blessing in our lives.
toumemoir 