Cheek Pinchers And The Paparazzi...Facing The Public With Small Children

If Gwyneth Paltrow's bodyguard and I ever got stuck in a lift I reckon we'd have plenty to talk about.  It's not that I think I'd remind him in any way of his beautiful client (if only...)  But I'm pretty sure he and I could find quite a few parallels between our day jobs.  Sure, he looks after a towering goddess in designer threads whilst my charges are knee high wearers of Baby Gap.  No doubt he is able to engage in mature conversation throughout the course of his day whilst I sing 'Twinkle Twinkle' on autopilot.  But I can't help thinking that taking small children out and about in KL can sometimes feel like escorting (ever so slightly less glamorous) celebrities through their adoring public.

This is largely because, as far as I can tell, most Malaysians just love children.  I can't think of an occasion here in Malaysia when I've felt my children haven't been welcome.  Wherever we end up, be it a smart restaurant or a kampung fruit stall, there'll be a smiley uncle ready to share a high five or a friendly aunty wanting to stop for a chat.  And it's lovely.  But I'm still not sure the constant attention my children receive here is something I'll ever grow accustomed to, even if it is nearly always well-meant or down to good old curiosity.

My children often unwittingly find themselves in front of total unknowns' camera lenses (and to my horror I discovered that accompanying mothers often end up being snapped too, even when sporting humidity-induced frizzy hair).  Then there are the cheek pinchers...

As with every other country around the world, there are also those who like to share their opinions.  What is unique here is the incredible ability to generate compliments.  I've now had two different strangers congratulate me on how clever my four month old is because, wait for it, she can open her eyes.  I've also had people tell me how good my son's English is.  I'm happy to hear anyone praise my child, though English language proficiency is sort of something you'd expect given that it's his mother tongue...

The compliments are lovely but the curiosity can be difficult at times.  I once had to tame a ferocious three year old tantrum in the middle of KLCC while a crowd formed a circle around me and watched me flounder with open mouthed interest.  By the end of the ordeal my toddler was calm and perhaps even basking a little in all the attention but I was close to tears and a tantrum of my own.

So what to do?  How do you graciously accept the abundant interest but still allow your children their personal space?  How not to offend but at the same time teach a child about 'stranger danger'?  It's a tricky one and I'd love to hear what other parents do.  My strategy with Mister Four is to explain that he should only speak to strangers if Mummy or Daddy is there too.  And I never force him to engage in a way he doesn't want to.  If a snap-happy aunty's camera-wielding is making him (or me) uncomfortable a firm shake of the head usually works.  And people are generally understanding if I tell them my son is 'shy' when he doesn't feel like responding to the umpteenth 'handsome boy' comment of the day.  Obviously it's never ever okay for anyone to frighten or intimidate a child (or parent) or make you feel unsafe.

Of course though, it's inevitable that there are times when we have well-meant but bizarre encounters that we just have to roll with.  Take for instance the day I took my then two-year-old son to China Town here in KL.  It was a particularly hot and sticky day.  My poor little guy was long overdue a haircut and sporting a sweaty mop of unruly curls.  As he and I waited on the street for my husband to collect us, a very dignified older gentleman walked down the footpath towards us.  He took one look at my son and without a word dug a comb out of his pocket.  He then proceeded to neatly arrange my little guy's hair into a comb over.  He looked up satisfied, said 'That's better' and walked on his way.  I was too stunned to comment and frankly I'm still not sure what to make of it.  Over the top interest in my child?  Or community service?


What do you think?  I'd love to hear your thoughts on this topic.  And if Gwyneth Paltrow's bodyguard and I ever do end up in that lift I'll let you know what he has to say too.

Baby Bed Time: Instinct Or Textbook?

Right, I can do this.  Baby is drowsy.  Put her down in cot.  Pat her gently until her eyes begin to close.  Make a few shushing sounds.  Step away from cot.  Tiptoe out with self-satisfied smile.

'Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!'

And breathe.  Repeat above cycle for the fifteenth time.


Here we go again.  Sleep training.  Despite vowing to be more relaxed second time round, a little echo from one of my old parenting books has made its way into my head and told me I should be 'teaching baby to self-settle'. So I've been giving it a shot.  And it's the most tedious, disheartening thing.

Not only is this process time consuming and hardly a laugh a minute for my darling baby girl, I've got a pretty appalling success rate with it.  In fact, the one time it's worked for me all week, just as I was smugly stepping away from the cot and preparing to do a little victory dance, my adorable four year old and his equally charming two year old cousin bounded into the room to proudly show me how much mud they had managed to cover themselves in whilst I'd been barricaded up in the bedroom.

And so here I am, back aching, now-wide-awake baby squirming and I'm wondering for the umpteenth time whether this sleep training business is really for me.  I have loads of friends who swear by all sorts of self-settling bedtime techniques.  They are all incredible parents with gorgeous children but I can't help wondering how they kept their sanity whilst honing their routine.  Maybe it's just me.

It's not that I haven't tried.  First time round, before Mister Four made his hasty arrival into the world I read up on pretty much every baby book going.  I subscribed to the 'knowledge is power' school of thought.  I could have told you the fine details of baby sleep cycles at every age and stage.  I had a cosy relationship with all the protagonists and their varying theories.

And now I hang my head in shame as I recall just how easy I thought it all was.  I am mortified to admit that when I heard people complain about their babies' sleep habits a (rather large) part of me couldn't help wondering what they were going on about.  Getting babies to sleep was a simple process - they clearly hadn't done their reading.

Oh wow.  I really knew nothing.

Because now I'm all too aware that it's about so much more.  And I can't help thinking that it's also about so much less - perhaps pared back parenting really is the best way for me.  Because when I try to follow 'the rules' I just seem to end up laden with stress and guilt for all the things that don't happen the way the experts said they should.

And so I go back again to the most powerful piece of mothering advice ever given to me, said, of course, by every woman's parenting guru, Mum.  She raised four children of her own, and is a key player in every one of her ten grandchildren's lives.  And it was she who said in her calm, unassuming way  'Do you think that the authors of those books know your baby as well as you do?  Your baby is the guidebook.  Your instinct will follow.'

And I remember what those words did for me the first time round.  I wiped my streaky mascara away and actually laughed in the face of all the guilt I'd been harbouring.  My mountain of parenting tomes moved from my bedside table to a storage box.  I thought back to all the amazing mamas I've seen in various countries around the world: The Ugandan mum, singing with joy as she carried her sleeping baby on her back en route to gather water.  The UK mum braving the school run with twin babies napping in their matching carseats and a preschooler between them.  The Malay mum carrying her baby on a day's shopping without a pram or carrier in sight.  The Aussie mum laying her little one in a travel cot in the bush on a camping trip.  The Japanese supermum, riding the Tokyo subway with a toddler on her back and a baby in the pram.

And you know what?  We've all got it right.  All over the world, in all sorts of ways, parents are loving their babies just the way they do.  And some of them have mastered pretty sleep schedules and perfect self-settling.  And some have no routine whatsoever.  And it really doesn't matter, does it?  Because second time round I've learnt that a happy baby is the product of happy parenting.

So now I'm feeling all zen and thinking of heading to bed myself.  There's just one more thing to do: pop the baby who's fallen asleep in my arms into her cot...  No doubt I'll be seeing her again in a few hours, but I think I've made my peace with that now.

New Motherhood In Malaysia

If you read my post on An International Pregnancy, you'll know that I'd been riding the pregnancy roller coaster this year.  I'm delighted to say that I've now come out the other side.  After a difficult pregnancy beset by hyperemesis gravidarum (extreme sickness) I am now the proud mother of a beautiful four week old baby girl.

It's funny, becoming a mum for the second time - on the one hand so many things are easier:  You breezily deal with those fiddly bits on nappies, don't panic at the words 'infant acne' and (to some degree, anyway) appreciate that sleepless nights really won't last forever.  On the other hand, baby number two is still an entity unto him/herself and I'm afraid this one didn't come equipped with a manual either.

Mister Three was born in the UK.  I'm no more British than you, dear reader, are a fish, but culturally speaking, the gap to bridge in the UK was somewhat smaller.  That said, I'm loving being a new mum here in Malaysia.  Here are some of my reflections on the process, from antenatal to postnatal...

Brand new siblings

Antenatal care

We registered with an obstetrician at Gleneagles Hospital on the advice of several friends.  We found the level of medical care to be excellent.  I spent nine days of my pregnancy as an inpatient, staring at a surreal modernist painting on the wall while throwing up countless times each day.  The staff worked tirelessly (and with welcome good humour) to find a solution to help me control the problem.  We were lucky enough to be able to use a private service, but I'd be interested to hear from other mums about their experiences of using public hospitals too.

I must admit the pregnancy experience was a lot more 'medical' for us this time around.  This was undoubtedly due in part to the severity of my hyperemesis (there's potential for a VERY long post on that one day, when I can bear to relive the experience) but also perhaps because of the vast volume of information we received.  A straightforward UK NHS pregnancy typically involves two scans, a number of midwife visits and no consultations with an obstetrician.  Our private patient experience in Malaysia meant more scans, detailed growth forecasts and routine visits with our obstetrician.  For some it might feel overwhelming, but if you are like me and of the 'you can never have too much information' mindset you'll probably find it very reassuring.  And if you like talking about yourself, you'll love it...

Birth

Both my labours were precipitate (fast!) and Little Miss arrived in record speed with an active labour of just 34 minutes.  The experience was incredibly intense and shocking (just ask my husband, who looked remarkably pale for an Indian man), but handled with aplomb by the excellent midwives and our obstetrician.  Again, it was a considerably more 'medical' experience.  In my UK labour I planned to give birth in a birthing centre in a birthing pool (the reality was that I gave birth in the hallway just as the midwives had begun to fill up the tub).  That wasn't an option here and I ended up giving birth on a bed on a labour ward.  That said, our obstetrician was very supportive of my interest in hypnobirthing (if only I'd had time to use it!) and reminded me to use my yoga breathing techniques when she needed me to slow things down.

Recovery

There seems to be less of a feeling that healthy mums and bubs should be turned around at breakneck speed and I thoroughly appreciated our overnight stay at the hospital in contrast to our six hour check out in the UK.  We found that the staff took on considerably more of the baby's care than we had expected.  In fact, if baby dirtied a nappy, we just had to press a button and a midwife would pop in to change it for us.  But I must admit we were both a bit miffed when we were told 'Mothers only' in the nursery when they bathed our Little Miss.  Still, no one kicked up a fuss when my husband decided to pretend he hadn't heard them.

The hospital recommended that we use Jenlia Maternity Services after I was discharged and I'm so glad we went with this tip.  Unfortunately it's not free, but we felt the cost was worth the peace of mind of having routine visits at home to weigh baby, help with breastfeeding and any other concerns.

Out and about with a  newborn

My lovely midwife offered me the following words of wisdom about making public appearances with a newborn in Malaysia: 'People will tell you not to take a newborn baby out.  It's not done here.  But medically speaking there is absolutely no reason not to leave the house.'  Welcome words to a fidgety mum.

I've breastfed in public a few times now.  I was apprehensive at first.  But it's not as if you have to go for full-frontal nudity when feeding; with the aid of a brilliant feeding cover I've had no issues at all.  I'd be keen to hear of other mothers' experiences though.

One more observation on taking baby out in public is the obsession with what baby wears.  I don't think this is in any way unique to Malaysia.  I can remember flying from Dubai with Mister Three at four months and being told by the woman next to me that I absolutely must put a hat on his sweaty, clammy little head as it was clear he was 'far too cold'.  Why is it that the warmer the climate, the more people seem to think that babies should be rugged up in numerous layers?

The last comment I'll make today is a word of warning about planning your moves.  I've been priding myself on getting out and about more on four wheels lately.  So it was with a degree of smugness that I single-handedly got Mister Three and Little Miss to KLCC the other day.  Inwardly glowing at what a super mum I was, I planned my departure at 4.15 before KL's notorious rush hour set in,  dozily took the wrong exit, and began a hideous series of circuits around central KL as I battled with our GPS.  Eventually, having taken a scenic route through the city centre several times we ended up on one of KL's most congested roads in, you guessed it, rush hour.  I can assure you that the one hour we spent sitting in the traffic with a hungry baby and a bored three-year-old was not pretty.  Lesson learnt.  I've no doubt there will be plenty more things to learn over the coming months.

[Author's note: This post was written in three minute increments between feeds, nappy changes, burping, rocking and singing out-of-tune lullabies.  Any typos are solely attributed to sleep deprivation.]

An International Pregnancy

Most pregnant women will relate, I think, to the public interest onslaught that begins once you announce to the world the happy news that you are pregnant.  (Sometimes it begins before you've told anyone; that's even worse).  It's as if that unspoken rule, the one that says that it is totally inappropriate to comment upon a woman's figure, general appearance and diet, is on a temporary suspension and suddenly it's completely acceptable to be saying things like 'Ooh, you're so BIG' or 'Gosh, look at the way you're filling out'.

Add to this the fact that you are an odd-looking foreigner and it's basically open season.  I'm 20 weeks pregnant and right in the midst of it.

Last week I was told 'Oh, it's so disappointing.  I was really hoping you'd have some sort of bump by now.'  Five minutes later another person felt the need to say 'Wow, are you sure it's not twins?' (How original).

The other day, a particularly attractive builder thought he would lean out of his van window and send a terribly pleasant belch down my ear.  On another building site I was blown kisses.

A few weeks ago a very well-educated professional gave a horrified shriek and wrenched me upright.  'Never, ever crouch like that!  The baby could fall out!'.

Another kind (alarmist) soul panicked when I pulled a mug out of a cupboard.  'Please don't raise your arms like that.  You might twist the umbilical cord around the baby's neck.'  I was six weeks pregnant.

And let's not even start on food.  I've struggled with hyperemesis (extreme sickness) this pregnancy, to the point that I spent a miserable nine days in hospital on a drip while every medication known to man (or pregnant woman, at least) was injected into me.  Just thinking about some of the foods that were offered to me as cures for my ailment makes me nauseous.  When you have hyperemesis, even Godiva chocolates make the stomach churn.  Soured plums and boiled tofu do much, much worse things.

Eating for two isn't as much fun with hyperemesis.

What I should state, loud and clearly here, is that these interactions have been with people from all walks of life and all sorts of nationalities too.  The dutiful diplomat's wife mingles with people from all over the globe, and if there's one lesson I'm learning, it's that comments about a woman's pregnant body, nauseating cures and old wives tales aren't the domain of the Malaysians, nor the Brits nor the Aussies.  They are a global passion.

Never mind.  In another 20 or so weeks time, that other unspoken rule will kick into action: Once that pregnancy glow has disappeared but the mum tum hasn't, it once again becomes completely inappropriate to say anything less complimentary to a new mum than 'Wow, you look amazing.'  That is, of course, if anyone notices you at all.  I can't wait!

Creative Genius

May I introduce you to 'Towel Man'?  This handsome creature was created for us by the clever housekeeping team at Hilton Residences Jumeirah Beach, Dubai.
I was pretty taken with him (though I must admit he looked slightly less cute once Mister Three had removed his flower petal facial features...)

Cultural Failure

(Just to help this little anecdote along, it's probably worth my explaining that my husband is British Indian and I'm white Australian.  We are trying to raise a family that takes pride in its mixed heritage).

Tonight I encountered the non-Indian parent's worst bedtime nightmare: 'Mummy, sing me an Indian song like Daddy does'.
Determined not to be a complete failure, I mashed up a song naming all the Indian states I could think of. As they began to elude me I moved on to naming Indian dishes. 'Batata nu shak' I sang optimistically.
'That's not really very good is it Mummy?' replied a scathing three year old. Shaking his head with a tsk he then said 'You'll just have to tell me an Indonesian story instead, won't you?'
Because that would be so much easier.

A Hot Day In KL...

Any ideas what this is?

I wasn't sure at first either.  Looked a bit like a gothic lipstick gone wrong.

Figured out it's actually a melted crayon.  Mister Three left it out on the balcony this afternoon for all of about 20 minutes and the roasting sun here turned it to mush.

Just glad it wasn't that expensive new lippie I just bought...