Change is Gonna be Good

Let’s face it. I am never that amenable to change. Sure, it’s the small changes that I can swallow; not those hard, hit-you-in-the-face kind of changes. If you recommend that I should change my hairstyle, I would be game for it as long as it doesn’t end up augmenting the roundness of my face. Or if you like me to try out this new food craze – in other words, change my culinary habits – I am more than happy to dive in. Like the next person, however, another proviso also applies in this gastronomic case: make sure it is always on the cooked side!

Ironically enough, even for some people my abovementioned changes are difficult to undertake and impossible to attain. They are either so entrenched in some lofty, structured ideas or set in their conservative ways that plunging into the unknown is an inconceivable proposal. In the end, I do believe that a change in itself is purely a subjective matter.

For me, changes that give me the heebie-jeebies run along the line of matrimonial ties, geographical location and new addition to the family. Even though I knew those changes were imminent, I was never able to fully comprehend the expectations behind and the consequences arising from them.

Recently, as most people may already know, I gave birth to a beautiful, bouncing baby boy. Everything was hunky-dory from the moment of delivery right up to the first day I was back at home. Well, hunky-dory might be pushing it – it felt more like I was in a daze from the time my water broke to the time I exited the hospital with an infant cradling in my arms. As I had predicted, I took a sudden turn to being lachrymose. Tears streamed down both cheeks without a prior notice. Some people might hastily attribute it to postpartum fatigue or something of its ilk. It was a combination of a number of factors. But uppermost on my mind at that time was how to divide my attention and affection on two children. I was grappling with the fact that I am now a mother of two and I need to adjust to this new, foreign concept.

I wondered if I was neglecting my firstborn by focusing my energy on the newborn. I was worried how she would react and cope with this new person in our lives. If she would feel abandoned and less loved.

Less loved? Can you even love a person less? Isn’t it a matter of absolutes – either you love or you hate?

Other than that, I was afraid that I would miss the routine that I had indulged with Sadia alone. Going to the playpark in the morning, watching the television together and reading her storybooks at night. And how I irrationally feared that I would gradually forget the familiar smell of her hair by concentrating fully on the baby.

Initially, we observed that Sadia was wary and surprised even, of the sudden appearance of this cherubic creature. She did know, in some toddler-like level of comprehension, that I was pregnant and there was a baby in the tummy. Perhaps it did not dawn on her that the day would finally come when the baby would come out. After all, I was sporting a watermelon-sized tummy for 6 months (yes, I was ‘showing’ very, very early, no thanks to lax stomach muscles (read: uncontrollable eating)) that in children’s world, must seem like forever.

The first two weeks saw her trying to emulate her little brother by wearing mittens and socks and insisting on being tucked in with a blankey, not unlike a swaddled infant. My heart went out to her. Is it her way of bonding with the baby and making sense of the baby’s presence? Sadia was also curious enough to observe, participate in and even mimic (thanks to the aid of her small baby doll) every mundane chore like diaper-changing, sponging and burping the baby.

I still remember the first night when we got back from the hospital, trying to figure out the sleeping arrangement for the four of us. Sadia was adamant that she must sleep next to me and burst out crying with the new house rule. She was trying to fathom what was about to take place and its ramifications on her position as the previously only child. With the two children flanking me on the right and the left and Yayah on Sadia’s left, we slept in perfect harmony (minus the night feeding) from thereon.

Naturally, Sadia would oftentimes show her jealous streak and attempted to squeeze in while I was nursing. Or she would insist that I stayed with her on the computer games when the baby cried his lungs out for a top-up. But at the end of the second week, I could sense her growing affection towards her brotheras she would sniff his hands whenever she got the chance and became upset when a visitor jokingly announced that he or she would be taking the baby home.

In retrospect, the three of us were coping and adjusting to Saeif, also known as either the milk guzzler or ‘Big Fella’. Now that he has turned two months old, the adapting continues. Sadia has slowly come to terms with the youngest addition to her family and, sadly I have to leave her to her own devices at times – playing computer games and watching television – as I run about finishing domestic tasks and breastfeeding Saeif. Her temper tantrums have worsened in some instances, but she remains loving of her brother. My husband and I also have to be on the constant lookout and remind her to be gentle with Saeif as she can be one rough and boisterous girl. The currently cooing Saeif, on the other hand, loves all of our ‘vocal’ attention and doesn’t seem to mind Sadia’s ‘manhandling’ at all.

As for my ambivalence in embracing the big change in my life, it had dissipated as soon as I took charge of my situation and acknowledged its reality and limitations. Besides, with poo of explosive nature, pee launched from a seemingly erratic projectile and smelly diapers mounting, I have no time to overanalyse these new sensations and instead enjoy them as God has intended it for me.

And most important of all, the distinctive smell of Sadia's hair still lingers in my nostrils alongside the new, welcome scent of Saeif's hair.