Dog Food and No Househelp

My son, he finally ate dog food today. I say finally because if I was totally honest with myself, it was only a matter of time before he discovered that the dog food is actually yummy in an off way. I know from experience. 

But how did Little Man aka The Rioter get to eating dog food in the first place? 

My house-help decided she must go today. She called me after I had just started my work in the office, 2 highways and a major road away, she had to leave by 1 pm today. Now this my current help has been the most annoying help I've had. She says she can't manage the housework because of the baby. This baby is 7 months old, sits up on his own and is comfortable with being carried on the back. Anyhoo, so she decides she has to go on leave today! So I say fine, she can go, after the baby sitter comes. Sometimes she has a lot of work to, so for the days where I know it really is a lot of work a sitter comes in for the baby and all things baby related. The sitter then decided to come in at 10 am and God knows what happened she too decided she cannot be left alone with the baby! So its just past 10 am and I’m getting calls from these two women to come take the baby they need to go.

A girl (me) has been a hands on mom and has been working sporadically from home for some time now. There are times I had no help with a baby barely 3 months old. I cleaned, washed and fed people. So when some-one comes and tells me that a 7 month-er is too much work, that floors cannot be cleaned and my living room dusted (she is not cooking, I cook in my house) or the laundry done… I do not understand her language.

So on the way back home from an aborted day at the office. I start calling agents I have used looking for a replacement. One agent says she has a girl ready to be interviewed. It’s on my way home so I go. The girl looks very shy, and looks like a hard worker. Then I ask her if she can manage a house with a 2 year old and a baby. She says she can manage the 2 year old but not the baby. So I ask her why, is she scared of handling a baby? Is it that she has never handled a child? Why is it hard to work with a baby? She says, the baby will take too much of her time and some babies don’t sleep enough to allow for housework.

Now when I was growing up I remember people used to tie baby on the back and work. What happened? Or is it that I am a country child and city people don’t tie babies on their back? The house-help who has ‘gone on leave’ refused to even try putting baby on her back! One I interviewed looked at me strangely for even suggesting it. What’s happening?

To cut a long story short, I am looking for a house-help who appreciates what work is. I think I’ve been hosting people in my house and they help with chores and get paid. No, I really need a worker.

Scar Tissue, Legacies and Sleep Crawling

This is for my mummy when I was a little girl, this is for my girlfriend whose struggle so mirror those of another woman 30 odd years ago in another Africa, Kenya, another town. This is for me on those nights I completely and absolutely hate my husband and the Saturday mornings when it’s all I can do to reign in my anger and not throw a stone or two at hubby dearest. This is for the deep hurt that women have carried because their men are just men.

I woke up extremely late and extremely tired. I had no energy to be apologetic or make the calls I needed to make to realign my day. Baby baby AKA Ovals is very active in his sleep in ways that are less than safe. He wants to crawl so bad that he actually crawls in his sleep! He crawls off the moses basket that’s his sleep space next to my side of the bed. Twice I dared to sleep and found the guy a second away from a face first drop to the floor. So yeah I haven’t slept at night in a while. We need to move him to a cot I know… but but but… many buts. I digress though. So I looked at this smiling sleeping lump of cuteness and I wondered how many hearts he will break. How many he will break intentionally, how many he will break that he never knew he had, how many he will break out of his manly foolishness… that he will break hearts among other things like glasses and doors is a given. He will as surely break a woman as he will break a glass. This is because breaking is what men do. Breaking their women, breaking their womens spirits, break the work of their womens hands… just breaking. But must men break?

I look at this little lump of lovely mooshness that is my baby boy and I realize that as his mother I have a responsibility to him and to his father to do my best and try limit the number of animate things he might break. I need to have the wisdom to know when to speak and when to feign ignorance to give this my boy boy the space he needs to grow and the knowledge that his parents have his back. I need to remind his daddy how important he is as a role model to his boys. In today’s world, men get lost in the rat race because that’s how the bills get paid, that’s how the kids go to school, that’s how he makes his name in the world. Many men forget that their legacy rests with these young ones that wait for him to come home and listen to their escapades for the day.

There are many broken children who are now becoming parents. Broken as their homes broke as they were growing up, broken as morals and values in the home were swept under the carpet to ensure they get premium education. We have broken children in designer suits driving shiny big cars living in big houses in the leafy burbs… who are now parents. They hide in the clubs ‘networking’. They hide their children in playschool with the nanny at 10 months and spend time in the spa ‘centering’. Behind these plausible lifestyle stories are kids, broken… trying not to break their progeny like they were broken.

This picture reminds me of my Rioter when he was a baby... my guns were on fire

My mother, my friend, me. We were broken for the scar tissue to toughen us up to be the parents we need to be to unbreak the world that was broken in our childhood. We hold the memory of brokenness to create a legacy of strength. Take heart when you want to kill him. Remember you are the healer and not the breaker. Make the choice that will be best for you and your legacy and if its worth it… his legacy too. Never forget however that you, woman, broken as you are, you are the only one who can heal your world.

When my Rioter (Little Man) and Ovals (baby baby) grow up to read this. I want them to know that their choices are the difference between leaving a legacy and leaving broken fragments of a dream.

Infectious Brotherhoods

Wow! It’s been a while since my last post. It’s been a wild set of weeks. First the babies got sick with colds that morphed into chest infections, then they got infected with the coxsackie virus (hand foot and mouth disease) for which they were misdiagnosed at first and thanks to lovely fellow mums and persistence the doctor admitted to having being flummoxed by the symptoms (thank God I did not give the steroid treatments). Then my mummy came home from a double knee surgery and all in the middle on that I am trying to work on a very yummy project.

this is a familiar scene... on good days

All through the storms of the last few weeks one thing has come out clear. Brotherhood is a very tight and intimate relationship that starts very early. Lately, little man wants to share all his food with his baby brother. He bites into a grape and offers the other half to his 4 month old brother. He gnaws one end of a bone and offers the other to his little brother. Baby baby is now able to reach out and grab so I have to be uber alert incase he grabs onto the stuff his brother is offering and puts it in his mouth like he did with his brothers Monkey aka ‘ankii’. Clearly the sharing is more than just food and toys… its infections too, I have learnt that whatever infection little man has, I should be ready to handle baby baby as well. Yes I can do the whole pediatrician trip and process with my eyes closed. Even my taxi guy is known to the parking attendants, they thought the kids were his.

That takes me to another thing, what happened to doctors who can give you advice over the phone? Any little thing is ‘bring the child in’ then they force issues on at least 1 lab procedure, usually blood, then tell you ‘oh it’s just a common cold, we will treat it symptomatically and …. ‘by then I’ve zoned out in anger. Kwani a lab test is needed to diagnose a cold? So I got into a cab, sat in traffic with 2 sick kids for at least 2 hours, for them to be pricked for blood, and then told its just a cold!? I think I am shopping for a new pediatrician coz my current seems more interested in tormenting my kids for the pay than ensuring their health and comfort.

Of Stretched Babies

When little man was born, my grandmother was at home and spent the first few months with little man and I. There were a lot of little nuggets and jewels of advice and information dropped here and there but one story stands out for me until today.

One day I left little man with her for a few minutes and when I came back she had quite the long face. I asked her ‘Mwaitu (a respectful term for mother in Kamba) why the long face?’

She responded in Kamba (I don’t remember the exact words in Kamba) ‘my baby doesn’t have good clothes for growing!’

I dress my babies in growers, you know the overalls that are like body stockings? They cover from the neck down to the foot with a zip or those clip-ish buttons all the way down. Now grandma’s problem was that the feet were enclosed and therefore they had no space to grow. A valid problem. I tried to tell her that there are bigger outfits that the baby will fit into when he outgrows what he was currently wearing. She just got angrier and threatened to cut off the bootee part of the grower. She was really concerned. She elaborated that I was making her child uncomfortable when growing itself is such painful and hard business.

She said ‘you know there are special times when God comes and stretches the baby, it's a painful affair so God doesn’t do it all the time.’

I laughed it off.

9 months later, I have a slightly feverish boy, cranky and no other signs of sickness. His blood work comes out clean. His pediatrician tells me, ‘it must be growing pains that come with growth spurts.’

Apparently at 2 weeks, 3 months, 6, months, 9 months, 12 months, 18 months, 24 months… and so on children literally grow taller overnight and this can be painful. (Growth Spurts)

Shock on me!

My grandmother told me when little man was 3 months old and I laughed it off.

Children And Joy

These children that are mine make me happy! Everyday! The happiness starts in the morning. Little man sleeps in his own room. He always wants to wake up before his daddy leaves for work. You would be amazed at how sharp those ears are. Even when you whisper, he will hear you and call out. On the days daddy is less than quiet, at 6:30 you will hear ‘Daaaaaddey! Daddy! Daaaaaaaaadey?!’ it’s a sing son summon. If Daddy doesn’t respond, it graduates to a lower ‘Mummy! Maaaaaaaaaaammy! Muuuuum! Mummy?’ says none of us responds, the guy starts telling stories in his semi intelligible 2 year old babble! By this time we are giggling and trying not to burst into laughter… it’s not 7 am yet and laughter is already rambling in the house.

Usually daddy will pick little man up from his cot on his way out. Now little man loves going with daddy so little man goes for his shoes and sits with Daddy to put them on. Meanwhile I’m just waiting for the wail of disappointment when daddy says ‘bye, I’m not going with you today,’ that wail is like an alarm for baby baby who wakes up wondering where that noise is coming from. So I pick him up and we do the morning thing. Suckle-diaper change-play- cuddle-back to sleep. On a good day this takes an hour. That’s when little man has rediscovered doggy and thus has no interests drawing him back into the house. Its only logical, doggy wants to play and which two year old doesn’t want to roll around and play at 7 in the morning?

There are the days however that once daddy is gone, Little man remembers baibeee and comes running up the stairs screaming ‘BAIBEEEEEEE’. And his brother stops whatever we were doing to his brother a look that you just have to see. I can’t describe it well enough. Baby baby looks at his brother as if asking ‘what madness is this?’ soon enough it turns to fascination as baby baby tries to join in his brother antics. See baby moves his head and expects the rest of him to move. By this time little man has turned on the radio and is dancing wildly around the room. He could also be trying to climb up the window, or jumping up and down while counting… you get the picture. All this time mummy is laughing so hard, she might be wheezing in laughter… way past the rib ache phase.

These are my mornings, I wouldn’t give them up for anything! So if you are looking for me, look for me after 10 am. My 5:30 to 9:30 are reserved for happiness J.

Pamper rash aka Premium Diaper rash

Pampers… Pampers pampers pampers PAMPERS. These guys spend a lot of time and money promoting the brand but it seems everything else they use is not only cheap but bad for baby’s delicate bottom! 

The first time I got a baby I thought pampers is the best… that’s why the hospital even gave me a pack to go home with. The hospital (a ridiculously expensive for nothing place… never again) from my point of view endorsed the brand. So as a young and new mother, I figured, if doctors can endorse this, there’s something good. WRONG! Within a few weeks I noticed little man was red sore and cracking in his sensitive parts…. I thought ‘I must be doing something wrong, so on came the creams and powders but no change.

Just in time, someone sent me Kruidvat. All little mans drama disappeared. The Kruidvat ran out and I was advised the next best is Huggies. And that is how I am a Huggies and once in a while a Kruidvat mama.

Now, recently a niggle alongside a convenient lack of Huggies gold. The niggle, niggled me to niggle myself a pack of pampers premium. I rationalized that after more than 2 years of widespread complaints about the product in the region, any manufacturer would make some changes. And there are some changes… new cartoons, a softer feel… but now baby babies poor bottom looks like what the great lakes region must have looked like when all the volcanoes were active! Poor baby is red and sore and terribly uncomfortable. This is 2 diapers in out of a 72 pack. 

This is the end of the road for me and Pampers, no matter how many times they change the graphics on the diaper, re-parfume it, re-package it. Something is very wrong with their standards management and I’m out of that experiment, done, finished.

And to my dear Kruidvat angel, Thank you.

Breastfeeding Abnormal?

So there’s a movement in the US to normalize breastfeeding! My, don’t African mothers have it good! Remember earlier this year a young lady was ostracized for breastfeeding at her graduation in the US and it was all over the internet. It seems that for a mother to breastfeed in public in the US is more un-natural than soft porn. If you haven’t been following up what’s happening way out over there check this out>> THIS.

I can’t imagine being told not to breast feed when my baby needs it. Where doesn’t matter, what matters is that my baby needs to nurse and boobs are actually made to nurse little human beings… not amuse big human beings.

Now Kenyans being Kenyans those who believe to be ahead of things and on the cutting edge of social trends are starting to look down on public nursing. Try nursing, without a cover at the village market food court. Its not bad, on the whole, nice mature ladies will smile your way but every so often a supermodel looking girl will give you ‘the look’. This ‘’look’’ seems to say ‘’have some decency’’. As if breastfeeding is indecent. After that experience take a matatu ride with your baby (not for the faint-hearted though) or go to a public health facility (the Westlands maternal health clinic is my favorite, don’t look at me funny, I’m not paying I don’t know how many thousands of shillings for non-child friendly immunizations or adding a zero to the thousands for the child friendly ones. In public health facilities it costs between 50 bob and 300 bob). Should baby squeak as if to cry, everyone will tell you to give the baby what is baby’s… i.e. the breast. Trust me it doesn’t even come out lewd… its actually as loving as a Kenyan stranger in Nairobi will get.

In short I love that this breast feeding ‘issue’ is not in Kenya (except maybe in bougie Kenya) and would love to welcome young American families to invest in Kenya and use their energies on other things away from defending your right to be what you were made to be. Seriously though, I feel for young mothers out there trying to bring up children in a very unfriendly social and even legal environments (no one is going to tell me how to discipline my baby let alone take my babies away from me for trying to provide for them and for caning them every so often… that to me is nonsense. My mama beat me and dang she beat and pinched wherever was necessary to teach me a lesson, I’m not dead so my babies won’t die.)

Beautiful just the way God made it!

As I finish, when little man was about 5 months old, we took our first matatu ride to the clinic. I was shy so I pumped and put milk in bottles for him to suckle in the matatu. Now little man refused to have the milk in a bottle, the more I tried to force him, the more he wailed. The conductor in the Nissan 14 seater got tired of the racket and said ‘Mungu hakukuwekea matiti ndio unyime mtoto, mpatie mtoto haki yake!’ (God didn’t put breasts on you so that you can deny your child, give the boy his rights!)