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That Crazy Mother

Note: Read in Jest, please. For those who have not been through it, this post might scare you a little. It's not my intention but it's just that....the reality of it....stark and dark and painful. However, for those who have been through it, then you'll be chortling. Motherhood. Giving birth and facing the biggest challenge(s) in your life....it comes in a small package, is loud and demanding, and worst of all....they don't come with instructions! It's not fair because women are so good with instructions and all that...and this, this....this THING does not come with a 300-page manual. I lodged a complaint with my maker but they chucked it out. First your body is contorted to accommodate a living being for nine whole months. Not nine hours, but nine whole months you're lugging this bowling ball in your stomach. The bowling ball loves swimming, crashing into your ribs, poking your kidney and rolling around doing gymnastics, by the way. As the months wear on, it could feel a lot like three or four bowling balls. How do you, I mean....really, expect us to walk, talk, shit, be happy, be human, smile, grin and dance, eat, pee, communicate like mere mortals when we're in that state for such a long time? It's ridiculous! And you can't even walk like a human being because something threatens to explode out of 'there' when you walk so you're reduced to a penguin. And others complain that we whine and cry and that we're being unreasonable and all that! It's like looking death in your face but then it never comes and claim you. He keeps staring at you with that awful grin. And then when the nine months is over, a truck runs over your stomach, time and time again, wrecking every muscle possible within that region. Each wave shreds your muscles into pieces...bones stretched to their limits and you wish it could all be over and you can't possible be desirable after this. But that's not the main concern - you don't even know if you're going to be alive after the whole ordeal. If you're alive, you'd probably wish you were dead. If you make it out of there alive and if ever....EVER your husband or partner dare make suggestive moves towards you in the future, you're inclined to chop the d*ck off like it was an anaconda, you swear screaming! You're never gonna make love ever....EVER! EVER! EEEVVVVVVEEEEERRRRRRRRRR!!!! Again. Fine. Some people are smarter - they go for the epidural thing. The worst is over, right? Noooo......no way. Faaaaarr from it, darwling. Yes, the first time you meet your new baby, the overwhelming feeling of love may make you feel like the sex was worth it after all. Those little fingers....aw. Those little toes....aw. Sniff, sniff. Then it screams bloody murder in your face like you just tried to remove its eyes from its sockets in a language that you don't friggin' understand!!! Speak English, baby, English. Or Hokkien or Cantonese or Mandarin! Or try my Korean....I've watched enough KBS to understand a little bit! I'll drop you if you speak Bahasa to me. But no. The baby speaks in WAHlinese....as in WAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! continously. Miriam Stoppard can go to hell because it doesn't prepare you for the panic and anxiety! You try to change the baby and you try not to break the lil' fella. Does the baby appreciate the changing? Nope. If it's a boy, he'd probably pee in your face! I swear....it happens....happened to me all the time. I tasted urine and I smile about it. That's motherhood for you - stupid job, isn't it? :-) Who in his or her right mind can smile when you have to taste urine? Idiots. You spend the next few weeks learning about this creature that popped out of your deflated tummy (which you abhor every single waking moment) in your husband/partner's clothes. It's not flattering but who needs to be flattered at a time like this, right? You have your baby and everything! So, you give everything up! It's fine if you don't eat. It's fine if you don't drink. It's fine if you don't sleep. It's fine if you don't get the chance to go toilet. It's fine if you don't wash your hair. It's fine when there's a week's worth of grime on your face. Everything's fine until it's not fine. Post-Partum Depression is so strong and feared because mommies (who are built with an insanely stupid mechanism that makes us sacrifice everything in the name of love) kill their babies because of PPD. You become sick of yourself, the wailing, the sleeplessness, the food, the house (you've been stuck there for weeks) and you've probably forgotten how to speak English because you've learned how to speak WAHlinese. When your friends call you, you tell them that your breasts are exploding. They think you've migrated to another planet with that WAHlinese-speaking joker. So, you get things together somehow and you're doing this thing really well by now. Instead of being shredded into pieces on the inside, now motherhood f*cking splits your heart! It's time for you to go back to work but you don't want to leave home because there's WAHlinese there. You think he's going to absolutely die without you; and you will absolutely die without him. EIGHT WHOLE HOURS without speaking WAHlinese??? Not possible. But you have to because you can't stand being there speaking WAHlinese the whole day. Then you go a little nuts - you can't go but you can't stay. If you go, you'll go crazy. If you stay, you'll go crazy. Then before you know it, you're crazy. Crazy, that's sometimes how I think of myself but here's something to be said about motherhood and it's this.....it sucks the LIFE out of you but whatever motherhood takes from you, it's paid forward for times when WAHlinese can finally talk and tell you it loves you. Whatever it took from you, in its place are precious memories and moments that you live to defend fiercely. You cry now and get paid double in love, concern, companionship, understanding, and a rewarding friendship. Oh, I know, it's not as if WAHlinese and you never fight. YOU FIGHT! But the gifts of motherhood is yours and yours alone and no one can ever take it away from you. You'll probably never stop feeling anxious for the rest of your life again. You worry and worry and worry and worry. They could be fifty-seven and you f*cking worry if they're having a balanced diet, I'm telling you! If you raise the WAHlinese right, when you watch them grow, become a human being in their own right....that's the reward. Your heart swell when it fills with pride. Even if they're not making millions a year, that's OK. Money is not the only yardstick - to me, it's not even a yardstick. As long as he/she lives a long, happy, healthy life doing the right things that makes him/her happy, that's the reward. To me, that's the reward. And you learn how to have sex with the stupid anaconda again.
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