Me: Look Ms Rockstar! Cow! Moooooo! Pig! Snort-snort! Goat! Behhh!
Ms Rockstar: Feet! I have Feet!
Me: (reading enthusiastically) So-the-cow-took-one-look-and-charged-straight-at-the-pig, Then-jumped-on-the-table-and-tapped-out-a-jig!
Ms Rockstar: I can wiggle Toes?
<pause>
What’s bothering Feet? Those MY feet. AIN’T NUTHIN’ GONNA DISRESPECT MA FEEEEEEEEETTT!!
<lets fly with bloodcurdling battle cry>
(What? It’s my blog. My 100% Buatan Malaysia Tapi Dilahir Di Hong Kong (does that even make sense? I like saying “Buatan Malaysia” leh) baby can have a weird Wild Wild West accent if I so imagine it. Oh, did you know according to National Geographic Weird Facts babies’ cries sound different based on the different languages they are exposed to? I’m imagining French or Putonghua or English-accented baby cries…)
Kings has pulled up at the side of the road. Seated next to me in the car, Rockstar has schooled his facial expression into a stoic Is There A Baby In The Car? I Didn’t Hear Anything, Did You Hear Anything? As I get out of the vehicle and stand on a random kerb (Ms Rockstar’s problem is she doesn’t like anything obstructing newly-discovered Feet, including the end of the baby car seat, my baby sling, blankets). Her fussing immediately cuts when Obnoxious Feet Obstructor is gone, and just before I close the car door and try to lull her into a drowsy acceptance on the boiling sidewalk so we can be on our way, I hear Rockstar nonchalantly begin a conversation with his father. Just as though our ears weren’t still ringing.
Oh, Did We Just Leave Mummy And The Baby On The Side Of Some Random Road? I Didn’t Even Know They Were With Us In The Car…
Ah, What A Joy Life Would Be, Without Girls. No Nagging To Finish My Lunch, No Crying About Something Blocking Her Feet. Right, Daddy? We The Mens. We Chill.
I notice Rockstar studiously doesn’t glance my way as I get back in the car. Two minutes later I don’t care. The baby has noticed we have dared attempt to slip another one by her, how dare we, how dare we, and has started up again.
Calm That, Mummeee.
Ignore That, You Condescending Males Who Dare Even Try Pretending It’s Not That Bad. Some… Thing. Obstructing…….. Feet!! <indignant baby rroaarr>
This time, for the subterfuge, she doesn’t let up when I get out of the car. (Actually it’s because she has crossed the Point Of No Return whereby she is now so tired Armageddon shall just have to break forth.)
Frantically looking around for a hiding place to try and quiet her, I find myself standing in front of…………………. Saint Anthony’s, that old Catholic church in Pok Fu Lam, attended (I think – cos we’ve only noticed locals in the entrance, every time we pass) by a largely local Hong Konger community. I get sympathetic looks and mild concern and curiosity as I pass a straggling group of church goers after service, waiting for their rides – how “drama” right, mother staggers up steps into church with small infant whose cries echo resoundingly along stairwell in empty church…..! The only thing missing is flashing lighting, thunder and pouring rain.
I start frantically trying to calm the baby inside the entrance. All around us pictures of saints, crucifixes, and Jesus. Sweat is pouring down my face and arms (hot summer’s day in HK, no air conditioning) and Ms Rockstar is probably too hot as well, making it even harder for her to get to sleep. She reaches deep within her diaphragm and bellows another angry roar – anxiously I glance at the few church goers outside on the steps, and notice one or two men flinching, I can see their profiles tensed up, backs stiffened like steel rods. (But if at all possible to say with any certainty – I sense no annoyance, irritation or impatience. Just the S-T-R-E-S-S reaction Kings also exhibits. (What is it about men and screaming babies?)
Rockstar’s better – he can somehow put on this deliberate look of obliviousness. Oh, Are You Holding A Screaming Baby, Mummy?
Younger women occasionally pass us, friendly smiles of mild indulgence as the Fire Dragon and the Water Dragon lock horns in the foyer of their place of worship (sorry – when your baby screams it feels like the biggest lion – well, dragon – fight ever; considering the occasional “Xiao Long Ni” emailed comments from readers I’m guessing many already observed Kings and I are born in the year of the Fire Dragon and Ms Rockstar is a Water/Black Dragon, Rockstar a Golden Pig – none of that was planned, I actually thought Ms Rockstar would be a Rabbit.)
A woman who looks to be in her 50s breaks off from the group and approaches us, her facial expression friendly. (Btw, please don’t read anything into my narration other than amusement at the drama of it all.)
“Baby crying?”
“U-huh.” <try to return friendly smile without letting up on the sleep song humming or rocking>
Belatedly I realize that at some point, weeks ago, Ms Rockstar had traded in her Oom Pah Pah Nancy-The-Wench in Oliver Twist sleep song for – wait for it – Amazing Grace. Yeah, yeah mock me now, if you must. NONE of this planned, I swear, but here I am trying to rock my baby to sleep inside a Catholic church I’ve never been anywhere near previously, surrounded by all the imagery of Saints and crucifixes and a bleeding, suffering Jesus, singing Amazing Grace.
AND aside from the sweat, the angry, bellowing baby, and frantic rocking and humming, also attempting a normal-voiced conversation.
“Is the baby hungry?”
“I don’t think so, she fed not too long ago.”
“Is she a breastfed baby?”
“Well she takes my breast milk in a bottle…”
“Maybe she needs to be fed.”
“Uh…”
“We have a room you can use. So you can breastfeed your baby.”
“Um, but – “
Ms Rockstar has decided it’s enough chit-chat. Another angry yell and the (otherwise nice and not at all irritating, which is something given the situation) lady goes “Uh-oh” and beats a retreat.
Ms Rockstar is asleep.
Really wanted to buy one of the crosses on a string of beads after this experience, but there’s no one immediately around that I can see to open the glass display case. Maybe someday I’ll make it back there to pick it up.
I get back in the car.
Rockstar smiles, “Hello, Mummy.”
Mildly anxious, Kings asks, “They’re not in service, right?”
“No, no, I think that was the last of the congregation after service was over.”
And we drive off in the blazing sun.
Working out Feet, and Arms, at a less stressful time
Arghhh, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I read your post. I can imagine how frustrating it is for daddy to keep stopping the car and for mommy to keep getting out of the car to keep Ms Rockstar from crying but the way mommy wrote this post makes it read like a comedy. Good for Rockstar to put on his best behaviour when his sister was crying and not make a fuss over it.
Haha thanks for the encouragement – I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry either, on one hand u can really find yourself in some ridiculous baby situations, on the other hand sometimes you are just so physically uncomfortable and the baby is so LOUD