Mummy's great big guilt and great big fear

"Reirei! Reirei!"

This is how mummy calls out to you in a shrilly voice, in a sometimes desperate bid to get your attention. The more contemplative you looked, the higher the pitch and the greater the flapping; and mummy mutates into a goofy goose. Adoringly, you'd most often respond with a toothless smile and wave your hands excitedly. Mummy assumes you are happy to see me.

Thank God.

For 1,001 reasons - unfounded or not - mummy was often afraid that you'd not respond (affectionately).

When mummy saw Reirei esthetically babbling away and chuckling indulgently at Papa upon being nudged - while I merely managed 1/8 of the enthusiasm - my heart sank. When mummy saw Reirei snugly resting in grandma's arms - while I was still trying to find the best way to put you to sleep, only beaming whenever I achieved an occasional success - my spirits dipped.

Yes, I'm happy that you fancy Papa (and not some stranger). Yes, I'm relived you have a keen granny (and not some random maid) to take care of you. Yet, a tinge of discomfort lingered in my throat, like an insidious phlegm that tickles and refuses to budge.

Don’t we all presume that babies will prefer their mummies beyond the shadow of a doubt? Don’t all mothers possess the natural ability to calm their infants – as compared to their secondary caregiver(s)? It’s something that we should all take for granted. Or shouldn't we?

Mummy thought so too. After all, I have had some pretty good creds to boast of. My nieces, whom I spent quite a fair bit of time with in their growing years, are fond of me (or so I’d like to think). But little did I know that selective playtime with toddlers does not equate on-demand care-giving for newborns.

To relieve mummy, helpful folks quickly took over. Instead of mummy and just mummy alone, Reirei had mummy clones – granny, nanny and daddy – who ensured that he’s in excellent hands. Add to the fact that as mummy didn’t breastfeed Reirei directly (mummy isn’t sure anymore if I made the right decision when I didn’t persevere), I was quickly engulfed by wretchedness. When we tried to put Reirei to the breast after a few months, you had neither the inclination nor the interest.

Was it because that I didn’t manage to share that magical bond that Reirei found little reason to cosy up with mummy? Mummy wished to cuddle you warmly in my arms and feel you tenderly suckling away the gift of life. Mummy wished to see your contented face as you blissfully drift into lala land while drooling away with your tiny mouth agape and little fingers placed by the pillow that is my breast.

It was an exclusive experience that I didn’t get to relish.

As a result, I had to content with “contesting” with the allies. Mummy does feel rather shortchanged at times. And so, mummy tries to pump as much milk as I can, while stock lasts. It sure does feel yucky whenever the machine nonchalantly mutilates mummy’s breasts while Reirei wails away or is being carried and comforted by one of the folks. It sure does feel lousy that granny could also bottle-feed Reirei with mummy’s milk. I can’t help but wonder what in the world was wrong.

But, mummy reconciled with the fact that the breast milk could keep Reirei healthy and fit (no fever after the past jabs, fingers crossed for future ones)! And mummy continued pumping away anyway. Although mummy did not have a lot to offer, I was just glad that Reirei has some to drink.

Thank God.

Reirei, mummy is not complaining. Mummy is just trying to verbalise my thoughts and get certain things out of my system.

Mummy loves you this lifetime and the next. If mummy ever has another baby and attempts to breastfeed with success, do not blame mummy. It doesn’t mean mummy loves you any less.

It’s time to pump. Mummy looks forward to see your toothless smile and wild waves this evening. Mummy assumes you are happy to see me.

Mummy is, beyond the shadow of a doubt.