Weaning Baby off

It's that time of year. Time when I have to start thinking about weaning Bojjandi off mother's milk and put him completely on formula and food. Time when I have to wean myself off from feeling the warmth of his plump little body as he nuzzles in for a meal. Time when I have to wean myself off the excuse to drop everything and just sit down quietly and concentrate on being with my baby. It's too soon, I feel, and wonder if I can prolong it.

For me, I haven't once resented having to sit up/ wake up and feed my baby at odd hours of late night or early morning, or in the middle of a party. Because I am so happy and - yes, proud – at being able to do it. I know, it's something millions of women all over the world are able to do, it takes little more than a healthy body and hormones, and that being able to do it or not is no reflection of my ability or caring as a mom. But here's the back story.

I always, but always took it for granted that this was something I would do with my babies, the most natural thing in the world for a mother to do. To feed her babies. You see it in Hindi movies all the time. Even in serials and sitcoms – a woman gives birth in a bizarre circumstance, e.g. a taxi, and about five minutes after the baby is born, baby is suckling away and mother is happily watching it. You see at every street crossing, poor beggar women sitting and nonchalantly nursing their babies till the age of two or three or more.

So after Chubbocks was born unexpectedly early (3 weeks), it hit me hard that I couldn't do it – that was something I wasn't prepared for. The first day after surgery, I was knocked out with the General anaesthetic. I could barely make out what the baby looked like when I came to briefly, and he was in the nursery that night as I slept off the worst hangover of my life! The next day they moved him into my room, and the nurse asked me to start feeding him. Mom was there to help, but it was an awkward business figuring out how to hold this teeny-tiny, fragile little thing and positioning him. Worse, he fell asleep a few seconds into the process. Then the nurse asked if I could express some milk so the baby could be fed later. I tried, manually, but all that emerged was about a teaspoon of rich, yellow stuff.

"Is that all?" Mom and the nurse exclaimed.

I thought to myself that I had always read that colostrum only came out in minute quantities, but obviously these were two experienced women, so clearly something was not working right. After that it was an endless cycle of trying to position baby and get him to latch on, him falling asleep at the breast and me struggling to express what looked like a reasonable quantity – which, I now know was much more than anyone could expect, but hey, no one told me how much milk I should expect so in hindsight I think I expected to produce about a bottle full at the get-go. Meanwhile, the hospital nurses passed comments about how sad my productivity was and continued feeding Chubbocks formula out of a bottle, since 'he shouldn't starve meanwhile'.

After we went home the situation didn't improve. Chubbocks kept falling asleep, I kept struggling, feeling more and more inadequate as a mother. How was it that I could fail at something so basic, so natural, something the poorest of women was able to do with ease? I looked up the internet, asked around, my mom soaked quantities of fenugreek seeds, I ate fennel seeds after each meal…It didn't help that Chubbocks was born a fairly light baby and lost weight in his first ten days. I panicked. It didn't help that my in-laws would ask A every single day when he called, as to whether Chubbocks had gained weight. It didn't help when, any time he cried when they had come over, even right after a feed, my mom-in-law would say, "He's hungry". It didn't help when my mom asked, out of concern, "Are you sure you're producing enough?"

What was enough anyway? How could I check what was happening? How come my baby, even on formula, was thin and gangly, and lizard-ey looking? I got A to buy me a pump. Naturally, it would turn out to be a mal-functioning one, and the first time I used it I was in agonizing pain and convinced my nipple was going to come off. It was only after 3-4 sessions that I realized that no one could have designed a product to hurt like this. Otherwise, in my irrational state of mind, it was almost a form of penance for me for failing at this. I went back to the store, fought with the manager and got it replaced. So now at least I knew there was some milk, but Chubbocks continued to fall asleep each time I tried to feed him. I'd sneak formula milk into him after I had had an unsuccessful feeding session, not wanting to admit that I had had a failed session again. I'd sterilize his bottles and pretend to mom that that was 'just in case'. I'd cry and agonize late into the night about why this was happening and what I could do about it, and I'm sure that stress didn't help my cause.

Eventually, after four months of struggle, I gave up and put him on formula. I decided it was better for his health that he should get a decent feed, rather than me and my ego struggling along. But the guilt didn't go away, and along with all the challenges of being a new mother, it became a deciding factor in how I reacted to everything, for a while. Each time he cried, be it for a wet diaper, or change of scene, I took it as a judgement on my poor parenting skills. It was almost like I had to make up for not being able to feed him by making him the happiest and (bizarrely) the non-cryingest baby in the world.

Thankfully, despite my idiocies, he didn't seem affected and has turned into a happy, intelligent, secure child. But the guilt factor stayed with me until I had Puddi and was able to feed her. Even in her case, after starting out extremely well with milk coming in a day after she was born, somehow the supply began to falter. I tried all sorts of remedies from herbs and vegetables to homoeopathy. Eventually I turned to Domperidone which is prescribed for this in the US though here no doctor seems to have heard of the solution, and would up being able to feed her, though with artificial aid, until she was 9 months old. In a way, having a third baby and being able to keep him purely on my milk for six months has finally vindicated that sense of guilt.

More than that, I feel the experience of breast-feeding my second and third children gave me the ability to bond with them at a visceral level, and much faster than with Chubbocks. It could also be because when Chubbocks was born, we were both new at our jobs – me as mother, he as baby. By the time Puddi came along, I had job experience and with Bojjandi, I'm a veteran. So I love and cherish that feeling of holding your baby so close, of being the one to unfailingly comfort him, of importance, perhaps, at being the only one who can nourish him. Once I wean him off, I'm going to have to earn my place!

Dessert Baby

Little Bojjandi,

You are eight months old already! How time flies. By now I can barely remember a time when you spent most of your day sleeping or feeding. I can't remember a time when you weren't alert and responsive, looking back at us, eyes twinkling with an intelligent gleam in them. I can't remember a time when you used to lie flat on your back, unable to do more than flail those chubby arms and legs about, instead of turning turtle in the twinkling of your eye J as soon as you're put down, and crawling backward. I can't remember a time when you used to bawl for no reason, instead of having built up your own repertoire of very different sounds to express what you want – that cute little humming sound when you're sleepy, angry grunts when you want your food RIGHT NOW, plaintive bawls as soon as you discover you're all alone in a room. I can't remember a time when mother's milk was all you craved, seeing you eagerly react to the taste of each new food, from mangoes to parathas with sabzi. I can't remember a time when you quietly lay against my heart as I rocked you to sleep, instead of bouncing up and down on those sturdy legs, butting my chin with your teak head.

Your didi gets very upset when she takes you for your evening walk and the neighbor comments on how you're so tiny for your age, and how shocked she is that you still can't sit up though her grandson was sitting up at the age of five months. But you know what, I don't care. That's one of the gifts you and Puddi gave me – the ability to just enjoy what your child is and forget about the so-called milestones. They'll happen when they will, and meantime, I can share your wonder at discovering a brand new world.

Even as I feel time's flying past and I wish I could press pause and enjoy each phase for a while longer, you come up with something even cuter and more heart-warming and I forget all about "time's a fleeting" in sheer enjoyment of every lovely moment. I'm so glad we had you – you're our icing on the cake, our sweet, cuddlesome, chubby little Bojji – and you just complete our family so beautifully. Here's looking forward to more antics from you.

Love,

Mama

A Matter of Interpretation

Puddi: Mama, I wanttosee sussideez barr!

Mama: Eh? Errr…what's that?

Puddi (tearfully): Sussideez barr, mama!

Mama: silent, scratching head

Puddi: Mama, you know – the barr sussideez, the shimpul barr sussideez…

Mama: Oh, The Jungle Book?

Puddi: Yes, mama, sussideez barr!

Nature Nurture

I always wonder how kids born in the same house, from the same gene pool can be so different. Take my sister and I, for example – she's tidy and organized, I'm completely the opposite. She's very good at crafts and packing presents neatly. I'm a klutz at both, not to mention sadly lacking in patience. As our elder two are growing up, it's become clear that they are also quite disparate.

When Chubbocks was little, we had an infestation of ants in some of the woodwork. Every day hordes of big black ants would swarm through the house, which was quite disgusting. But I never wanted to kill them since I have a fondness for the industrious creatures, as opposed to cockroaches or flies. My mother-in-law started a game with Chubbocks of stomping on them and I found it extremely distressing so I told Chubbocks that at best we should sweep them away gently. I taught him to watch how each ant would manfully hoik 10 times its own body weight in a food item and laboriously wend its way home. We used to sit and watch as a group of ants, in a great display of teamwork, would pick up a bougainvillea leaf and wander off with it for some mysterious purpose.

Last night an unwary ant happened to wander onto the dining table. Puddi the boisterous unthinkingly reached out and crushed it before anyone could say anything. I got pretty upset with her and rebuked her that the poor thing must have been looking for food to take home to its family. She of course listened for about two minutes and promptly returned to her primary occupation of playing with her food. Chubbocks, meanwhile, sat silently. A couple of minutes later I looked across at him to find his eyes swimming with tears. He got so upset about the ant, that eventually he just broke down and sobbed inconsolably, distraught at the thought of the ant and the ant's family who would wait and wonder and worry. He was eventually so upset that not even the bribe of ice cream or chocolate worked. He just couldn't get any food down and finally had to be put to bed early.

His dad and I tenderly took the ant outside and laid it down in our garden, at his behest and A had to come up with a complicated story of how the ant had just become unconscious and had woken up later with a big headache, gone home and was now being looked after by his family. This morning as soon as he came down, Chubbocks wanted to go and look for his ant. He went out into the garden and came back beaming. "I saw it. It's fine!" "How do you know it's the same one?" we asked."I saw its face".

I don't know how many kids today are that tender-hearted. I hope Chubbocks remains like this…

7th heaven

Can’t believe my youngest child is already 7 months old and more…almost enough to make me long for another baby! He’s come on in the most amazing way, too. Perhaps it’s a result of how blasé the parents get with a growing brood. With the first child, everything is an event. Each time the baby cries, you question your credentials as parent, you question your paediatrician’s degree and you’re pretty much happy promising him anything to stop crying. I thought we’d be a bit more blasé the second time around and of course, by the third time, pretty much ask to be woken only when someone saw blood. Well, guess what. It’s as thrilling each time, because each baby is so different, despite the same two sets of genes blending and a similar upbringing.

Bojjandi’s growing up and has a definite personality now and it’s a thrill to uncover a little more of that with every day and each interaction. He seems to have a lovely nature, his smiles are so completely guileless and open. Touch wood, like my other two babies, this one too is usually commented on as, “What a happy baby!” He loves greeting us with a beaming smile right from the time he wakes up in the morning, and throughout the day, it seems like he just wants to catch our eye so he can let loose one of those beams of pure joy.

He’s turning out to be a pretty good communicator – or maybe the other two trained us well. He rarely cries but when he does, we can usually tell what’s causing it – gas versus code brown, boredom versus hunger…And he’s already multilingual – he can not only make French-like cooing sounds but also Germanic guttural sounds though we haven’t yet figured out what language the grunts are.

An active baby, he now hates lying down because he can’t see what’s going on around him. He starts yelling loudly until he’s propped up on someone’s lap. He even hates being in his bouncer because it’s too constricting. Like his siblings, he seems to prefer making his own amusements rather than play with toys. He can be endlessly amused by me turning my fingers round and round over his head. He also spends hours making his plump hands turn in circles and sucking at those fat fists. He’s just learned to clap and finds considerable amusement in trying to make one palm strike the other. He also seems quite amused by the mayhem caused by the rest of us and looks on with a goodnatured grin on his face.

He’s taken pretty well to changes so far. I recently had to travel on work and was out of town for 6 days. The poor baby went cold turkey on everything from breastfeeding to hugs from mommy but seems to have not troubled his dad at all. He’s enjoying his solid meals tremendously and as soon as he spots his meal on his little silver thali, starts yelling as if to tell us to hurry up and feed him. He loves a banana for breakfast and now not only finishes a full banana but usually winds up the meal by howling for more. He’s also transitioned quite smoothly from the steel Aladdin’s lamp feeder to sippy cups for milk, and moved from his cloth sling to Puddi’s old cot with ease.

All in all, he’s made third-time parenthood seem like a complete breeze and lots of fun. It’s hard to believe that this time last year he was the size of a zygote and that we ever even had a second thought about not welcoming this blessing into our lives and hearts. If ever there was an indulgence baby made for the pure purpose of enjoying every step of the way, that’s Bojjandi. I’m not so serious about my role as parent anymore – I’ve learnt that a light touch is better than a heavy one. It’s better to enjoy every moment of it – the scoldings, the banter, the tantrums and the topsy-turvy house, because it all goes onto the next phase all too soon and while each phase has its moments, there’s nothing that fills a home and a heart as much as really young children and their perfect imperfections. And I’m savouring each and every moment of Bojjandi’s each phase, drawing it out and hoping the growing up slows down a bit.

Having Bojjandi’s like having a really calorie-packed, chocolatey, sinful dessert after having a great meal. You’re not sure you need it or indeed can manage to have it but you just want to indulge yourself and when you do, it feels so good…7th heaven!

Not This Mother’s Day

This, I think, is going to be my post for Mother's Day. We went through a harrowing experience yesterday and it just brought home to me what all lies in store. Makes me wish I could hug my kids close and curl up under a blanket for aeons…

Chubbocks, as you know, is a very gentle, sensitive type of fellow. His one experience of sleeping over at a friend's house seems to have left him scarred, and each time he goes for a playdate, he is at pains to confirm that he's going to be fetched back that evening. And, now that he's ;earned to use a telephone and dial his dad's or my mobile number, he's on the phone at the dot of whatever time we said we'll fetch him – Where are you? You said 4 o'clock, it's 4:02 now! Why haven't you come? In fact he comes up with the most hilarious reasons for leaving and starts hinting to his friends' moms from about 2 in the afternoon – I have a piano class to attend ( he's not enrolled in any class as of now)…we're going to my cousins' house (his only cousins live in Canada and the US)…and so on.

Last night we had some old friends over for dinner after ages. They have 2 kids, one around 8 or 9 and one who's just a month and a half younger to Puddi. Our kids got to stay up and chill with theirs, which is a rare happening since my brood is usually in bed and asleep by 8, so naturally the kids were very excited, They got along well together and had a good time, Puddi and the friend's son communication in some pidgin toddler-ese together. When they got up to leave, we all stepped out till the gate to say bye. Puddi was holding hands with their son by then and chattering away. As they started walking to where their car was parked, she began walking along with them. "Puddi, you're going to stay in their house", we sais in jest. Puddi nodded, didn't even bother to turn her head back to look at us and kept walking along with them.

A and I waited, with an apprehensive Chubbocks beside us, big smiles on our faces, waiting for the moment when realization would dawn that she'd miss us and when she'd turn and come running back to us. Only to be completely dumbfounded when this pint-sized Puddi kept on marching on and on and down the road out of our sight. Then came the sound of a loud blubbing. It was Chubbocks, waling to think his sister was going off! He wept and wept while I ran after the looney Puddi and grabbed her. I picked her up and turned to get back home, only to find that she had burst into tears, because she wanted to go off with her newfound friend!

Somehow we marched her back home and got her and Chubbocks into bed. She was still sobbing to go ages later, while Chubbocks was telling us that if Puddi ever goes for a sleepover, he'll really miss her and give her one of HIS toys when she comes back home. Much later A and I finally got a chance to deal with our own emotions on this occurrence. And we both realized we were feeling shattered. I mean, of course we want them to eventually become independent little beings and to take their own decisions but this was way too soon. Not to mention the total lack of any looking back on her part. It gave us a tiny inkling of just how it would feel the day our little chicklings finally leave the nest, and left us devastated…

Weaning food

Way back when Chubbocks was a baby, one of my friends mentioned that her sister used to make this traditional form of weaning food for her child. It sounded so healthy I decided to make it as well, and just adapt it in case I found any food allergies or such. It's a very simple recipe, you have to make it maybe once a month and it's easily customized to the child's taste. I must admit Chubbocks is one of the skinniest kids around so that may not be an advertisement for its properties but at least he's very healthy and full of beans, so I guess it did do some good J

Ingredients:

Plain uncooked Rice: 1 cup ( ps. Not basmati but a softer type of rice, like parmal is better for infants)

Moong dal without the skin: 1 cup

Ragi flour: 1 cup

Almonds (blanched): 1 cup

Sooji: 1 cup

Wheat flour: 1 cup

Roast all the ingredients one by one on a low flame in an iron kadhai until well roasted and aromatic. Cool and grind to a fine powder. Mix well and store in an airtight container. To cook this, just steam 2-3 tablespoons in the pressure cooker with some water (1.5 times amount of water should do fine). Add any vegetables or fruit that the baby is fond of, well-mashed, and serve. I used to add mashed steamed spinach, mashed bananas, mashed pumpkin, potatoes, onions, garlic…pretty much anything that the baby enjoyed and top off with a spoonful of home made ghee.

Motherhood Statement

When I was pregnant with our first baby, there were many things I looked forward to and equally many things I dreaded. 6 years and 3 kids down the road, it's been much easier and far more fulfilling than I could have ever imagined. Of course it has had its share of challenging moments – an all-night tantrum by first born, hospital stays for the first two and watching them with IVs going in, feeling that all too familiar mommy guilt at not spending or wanting to spend every waking minute of free time with them, hearing those terrible wails of 'mamma don't leave me', when each of the first two first saw me going in to work…But boy are the compensations fab:

1. No performance review ever sounds better: When was the last time your boss got excited just to see you come in to work?
   

Bojjandi starts gurgling and cooing and practically throws himself out of the maid's arms into mine each time he sees me. Puddi will look super-excited if I'm home when she's back from the park and rushes into the house excitedly squealing, "Mamma, you come!". Chubbocks will taste a salad or something I've whipped up, look up with his eyes round with wonder and appreciation and go, "Mamma, this is fab! How did you even make this? You're a chef!"

1. The job description is what you make of it:
   

Yesterday I got to spend a whole half hour resting my cheek against Bojjandi's soft one, feeling his chubby little hands pull out my remaining hair strand by strand and nuzzling the downy hair on his head ( yup, he's still bald). Today I and the kids lolled around, ate popcorn and watched Mary Poppins on DVD at 11 in the morning.

1. You're the boss:
   

When you say 'hop to it', they do. At least until they find out the truth – that you're putty in their little hands and that one tear or sad face is good for a whole lot of 'get out of jail free' passes.

1. You always have little helpers around:
   

Whether it's carrying a glass back to the kitchen or setting the table, reading to the younger kids, keeping an eye on the baby when he learns to roll over or scratching your back where you can't reach, you always have someone at your beck and call. And they can't quit, they work for minimum wage (a few hugs, kisses and thank-yous) and are legal workers despite being underage. Oh yeah, and the dad has to chip in too, no question about it, whereas when he was just the husband you couldn't get even a quarter of the help you do now. Of course, you do run a few risks, like having grape juice on your new yellow carpet…but I've always loved the colour purple, haven't you?

1. You can never get fired:
   

Even though there are the days when Chubbocks and I rage at each other or Puddi annoys me by doing her best to hurt herself by climbing the furniture, at the end of the day no one else can sing the family lullaby the same way, kiss just the right hurt away or know when to stop scratching their back at bedtime. No one else can be called by the same designation, no one can ever replace you.

Conversations in a foreign language

Chubbocks: Mama, you know dragonblashter is much bigger than aqua but naga is the strongest…

Me: Huh???

 

Puddi: Mama, what is thish? ( pointing to the table mat)

Me: Tablemat

Puddi: No

Me: Cloth

Puddi: No

Me(talking about the design on the table mat): Soup

Puddi: No

Me: I give up!

Puddi: It is a thish!

Bojjandi: Gurgle, gurgle…oogle oople goo…garhhhhh!

Me: Them's my sentiments, exactly!

Changes upon changes

A, typically doesn't like change and has been known to cringe each time I change my hairstyle. Me – I love it, and go out looking for change, whether it's something as simple as changing the look of the house per season or something longer-lasting. Chubbocks takes after his dad in this aspect. When we were changing over from a parent-child class to a child alone class in playschool, he just couldn't take the change. For close on a month we tried – him in the classroom, with teachers he had become accustomed to during his previous class, and us outside, steeling ourselves and wishing we could turn deaf as his distressing wails of 'Call Mamma back' pierced our hearts. We tried permutations and combinations – I went in the first week, then A went. Then we sent him with our maid. Nothing worked and eventually his distress just broke our hearts. We put him back into the accompanied class, and then ensured his maid accompanied him for the rest of the term, not us. And we repeatedly had to talk him through the changes to come so that he could adjust. Luckily, from then on, despite a sudden change of playschool and later his transition into a proper school, he and some of his playschool classmates were in the same batch and sections so it went much more easily. But we've had to learn that he needs to be talked through and prepared for transitions.

So when the time rolled around last Wednesday for Puddi to move into a proper playschool, A and I were anxious. To eb sure Puddi was excited about her new school but we weren't sure how she'd react when she saw her dad walking out of the classroom. Well, as always, Miss Looney surprised us. She walked confidently into class and held her teacher's hand. Mildly clingy, she soon settled down. On day two, A left her at the gate and came back and Miss P managed her schoolday all by herself. Today she's gone excitedly bouncing off, Bob-the-Builder bag slung on her back and a bulging lunchbox within, all excited at going to School! Wow, my baby made it! She's a big girl now!

My marshmallow

Puddi has a really interesting personality, and now the she is becoming increasingly communicative, her personality is really shining through. So far, thankfully there are no signs of terrible twos and given she's nearly three, I think we can stop waiting for the tantrums. Most of the time she has a sunshiny temperament and is happy to amuse herself by playing pretend games or clambering up and down furniture, running like a mad creature from one corner of the house to another. She has a really feminine side to her – she loves preening and any time she finds a scarf or dupatta of mine, she'll ask to wear a sari or she'll drape the fabric around her face, with the most amazing bride-like expression of confidence mixed with coyness on her face. She loves jangling her bangles and transferring them from one hand to the other. Her big complaint while changing clothes is that no one should even accidentally take any of the bangles off. She has decided to start selecting what to wear herself, something that even Chubbocks still has to start doing, and particularly for a party is very conscious of wanting to be 'dressed up'.

But she's also a feisty little thing. Whenever Chubbocks teases her or roughhouses, she'll give it right back to him. When she had just learnt to start speaking, she used to tell Chubbocks, "Stop shouting!" She's keen on doing the same things as he, physically, and is fearless whether she's climbing the monkey gym, swinging higher or trying to scarper up our cupboards. She loves physical activity and charges around all day. A real little Krishna, when she was younger, she used to steal butter and dahi out of the fridge. She'd open the fridge door, quietly dip her hand into either item and start eating, feeling shielded from discovery by the door. Nowadays she steals candy, or grapes and strawberries, and she loves 'chandra' ( santra/ orange). She has a real sense of fun and humour and keeps trying to make jokes and reacts to fun situations with a broad grin if not an outright laugh. Quite the loon, we rarely get photographs of her with a normal expression, she's so busy pulling faces.

But she also has this meltingly soft side to her. Every day when I come home from work, she buries her head in my knees and says, "I love you mama". Before going up to bed, or even several times a day, she'll come up to Bojjandi and rub her soft cheek against his downy head and tell us, "I looove him". She freely hands out hugs and kisses to A and Chubbocks all day long, and never has to be told to share stuff. Last night, Chubbocks got scolded for something by A. He was upset for ages, while their nightly bedtime story reading was going on. A carried on reading but Puddi was mighty distracted and spent her time looking over at Chubbocks. By the time two of the three stories were over, she couldn't stand it anymore. "Abba, I want to love Chubbocks", she said and sidled out of bed to give her brother a long hug and kiss and make things right for him.

Vintage wine…

We have invented some nice rituals for birthdays around here. On the birthday morning, the birthday person is woken up by the rest of the family singing a cacophonous song, "Hurray, hurray it's a happy birthday…sing a happy song, sing along, it's X's birthday!" to the tune of Holi-holiday by Boney M. We make a weird-looking crown, using some brightly coloured paper and my hairband and the birthday person has to wear it upon getting up until they get ready for the day. Chubbocks' birthday gave us some good opportunities for leg-pulling too. We told him we could only afford 2 books and a water pistol this year. Being a sweetie, he was all agog at the mention of books. Then, come birthday morning, after the singing, he was presented with a gift-wrapped bicycle helmet, in vivid bright yellow and blue. We told him it was to ensure he could ride around on his bicycle safely. "Can I have a cycle for my birthday? A Firefox?" he pleaded, brown eyes all melty. "No, C, we can't afford it this year but you can have this nice helmet."

Quite excited about showing it off on his old cycle, our man came into the living room and almost missed seeing his brand new Firefox cycle standing right in the center. Once he saw it, his face bloomed like a flower, all excited and bashful at the same time. He had his first accident right here, bashing into the Aram candlestand. We had a traditional oil ceremony at my parents' house, where he received his bonus gift of the year – a large Casio keyboard!

On my birthday I was expecting to keep things simple…and they were. We began as usual with the song and crown. A surprised me with a lovely necklace – very chic and modern. Quite a surprise since I wasn't expecting gifts this year. Then I toodled off to work, getting many calls from family and friends enroute. Work was a bit crazy with many stirring happenings and my boss being in town. We wound up having lunch at the food court – some yummy Thai curry and rice. Back at home, the kids agreed to go to bed early and conveniently slept off on time, giving A and me the chance to go out on a date. We went to a bar-restaurant right around the corner from the house. The food sucked but the drink was nice and the music peppy, and being around so many people much younger than moi made me feel all pepped up.

At the end of the evening, I realized that though I was older in life experience, I didn't feel a whole heck of a lot older in real years, in maturity ( sometimes), in almost any way that counts. I didn't feel the urge to wear dull colours, stop or start colouring my hair or making any lifestyle changes apart from exercising. Hey, at last I was happy to be me!

Investment Tips for my children

Hey there, kiddos,

I haven't the best track record when it comes to making investments. When I first started working, for several years I didn't bother making any kind of investments because, having been born and brought up in a government-salary, single-income family where money was always tight, I thought this was my time to have fun with the money. I shopped, I traveled, I ate out - yes, it was a blast. But I do wish now, in hindsight, that I had been just a trifle more prudent and salted away a small fraction of that money, so that we would have a nest egg today. See - that's what happens when you get married late. You don't think about things like this and while you're busy making whoopee, time's a-fleeting. So, my children, here are some of the things I wish I had or hadn't done, and I wanted to pass on the benefit of this wisdom to you so you don't have these kinds of regrets or if-only thoughts when you're my age. And so that you can never tell me "You didn't tell me so", years later!

1. Invest early, invest often. I'm not saying you have to save all the money you earn or receive as an allowance, but put away a fixed percentage of it from as early as you can - it'll pay off big time in about ten years, and allow you the flexibility of calling the shots, whether you want to backpack around the world for a year, just take time off to stay home with your kids or splurge on solitaires.

2. Invest in property early. It always pays off. one of the reasons your dad and I were able to fool around in Europe for a year was because your grandfather forced me to buy a flat when I was 22. The proceeds from that sale bought us a pretty nice lifestyle in Europe and later.

3. When you first start investing in property - remember, it's an investment. Don't think about it in terms of "I wouldn't be caught dead living here". That's a sure way of losing out on opportunities to cash in as your dad and I can tell you. Don't worry about the apartment being tiny and too far from your friends - your tenants will find it large and roomy and will make new friends there!

4. Buy only term insurance. Anyone who sells you insurance as an investment is busy laughing all the way to the bank.

5. Invest in the stock market. Invest regularly and don't buy stocks or companies that everyone is talking about. And if there's a time when everyone including your driver seems to be talking about the market and the gains hit the front page of the regular newspaper - sell everything and hoard your money.

6. Re. the stock market: buy only stocks or companies you understand. Set a gain target of either time or percentage, and the minute your stock hits that percentage gain, sell off enough to recoup your initial investment. That way you;re only winning or losing notional money and it doesn't hurt so much.

7. Be prudent, be wise but be balanced. At the end of the day, it is only money and life is much bigger than that!