What I MISS most…

Many mummies I know are going back to work. It makes me think about my last profession, and whether I miss working life. I don’t enjoy what comes with working in a multi-national corporation –office politics. Having a good job in a good company with a good team and a good boss wasn’t good enough to lure me back into the workforce; I enjoy looking after the kids on my own.

Yet, there is this something that makes me envious of people who go to work – my spouse, workforce mummies and friends. And just what is it? It dawned on me only this afternoon: the Freedom that comes with working outside the home. Free from the kids being tied to me, a stay-at-home mum. Free from the kids’ constant emotional and physical dependency. Free to do anything, other than an agenda for the kids. My need for Space. I guess i miss that.

But no, I would not trade that for going back to work. jeanne anne hsi

I Wish I Could…

Not too long ago, I was deliberating whether I should tell people the sex of the baby in my womb. I mean I get queries from STRANGERS – people who mean nothing to me, to put it crudely – and all of these strangers are women, asking me whether it’s a boy or a girl this time around. Their replies, either out of insensitivity or ignorance, make their remarks seem offensive.

“It’s a girl,” I usually reply with a smile. A smile because I forget what may come after.

And these are what I get:
“Never mind, the next one will be a boy.”
“It’ll be good if it were a boy.”
“It Must Be a boy this time!”

I Wish I Could reply with a sweet demeanor, like Zoe’s godma, “Why do you say that?” and engage them in a dialogue. To educate, to let them know that to me a boy or a girl, it doesn’t matter. I’ll love the kid all the same. After all, the most positive way of looking at it is that they were trying to be friendly and it was only a slip of tongue.

I’ve learnt for a long time that people say things because of what they think and from their values system. It’s all about projecting our images on the other person. For an example from the comment, “Never Mind if it’s a girl,” we could infer that the bearer meant pity. However, my reaction - hostile or pleasant - shows that I am bothered by this comment. Why am I so uptight when I get this type of comments?


To this day, I reacted my best with my grandmother when she asked me this question while I was pregnant with Zoe. She was about ninety-seven years old then. I was told that my grandmother did not visit us at my birth. It was only when my brother was born, three years later that she visited us. Through the years, it was obvious which sex she clearly preferred.

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” my grandmother had asked.
“What do you prefer? A boy or a girl?” I teased her, for I thought I knew what her preference was.
“It doesn’t matter these days whether it’s a boy or a girl,” was her reply.
My, that really came as a pleasant surprise! But it took almost a century for an old lady from Swatou China to change her mind about some deep-seated values.


I Still Wish, I Could, be nice about it. When people ask or give an opinion, it’s not about me. I lose the chance to give my perspectives when my body language shows: I am offended, Don’t talk to me. At worse, they think they are right. But for now, I can only bark. Uurrgghh woof! jeanne anne hsi

My Fears

I'm Afraid ...
Afraid of the words,
Afraid of the writings,
Afraid of its permanence.

For if i write of my fears,
What happens if i am misunderstood?
What happens if i am judged?
What happens if my audience does not know that i am more than my fears?

For these reasons, i find it difficult to write
About
My Fears,
My Anger,
My Depression.
i find it difficult to write about anything less than positive ~
i guess my greatest fear then, would be that people re-read my fears over and over again, when i've only experienced it and written it once.

Instead, i choose to write about positive things,
for i find that more Life-giving.
And that makes me Happier
And ...
And Less Afraid.

jeanne anne hsi, written during an AmherstWriters&Artists session.

Reflections on self-weaning

Zoë weaned off breast milk at the age of two years and seven months recently. It came as a pleasant surprise because we were dealing with many changes in our lives. Initially, I thought that I would probably have to feed her till she was five, for she loved taking breast milk.

I call it a pleasant surprise because even though I have no qualms about breastfeeding a child beyond her toddler years, I felt the weariness of her weight at the breasts.

We were returning to Singapore, after having lived in Hong Kong for the past four and a half years. It proved to be a huge adjustment for Zoë for she was always asking for her friends. That was why comforting her longer at the breasts was something I thought would happen naturally in the interim.

When we first got back, there was a period the grandparents she loved dearly went on a holiday that was planned some time back. They promised her lovingly that they would take her on the next trip if she were no longer taking breast milk.

The other major change was that I was pregnant. I asked Zoë if her not taking the breast milk was because it tasted different (or taking less, about once every three days initially). She nodded her head but I couldn’t be sure of a young child’s reply.

Finally, there were the changes of moving from the temporary service apartment to our own home and getting her very own bed. To this day, she would alternate between co-sleeping with us and sleeping in her own bed.

From the time I started breastfeeding or making my intentions known (when I was pregnant) people asked, “When do you intend to stop breastfeeding?” That question still baffles me (for I had hardly begin) and I am sure I will get the questions again with our second one. I draw an analogy of that of asking a child, “When will you stop studying?” (when the child just started school).

The benefits of self-weaning to us were: I did not have to give in to pressures of unsolicited advice regarding applying distasteful objects (bitter gourd, chili, medicated oil, just to name a few) to the breasts in order to “forced-wean” the child completely. I did not have to resort to lying to a child that “mummy has no more milk or that mummy’s milk has dried up”. Because the weaning (partial, then complete) took place over a long period of time, I did not suffer any engorgement. I am able to enjoy a toddler’s growth in her time and space. She took her time at letting go and in the process I was able to transit to the next phase of motherhood smoothly.

For LaLecheLeague newsletter. Postcard from Jeanne Anne Hsi, Singapore

Good-bye Hong Kong, Hello Singapore!

After 4 and a half years in HK, we have an opportunity to return home to Singapore.

I remember I was so determined about breastfeeding Zoë that when I was pregnant, I took the ferry to Discovery Bay Island to attend La Leche meetings. I refused to buy any milk bottles and powder and when I had nipple soreness in the first week, possibly due to inexperienced latch-on, the only two things I bought were nipple shields and a feeding syringe, both of which I used carefully and sparingly.

Today, Zoë is 2 and a half years old and partially weaned. She feeds a little before bedtime, but doesn’t need to breastfeed herself to sleep anymore. She feeds on and off throughout the night, until I get tired and thirsty and pull her out from the nipple. I would like to refute the books and say that it’s normal for babies not to sleep through the night. As a parent, please expect that and you’ll be a lot happier!

We would love to try for another baby. I recall those public breastfeeding experiences I had with Zoë in HK and I know it’ll be different with the next.

When she was eight days old, I had to take her to the Registry of Births (Our first Real public breastfeeding experience!). At that time, I hadn’t figured out how to use a piece of cloth to cover the baby while feeding her (which we usually do away with when we get more confident). I ended up covering both Zoë and myself and in retrospect, I thought it seemed strange to the crowd because an adult and a baby were struggling under that piece of not so huge cloth.

In her first four-months I found it easy to carry and breastfeed her in a sarong, a piece of cloth used by many mothers in Indonesia. Her tiny body and head would sink into the batik cloth and she would be all snuggled up for a cozy nap. Being a new mother, I was badly shaken when old lady came up to me and said in an accusatory tone that I was suffocating her to death by placing her in that position. I remember another incident in Stanley when she was 2 to 3 months old, where I was feeding her at a quiet corner. A four-year-old boy approached me to tell me that feeding my girl in public was a cause for the police to catch. I tried to educate the boy by saying that the baby’s hungry, to which his replies were: bring her home to feed, even if we lived as far away as the moon…

I found that in Hong Kong people share their ideas about childcare very freely - especially to other Asian mothers. Sometimes their feedback really felt like criticism and I wish the people I meet would keep these opinions to themselves because some of these came from very good friends. One said that to breastfeed a five-year-old was ‘twisted’. That hurt me deeply. Another opinion by pediatricians and friends who breastfed their babies which caused me great confusion initially was that breast milk had no nutritional value or was detrimental to the child when the baby reaches one-year of age.

And the good? I made friends with an asylum seeker family because I knew and could empathize with her when she said: I had to eat because when I breastfeed my baby, I would get hungry. When Zoë was 1 and a half I took her to the Union Church English-speaking playgroup. I felt a little awkward that no other children in the playgroup were breastfeeding and I felt I should feed her very discreetly, so I was most relieved and made another new friend when I realized that the volunteer of the playgroup was also feeding her three-year-old.

I know many individual mums who were able to breastfeed without support groups. I am grateful that I had a support group. My wish for all breastfeeding mums and babies: that one does not have to strive so hard to prove that it is politically and socially correct because it is natural and is one of the quickest and calmest way to soothe a child.

Jeanne Anne Hsi, written for LaLecheLeagueHong Kong, a breastfeeding support Group