WHEN I became a parent, I knew my duties included feeding, bathing, keeping my child safe and educating him. But, these days, the things I do for my threeyear- old son, Julian, are downright strange.
One morning, I was sent into a flap by his cries of, “Mummy, I can’t open my eyes!”
I ran to his room where I found him writhing on the bed and patting the air in front of him with his eyes shut. With dramatic distress, he insisted that he couldn’t peel them open. He even ate his breakfast – chomping stoically on the bread – with his eyes shut.
It turned out that an overnight over-production of eye gunk had glued his eyelashes together.
I spent the better part of an hour patiently wiping away the eye discharge with a wet towel, until his eyelids fluttered open like butterflies emerging from a chrysalis.
Who would have thought that such bak sai (Hokkien for “eye wax”) emergencies would feature in the job description for Mummy?
Other bizarre duties I’ve been called on to perform recently include being a one-woman choir. I have had to provide backing vocals whenever Julian wanted to sing his favourite songs (namely, Stop And Stare by One Republic and the Thomas & Friends theme).
At times, I feel like a slave minstrel, complying for the umpteenth time with cracked voice, as he shouts: “Again! Louder!” But, compared to what his father has to do, I have it easy.
The Supportive Spouse has to play what Julian calls the “kokhead game”. This involves the boy head-butting his Dad between the eyes whenever the mood strikes him.
While my husband starts seeing stars, our son squeals with glee. If all else fails, the Supportive Spouse and I might have promising alternative careers as personal assistants-cum-jesters to spoilt celebrities and temperamental despots with a yen for borderline-cruel games.
Speaking of cruel games, I recently caught an episode of the American game show My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad.
School kids go on the show to pit their real-life fathers against one another. Dads compete in mental and physical feats, such as dunking their heads in a tank of worms. Winning teams stand to win up to US$50,000 (S$75,900) but, to me, it seems like a lose-lose situation for the kids and dads who participate.
Imagine the playground and watercooler jibes that would have to be endured the day after. Parenting experts are constantly warning against over-indulging children, materially and emotionally.
I wonder if braving public humiliation in order to make your kid happy (while earning some cash for his or her college fund) counts. It’s a complete reversal of parents who routinely play the game of social one-upmanship, trotting out Ah Girl or Boy’s school grades to compare against others’.
Come to think of it, why isn’t there a My Mum Is Better Than Your Mum version? I think I could top contests like My Mum Is The Best Nagger, or My Mum Can Sniff Out Cheap Auntie Deals At 500 Paces. That said, I’m content to just indulge my son’s weird requests in private, thanks.
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