Intuitively Speaking

Adventures of Eva in the last 24 hours

2010-06-16T13:05:00.007-06:00

Eva's first taste of blackberries (the fruit, not the phone) and loving it! She manages to squish them really good and stains the white tablecloth beneath the brown paper you see here. We had to give extra tip because we paiseh.

Eva finally gets to sit on the swing at the kiddy park nearby. And of course she loves it! She spent most of her time bio-ing the cute boy babies next to us.
Eva finally sits on the potty the right way! Previously she had it on head, or in her mouth.
Yeah, funny now, but not so funny when we actually start potty-training her.

Seven

2010-06-13T18:31:00.011-06:00

So we are staring at a week to go before we board that plane and leave this city, possibly never to return again. A mere 7 days before our lives change, radically, yet again.

Am I prepared?
Nope.
I am finding myself to be very sentimental, swimming in feelings of ambivalence and anxiety. I worry about reverse culture shock- the heat, the crowds, the rude people on the MRT. I worry about jetlag- more specifically, Eva's jetlag and how we will have to re-train her to sleep through the night. I worry about the unfinished renovation at our new apartment and the 5 days that we will have to stay at my parent-in-law's- I fear it will sour relations.
Most of all, I worry that I will miss Chicago too much.
Isn't it ironic? That I came here with trepidation, and during our stay here have longed frequently to return, and now when I am facing the end, I am trying to cherish the very last few days here before this stage of my life come to a close.
Human nature, I guess.

The past two months have been filled with errands, chores, tasks, assignments. When I am not finishing up grad school, I am packing, when I'm not packing, I'm taking care of Eva. And when she naps, I sneak off to the occasional yoga class to keep my sanity intact.
We are now living in an empty house, have been for the last 3 weeks. No sofa, no TV and not even a single chair. I am typing this now sitting on a step ladder. Yes, relocating sucks in that way. All our furniture is now in a container somewhere sailing along in the Pacific Ocean. (My grumpy mood recently can also be attributed to not being able to watch the World Cup, which I have followed since age 6.)
I think Eva is perceptive enough to sense the change. One day all the chairs are here for her to cruise on, and the next day, big men with brown boxes come and take them all away. Ahh, but now she doesn't have a single obstacle in the entire house. I let her crawl all over. She loves it- better access to all those delicious electrical outlets she loves to lick!
Here's how the little one is doing:

MOST SIGNIFICANT EVENT IN THE LAST TWO MONTHS:
I think its tie between "MAMA CUT A HOLE IN MY HAIR" and "EATING A BALLOON."
Yup, the latter is my worst mama boo-boo to date. I buy me/her a graduation balloon, let her play with it in the car and then discover a small piece of it missing. She swallows it before I can stick my finger in her mouth. Don't worry, its been about two weeks since, and we are convinced she's passed it out.
And yes, I attempted to cut her bangs while she sat in the highchair, and um...she moved! Imagine! Yeah, not very wise. When we were at the hair salon waiting for Papa to be done, the stylist offered to cut Eva's hair for free! Woot. Good things come out of silly mistakes, I tell you.

MOVEMENT/NEW ANTICS:
Eva is an official bullet train crawler. She crawls the minute she wakes up until the second she falls asleep. She shoots from living room to kitchen to bedroom so fast sometimes I wonder if she is a mutant. Hah. This has made life very stressful for me & C. Most dangerous move so far: crawling to the kitchen while I am cooking, pulling up and touching the gas knobs. Heart attack ah!
But, also along with mobility, the girl is finding new ways to express herself. She often crawls to me while I am walking around and clings onto my leg, burying her head in my calves. Sooo sweet. And today I was in the shower, she crawled to the bathroom door and started banging on it to say hello. This is when my heart melts and I become a pool of mush.

SEPARATION ANXIETY:
The clingy stage has begun. She is shy around strangers and sometimes cries if they come to close. She protests when she sees me leaving the house. She wants to find me immediately when she wakes up in the morning and cries when C takes her away so I can rest a little more. She wants me, me, me....and its so very lovely and heartwarming but also terribly difficult to get anything done!

FEEDING:
Ahh, this has been and still is, our area of difficulty. Eva is healthy, but skinny. She's inherited C's metabolism and small head/frame, and my distaste for food when I was young. She clamps her mouth so tight sometimes during meals that we have to trick her into eating. The only thing she really really likes? Hazelnut gelato.

Eva clings to MamaEva checks out the multipot. Ummm??

Eva post hair-cut with stylist Yuki (right)

Waving hello at brunch

Eva with the balloon she had as a snack. grumpy face due to Mama saying "Nooooo!"

Chicago, a photodiary

2010-04-11T12:53:00.017-06:00

We only have two more months to go in the Windy City. Here are ten things I will miss dearly.

1. SpringC, on a chilly spring morning, with chinese takeout in hand, circa 2008

2. Pancakes as big as my faceButtermilk pancakes from Le Peep, a cozy breakfast nook blocks from school

3. Obama-inspired artSpotted this beautiful graffiti on a very cold winter night, sometime shortly after he became President

4. Time with my husbandThe working hours in Chicago respect an individual's need for work-life balance.
Since coming here, C has been home no later than 7pm.

5. The sun on my deck

Where we did our grilling, sunbathing, and attempts at gardening. I loved my deck.

6. Autumn leavesFall, and all its beauty. Leaves creeping up a building in the Northwestern campus.

7. Lake MichiganThe body of water that separates Illinois from Michigan. A big, peaceful lake.

8. Carved pumpkins at HalloweenThe wall of pumpkins, all carved differently, standing proud outside the bar McGee's.

9. Costco-sized goodsLittle Eva (at five months) is as big as the giant box of oats from Costco.

10. Cupcakes from Sweet Mandy B'sMe with Eva, just last week, at our favorite cupcake place on a lovely spring day.

Some thoughts as a SAHM (STUDY at home mom)

2010-04-03T07:36:00.004-06:00

I'm a graduate student, and I've had the privilege of experiencing the unique pains and pleasures of being one for almost 3 years.

On one hand it is really hard, but on the other I know how blessed I am to have this chance to study what I enjoy. After several years fumbling around with different jobs, I can now confidently say that I know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I leave my internships with a deep sense of satisfaction. My classes bring me joy. I am one of the blessed few.

But this privilege does not lessen the difficulties that I do experience. No, I am not a waitress working a 14-hour shift, nor am I a worker in a factory that slogs overtime and is paid a paltry sum. What you know what? It's still bloody hard.

In a way, its hard because most people think it's easy.

People have a pretty illusion of grad students lazing around, writing poetry, thinking grandiose ideas and generally living the good life. We have summers off and we don't even have to go to school everyday. We create our own schedules, for the most part. What am I complaining about?!

Well, the luxury of flexibility is nice, but no I do NOT get any days off. Even on days when I don't have to be in class or at work, I am always reading, writing and thinking. I am always expected to produce thought-provoking, creative work. I am always expected to contribute in class discussions. No excuses.

Then of course, I became a mom last summer. And some of you may have read that I went back to school when Eva was just 7 weeks old. And it is an understatement to say that those few first months of her life was THE MOST DIFFICULT PERIOD OF MY LIFE so far.

Juggling baby, work and class was the toughest thing that I had to do as a human being.

Did I have a choice?

The answer is a flat N O.

I had to go back to class because I wanted to finish and graduate.

Could I have postponed classes for a year maybe?

Nope, our visas would expire and stopping the program at any time really meant that I was throwing in the towel and not graduate.

Was I going to throw two long years of hard work and experience plus $70,000USD down the drain? I think not.

So I went back.

I would breastfeed Eva through the night, coax her to sleep every 3-4 hours, stumble to class with maybe 2-3 hours of sleep, try to stay awake, sneak off to pump during class breaks, then rush home as soon as possible to take over childcare duties. When she would nap, I would attempt to do homework. On the days when I hard to turn up at work, I barely made it out the door in time with my wallet and clean clothes. I spent a lot of money on cabs. I drank a lot of tea. I also spent a lot of time muttering "God, please see me through the day."

Some people think I had it easier because we hired a nanny. HAH! Yes, I was fortunate to have one, fortunate in the sense that because of her I had food to eat, and clean clothes to wear. Fortunate in the sense that at least I could pass the baby to her sometimes so I could finish my homework that was due yesterday. Fortunate in the sense that instead of two hours of sleep per day, I had five.

This is not meant to be a pity party. This post is more for me to remember how damn difficult it was for me to get through those days and those nights. The physical and mental exhaustion was beyond what I ever thought I would experience. The emotional exhaustion- the guilt for leaving Eva at home everytime I left for class, the shame when I couldn't breastfeed her any longer, the anger at myself for putting me and my family in this situation, the isolation I felt being a new mom so far away from home- that deserves another post altogether.

I am also writing this so in the future, when I am ever contemplating another juggling act, I have the good sense to NEVER DO IT AGAIN. Before Eva was here, I was still an idealistic perfectionist who thought she could accomplish just about anything. I am more humble now. And much less of a perfectionist. I know that my child doesn't expect me to be perfect, she wants me to be happy.

I am also writing this for the friends I know who are working/studying mothers. I want to say I know how VERY HARD it can be, and how very lonely sometimes. No one can really understand how our hearts are torn into so many different pieces. No one can really comprehend how this do-it-all thing really and truly sucks.

And to all the stay-at-home moms who are contemplating going back to work, please please think long and hard about it, and please, do it for yourself, and no one else.

Dear Aunty

2010-03-30T18:41:00.004-06:00

Dear Aunty,

It's been exactly a week since you left, and how my world has changed.

I no longer have 15 minute showers, or have time to 'bao' my laundry. I don't have regular, home-cooked meals for lunch and dinner. (Already eaten two packets of Maggi mee) I no longer can go to yoga class without worrying about my husband and how he is doing with Eva's feeding schedule. I rarely have the time to write on this blog. I am always trying to rush back from work as soon as possible. I am constantly trying to find time to study for my big exam coming up in two weeks, but am constantly interrupted by Eva's cries and yelps for attention or my husband's cries and yelps for attention.

I no longer have a constant female adult companion to whom I can grumble to, complain with and talk endlessly about being a mother and a wife.

Now that you are gone, I can truly appreciate how another pair of hands can change a mother's life. You were the perfect nanny: hardworking, dedicated, compliant, sharp, neat and clean and most important of all, sincerely and honestly caring about Eva's welfare. You looked with her with eyes of love, and that is how I knew I could leave her in your hands without a single worry.

I saw the tears in your eyes when you put on your jacket in preparation to leave for the airport. They truly touched me.

Thank you for being a part of our lives. Thank you for being not only our nanny, but our housekeeper, our laundry doer, our cook, our therapist and our friend. We were blessed to have known you.

Before you left, you wondered out loud whether Eva would remember you when we meet again later this year. I can't say. But this I know for sure: I will remember you and your kindness.

Dinner

2010-03-21T12:09:00.000-06:00

Our nanny has been with us for a long time. It is solely because of her presence that I can "balance" baby and school without having a full-blown anxiety attack. It also because of her that I can take 15 minute showers, wash my face every morning, and find time to to wear clean underwear. It is also because of her that C & I actually get to eat dinner together weekly.

And most importantly, it is because of her that there actually is dinner to eat. She has cooked many superb meals during her time with us, but by far the most simple and delicious is....

Curry Vegetables:

Ingredients needed:

Leftover chicken curry
Some cabbage
Some prawns
Some potatoes (cut into small pieces)
(Some fishcake too, if you like)

To cook:

Boil leftover curry. (Better if left overnight)
Toss in potatoes. Wait 10 minutes.
Toss in prawns and fishcake. Wait 5 minutes.
Toss in cabbage. Wait until cabbage is soft.

And TA-DA! Just like that, dinner is done.
Serve on piping hot white rice.

Enter the ducks

2010-03-20T17:04:00.009-06:00

Eva has come a long way since her very first time in the water. Bathtime has evolved into a happy (sometimes, chaotic) struggle of limbs: she grabs my arm as I try to undress her, she grabs the tap and the water splashes on my clothes, we try to clean her with a cloth and she tried to eat it... Etc.

It is no exaggeration that Eva is one mighty strong and active baby and it actually takes two adults to hold her down (and safe) during bathtime. Usually, after she is dry, dressed and moisturised, I am damp, sweaty and breathless.

But we try to have fun with it.

I just got her a new bathtub and a new bath toy to go along with it:
And here is the little one enjoying the bubble bath:

Eva tries to find her balance in the soapy waterEva eyes the rubber duckie
Eva eats the rubber duckie

Springtime in the park

2010-03-16T17:34:00.005-06:00

It hit 14 deg C today so we walked to the free zoo (yes, free!) about 25 minutes away from our apartment. I pointed out the lions, tigers and gibbons to Eva but she was more interested in eating her baby bjorn carrier. Later she did show some interest in the geese and ducks by the pond.

Me, I was simply exhausted from wearing her in the carrier. My shoulders are aching from all that weight...and she's not even that big of a baby!

The big countdown

2010-03-13T19:39:00.004-06:00

I say "shrimp" not "prawn",
"trash" not "rubbish",
"trunk" not "boot".
I spell "color", "behavior" and "favor" without the "u".
And "pediatrician" instead of "paeditrician".

And when I say "How are you?" I really mean "hello".

Yup, after almost 3 1/2 years in the U.S., my spelling, and even the way I talk, has changed. I have *somewhat* successfully assimilated into the American culture.

And now I have to leave.

The hubby, ever ready for the big move, has started the big countdown to that BIG DAY when we, once again, ship all our personal belongings, and ourselves, 16,000 miles across 3 continents. He has resumed his role of the chief inspector and delegator, bugging me to pack my wardrobe, to throw this and fold that, and generally reminding me every weekend how little time we have left here in Chicago.

Me? I'm a little behind in this whole move thing. Unlike the last time, I am not raring to go anywhere. In fact I am pretty much dragging my feet. Dreading the whole event. Moving has become something I truly detest. It stirs in me so much anxiety. Sometimes, I wonder what has changed- whatever happened to that adventurer and sojourner in me?

Sigh. I don't have to look far. All I have to do is glance over at Eva and know where all this fear and trepidation is coming from. I REALLY DREAD that 24 hour flight with a baby. There are so many things that can go wrong, so many things beyond my control. Worst possible scenarios include:
Eva poops/pukes while we go through security checks
The nasty airport security refuses to let me bring any baby food or formula on board
The nasty airport security wakes Eva up from a nap and she is inconsolable
We loose the bag with all her toys
We run out of diapers!
Eva cries during the flight, so loudly that fellow passengers give us nasty looks
C gets angry with above-mentioned passengers and begins an argument/fight
I don't sleep AT ALL during the long flight

etc etc etc.
The nightmare scenarios have no end.
Anyone have any advice about traveling a great distance with a hyperactive baby?

Growing Up

2010-03-07T18:53:00.005-06:00

So my little girl is almost 7 months, and I couldn't help but notice that she is growing up.

Like, GROWING UP, at a ridiculous pace.

I peer into her face and I don't see infant, I see baby human:

Some obvious signs include:

1. Stranger anxiety: My friend & her boyfriend came to visit Eva before heading out with us to dinner. Eva has seen this friend before when she was 3 months old. But at the sight of them smiling and cooing at her, she let out a full-blown yell, grabbed the corners of her high chair and looked at me frantically. WHO ARE THESE ALIENS? she seemed to say. I had to laugh. Ahh, my little one is maturing. She now knows not to let anyone carry her. Plus, gotta admit it feels good to be wanted like that.

2. The stroller nap: Yes, we took the new stroller out today in the Springtime sun and she not only found her surroundings immensely boring, but also promptly fell asleep on her own in the stroller, and STAYED asleep when we lifted her out of it and put her in her crib. Yippee!!!

3. The stubborn side: She now has no hesitance in letting us know she wants something or dislikes something. She will fuss, moan and whimper if we do not carry her/give her the toy/feed her more quickly/keep walking around so she can be entertained. Her personality is emerging, and I am learning everyday who this little girl is. This motherhood ride is finally beginning to look like fun.

I can say quite honestly that I laugh everyday now. And its all because of her.

What a difference a month makes

2010-03-02T16:09:00.003-06:00

So I haven't written here in over a month, mainly because of the craziness of work, school and baby. It's a sad fact that life sometimes moves so fast that I have no time to record it.

In this short month Eva has evolved and grown into an entirely different creature altogether. No longer colicky (hooray!), she now squeals and chortles loudly, loves to play peekaboo and likes to dance to Madonna's "Papa don't preach".

Her favorite food is mixed apple and sweet potato puree, served chilled, thank you very much. And her favorite move is the 360 degree wiggle-turn, where she balances-crawls in a circle.

The most significant development?

Eva now sleeps through the night.

!!!

Yes, APPLAUSE please. By "sleep through the night" I mean sleep for more than five hours at a stretch, as is the official definition. (Most people mistake sleeping through the night for a luxurious 12 hour stretch, which doesn't come until much much later, unless you have a magic baby of course)

It all happened when my therapist made the radical suggestion that both C & I do nothing at night. Yes, NOTHING. When Eva would awake at night, we were not supposed to rock, feed, touch or talk to her. It was lights off, and silence all around. Instead, we were supposed to play dead and let her roll around until she fell asleep on her own. I was told to give this a go for three days.
(We were only allowed to pick her up if she cried. Both C & I can't bear the Cry it Out method)

The skeptic in me was saying: "Are you nuts? If we didn't help Eva go back to sleep, she'd probably roll around until 6am."

Boy, was I wrong. The first night, she wiggled her way around our bed for 1.5 hours before falling asleep, exhausted. (I stayed determinedly silent under the pillow covering my face) The next night, 1 hour. The third night, 50 minutes.

Progress!

I was estatic. A mere seven days into this program Eva actually improved to just waking up for 5-20 minutes twice a night, and would GO BACK TO SLEEP ALL BY HERSELF.
It is not an exaggeration to state that my world just got brighter. And that I now have hope once again. Hallelujah!

Of course, there are still nights when she gets up and can't get back to sleep after over 2 hours, and we rock her as usual. But my little girl has come so far, and I can't be more proud of her.

A.B.C.

2010-01-27T13:45:00.008-06:00

Last weekend we took Eva to the local post office to apply for her U.S. passport.

Yes, she will be receiving a blue American passport, not a red Singaporean one. When we were q-ing behind all the other passport applicants, mostly kids with their American parents, I couldn't help but wonder: How will I react 21 years from now if she chooses her American citizenship over her Singaporean one?

Here's a brief, matter-of-fact comparison between the two countries:

Living in the U.S.A. (or specifically, Chicago)
Pros
World-class education
(more) Freedom of speech
(more) Openness to differing opinions and ways of life
(more) Options
The four seasons and all their beauty
Very courteous and generally friendly people
Cons
A long, harsh winter
A bad public transport system
Corruption
A wide rich-poor gap
(less) safety overall
(less) convenient

Living in Singapore
Pros
It's always hot and you have 12 hours of sunshine a day
Convenience (duh!)
Super-duper efficiency
Possibly the safest city in the world
Possibly the cleanest city in the world
Cons
Really kiasu and generally ungracious people
A suffocating emphasis on material success
Less acceptance of different perspectives and ways of life
Censorship
It could get too hot (yes, I know there is air-con but do I really want to spend the majority of my days in a mall?)

Of course, when selecting one's nationality, I highly doubt that its ever going to be this rational.

There's a little twist to this story however. Eva was, ironically, born on Singapore's National Day. Now, how can she ever resist staying in a place where her birthday will always be a public holiday?

Eva & Papa checking out passport holders at the local CVS (like Watsons) while waiting for her passport photos.

I just hope that when my American-born Chinese baby grows up and makes her final choice, I will have the good sense to give her my blessings and support no matter the decision.

Recap

2010-01-14T09:08:00.010-06:00

It has been exactly three years to the date since we first arrived in this city, jet-lagged and dazed from the 24 hour flight, with three huge peices of luggage and two whiny cats. When I read my posts from January 2007, I marvel at what a different individual I was and clueless we both were at what was to come. The past three years have flown by and crawled by at the same time. They have been, hands down, the most difficult time of my life, and the most enriching. Although it has often sucked to be 16,000 miles away from home, cold, and with no char kuay teow in sight, do I regret it?

Not one bit.

Here's a brief recap* of our wild adventure....

APARTMENTS RENTED: 2

TOTAL $ SPENT ON RENT: Too much to mention

NUMBER OF NASTY LANDLORDS: 1

NUMBER OF NASTY NEIGHBORS:1

NUMBER OF NEIGHBORS WHO HAD LOUD SEX: 1

NUMBER OF CARS OWNED: 3

NUMBER OF CARS DAMAGED: 1

NUMBER OF CARS BURIED IN THE SNOW: 1

NUMBER OF TRAFFIC OFFENSES: 10

NUMBER OF TIMES MY HUSBAND HAD TO GO TO COURT: 1

NUMBER OF WINTERS SURVIVED: 4

LOWEST TEMPERATURE EVER ENDURED: -32 deg C

NUMBER OF HOT SUMMERS ENJOYED: 3

NUMBER OF PLANTS BOUGHT IN SUMMER AND DIED IN FALL: 9

NUMBER OF FRIENDS MADE: 20+ (me), 10 (C)

NUMBER GOOD FRIENDS WE WANT TO STAY IN TOUCH WITH: 4 (me), 1 (C)

NUMBER OF SMUGGLED BOTTLES OF BLACK SOYA SAUCE: 4

NUMBER OF PACKETS OF MILO FUZE CONSUMED: at least 90 individual sachets

NUMBER OF PRIMA TASTE INSTANT MIXES COOKED: 32

NUMBER OF INSTANT NOODLE PACKETS CONSUMED: 95

TOTAL AMOUNT SPENT ON AMAZON.COM: $8,000 (me), $50,000 (C)

TOTAL AMOUNT SPENT ON GAP.COM: $1,500 (me), $0 (C)

TOTAL AMOUNT SPENT ON ONLINE SHOPPING: So much that I have lost track

NUMBER. OF TIMES WE HAVE CALLED FOR FOOD DELIVERY: 50

NUMBER. OF PLACES WE ALWAYS CALL FOR FOOD DELIVERY: 3

MOST NUMBER. OF TIMES THAT WE HAVE EATEN THE SAME DISH OVER AND OVER AGAIN: Unagi-don from Sai Cafe, at least 50 times between C & me

NUMBER OF COURSES ATTENDED: 21

NUMBER OF COURSES THAT WERE REALLY GOOD: 5

NUMBER OF TIMES I HAVE SKIPPED CLASS: 14

TIME TO GRADUATION: 5 months

NUMBER OF THERAPISTS SEEN: 5

NUMBER OF THERAPISTS THAT WERE REALLY GOOD: 2

NUMBER OF COUPLE DATES WENT ON: 292 (290 before baby, 2 after baby)

NUMBER OF DESTINATIONS TRAVELLED TO: 15 (Galena, Boston, Guatemala, Jamaica, Budapest, Salzburg, Vienna, Copenhagen, Stockholm, Linkoping, New York City, San Francisco, Vancouver, Tokyo, Bali)

NUMBER OF CHILDREN MADE: 1

*inspired by Sher's post "Sydney Stats".

New year, new tastes

2010-01-12T12:43:00.001-06:00

So I chose to go with my instincts, rather than follow the recommendation from the American Academy of Pediatrics:

I've gone ahead and offered solids to Eva before she's 6 months old.
*gasp*
In fact, one week shy of her 5th month birthday- she got a taste of rice cereal:

Do you see that grip on my fingers?

I had observed the telltale signs: smacking/chewing motions of her mouth whenever she would watch us eat, a curious gleam in her eye when I would wave my spoon of curry/rice/chicken at her and an increasing boredom or nonchalance regarding milk.

Her first feed went very smoothly- she gobbled up most of what was offered her (a mere tablespoon of cereal mixed with breastmilk), and the mess on her bib was mostly due to my inexperienced hands.

Satiated look post meal

In the last two weeks I have offered her banana (YUCKS) and applesauce (EEEEW). Words in the parentheses are what I imagine she would say if she could talk. She spat out the mashed banana after three mouthfuls and frowned at the taste of applesauce, as if to say: "Why have you taken away my rice cereal and what on earth is this sour stuff?"

OK, so she isn't the most adventurous eater (yet). Avocado is next and we'll see how she will take to it.

The above-mentioned furrowed brow even before tasting the banana-
as if she knew what was to come!

Snapshot

2010-01-07T07:45:00.000-06:00

We left our summer footwear carelessly strewn on our deck. Of course, it hasn't been summer for a very long time- in fact, its been snow, hail and ice for the last several weeks. But we've been much too busy to wash, dry and store our slippers away. Much too busy with a certain baby that pretty much taken over our lives.

On that boob thing

2010-01-06T12:42:00.004-06:00

One of the greatest challenges for me so far in this wild motherhood ride, hands down, is breastfeeding. And I'm very sad to report that things have not been going well.

After my initial struggles learning how to breastfeed, I thought I was getting the hang of it. Then Eva went on her first nursing strike. I say, first, because well, she did it again. Yup, after I had coaxed her back by banning all bottle use for two weeks and offering her the boob like, 78 times a day, she decided to get confused all over again. It happened a couple of days after my confinement nanny left. I tried to woo her back to the boob again, but to no avail. She would arch her back, cry and be pretty pissed off when I offered her the breast. And I would sob in frustration and sadness. It was a trying time.

I knew that maybe, just maybe, if I called in sick (again) at work for another two weeks, skip class and every other meeting to stay home so I could breastfeed exclusively, she might come back. But I couldn't, of course. I had to fulfill my responsibilities as a student.

And after several heated arguments with C, after several more times trying, I gave in- I fed her breastmilk in a bottle. And its been that way ever since.

And I absolutely hate it. Some reasons why:

1. I hate pumping. Pumping is mind-numbingly boring and mechanical. I hoist myself to the sofa 5-7 times a day, attach the tubes to the bottles and sit there trying to relax, hoping that the milk will flow. Most times, it does. I am lucky enough that I can still produce sufficient milk to keep up with Eva's needs, but it is a getting to be a big pain. I try to watch TV, surf the net while I'm at it, but honestly I just want to get it over and done with.

2. Wastage. Heated breastmilk that has been previously refrigerated can only last 1 hour in room temperature. When Eva does not want to drink whatever we offer in the bottle, it goes down the drain. I have had to dump 4-5 ounces (120-150ml) of precious milk in a day. Any milk-producing mother will know how painful that can feel.

3. Extra work. To pump and bottle-feed translates into a lot of washing and sterilizing. Over and over again. When Eva wakes at 2am for a feed, I run to the fridge to get the milk, heat the milk, feed her. After she's asleep, I crawl onto the sofa to pump for about 20 minutes. When I'm done, I wash and sterilize everything, ready for the next feed. By then I'm starving, so I drink Milo and eat a piece of bread. Total time awake: 60-90 minutes.

But above all of these reasons- I really miss breastfeeding. Sure, I did not always enjoy it, but it was a special time of bonding, just me and her. My heart aches when I think of it.

Sometimes I think: Did I try hard enough? Could I have prevented her nursing strikes? Did I make breastfeeding such an unpleasant experience? Maybe I should have waited longer to introduce the bottle and the pacifier?

The questions go on, and I can continue to berate myself. But what motherhood has taught me so far is this: No matter what I do, some things are truly beyond my control and eludes explanation. I have to accept the change and move on.

Easier said than done!

Daily milk supply, pumped and divided into feeds, ready to be warmed up

A good start

2010-01-01T08:55:00.004-06:00

Last night I had my first alcoholic drink in 13 months- two glasses of Cabernet Franc, drunk during a 7-course New Year's Eve dinner with C.

Yes, we went out! By ourselves! For a late dinner! And did not talk about Eva!

Who am I kidding. We talked about Eva half the time. But still, I felt like a caged bird let lose, the freedom was pretty intoxicating. I still can't believe I actually put on makeup, wore a dress, and went to bed past 9pm.

Of course when we came home, the first thing I did was to drop my purse, shrug off my coat and rush to check on my baby. I really enjoyed my time away, but I missed her. I missed her cute little face, her gurgling sounds, her big feet and chunky calves. Ahh, motherhood is a strange adventure.

C & I are off to see Avatar in a couple of hours, our first movie since Eva was born. The last movie I saw was 500 days of summer, the night before I went in labor.

How time flies.

Assisted Sitting

2009-12-30T09:59:00.003-06:00

Eva has decided that its really boring to be lying down. "Sit me up, sit me up!" she yells in baby language. I pretend not to hear her...until her yells become too loud to ignore.

Bo-chup

2009-12-29T12:42:00.004-06:00

Before I was a parent, I was very determined to be a "relaxed mother". I was pretty stuck on, you know, not becoming one of those screaming women on the MRT with two kids in tow, unhappy and stressed and anxious. I wanted to be more ang-moh and carefree in my parenting mentality- the kind that lets one's kid roll around in the mud and chew grass. The kind that takes it easy.

Then I became a mother. And my fancy vision of myself as a bo-chup mom got shot to bits.

I could say it was part due to Eva's fussy, colicky nature (more on that in another post), and in part due to my perfectionistic personality that was bound to emerge, but whatever the case, I became as anxious as a wound up bird. My first few weeks as a parent were filled with constant worrying, questioning and overall paranoia. Will I hurt her if I do X/Y/Z? Is she getting enough milk? Why is she fussing? What is that spot on her cheek/butt/arm? Is she too cold/hot? Should I be doing this or that?

Etcetera.

As a very wise woman once said, "I was an expert on kids until I had my own".

So I'm not the relaxed kind after all, at least not yet. But I do think I'm pretty bo-chup on one thing: keeping track of Eva's developmental milestones.

Take the flip for example. I had observed that at 16 weeks she had somewhat mastered flipping from back to front, with some assistance. A couple of days after that she managed to get the hang of it pretty well. And then a few days before her 4th month birthday (and I have no recollection of the date) she figured how to flip from front to back, and then there was absolutely no stopping her. It was flip, flip and flip every time she was put on a flat surface. As a result I have one hyperactive girl who rolls non-stop off beds and changing tables and who cannot be left unsupervised- not one minute.

You tell me, how to relax like that?

If I am bo-chup about her motor development, it might be because Eva certainly isn't. In fact, she is very kan cheong and super 'on' about mastering whatever is next. The flip, for example, was preceded by lots of twisting, grunting and vigorous kicking. Next up for the little one: sitting. She loves to sit (assisted of course) and is now taking every opportunity to raise her upper body. Gee, I wonder where all this Type A-ness comes from?

Everything is yummy

2009-12-28T18:52:00.007-06:00

...it must be, because Eva is stuffing everything I give her into her mouth.

Yawn

2009-12-27T09:09:00.010-06:00

So its winter and temperatures are hovering around -5 deg C.
Eva and I have been stuck indoors because I don't particularly like the cold, and her paranoid father strictly forbids me to take her out unless it hits 10 deg C and above. And quite honestly, the logistics involved in bringing her out- bundling her in 3-4 layers of clothing (which she absolutely hates and will scream when it gets too hot), prepping the diaper bag and keeping myself warm- is too much for an exhausted mommy. The thought of battling the snow, ice and sleet to get a breath of fresh air is also pretty overwhelming. It's simpler to stay indoors.

But its becoming damn boring.

For her and for me.

Everyday I crack my head to entertain her- she has about 7-8 hours of awake time daily- and I come up with the same old, same old. Here are the activities I've tried already:

1. Chuck her on the playgym
2. Chuck her on the bed where she practices her flips
3. Chuck her in her bouncer and attach various toys she can chew on
4. Put her in the mechanical swing to stare at the light mobile (she actually hates the swing and can only last for 5 minutes before she fusses)
5. Dance and sing to her
6. Read picture books, let her touch & chew cloth books
7. Wear her on the BabyBjorn and do the chores. Better still, show her around the house- demonstrate washing machine, dryer, show her my clothes, the sauces in the cupboard
8. Wear her on the BabyBjorn and stand by the window, watching the world go by

I have done each of these every single day, ad nauseum. When she yawns and looks at me expectantly, I sigh: "I'm bored too, baby!"

With the weather likely to only warm up in MARCH, I have two more months of indoor boredom to contend with. Sometimes I wish she will grow up faster so I can do cool stuff with her that I've read on No Time For Flashcards. But with a baby that doesn't speak, and doesn't crawl/walk yet, and has a relatively short attention span, what am I to do?

Any ideas?

Papalove

2009-12-26T10:26:00.002-06:00

C is pretty determined to get that stubborn tuft of hair down. Everytime after her bath he gets out his comb and smooths out her virgin locks. I say- Leave it be- but agree with him that Eva will be cuter with a nice side parting. Oooh, imagine the possibilities then: ribbons, clips, and all things frilly to embellish her with!

Silent night

2009-12-25T18:27:00.007-06:00

In 2007, we flew home for the usual Christmas revelry. I remember it being very busy.

In 2008, we went to San Francisco for a week, where we attempted to have fun despite me being so nauseous in my first trimester. I remember crashing into the hotel bed so exhausted from doing pretty much nothing.

This year, we are staying in Chicago, just the three of us- yes, its my first as a mother- at home, passing the day doing what we usually do- taking care of Eva. Its a really quiet day and evening as we eat leftover pasta for lunch, coax Eva to nap, and make sashimi and rice for dinner. Our humble 4 foot Christmas tree stands twinkling against the silence of the neighborhood- no one is in town it seems, and all the shops are closed.

C gave me perhaps the best Christmas gifts ever- a 2 hour long afternoon nap & a sweet homemade card.

What will Christmas 2010 look like? I have a feeling that it will be very different from this one.

Deprived

2009-12-21T18:12:00.004-06:00

Going to bed every night is like entering the lottery. I never know what I'm going to get.
On a good night, Eva sleeps deeply and soundly for four to five hours. KA- CHING! I am happy as a bird.
On a bad night, Eva wakes every hour, or sleeps so lightly that she tosses and turns and groans every couple of minutes. She sleeps in between us, so that means ZERO sleep for me.
On a weird night, Eva poos at 1am, and very often poos up her onesie, which means major cleaning and the turning on of bright lights. This screws her nighttime sleep completely, which means she decides that its a good idea to practice her flips for about an hour before she demands to be rocked to sleep.

The other day I was watching Supernanny and a mother of two really naughty young boys, aged 4 and 5, said this:"I haven't slept in five years." Now, if I were not a parent, I would automatically disregard her statement as mere exaggeration. Now that I am one, I know that she is completely dead serious. And more than that, I know that that may well be my future.

Living with an infant is so challenging on many counts, but I personally think sleep deprivation tops the list. The problem is not that there is deprivation, but that the deprivation does not seem to have an end. It is a marathon with no finishing point. Everyday in the wee hours of the morning as I wake yet again and stumble around in my drowsy hallucinatory state I am like a drowning man that is reaching for a lifeline that is beyond his grasp.

When will I sleep again?

WHO KNOWS.

This is most definitely my last winter

2009-11-28T16:28:00.000-06:00

It was Thanksgiving this past Thursday.

Thanksgiving is a uniquely American holiday where families gather round together to give thanks for the year's blessings and eat a hearty meal of turkey, mash potatoes and pecan pie. In contrast to the commercialism of Christmas, I feel like Thanksgiving is a tradition that really reminds us to acknowledge and appreciate what is truly important- our loved ones, and how we have been gifted by God.

This year, as I cooked our very un-American meal of kong bah (pork belly) and steamed fish and stayed at home resting and playing with Eva, I gave thanks for my little family, our health and safety, and for everything I have experienced and learned as a human being this year. Becoming a parent- labor, delivery, and the aftermath, and raising an infant- has so revolutionized my way of thinking and my perspective of the world that I have no words to adequately describe it. It has been seriously damn shiong the moment Eva was born, and I am still exhausted, but so grateful for the wisdom that comes with living with a baby.

Having her has made me, strangely, miss home in an unexpected way. I've been apart from Singapore for almost 3 years now, enough to be comfortable where I am, and enough to feel detached yet curious about the motherland. Before Eva, all I really missed was the food, quite truthfully. Give me my plate of char kuay teow and I'm a happy camper. But having a child has made me ache for a place I can truly call home, a place with family and friends and sunshine and safety.

And it turns out I'm not alone. C & I, after flirting with the idea of moving to Japan, have decided that its time to go back to the mothership, for now. Last week, we took the plunge and bought a new home in our old neighborhood.

In seven months time, it will be home, sweet home.

A 16 week update

2009-11-27T11:40:00.000-06:00

My dear Eva has found her thumb. That means she's now always trying to stuff that thumb (or her whole hand into her mouth). Some people have told me that I should stop this habit, but she looks oh so contented sucking away that I can't bear to.

She's also become a drool monster in the last couple of weeks, and I am continually mopping up after her. Her play-gym has become a drool pool. My girl doesn't seem to swallow her saliva!

Rolling over? Yes, well sort of. She turns to her side, and tries to swing her legs in the air and arches her body backwards. Then digs her face to the ground. Then she grunts and shrieks for help when she is stuck mid-way. It is cute how determined she is.

And that tuft of hair? Well it seems to be growing upwards. No sign of it coming down to planet earth anytime soon.

The postpartum diet

2009-11-22T12:57:00.005-06:00

We have been sans Aunty for over a week. And I'm glad to report that we are still intact. Still surviving.

But just barely.

In the same week that she left, C injured his neck and shoulder. It was an old injury that came back in full force. One moment he was in the shower, and the next moment he was down on his knees. I had to help him to put on this clothes and cart him to the doctor.

In the taxicab all I could keep thinking of was how I was going to manage taking care of two babies- my husband in semi-paralysis & my small crying baby. You could say that it was a HIGHLY STRESSFUL day.

At the doctor's we were reassured that he would move again, but slowly. Turns out that he had inflammed a major nerve in his neck that caused what he claimed was THE WORST PAIN HE HAD FELT IN HIS LIFE. He was moaning, groaning and being such a difficult patient that I had to tell him in no uncertain terms that I had been through CHILDBIRTH, for goodness sake, so he had better suck it up and get better by Friday.

Also, did I mention that in that same week I had to complete a presentation for class? And that two days after the confinement lady left Eva had the worst bout of crying ever? From 11pm to 1am she yelled her lungs out, then at 4am to 6am she repeated the same high-pitched bawling; we sang, swayed, swaddled and shushed and nothing worked. I was this close to leaving her on the bed and shutting the door.

So yes, we are still here, with our sanity intact. But this postpartum diet of anxiety and calamitous events have left me 5 pounds lighter in just 10 days. That, and the fact that my staple food is now Maggi mee and oatmeal cookies.

Oh, and in case anyone is wondering, I am still 2.5 pounds (about 1kg) shy of my pre-baby weight. But I'm not worried at all. (And I shouldn't have wasted all that time worrying about it either). That one extra kilo is probably due to all that milk in my boobs anyway.

Aunty, come back! Please...

Bye bye lady

2009-11-11T20:17:00.003-06:00

Today I went for a 90 minute massage. After that I allowed myself 5 minutes in the steam room, then a quick rain shower before I hopped into a cab to head home to feed Eva.

It was absolute bliss while it lasted.

It was heaven.

It has been a long time since I allowed myself to devote any time to relaxation. Between feeds, diaper changes, playtime and the perpetual task of coaxing my baby to sleep, I still have to finish presentations, be on time for work and catch up on school readings. My life, as well as my mind, have been a blur. An anxiety-filled, sleepless and tired blur.

So for a treat to myself for my 29th birthday that recently passed, I picked up the phone and made that massage appointment that I so desperately needed. It was to be today or not at all, because my confinement lady/nanny is leaving tomorrow morning, leaving C & I to fend for ourselves.

Will we survive? Except for Eva's first week of life, we have had the luxury of having her around, the luxury of having another pair of arms to pass her to when she gets cranky.

With her gone, what will we eat? Instead of homemade meals every night, C & I might just have to subsist on instant noodles and bread.

Will we retain our sanity? She has been a invaluable resource of all things baby; and a calming presence when I am about to freak out (quite often).

Ah, the start of my 30th year is already filled with trepidation.

Eva with her nanny

A big huge shift

2009-11-02T13:31:00.000-06:00

Last last weekend Eva went on a nursing strike. For those who are not familiar with breastfeeding, this means that my little girl refused to feed from my boob. And refuse is a nice way of putting it. She yelled, sobbed and screamed bloody murder everytime I put her near the breast, as if I was going to feed her poison.

It happened almost of out the blue. One day she was loving the breast, and the next day she couldn't even recognize it. But I should have seen the signs- too much bottle feeding and pacifier use had caused her to have what they call "nipple confusion", she no longer had patience to wait for milk at the boob, and preferred the faster, easier flow from the silicone nipple.

That's right. My daughter preferred a silicone nipple made in China over the flesh of her mother's breast.

I was hurt, confused, and utterly rejected. Even though I never really enjoyed breastfeeding, it took her rejection to make me realize how much I wanted it, how much I had invested in it, and how much I took for granted that she would always want the boob.

So dismayed and depressed was I that I called in sick at work. So anxious was I that I lay awake, sleepless for two nights, panicking inside.

Then after 48 hours of total bottle-feeding, she suddenly latched on again.
What sweet relief!
Slowly, I coaxed her back, and now, she is feeding as usual. I am overwhelmed with thankfulness.

This slip-up has opened my eyes and caused a shift inside me. I am more appreciative now of the fact that this intense period of mothering will soon pass, that my baby will grow up, and that one day she won't want me like she wants me now.

But more than that, her strike really made me torn. Torn between my baby and my work. I found myself thinking: If didn't have to finish grad school and be away for all these hours, then she wouldn't have to bottle-feed, and wouldn't get nipple confusion. I would be around 24 hours to meet her needs. Plus I wouldn't get so bloody stressed out, thinking about Eva at work, and thinking about all that work while playing with Eva.

I feel that I am doing a half-ass job- with my baby & with my work.

Will I always feel this torn?

Our Halloween at home

2009-11-01T20:31:00.001-06:00

We bought a full cow costume for Eva but it turned out to be too big.
So we made do with the head-piece.

I made C buy us a pumpkin with the grand idea of carving it, but I was too tired.
So we made do with a black marker. (C's artwork)

I flirted with the idea of going out with her, but it was too cold, and I was too lazy.
So we stayed home and took some photos:

Supernatural

2009-10-25T10:06:00.002-06:00

Last night I had a dream that my teeth were all falling out. Now, I've yet to go look up the Jungian interpretation of its plausible meanings, but it simply isn't surprising to me that I have that fear.

You see, I haven't had much time to brush my teeth nowadays.

Since Eva, the days of the week and the hours of the day have all lost their original structure and meaning. And my sense of personal accomplishment has since been determined by my personal hygiene. (or the lack of it)

Brushed teeth before 6pm (10 points!)
Brushed teeth & showered before noon (100 points!)
Brushed teeth, showered & WASHED MY HAIR & APPLIED MAKE-UP for work all before 9am!!!! (WORLD DOMINATION)

Rudimentary activities like pee-ing, eating and staying hydrated have all taken a back back seat to my No. 1 all-consuming priority: fulfilling Eva's every need. Which comes back to something I've hinted at before, that she isn't exactly the world's easiest baby. In the last week, she has been especially difficult- rejecting my boob, preferring the bottle, not wanting to wait two seconds for the bottle, screaming her lungs out in the meantime- driving both C & I up the wall.

But we are coping, barely, but coping. And a large part of it is due to the fact that our confinement lady is still with us. She does the laundry, the dishes, the cooking, and some night shifts with the baby. But her 90 day stay is fast coming to an end, and we are left looking at each other in wild panic. It's going to be just us, with a full-time job, grad school and a cranky baby all to ourselves.

I fear I might be going insane.

Here's how its *supposedly* going to work:

Mondays: I go to work from until 2pm. C takes leave and stays home.
Tuesdays: I stay home and her goes to work, when he comes home at 4pm, we switch. I work until 9pm.
Wednesdays: I stay home.
Thursdays: I stay home.
Friday: I go to school until 1pm. C stays home.
Saturdays: I work until 3pm. C stays home.
Sundays: The only day which we have together.

I don't know how long we can do this without foregoing all of our sanity, not to mention the giving up of any sleep (however little) that we have now, so I am desperately praying for supernatural intervention. (A nanny angel, maybe?) That and bucketloads of coffee. And maybe some illicit drugs. Oh wait, that isn't allowed for a nursing mother.

Miss Eva in her fall/winter wear, looking happy after a good burp.

Two months

2009-10-11T18:25:00.002-06:00

Eva turned two months on Friday. Both C & I had all the intentions of buying some cake (again) and eating it on her behalf. But, alas, both parents were too exhausted from work (him) and grad school (me) to make it to the neighborhood cake shop.
We did however, sing many renditions of "Happy Birthday" to her in silly voices while she rocked and smiled in her bouncer.

At the grand age of two whole months, Eva now:
smiles, giggles and coos
turns to the sound of our voices to find out who is speaking
says "ung-ger"
loves the b&w shapes on her mobile
is already bored with the game of peekaboo
laughs at the sight of her mommy dancing, bollywood style

Happy Birthday, my lovely. We've come far, you and I.

She recognizes me

2009-10-05T08:27:00.010-06:00

So last week I went back to school and re-started my clinical externship.

Oh, how I hated it.
I hated the fact that I had to drag myself to a three hour lecture after barely getting four hours of sleep, that I had to frantically look for a place to pump before and after class, and that I had to rush home so I could take over baby duty.
I was a zombie.
And I still am, so totally and utterly exhausted. I'm just praying that I won't fall asleep while seeing a client, and that by some miracle I will get through this school year without falling flat on my face.

I also hate the fact that I am now constantly worrying about building my frozen milk supply, fretting about whether I remember to bring all the bits of the pump with me, and am now lugging a 6 pound bag wherever I go.

But most disconcerting of all during this transition back to the real world is the marriage of my past identities as student and training therapist to my new identity as a mom. It is weird to go from meeting, class and therapy session to coming home, dumping my bag and pulling down my shirt to stick Eva to my boob.

The thing that keeps me going, the thing that gives me hope and strength to go on after day after day of zombie-ness and wordless anxiety and feeling completely overwhelmed- is her, and her smile. And the fact that she now recognizes me.
There is an undeniable spark in her eyes when she sees me now, and that makes it even more heartbreaking for me to leave her.

About the sex

2009-09-21T17:41:00.006-06:00

No, not mine.
(and if you've given birth, you'd know that the weeks after you have a child are not exactly filled with tons of bed-romping sex)

My neighbor's.

If there is one thing that motherhood has taught me, is how to be more assertive. Honestly, that's a nice way of saying impatient.

When your days are filled with feeds, diaper changes, vomit and constantly trying to put a baby to sleep by any desperate measures, and you no time to even PEE, your patience runs thins very quickly. Especially towards matters that are completely unnecessary.
What I think I'm trying to say is: Motherhood has left me with less patience for any kind of bullshit. Excuse my language.

So when my neighbor, she of the loud-creaky-bed that thumps at night, resumed her nightly activities a couple of weeks after we brought Eva home, I gritted my teeth and shouted obscenities through the ceiling.

Just kidding. (I came very close, though)

The initial lull in sexual activity upstairs had me hoping that the shrill cries of my baby had detered her from having casual sex, but nope, it did not last for long. Soon, it was back to thumping at 10pm, a re-thump at 4am and a third thump at 6am. I moaned, I complained and I bitched, to C and to my confinement lady. C, as usual, was against launching any form of complaint, for fear of souring neighborly relations.

So I prayed hard for more patience.

But after one sexual romp that WOKE MY BABY UP (!!!), after which I seriously contemplated running upstairs to hose her down with the milk shooting from my boobs, I sat down and wrote a very nice email, which I copy below:

Dear X

At around 230am this morning there was a loud, rhythmic, creaky thumping noise from your apartment, coming from a price of furniture located directly above our bedroom.

We've heard this particular noise on several occasions in the past 6 months or so, most times after midnight, sometimes even at 4am. As you might imagine this has been disruptive to our sleep.

On one occasion, it woke our baby up, after many attempts by both of us to put her to sleep.

We realize that you might not be aware of the poor sound-insulation of this building, as you are on the top-most floor- we can hear footsteps, furniture and even voices. Likewise we do apologize if our baby has been keeping you up; unfortunately this is an element that can't be controlled, and we are doing our best to soothe her as soon as she cries.

Therefore, we are wondering if it could be possible to oil/ replace creaky parts of the above-mentioned furniture so as to reduce the noise it produces.

As very sleep deprived parents of an infant, we would greatly appreciate this. Thank you so much.

Wasn't I polite? And a mere four hours later, I got this reply:

My sincerest and most embarrassed apologies. Consider the problem taken care of. It will not happen again.

I will try my best to keep the noise level to a minimum.

Please let me know if there is anything else I can do to help minimize the noise.

As far as the crying - it is a fact of life as is living by all the loud college bars so no worries. I hope you both are healthy and doing well.

Again, my sincerest apologies.

VICTORY!!! Impatient mother-1, Noisy neighbor-0.

The Stats

2009-09-12T17:41:00.005-06:00

Eva's stats at her one month check up:

weighs 10 lbs.
23 1/4 inches long
perfectly healthy

Our doctor (remember Dr. M?) informs us that she is at the 92% percentile for height and 72% percentile for weight. Now, considering that the population being surveyed is AMERICAN kids, we can safely conclude that Eva is *very* tall and relatively big.
Goes to show that all that milk is going somewhere. Hooray!

C & I are already imagining her future:
Winner of America's Next Top Model?
NBA champion?
High jumper?

Eva and Mr. Pig in her new crib. Yellow kimono onesie courtesy of Auntie Danie.

We made it

2009-09-09T08:51:00.002-06:00

Eva decided to mark her 31st day by pooping on me, not once, but twice.

Both times I was sitting her up on my lap for a burp, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of projectile poop landing with full force, down her diaper, up on her back and splashing onto my thighs. The second time though, she also managed to produce two large marsala stains on the Boppy and the $5,000 vintage chair I was sitting on.

When we ( the confinement lady & I- because by that time I had shouted for help in my utter incompetence) tried to change her soaked diaper and her equally soaked kimono top, she flung her poop-stained hand onto her face and then proceeded to pee on her poop.

What ensued later was sheer panic and wild scrambling by two grown women.

Then I spent the later part of the afternoon debating whether to tell C about the white (milk) & yellow (poop) colors that had suddenly appeared on his favorite chair.
(I did tell him, by the way, and only because I could find no other way to explain why the cushions had been scrubbed and were now lying in the sun.)

It's now painfully clear who is the new head of the household. And we are still adjusting to the tyranny of the new leadership.

The previous day, we commemorated Eva's full month on this living planet by putting a dress on her for the very first time, giving her a bath, giving me a bath and ended the day with a 20 minute Skype visit from her very enthusiastic grandparents, 16,000 miles away. Then all the sleep-deprived adults in this house took silly pictures, ate a hazelnut-chocolate cake on her behalf, and congratulated ourselves for having survived baby bootcamp, part 1. (One down, and 12,578 parts to go)

Here are some very blur pictures from that day:

The position in which she unleashed her torrent of marsala-curry poop.

The dress, a gift from the baby shower, a 0-3 month white summer item that was still a little too loose.Eva tries to find a lactating boob on Papa, to no avail. So she uses his armpit hair as rope instead.Evidence of Eva's agility: the 45 deg maneuver. She was parallel to C when I left her 30 minutes ago.

You can't really see it, but Eva's hand is in mine as she "cuts" the cake.Everyone looks ready to conk out in our first family photo (note the tired eyes) but only one of us is getting any sleep.

That 25 minute shower I took last month now looks like a Caribbean vacation

2009-09-02T16:19:00.001-06:00

So, about that breastfeeding thing.

Before I popped I read breastfeeding books, took a breastfeeding class, contacted lactation consultants in my neighborhood and sent detailed email enquiries to mommy friends who have breastfed. I was fully convinced about its long-term health benefits, the whole ‘rightness’ of feeding my baby milk from my boob and never considered the other alternative. (No formula in this house!)

Plus, wasn’t it supposed to be this cozy, nurturing bonding activity between mother and child? Mom to look to child’s eyes, child to suck gently while absorbing all that good oxytocin, mom to feel like a milk goddess, mom and child to fuse as a unit.

Reality newsflash: NO SUCH LUCK HERE.

I’m probably going to insult every attachment parenting/breastfeeding enthusiast by saying the following, but here goes:
I don’t think I like breastfeeding. Heck, I even dislike it. Sometimes, I even dread it.

I guess it might be a tad easier if I had a docile daughter who sighed and murmured as she gently sucks on my boob, but no, I have a child who squirms and kicks as she SCREAMS for milk and who stuffs her fingers and hands in her mouth everytime I try to feed her. She goes from whimper to scream in three seconds flat and by the time I get her into position on my chest, she is a struggling, messy bundle of arms and legs and fingernails- yup, sharp fingernails that have grazed, grabbed and poked my nipples more than once.

It takes me an average of three tries to get a good latch (on bad days, up to seven tries) and sometimes once she latches, she spits out my boob in reaction to my too-fast let down. So when I am dizzy from lack of sleep at 3am and 5am feeds, breastfeeding is a chore more than anything else.

Now of course, in no way did I expect a placid, easy-going kid. I know my own history- I spat at people as a toddler- and C’s- he downed milk until he puked, peed on chee cheong fun and swallowed rock sugar at times, giving his mother so much grief that she waited four years to have another kid- so yes, I fully expected Eva to be a tad fussy. Opinionated. Temperamental. Demanding. All the things her parents are.

I guess my first week of breastfeeding kind of soured of my experience. I was lucky enough to have Eva nurse within the first two hours of life, and she was a good sucker from the start. The problem was, I was in pain from the beginning but I did not know what was wrong. In the hospital, all the nurses, and even a lactation consultant, said “The latch looks good”. So I continued doing what I was told. And within four days I had cracked, bleeding nipples that REALLY HURT.

It was only after my doula called another lactation consultant to come guide me at home that I realized that the latch had been wrong all along. She also gave me a piece of sound advice: “It doesn’t matter how it looks, only how it feels.”

So after two tubes of lanolin, a bunch of cabbage leaves and a pack of Soothies later, my nipples have since healed, and I think I am on the way to a better latch.

I read recently that some mothers love nursing so much they find it difficult to kick their kids’ suck-to-sleep habit. Apparently nursing and cuddling in the middle of the night is one of their favorite things in the world. Me? I am ashamed to say that I am already thinking of when I can wean Eva off the boob (I’m giving myself 6 months) and how I would love more than just two hours of allotted freedom each time.

Now, if only I can convince C to grow a lactating boob or two.

Her first bath at home

2009-08-27T16:20:00.002-06:00

On day 13 Eva's umbilical cord dropped off and when we found it on her kimono shirt, both C & I looked at each other and said "OH MY GOD." in complete unison, like the suaku parents we are. In the US, we are told not to bathe the child before this happens, and so of course, the very next day C, being the *slightly* obsessive-compulsive cleaner that he is, wanted to initiate little Eva to the world of bathing.

Here, at two weeks old, she is given a thorough wash by our fantastic confinement lady while both of us scrabble with the video and take copious notes.

I hope one day Eva will forgive me for flashing her naked body to the world.

17 days old...

2009-08-26T13:28:00.007-06:00

And she turns!
...I lay her gently on the bed, where she contemplates sleeping.......decides to stretch and grunt, like she usually does...and then, somehow manages to wiggle her little ass and tiny legs to
her side!

Maybe I am suaku, but I'm pretty amazed. So amazed that I called out to my confinement lady to take a look and she conceded that this lil' one is moving fast in the motor skills department. Not only can she turn, she can wiggle herself to a 45 deg angle when put down straight, kick so hard on our hands that she shot up like a canonball on the changing table, and generally do a superb imitation of Bruce Lee with her kung-foo arms.

If she was active in my womb, she's even more active now.

A most drastic change in lifestyle

2009-08-23T10:42:00.002-06:00

So here I am, on Day 14 of my confinement. Technically, I'm actually on Day 7, since my confinement lady came a week after Eva was born. And technically, I've already broken the no-going-out rule twice- once to see the pediatrician, the other to see my midwife.

Already, I am itching to go out. To walk in the park, to window shop, to enjoy the last days of summer. Already, I am feeling the full meaning of the word confined. I've read my copy of Marie Claire from cover to cover, scanned various parenting books, and watched the latest season of Project Runway (thank goodness for reality TV!) I spend my days gazing forlornly out the window, watching the people on the streets with envy. My brain is not only sleep deprived, but also deprived of any intellectual stimulation. All I think about is: Did Eva poop? How much did she poop? When is Eva's next feed? How long did she feed?

I'm not a very good confinement client. When the lady came, she asked me:

Do you know you have to wash your hands only with hot water? NO.
Do you know you can't drink anything cold? NO. (I'd already consumed a gallon of milk from the week before)
Do you know you can't take so-and-so fruits? NO. (Really, no peaches?)
Do you know you can't eat any seafood? NO. (Please ignore that bowl of clam soup I downed)
Do you know you can't eat chicken yet? Seriously?
Do you know you should wear long pants and socks? And cover your elbows? Huh! I've been plodding around the house in a singlet and shorts.

Aiyoh. So many rules. And already I'd failed. Such a bad student.

Only two more weeks to go.

The babywearing samurai warrior

2009-08-17T10:33:00.005-06:00

I find myself, despite the overwhelming fatigue, taking a photo everyday of Eva- somehow it relaxes me, takes my mind off things, and helps me find some sanity in the craziness of sleep deprivation.

This is C trying on the Moby wrap. He wouldn't let me facebook it, so here it will appear instead.

11 hours

2009-08-16T10:32:00.005-06:00

This was me at 39 weeks pregnant- at the point of complete expansion:

I was impatient for the baby to come. I remember struggling with pubic bone separation, peeing 5 times a night, and being so heavy I could hardly walk. I remember eating a lot of spice. I remember wondering if I would ever be un-pregnant. We were trembly and nervous with anticipation.

11 hours was all it took to change my life. That was the total number of hours I was in labor- from start ("oooh, maybe this is a contraction?") to finish (pushing Eva out). Details of the full labor story will have to come later, but here it is in summary:

At 8.45pm at dinner I started timing my contractions. At 3 something in the morning I could no longer fool myself that I was not in labor. At 4:15am my doula came and said, "Maybe, we should think about going to the hospital?" I called my midwife and she said, "Unless you want to have the baby at home, come now!!!" I got to the hospital at 8cm dilated. In two hours, Eva was born.

It was a natural childbirth, the way C and I envisioned it to be. There was no drugs, no forceps, no episiotomy, no pitocin, no nothing. And, I will not lie, it was SO BLOODY DIFFICULT. But completely and totally worth it.

Introducing....

2009-08-14T18:29:00.006-06:00

Eva
or Evalicious, as we called her while she was still in my womb
8lbs. 8 oz.
21 inches
Born August 9th, 715am- five days earlier than her official due date

Eva was named after a singer-songwriter named Eva Cassidy, who captured our hearts with her voice and lifestory. Also, it was the only name that C & I could agree on.

Her Chinese name, 靖雯 (Jing Wen), was also from a singer- this one a tiny bit more famous- Faye Wong's original name. Also, it sounds really nice yes? It means serene or peaceful cloud.

Eva is officially 5.5 days old today, her supposed due date. And already, she has fundamentally changed my life.

Saying it as it is

2009-08-05T13:10:00.002-06:00

When I went home in March, I met a really good friend over dinner, a young mother of a ridiculously cute daughter who is turning one, and we talked about how her circle of friends had expanded seemingly overnight to include mommies of young kids.

While it was fantastic to have a group of women to rant about the trials and adventures of motherhood, she made this observation: "It's so helpful to know what is the best brand of formula and the pre-school to get into and all that, but I wish we could be more honest about how motherhood is a struggle. Everyone seems so fine and dandy; no one gets real and gritty about how hard it all really is."

(Of course, I'm paraphrasing her like crazy- but the gist is there. I blame it- again- on my preggo memory.)

The pursuit of perfection-or the pursuit of an image of perfection- is not limited to just motherhood. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that just might apply to the entire female population.

Take a look at the clients at my externship, for example. I'm working at a clinic which specializes in eating disorders, and week after week I sit with high-achieving, intelligent women who fill their days with endless to-do lists, who berate themselves for skipping out on the gym, who give themselves a hard time for not being gorgeous enough, popular enough, skinny enough, smart enough. And (this is why I love what I do)- I don't find it at all difficult to relate to what they are saying. You don't have to have an honest-to-goodness, diagnosable disorder- depression, anxiety or bulimia- to understand where these women are coming from.

You just have to be a woman.

And, like a lot of women in my generation- A-type, educated, ambitious, restless, searching- I demand the best of myself. As a professional, a student, a wife, a daughter, and now a mother.

I have certain expectations of what I would like myself to be, I have standards that I can't let myself fall below, and I tend to pile on the guilt and shame when I do. I care, horribly, what others think of me, and what I think of myself.

And that is why I find it refreshing when women can talk frankly and openly about the trials of motherhood, no holds barred. Heather Armstrong's post on postpartum depression after the birth of her second daughter is one such example. Her candidness and her nakedness as a writer draws me back, again and again, to her site. Contrast this to what I think is a so-called ideal image of motherhood, portrayed by Karen Cheng- she of high fashion, an ideal marriage, 3 lovely boys, and cook of all things organic. Plus she finds time to tend to her garden, loose all her pregnancy weight and go for fabulous parties. (Can it be possible??)

Recently I also stumbled upon something called True Mom Confessions where mothers go to rant (mostly anonymously) about what they really think about their children. And confess gasp-worthy details about their motherhood and marriage.

I think its pretty liberating to have somewhere to go to where you don't have to be perfect, or pretend to be.
I'm hoping and cheering for the day when motherhood (and womanhood) becomes less of a competition, comparision or one-upmanship, and more of a sisterhood of camaraderie, solidarity and love.
I guess we can only expect others to be kind to us if we are first kind to ourselves.

Portraits

2009-08-02T09:42:00.013-06:00

Last weekend a little idea in my head finally came to fruition.

I've been thinking about having some preggo portraits done- but wanted to steer clear of the usual cheesy flowers-on-belly shots. Plus the idea of spending money on something as frivolous as taking pictures of my pregnant self seemed really selfish, especially when the budget for the baby was already going through the roof.
Then a friend of a friend offered to do it for a ridiculous minimal fee- she was an amateur photographer wanting to build her portfolio. Then another friend said she would do my make-up for free. So all I needed was a place to do it (home) and clothes (which I already had).
And the more I thought about it, it was one of those things I knew I would regret or wonder what-if if I didn't do it. And the idea of commemorating this special time in my life (who knows when I will be preggers again?) became less and less vain and more and more meaningful.

Here are some PG shots from that day:

The reason why I say PG- is well, because there are R shots! I took some semi-nude pics to show-off my preggo form, and because my parents (occasionally) read this site, they shall remain in my hard drive solely for our viewing pleasure.

So what do you think?

And what is the past tense of "pigs fly"?

2009-07-30T09:54:00.003-06:00

Any guesses?

Swine Flu.

Get it?

This beyond corny joke was told some months ago by my professor in a bid to get us laughing at a 830am class. He had good intentions, not so much good execution.

Jokes aside, we have been relatively unscathed by the whole swine flu panic/debacle except for three major disruptions in our lives:

1. Because of our first-time parent paranoia, we shelved what was supposed to be the last attempt at a romantic trip to Seattle/Vancouver in June. I was terribly disappointed, but agreed with C that the risks outweighed the benefits.

2. Our confinement lady had to be cajoled, persuaded and finally "bribed" to fly over to Chicago from Singapore. At first she wanted to chicken out. Then she wanted more cash (a 40% pay raise to be exact). And then she demanded that we cover the period during which she would have to be under self-quarantine when she returned. And then she wanted us to make sure we would pay for all medical expenses *if* she should fall ill. We agreed to ALL of it. And yes, she is coming. Hopefully.

3. And finally, I am now nursing a cold. Or what I think is a cold. I have all the usual cold symptoms- sore throat, muscle aches and nasal congestion. This is caused C to be worked up into such a panic that I'm now panicking myself. It has been four days- of resting, fluids and some Tylenol, and it hasn't gone away. This is, of course, at 38 weeks preggo- very bad timing. I don't want to be sick when labor kicks in.

C is insisting that I get checked for that dreaded swine flu- the earlier detection, the earlier the meds can work, he says. But I don't even know if I want to know- if that makes sense. The whole hype and fear surrounding that disease can make one really scared, if one thinks about it. If I can stay at home, pray and wait for it pass, can't that do?

Trusting my gut

2009-07-28T09:26:00.008-06:00

Yesterday, in one grand swoop, we completed two things on my to-do list. (see below)

In the U.S., it is highly recommended that expectant parents choose their pediatrician before the child is born, preferably one that has 'privileges' in their chosen hospital, so that the said pediatrician can be allowed to check the baby soon after his birth. If the parents, forget (*gasp*) or neglect (*jialat*) to complete this important task, the baby will be assigned randomly to any pediatrician that happens to be available- and that would be COMPLETELY UNFORGIVABLE- would it?

Being good paranoid first-time parents, C & I didn't want any cockadoodling, strange doctor touching and examining our kid without us first giving him the once-over. Certainly not us, good kiasu Singapore-bred parents. Must check & double check.

So we dutifully asked our midwife, our doula and some colleagues for recommendations. And we narrowed it down to two potential candidates. We met the first one two weeks ago, a nice enough lady who was direct, attentive and professional. And we were almost going to settle with her.

Then came along Dr. M.

Now, I had expected this cheery Barry Manilow lookalike, from the profile pages of the hospital website, but in walked this serious stocky grandfather with not a hair on his head- and then I realized- the profile picture must have been taken 30 years ago.

After the usual pleasantries, I asked him directly: "What would you say is your parenting philosophy?" - And he looked me in the eye, without missing a beat, announced: "I think babies don't want to be born into this world. And so I think parents, your role is to meet their needs as they will define them."

Now, here I will admit that I was tempted to be offended. I'm almost 38 weeks preggo, sitting in his office, and this guy is telling me that my baby doesn't want to be born? But of course, in many ways, I agree with him. Babies certainly never asked to be conceived, let alone request to be ejected from a warm, secure, bacteria-free, all-encompassing environment called the womb. But hey, this was one gutsy pediatrician for telling it to us IN OUR FACES.

I was curious, and pressed for more: "We've been reading various sleep and feeding methods- Harvey Karp's 5 'S's and Pantley's no-cry sleep solution and controlled crying...I mean there is so much information out there...."
And then it was here that he snorted. I kid you not. This granddaddy of a pediatrician literally frowned and snorted in my face and SIGHED and said in a LOUD VOICE:" You know, I have mothers asking me all the time which is the best parenting book to read. And then I take out my marker and go to the board and all the mothers strain to see what I'm going to write. And I write down the most recent novel I read. The thing about reading parenting books is that you will intellectualize what is supposed to be a natural, instinctive experience. You don't need a book to teach you how to love a child. TRUST YOUR GUT. STOP READING. THROW AWAY YOUR BOOKS."

And then I think it was at this precise point that C grinned wildly and jumped into his arms, crying out, "My savior!"
Almost.

So I'm sitting there stuttering and feeling like the bad girl in class who did the wrong thing, and C is triumphant and almost dances right there in the tiny office. (I was tempted to hit him on his smug head.)

And then we go on to discuss about vaccines and this guy tells us right there that he does not impose any vaccine on any parent, and that he adopts a less-is-more attitude and will always consult us before injecting our kid with some poison. And then I start to fall in crush with him.

Before we leave I confess my fear about the possibility of not being able to breastfeed, and he leans forward, jabs at a photo of a lion and roars:"Do you think she had a lactation consultant? Do you think women in the 1800s had breastfeeding problems? Breastfeeding is natural. IT IS EASY. It has just been corrupted by manufactured, modern issues. Just do what comes naturally to you and your baby. Let the baby decide. Let the baby set the pace. You just have to respond. RELAX. Parenting is EASY. It is hard work, but it comes EASILY."

Parenting is easy? Easy as in not difficult? Really? Seriously? Now, why hasn't ANYONE told us that before? Not one book, not one nurse, not one class, heck, not even one friend or relative.

I literally wanted to swoon into his arms with gratefulness. I felt a load taken off my back. In some way, this ancient and wise pediatrician knew what we needed as over-anxious expectant parents and gave it to us. C & I walked out of this office feeling light, over-joyed, and strangely secure in the knowledge that our love and our instincts will carry us through this journey of parenthood.

Thanks, Dr. M.

p/s: I'm shelving all my books and starting a movie marathon. Today.

Before I POP

2009-07-23T10:51:00.005-06:00

So according to my midwife, I have exactly 3 weeks to go before I POP this baby out. But of course, due dates are nothing but a guesstimate- more like a due week or even, a due month. Now I know for sure that this baby is going to come sometime in August, but exactly when? Only the One Above truly knows.
The stats in all the baby books tell me that most first time moms deliver a week & one day after the due date. If that is correct, then I still have 4 more weeks to go in my preggie state.
Meantime, I'm biding my time.
I'm strangely patient.
Not exactly going to eject my daughter from the womb when she ain't quite ready. Take all the time you need, little girl.

My own gut instinct tells me that the child comes out not only when she feels ready, but when she feels her mother is ready for her- psychologically, emotionally & physically. Now I know that one cannot be completely ready for parenthood, but I believe that there comes a time when one will feel more ready than one has ever felt.

Am I there yet?
Almost.

To facilitate this I decided this morning to write down the things I really, really want to do before I give birth, in an ideal situation. Somehow, my gut tells me that when I tick these off my to-do list, my daughter will sense that the stage has been set and she can make her grand appearance. So here goes:

1. To complete my pregnancy journal
In June I had this fabulous idea of compiling all my thoughts and scribbles into one place. So I bought a really pretty journal and started copying. I wanted my daughter to know how much we wanted her, how we tried conceiving her, and the joy and the frustration that goes along with the whole process. So I traced back to past journal entries dating from October of last year, and began the copious task of making sure every detail was captured. The thing is- I'm only halfway through.

2. To complete my pregnancy reading list
I've been a little OTT on this point. When I knew I was preggers and would become a parent- my immediate coping mechanism to my anxiety was to READ. A LOT. This is my self-made Pregnancy/Parenting 101 Reading List, and my personal opinions on them, if you're interested-

i. The mother of all pregnancy books by Ann Douglas (Simple & to the point)
ii. What to expect when you're expecting by Heidi Murkoff (The classic encyclopedia)
iii. The natural pregnancy book by Aviva Jill Romm (Fantastic for natural remedies)
iv. Birth without violence by Frederick Leboyer (Moving and graphic)
v. Ina May's guide to childbirth by Ina May Gaskin (A must read!)
vi. Hypnobirthing, the Mongon Method by Marie F. Mongan (One of the natural childbirth methodologies)
vii. Birthing from within by Pam England (Wonderfully empowering)
viii. The expectant father by Armin Brott & Jennifer Ash (Great for fathers- IF the father actually reads it)
ix. The no-cry sleep solution by Elizabeth Pantley (I will try it and let you know how it goes)
x. Heading home with your newborn: from birth to reality by Laura Jana & Jennifer Shu (Very practical tips)
xi. The happiest baby on the block by Harvey Karp (Great swaddling diagrams, and direct advice)
xii. Breastfeeding made simple by Nancy Mohrbacjer & Kathleen Kendall-Tackett (All the BF tips one can ever need, I think)

PHEW. I guess it is more for my own satisfaction than anyone else' to have this list typed out. Yup, somewhere along the list my brain just went: "URGH" and shut down and I stopped buying books. I'm still trying to complete the last few, am narrowing it down to two specific books I want to get done before the baby makes her grand appearance.

3. Decide on baby's pediatrician (Gee, I wonder why that would be important?)

4. Complete baby shopping list, specifically baby tub & baby sling.

5. Watch the finals of So You Think You Can Dance. Yup, you read me right. I'll give you a second or two to finish rolling your eyes.
It might be frivolous in comparison with GIVING BIRTH AND ALL, but I really want to catch the final episode of what in my opinion might be the best reality-competition series in TV history. I've always loved dance, even taken dance lessons, but never got to the point where I think I can do seriously great stuff, like these guys. You could say being a dancer is one of my unaccomplished distant dreams.
All of us have one of those, no?
Even C is hooked. Every Wednesday we plop down on the couch and gape at the dance routines.
Some of them were so good they made me cry.

That's right, so when my daughter is 3 years old and someone asks her why she delayed her arrival, she can say: "Cos' mommy wanted to finish watching a REALITY DANCE PROGRAM."
This here, is one of my favorite contemporary routines, danced to one of my favorite songs. I still get chills:

36 weeks: Coming out

2009-07-21T18:32:00.001-06:00

So at 8 months pregnant, I've decided to come out. Come out with the glaring fact that I'm pregnant. On facebook.

I wasn't planning it. After the baby shower, a friend who couldn't be there because she was out of town asked for photos. And my friend who organized it wrote, "Well, here's hoping she'll put in on facebook- hint, hint."

And for the life of me I could not think of a viable reason not to. A bunch of lovely ladies just threw me this shower, and they wanted to see the photos- who was I to say no? Who was I to say no to acknowledging the celebration that just happened?
So I threw all caution to the wind and posted them.

What I might not have expected was the flood of responses from friends near and far, from the distant past and the near past. They were overwhelmingly positive of course, and I have to admit, it was nice to hear congratulatory messages. It was like I had been in a nice protective shell and had emerged into a kind universe.

Quite unsurprisingly, there were the kay-poh type responses that had me bemused. A girl from uni, whom I had never been pals with, and had never hung out in the same circles with and have not spoken to for say...the last FOUR YEARS, sent me a message via facebook:

"Your arms still look super duper skinny so don't worry about being fat. :P By the way, I'm wondering how you are coping with your master's and being pregnant? Are you going to take a semester off?"

Then I heard from another uni classmate that she had called him specifically to ask if I was preggie (before I officially revealed the news).
Gee. Why this sudden, out-of-the-blue interest? Why this kay-poh-ness about the details of my life? Is she just being concerned? Then why am I nursing a mild irritation? I guess this is why I had kept the news secret for so long- to precisely avoid having to deal with such random nosey kaypohness! Am going to brace myself for more.

At 36 weeks, I also decided to ultilize one of my baby shower presents: the Costco membership card. Costco is this mega warehouse chain that sells discounted items in BULK- everything from milk, diapers, fruits, DVDs, facial cleaners, tires, cameras and cat food. It is the epitome of American shopping. When C & I visited Costco last winter we were (very sadly) turned away at the cashier because we weren't members. Only members can purchase items.
This was me, with a flat tummy during our first ever Costco visit:
This time, we marched in quite truimphantly and bought cereal, oats, handsoap, nutella, toilet paper and hand towels to last us 6 months. C with his morning breakfast:
Me with mine:
And my side profile and weighing in at 140 pounds:

Showered with love

2009-07-16T17:30:00.012-06:00

Yesterday, 3pm at the Peninsula Hotel: My baby shower!
My first ever attended- and its my own!

Six lovely ladies threw me this little delightful tea, complete with balloons, ceramic pigs, a mom-to-be-sash, and of course, lotsa pressies to make my soppy heart melt.

On the menu, bite-sized quiches and sandwiches, which were delicious-
plus of course, tons of desert (top plate) and a coconut souffle (not in pic).
That's Ariel, a my dear classmate, posing in the background.

Me, with the first pressie- MORE BABY CLOTHES. Can I ever get enough of them??

I'm especially amazed by the homemade reversible quilt- made by Ariel and her mother.
So touching lah.
Other pressies not in pics: A gorgeous pink swaddling cloth, a Tinylove play gym, a practical baby medical kit, a toy ladybird, a funky pink frilly hairband & a Costco membership so I can go crazy buying cheap diapers! (just what I needed!)

The lovely ladies! Just when I've gotten to really really know a great bunch of women here- I have to contemplate leaving in a year.
Sigh. Such is life.They send good vibes to the sleepy girl in my tum.
Come out safe, come out well, and come out happy!

Just so you can see how BIG I've become at 36 weeks and at 140 pounds- my side profile!
With that rockin' sash of course- also the first I've worn in my life.

And REALITY hits

2009-07-14T09:33:00.001-06:00

Maybe it was a mistake-
a mistake to schedule four baby classes in a row.

Ahh, but C didn't want to attend them earlier because "I will surely forget" so we packed the month of July with all-things-baby.
Thursday, we attended "Baby care basics" -part one, conducted by the hospital I have chosen to birth in. A passionate nurse taught us all manner of practical baby stuff: diapering, baths, car seat installations, how poo will look etc. All was fun and cheery with most dads playing with the fake babies (C had ours in a kung-foo pose) until she started talking about SIDS and how we should always put baby to sleep on a flat surface. At this point C & I looked at each other and being paranoid first-time parents, started asking ourselves: Should we change out minds about the hammock then?

Ahh, decisions, decisions.

Saturday we trotted back to the hospital bright and early for a tour and briefing so we would know what to do during admission and labor and whatever happens after delivery. Midway through the briefing we of course realize we have to select a pediatrician before the birth, and one that has privileges at our chosen hospital so he could come check on our baby right after she's born.

Decisions, decisions.

The nice part about the tour was that we got to see a freshly newborn babe get his checks and baths at the nursery. He was all wet and squiggly and crying his heart out. I was struck by how incredibly tiny he was!!
Tiny tiny.
How am I ever going to learn how to take care of such a tiny one??

PANIC.

Then after the tour and a quick lunch we sped across highways to get to our last Hypnobirthing class, which was always relaxing and informative. Plus the teacher has two fat cats at her home which I enjoy teasing. The only trouble was the annoying couple- and the husband who kept asking asinine questions like: "Can we really have the baby with us after the birth? Won't the they whisk it off? How can I tell my doctor or midwife what I like? I'm so clueless..." Ya-da, ya-da, ya-da. One of those needy men. I admire the wife's patience.

Could be my hormones talking.

Then Sunday afternoon I woke up from my nap to rush to an infant CPR class-by which time C was feeling so completely overwhelmed and filled with anxiety and a sense of complete unpreparedness that he turned to me in the car and said, "I think I just puked a little in my mouth." Poor guy.

The class was at least fun, with C releasing all that anxiety by almost destroying our baby mannequin by his over-enthusiastic compressions and big breaths.

No more classes next weekend! *phew*

Then of course this appeared in the mailbox to hit us in the head with the reality that is coming in a mere 4 weeks.

More on packages

2009-07-10T14:40:00.001-06:00

I guess I should never go online shopping while hungry. Heck, while pregnant. I seem to spend more money than usual.

The above photo shows off my stash from Asiansupermarket365, a wonderful place of Asian goodies based in New Jersey. Besides my stash: Kaya, Ribena, Sardines, Curry Maggi Mee, and 5 packets of curry & rendang mixes, they sell sambal, kueh lapis, Maggi Chili sauce, and get this- even bak kwa! (all authentically made in Malaysia)

When I first stumbled into the site, my mouth literally dropped open and I drooled. (of course, being 35 weeks pregnant means that I kinda drool at almost anything)

I wish I had discovered this resource two years ago- but, better late than never!

In case you are wondering, my stash cost me a hefty $55 (inclusive of $13 shipping costs). Each product literally cost twice the amount than what you would pay in Singapore. But for someone desperate, pregnant, and always hungry- they were a Godsend.

The stash- unwrapped and displayed proudly. I'm grinning from ear to ear as I cook dinner. And you can spot my side preggie profile- i'm bumping into everything nowadays!

Burning Pregnancy Question 3: Do you have to change all your girlfriends?

2009-07-09T14:24:00.001-06:00

"I'm from Singapore and have been a silent reader for years now.. for the 1st time I feel like I want to answer your question and with a lot of passion! :p

Personally, the reason why I secretly wish all my friends were married, is because we'll all be on the level in terms of recent topics. If we get married at the same time, we can talk about wedding preps together, if we have children, we can gush about those 1st kicks in our tummy together and so on, you get the drift.

I would be really upset if I were going through all of the times stated above by myself (and probably the best times of my life) without being able to share them with my good friends and have them understanding what it feels like.

Perhaps for women, it is important that close friends are able to keep up with each other in order to stay in each others' life. That's what I think, at least."- Kelly, responding to a MetroDad post on why most married women would like all their friends to be married too

Kelly's response is not out of the ordinary. In fact, I daresay that she speaks on behalf of many women.

When I met a new Singaporean acquaintance a couple of weeks ago (a friend of a friend) who was about a month ahead of me in her pregnancy, she was literally babbling over with pregnancy rants, health complaints and parenting advice (this was her second child). For an hour and a half, she gossiped and whined and yakked non-stop. And I was happy to listen and whine back. It was nice to talk to someone who was in a similar state as I was- pregnant, in the third trimester, and far away from home.

Once, during our conversation, she alluded to how difficult it was to share her thoughts and complaints with her single best friend. "Some more, she just broke up with her boyfriend,"she whispered sadly. "So, like that ah, she's like two steps behind. You know, not married, no children. Now, no boyfriend."

A part of me understood exactly what she meant, and yet another part wondered- Wait a minute, since when did life become a series of steps to take? And didn't true friendship bridge different life stages? If a friend was really a friend, wouldn't I be able to listen to her dating woes and she listen to my poop woes?

Of all my childhood friends, I was the first one to get married, and now, the first one to get pregnant. I can count the number of mama friends I have on one hand. Here in the Chicago, the ladies I'm close to are mostly single, overachieving grad students, except for one lady, who has three kids (and also an overachieving grad student). So yes, when it comes to having a community of women in a similar life stage- I do have a problem.

I seem to be lacking one.

Wouldn't it be nice to be surrounded by a close band of like-minded women, relatives and friends married with kids, full of understanding and wisdom, sources of comfort and solidarity? Wouldn't it be nice to know that I can just pick up the phone when my baby's poo doesn't seem right? Or speak face to face with a woman who has gone through it before me? Or have a fellow mom share a glass of wine when C is working late?

Of course, but who, in today's world of rapid change, travel and mobility, has that luxury? I'd be happy to be in the same time-zone as some of my friends, let alone the same neighborhood!

And after all, having a bunch of married friends with kids of similar ages does not necessarily mean that close friendship will develop. Will the conversations ever go beyond poo and puke and the advantages of breastfeeding and how to cut the queue for the top kindergarten? Will the women really see each other as individuals, not just fellow mothers? Will fears and hopes and dreams be fearlessly shared?

I don't know.

Here's hoping that when I do pluck up my courage to join a mummy group, that it will be all that, and more.

Toothless

2009-07-07T13:31:00.004-06:00

If you look closely at this photo, you'll notice two things: a glazed look in Lobo's eyes, and a square patch on his left leg.

The glazed stare is due to morphine, and the tiny patch is where an IV was stuck in his arm while he went through hours of surgery.
Dental surgery.
Who has ever heard of a cat having bad teeth?
Not us.

It started innocently enough. On my baby to-do list, item 13 was "take cats to the vet for annual check-up." I had read somewhere on Babycenter that it was a good idea to make sure that all pets were in tip-top shape before the baby arrives. So like a good paranoid first-time mommy I heeded the advice and made the appointment at the nearest vet.

Because the equally paranoid first-time father, C, insisted that I stay home ("Vet offices might be dirty and I don't want you to catch anything"), we had to make two separate appointments for the two cats. Anyway, quite honestly, I wouldn't be able to help lift them- Lobo weighs in at an impressive 17 lbs (almost 8 kg)

So first up- Lobo. Like his first time on an airplane, he shrieked as if the world was coming to an end. Just putting him in the carrier brought back nasty memories, I guess. His cries were like nails scratching glass- no worse, like Adam Lambert's famous alto screams.
I was sure that one of our neighbors was calling pet-911.

Then at the vet, this happened:
(related by C cos' i wasn't there)
"The vet started checking his teeth and started shaking her head vigorously, saying 'Wow. He has seriously bad teeth.' She started pointing out cavaties, gum disease etc etc. She had his mouth open wide, and touched each teeth to make sure they were healthy. I was feeling pretty bad already and then...when she gently shook one tooth, it fell right out! The tooth FELL OUT OUT HIS MOUTH! I felt like this terrible, neglectful, abusive pet owner..."

Apparently we both felt guilty enough to agree to an emergency dental surgery for poor rotting-teeth Lobo which cost us USD$650.

On the day of the surgery, however, Chicago was unexpectedly hit by a tropical monsoon. Due to bad drainage systems in our neighborhood, the vet office got flooded. No kidding. We got a call in the afternoon asking us if we could take Lobo back because the ROOF CAVED IN and the entire office was filling up with water and the cats were meowing their heads off frantically.

I guess one of them was my cat.
So we took Lobo back, who was well and properly traumatized by then.

The surgery was rescheduled to the following week, which, thank God, went well.
The not so good news is, Lobo lost a total of EIGHT teeth in one sitting.
The poor cat is now almost toothless, with paltry THREE canine teeth left.

The only positive news from the vet? Azuki's teeth are perfectly healthy. Nothing wrong with the dude. Ahhh, our saving grace. We felt so much better (i.e. less gulity) after hearing that.

Here's hoping this incident isn't an indicator of our potential as good parents.

More on nesting

2009-07-06T10:49:00.008-06:00

The nesting instinct hit our household last weekend. More specifically, it hit C, since I was hobbling/waddling/wincing around with my sciatic nerve pinching my ass.
Over the 4th of July weekend, when most Americans indulge in parades, fireworks and outdoor grilling, C & I got serious with the business of making space for the baby.
We collected the changing table, assembled it and cleaned it. (C collected and assembled it, really- I just handed him the screws.)
We assembled the baby hammock and then re-stored it after realizing that it could make me trip and fall during my frequent pee visits to the loo at night. We bought the car seat on Amazon. We made a trip to the suburbs to visit Ikea, specifically to get a bed for the confinement lady who would soon be joining us.
Then C cleared out all three closets, and dumped five trash bags of junk.
*phew*
I'm tired just thinking of it, despite being more of an onlooker rather than a participant.

Our messy bedroom and the Stokke changing table in its box- so exciting!

Ta-da! Great work, Papa. All nice and white and looking like baby. Soon, there will be a squirming child on that table.

This is what the changing table can transform to- a desk for a young child. So we're hopeful that this piece of furniture will last...and last.

We chose a hammock over a crib, after reading how infants desire a womb-like experience after birth. This will probably last us until she's about 6-9 months old. After all, both C & I were raised in the traditional sarong- you know the kind that hung from the ceiling?

Having stuff for the baby makes it even more real. It kinda solidifies her presence, in a way- they all say "she's coming soon, she's coming soon."

34+ weeks: Sciatica

2009-07-05T10:17:00.005-06:00

I concluded my 34th week as a preggie with a positive trip to my midwife, and the standard checks that reassured me that everything is going as it should be.

Then I woke up the next morning with a shooting pain down from my left butt-cheek all the all down my leg.

At first I thought it was due to an over-strained muscle, perhaps due to some butt exercises I did a couple of days ago.

But the pain persisted.
Everytime I put any weight on my left foot- to walk, to bend, to squat- the pain would come, sometimes sharply, sometimes numbly, but it was there.

So I've spent the last two days hobbling around with a limp- like an old lady.
Midday yesterday something in my preggie brain clicked and I remembered reading something about sciatica. It turns out that that's what I have-

Sciatica occurs "when the baby's head, the enlarging uterus, or the pelvic joints press down on the major nerves that run from the backbone through the pelvis and toward each leg."- The mother of all pregnancy books by Ann Douglas

Mayoclinic.com informs me that once the sciatic nerve is aggravated, the pain or discomfort can last from 4 to 6 weeks. (Now that would be a real pain in the ass.)

URGH.

Just when I thought I was almost home free.
Today, the pain has gotten so bad that I'm getting impatient with this pregnancy-
Hurry up, lets get this over with. Let's get this baby out so I can have my body back!! (sorry, kiddo, no hard feelings.)

My possible remedies? Chiropractors, acupuncture, hot compresses and swimming. More ideas, anyone?

Oh how I love packages

2009-07-02T09:28:00.000-06:00

A package came in the mail a couple of days ago. From the scribbles on the outside, I knew exactly who it was from and what potentially lay inside its wrapper.
Oooh.
So exciting. I love packages.

You know the lyrics from the song in "The Sound of Music": Brown paper packages tied up with string, these are a few of my favorite things....Well, I completely agree. Packages, next to chwee kueh and designer sample sales, might just be my favorite-est thing in the world.
Inside the package:

Two bundles of kimono-type onesies- one bundle in yellow, the other in pink- from Combi-Mini

My favorite onesie from the lot- the one with the yellow ducks!

And a tiny one that didn't quite fit in with the pack- the anomaly, if I must say so. A tight and very narrow onesie that could work as a stocking or a sleeve (for me) but I can't imagine how it could fit a baby. Elaborate, if you can, D. (Gee, I hope it stretches)

33 weeks & 3 days: Just out of the shower

2009-06-30T12:30:00.001-06:00

This is my second attempt at doing a karencheng, wearing an obviously too-small t-shirt and a size 14 pair of shorts from Topshop. My first one really sucked, I must say I've gotten better with the multitasking required-pose, smile & shoot without moving!
Can you spot the linea nigra? Mine, a thick brownline, goes way past the belly button- and apparently an old wives' tale says that indicates a boy. Well, they're wrong. Unless the sonogram technician was also wrong.
Then I guess we might be in for a *surprise*.

Dinner last night

2009-06-30T09:16:00.005-06:00

Yesterday was a completely FREE day- nothing on my calendar- no internship, no childbirth classes, no yoga classes, and no appointments with friends. It was a day where I could really zuo-bo. Rare, and going to get even more rare.

So I took a two hour walk in the park and then dedicated another two hours to cooking dinner: Modified potato salad- using sweet potato, carrots and corn, and a huge dollop of Kewpie mayo!

Miso- sake clam soup- which is supposed to help with my anemia. C pronounced it "as good as coming out of a Japanese restaurant." *blush*

Tomato Tiger prawns with sugar snap peas- a Cantonese recipe I learned from my parents-in-law

= One happy, satiated husband.

Our last full summer

2009-06-29T09:38:00.001-06:00

Every summer Chicago transforms from a deary, cold and isolating city to a rich, inviting place of colors and smells and sights.
It starts with the revival of trees and grass spots- from death to life, from gray to green. Slowly, slowly but surely, the squirrels come out to feed, and the birds flock from colder climates to get some of that summer heat.
The tree in my backyard sprout buds, then, tentatively, leaves. And then flowers!

Home owners begin landscaping their yards and gardens and decks with enthusiasm. The local supermarket and Home Depot begin stocking flowers and trees and plants and land soil and life in all forms and colors- irresistible to the person hungry to shed the remains of winter, eager to run towards the promise of another summer.

I am no exception.

Although it really seems silly in retrospect to spend any amount of money on plants that will surely die when the frost and cold of fall comes in October or November, I fight and fight but always fail to overcome that urge to run to the nearest nursery and spend an atrocious amount of $$ on my flowery friends.

So like last year, I ran with a grumbling C in tow, like an over-enthu angmoh runs to the beach for a tan, to get my fix.
Alas, my green thoughts have not translated to green fingers. Since I last took these shots- two out of my seven plants have died- one got blown to bits by a fiery monsoon rain and the other one scorched to death by the Chicago summer heat. Surprisingly my two cala lilies (which formed my wedding bouquet, by the way) remain resilient.

I still get loads of joy out of watering my little collection and seeing them grow.
It could be because of all those mama hormones.

But I think a good part of my need to fully celebrate summer this year is the knowledge that come next June, we'll be out of Chi-town- for good.

Neighborly woes

2009-06-28T14:19:00.002-06:00

I haven't been sleeping well lately.

Not surprising, given that I'm getting up at least twice at night to empty my always-full bladder, which is being used by my unborn daughter as a spring board. Or a bolster.

After I pee, I stumble back to back and spend about 20 minutes staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning like a naked whale on a crowded beach. Getting that belly into a comfy position while juggling 3 pillows is no simple task.

Other nights, I wake up soaked in sweat and wondering if the air-con broke down. All the while listening to C snore contentedly beside me, all snuggly under the blanket. With nary a drop of perspiration.

And to this the fact that I can hear my upstairs neighbor having sex. And all goes downhill.

Yup, you read me right. I can hear them HAVING SEX.

You see, although I really love my apartment, there is one problem with it: very poor sound insulation. Not sure if its of the way its designed or some contractor negligence, but it has always been bad. Add to it wooden floors- and the problem gets worse.

I've gotten used to the stomping on floors, hearing furniture move, and even eavesdropping on loud conversations. I know, for instance, that my neighbor's housekeeper comes every Wednesday at 3pm to clean- she makes a ruckus everytime.

Goodness knows what they can hear from us. I guess it has evolved into a mutual pretend-we-can't-hear-anything scenario. Everyone in the three apartments try to live in peace. Sorta.

And I, never one to initiate a neighborly quarrel, have kept my mouth shut.
Until now.

It's happened not once, but over 10 times. I'm asleep, and I'm awakened by CREAKY BED SOUNDS. THAT HAVE A RHYTHM. It starts slow, and then escalates. With every thrust, the whole ceiling seems to groan. The other night, the sex was so enthusiastic that the bed was practically banging on the floor. (excuse the pun)

It's happened at 11pm, 2am and even 4am.

C just shrugs, pops his earplugs in, and resumes his elephant snoring. Me, being the light sleeper, is all alone in my angry, irritable mood- and I tend to spend the time WAITING FOR THEM TO FINISH, all the while writing my complaint in my head.

It goes like this:
Dear Neighbor,
This is not something I usually request- but is it possible to oil your bed? Or possibly get a new one that does creak so badly, while, you know, you erm, have sexual relations? As you know, our building has a sound problem- too many sounds some through. If you know what I mean.
Gratefully,
The sleepless pregnant woman from downstairs.

After one night, after I literally counted the minutes of their sexual rump, which ended with a climaxing "AHHHHH" from the guy (no kidding, I can hear that too), I seriously contemplated leaving that note in their letterbox.

The only thing stopping me is C's astute observation: "When the baby is here, she'll be making more noise than all their sex combined. If we show some tolerance now, maybe they will be more obliged to turn a deaf ear."

How? Should I or should I not write that note?

Honestly speaking...

2009-06-23T09:38:00.001-06:00

the conception of this baby began about two years ago.

In my head, that is.
It was warm summer day, and I was at the annual Printer's Row Book Fair in downtown Chicago, browsing through children's books which I planned to take with me to Hungary, where I was supposed to have a brief stint as an English teacher. (That never transpired, unfortunately) I was looking through a pile of second-hand, lovely, illustrated books and I wanted to buy several of them- but I didn't know if I would use them in the classroom. Then a thought popped to my head:
"That's OK, I'll just keep them for my future child, then."

I think that was the first real, dominant thought I had about the possibility of having children. I was never the maternal kind, you see. As a teen I always wondered why people wanted to bring more children into this cruel world (obviously a pessimist!) and was all for the idea of adoption. I thought, there are already so many children that do exist that need love and care, why not give it to them, instead of creating more?

Little did I know that my little thought would grow. And grow. By the middle of 2008 I remember being mysteriously drawn to children, seeing children everywhere, and being inexplicably moved by any ads that had kids in them. Call it the biological clock, or whatever, but I was slowly turning into a pile of mush.

Little did I know, too, that by early 2009 I would see a ob/gyn, gradually stop all forms of birth control, and conceive 3 weeks after my 28th birthday.

In the meantime, my children's book collection- grew and grew.

Currently- this is what I have:

Little Oink by Chicago-born writer Amy Krouse Rosenthal, about a little pig who is a neat freak (Guess who I thought of?)

T.S. Elliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats (left) & the classic Princess and the Pea illustrated by Lauren Child

Of course, the veritable Dr. Seuss's The Cat in the Hat, which I purchased for $3 at the book fair two years ago

And lastly, Eric Carle's Have you seen my cat? from Siglap shopping center

The books are not really practical or even usable for a newborn or a toddler. T.S. Elliot's book, of example, will probably remain on the shelf until the little one is six or seven years old. I've tried to deviate away from my favorite animal (the cat, obviously) with little success. But like the buying of clothes, the buying of books have been *mostly* a selfish endeavor. The Princess and the Pea, for example, was one of my favorite princess books growing up. I've always thought its dry humor deviated from the 'typical' princess stories. And I couldn't resist this new edition- of 3-D miniature furniture & cut-outs which were photographed- very pretty.

Feeling like a 60 year old

2009-06-22T18:50:00.004-06:00

The third trimester shall also be known as:
The One with the Creaky Back.

Oouch.

I would post more regularly, but I have this nagging ache between my shoulder blades that rears its ugly head only when I am sitting down.
Nothing when I'm walking, dancing, jiggling my bits down the hallway or rolling my big body on our bed.
When I get on a seat to watch TV, surf for more cute baby clothes we don't need or to attempt to blog, here it comes again.

Coupled with hoisting this increasingly heavy body around (134 pounds, my friends!) and finding that even my pregnancy pants are getting tight, I'm feeling (unsurprisingly) OLD.

OLD, old, old.

The other day I was struggling to put on my pants while balancing on one leg and my feet landed heavily on the floor.
C, watching me, grinned and said: "Oh, the whole house just shook!"
He was partly right.

In a bid to alleviate some of that pain, I've gone to a chiropractor that my doula recommended. Today I got my first adjustment- without warning she shook my pelvis thrice, cracked my back and I laid in shock at the sound my body was making. My bones literally moved.

Feeling slightly better now!

Boardgames over barcrawls

2009-06-16T18:50:00.000-06:00

I'm really proud of this game because it was one of the rare occasions that I beat C, we both had high scores of above 300- Expert level, leh!

When do you know you're ready to have a baby?
When you prefer staying indoors with a boardgame or a book rather than traipse the streets shopping or clubbing.
Yup, that's us all right.
Despite knowing that the clock is ticking steadily to the day when our-life-changes-radically-&-forever, C & I still prefer the home above anywhere else.
We might say we are
B O R I N G.
Boring homebodies.

We stay in, read, watch DVDs, play games, manja our cats and of course, surf the internet.
For the last 3 weeks, we've been having Scrabble marathons- me losing a lot, and ingenious C winning, to his competitive delight.

And me, formerly known as the girl who could never come home before 10pm, the girl who would rather stay out to shop/eat/loiter outside (my mother can attest to this), has finally tamed her inner restlessness and now takes refuge in the sanctity of her four brick walls.

Maybe its age. Maybe its Chicago. Maybe its tiredness. Maybe its maturity.

Maybe its marriage.

Speaking of baby clothes...

2009-06-15T12:44:00.002-06:00

Outfit 1

Pink homemade knit cardigan with ducky buttons from Etsy.com do you see them?, Grey beanie from Pottery Barn Kids & Duck mittens from Carter's.

If there is one piece of advice that I hear over and over again, its this: "Don't waste your money on too many baby clothes!"
And in it goes, and out the other way.
I mean, come on, seriously, I for one am not going to PRETEND like the clothes-buying is all for my unborn child's satisfaction- It's mine.
Pregnancy trips the woman's brain, sends its all kinds of gooey hormones that make her go ga-ga over tiny socks and onesies and sob uncontrollably over mobile phone ads that have babies in them.
So the odds for her to actually think sensibly and resist buying baby clothes that she *probably* won't use?
NADA.
ZILCH.
ZERO.
It's like telling the post-breakup, PMS-ing woman let loose in a designer sample sale that she really has too many clothes and shoes already.

And those smart retailers and magazines and brands all know it- they slather cute newborn pics all over their products, tantalize with close-ups of tiny toes and fingers and tease with flashes of white innocent baby's bottoms.

And we women, we fall hook, line and sinker for it.
Well, me anyway. (And I think it goes for almost every first time mum)

So let the preggo indulge. And if you must, must give advice, don't be offended if she doesn't take it well.

Outfit 2

Spring chicken onesie from Baby Gap, Stripped leggings from Paul Frank (C's choice), Bear mittens from Chateau du Sable & Pink kitty cap from a friend.

Outfit 3

U2 onsie from a store in Chicago, Skull spit cloth from Paul Frank (Again, C's choice), Pink cap from mothercare & Polka-dot blue pull-up shorts from Petite Bateau (cuteness!).

Well I hope the baby like U2 as much as we do! We actually went ahead and bought tickets to their 2009 world tour on Sept 13th, after we knew I was preggo. We weren't going to let a baby stop us from fulfilling our life-long dream of seeing Bono in person, right? Hah. Maybe we were in denial. But we'll see, fingers crossed, hopefully we'll get a nice baby-sitter on that night. Any volunteers?

Aren't you proud of me, Mummy?

2009-06-12T09:25:00.002-06:00

With school out of the way, for now, I can fully devote myself to the whole idea of nesting.

Ever watch a mother bird, prepare for the arrival of her younglings? She scampers about, tidying and preparing her nest in anxious anticipation. Watch also the heavily pregnant cat, who prowls about nervously and agitatedly, in excitement and readiness for birth.

Turns out us humans are not too different from our animal friends. We have the same instinct to prepare a home for the arrival of a baby- and boy, have I been nesting!

My mother and C are two people very familiar with my usual modus operandi- I chuck, stash and horde my stuff- clothes, stationery, shoes, whatever- usually randomly scattered all over the house. My poor obsessive-compulsively neat husband has been driven to tears by my messiness, and has resorted to threats, fines and even pleading. For example:

"If you throw away 3 pairs of shoes, I'll buy you a new pair."
or
"If I see one more stray cup around the house, you're getting fined $50."
or
(my favorite) "If you love me, you'll tidy up your desk."

Of course, I tend to think that I'm the normal person and he's just a tad, well, fussy would be a kind word. I like clutter, what can I say? I think it makes the home more homely.

I'm improved my cleanliness standards by leaps and bounds already, since living with C, but this nesting instinct has taken me to new heights.
Since it hit me around my 5th month of preggo-hood, I've:
1. Reorganized my entire wardrobe
2. Thrown out about 25 peices of clothing
3. Given away five pairs of shoes
4. Tidied my bookshelves
5. Am in the midst of creating a new filing system for my notes
6. Created space for all that baby stuff (without any NEW storage furniture!)

Here's the evidence:

Now you may think its nothing, but it is a VAST improvement from what was formerly there. The last pic is baby clothing organized according to size. And yes, I've taken all that good advice, and did not cut off any tags off the fancy clothing (that I might return), except for the basic white side-snap onesies.
Now, onwards and upwards- let the all that washing begin!

Endings & Beginnings

2009-06-10T16:08:00.007-06:00

Last Friday I had my last class of Spring quarter, marking the end of my second year at Northwestern. Like all endings, it was a bittersweet moment- I felt so accomplished and relieved, but yet sad and a little lost. It really didn't help that the majority of my classmates that I began this program with will be graduating come June 20th. Some brought cupcakes in the school's purple and white colors (above) and even champagne to celebrate. Only the six of us- those career switchers without a B.A. in Psych- will have to wait one extra year until June 2010 to get our hands on that well-earned certificate.
And on Monday, I said goodbye to a client at my internship site, the first goodbyes of many, as I begin the process of termination, and she surprised with a whole bag of pink baby stuff. I almost cried, I was that touched.
Here was a client, unemployed and broke and troubled, and she went and bought me all this, even though she didn't really have to. If I ever doubted the real-ness and impact of our relationship in her life, I had none left after this.
Another client, a lady in a support group that I co-led, actually knitted a pair of mittens:
They are perfect! I was really moved by what she did. I guess it was because it was all so unexpected, that I was especially touched.
I'm going to have to say goodbye to more clients tomorrow, and then begin my new internship next week at a eating disorder clinic. I'm happy to be moving on, but I am so sad to be leaving behind people, connections and relationships that have touched my heart in profound ways.

Getting used to my new brain

2009-06-08T14:45:00.001-06:00

A week ago I was tidying up the kitchen counter after a meal and accidentally carried the ketchup into the master bedroom. It was not until I reached my bed did I realize what I was doing.

"Pregnancy brain is a condition that affects expectant mothers, usually during the first and third trimesters. Sometimes known as placenta brain or baby brain drain, the condition is usually characterized by short-term memory loss or forgetfulness. Some medical experts say that pregnancy brain is a myth, but evidence shows that many women have experienced this condition." -wisegeek.com

This completely explains why I've why:
1. Double-booked myself, not once but twice
2. Made C drive us to a meeting only to find out it was only going to start in 2 weeks time
3. Been forgetting my appointments/errands
4. Been having to write everything down in my diary to prevent (3)

Before pregnancy I never needed a diary- ever. I memorized appointments, assignments, birthdays etc. If I had one, it was only for entertainment's sake- I liked feeling organized, but I never really needed one.

Everything's changed now. I look at my diary daily, check off my to-do lists weekly- and I still feel like I'm forgetting something.
Don't even start me on what's its like doing math with this new brain! I can barely count with my two hands.
Maybe its true after all- they say that the preggie brain shrinks by up to 2%- Thank God it comes back after the birth. (right??)
Keeping my fingers crossed.

30 weeks: Some observations

2009-06-05T08:03:00.006-06:00

If I were to write TV episodes ala Friends style, pregnancy would look like this-

1st trimester: The one where you puke
2nd trimester: The one where everyone thinks you're cute
3rd trimester: The one where you get fat

Of course, no one actually tells you you're fat. Especially not my sweet husband, who just rolls his eyes and says: "Don't be silly, you're pregnant." Like that's going to reassure any hormonal, brain-shrinking, crazy-nesting pregnant woman.

This is me at 30 weeks preggo, weighing in at a grand 129 pounds (or 59 kg):

Close up of the bump:

As you can probably tell, I have kinda exploded in the bump department. From my 5th month on, the little one inside has made it her business to put on the pounds. I feel like I'm carrying a watermelon around.

Aside from feeling heavy and pretty tired nowadays from lugging around that melon, I'm feeling more secure and much less unafraid now that I've hit the big 3-0. Being 30 weeks means that the fetus' lungs are now fully mature and should it have to enter the outside world, it has a much better chance of survival. So I can lie some of the kiasu worries to rest. Just some- cos' you know how many worries motherhood brings (and the baby is not even here yet!)

I'm also now quite obviously pregnant and get preggo privileges- like doors being opened for me, going on the bus first, perfect strangers stopping on the street and let me pass and of course, first pick of where to eat with my friends. People are so much nicer when I'm pregnant!
Interestingly, there's also much less of all that sexual/racial harassment stuff that I encountered when I first moved here. It seems like preggos do command considerable respect, especially from men. My theory is that being pregnant is a sign of power- the ability to give and carry life- and it is this power differential that sometimes scares men. They either show more respect to a preggo, avoid them, or on the extreme end, abuse them. Victims of domestic violence actually report that as they got more visibly pregnant, their abusive partners got increasingly more abusive. One study showed that the most vulnerable time of a woman's life is one she is 6 to 9 months pregnant- exactly where I am right now.

But on to more positive and brighter things- before the therapist in me rambles further on-
another benefit from being so preggo is now I can look at all the first & second trimester preggies in my pre-natal yoga class and think: "Ahh, I've been there!" Its like being a senior in high school- you feel just that tiny bit more experienced. And the feeling of- if I got through all that nausea and fatigue, surely, surely, I can get through this final leg of the journey.

The girl has spoken

2009-06-03T14:21:00.000-06:00

Generally, after people here ask me how the pregnancy is progressing, they would ask: "So any strange cravings?"
I think for a bit, and say: "Chocolate."
And they say, "Why, that's not strange at all!"
I agree.
A craving for chocolate is not as strange as say, pickles and ice cream or chicken and waffles.
The closest weird behavior I have was eating papaya and chips.

Other than that, its chocolate, chocolate, chocolate all the way- encouraged, undoubtedly by the little girl in my womb. She kicks- strongly and responsively, when I ingest chocolate. It can be chocolate in any form- milk, ice cream, cake, cookie- and she somehow tastes it and moves, as if to tell me: "Yummers!"
Ahh, she has good taste.
It has to be milk or dark chocolate though- and in good, obvious quantities. And I've been making detours just to get my hands on some almost everyday.
I just hope it doesn't all go to my ass.

Doing everything I'm not supposed to

2009-06-01T15:22:00.000-06:00

Beach weather has hit Chicago-finally! And I am grateful to be waddling around in my third trimester in shorts and flip-flops rather than coats and boots.
Of course, soon I'll be complaining about the heat. Preggies have a higher basal temperature than normal folks- of about 1-2 deg C- so the heat is going to get to me. Being due in August - the hottest month historically in this city where temps go sky high- is going to be one sweaty challenge.
Above, I'm suntanning on the Indiana beach, with nice big supersized Coke beside me. I know, I know- preggo no-nos- but hey, I limited myself to five big sips. And I'm wearing suncreen.

Burning Pregnancy Question 2: Just when does sexism begin?

2009-05-27T15:02:00.001-06:00

I know the answer to that one:
IN THE WOMB.

Before I found out the gender of my baby, family, friends and even random passers-by had great fun forecasting, guessing and solemnly pronouncing...

"Boy, its so definitely a boy. I got a feeling."
"Girl, girl because I had breakouts just like you when I was carrying a girl."
"Boy lah, can't you tell?"
"Girl, cause your tummy is so round!"

I had great fun too, listening to strangers' opinions, reading old wives' tales and generally really wanting to know. And no, I had no "feeling" whatsoever. Unlike some, my baby did not send me a mysterious message from the sky in pink or blue.

There was one thing that was not a mystery, however. It was what gender my family was gunning for. More specifically, what my parents were hoping for.

I'm an only child who grew up listening to my father's boxing tales and fighting stories. It really didn't take a genius to figure out that he had always wanted a boy to teach boy things to. As for my mum? I think she wanted a boy too, so that my father could have his dream.

When I landed at Changi, a mere five minutes after getting my luggage and giving me a cursory hug, my dad immediately asked: "So, do you know the gender?....Is it a boy?"
I could hear the hope in his voice. I didn't answer him immediately because, honestly, I did not want to disappoint him.

When I did tell my folks that they were going to have a granddaughter, they tried, in vain, to hide their blatant disappointment. How did I feel? Small, sad and somehow... ashamed.

I know, it did not make sense at all. There was really nothing to be ashamed of. No one can control the sex of one's child, but yet here I was, feeling like a lesser person because I had not produced a baby with a penis.

As I watched my mother hide her own shame and disappointment when telling other family members about the gender of her grandchild, my sadness turned into anger. As I heard the reactions from other relatives, ("Never mind, you can try again for a boy next time."), I literally seethed with rage.

My little girl was being discriminated against even before she was born. She was being judged as a lesser being because of her lack of some sex organ. As a mere fetus, she was already considered not equal to a male.

Was it surprising then, to read that it is statistically proven that women have higher rates of anxiety, depression, body image issues and eating disorders? If our society begins its judgment in utero, how can we expect our girls and women to grow up not feeling like they have to fight harder all the time?

Did she deserve this? Did I deserve this? For no greater crime than being women.

It made me wonder, how did my own mother feel when she found out she was carrying a girl? Was she also shamed by society, and was that how she learned to pass down her shame to the next generation?

I am determined that that shame stops here. I might have felt the urge to carry the traditional expectations of my Cantonese heritage, but I am determined that my child will not feel any less than what she really is- God's perfect gift to us.

She is and will be a treasured, strong and proud woman, in all her glory. And as C said, "Try again? There is nothing to try for. We want a girl!"

(I'm so thankful to have a husband who actually prefers a girl.)

GIRL!!! Arrow points to 'see no penis'. And I will shout that lovely piece of news from the hilltops!

NB: Another reason to for me to be grateful about being pregnant in the States vs. Singapore- NO ONE here has reacted with negativism when I tell them its a girl. None of that "Too bad, you can try again" BS. Instead, I am warmly hugged and told, "Aww. She's going to be so cute! We need more girls."

It's all about me, all the time

2009-05-25T08:01:00.001-06:00

I don't know about you, but I think pregnancy has made me infinitely more selfish.

I mean, if you think about it, its a time of extreme change- physical, mental, emotional- for a woman and you can't really blame her if she suddenly finds herself fascinating. Every twinge, every ache, every change in her body is a mystery. Every stage of pregnancy demands adaption, and is closely monitored. Values and ideals of life are questioned, taken apart and put together again.
It is a time when a woman goes inward into herself, into deep introspection... and slowly begins to detach from (perhaps ignore?) the needs of those around her.
Well, at least for me, anyway.
It's all about what I want to do, where I need to go, and most of all, above all, what I want to EAT.

C has an opinion? WHO CARES. C isn't hungry yet? WHO CARES. C doesn't want to eat another burger? WHO CARES? C is too full to share that chocolate cake? WHO CARES. (wait a minute, I don't need him to share it anyway- I'll eat it all by myself.)

No one comes between a pregnant woman and her food.

That's why, when it came to choosing a restaurant for our 4th wedding anniversary last week, all I cared about was what I wanted to eat. C, having learned the hard way, meekly bowed out of the way and said :"It's up to you, dear." (smart man, this)

I ended up choosing one of the top restaurants in Chicago called Alinea, who is helmed by a celebrity chef known for his works of molecular gastronomy- Grant Achatz, who won the James Beard Foundation's Outstanding Chef award in 2006, and who despite being diagnosed with tongue cancer, continued creating fantastic dishes- or so say his fans.

It's one of those once in a lifetime meals. And I figured, now is the time to do it, when its just C & me without a screaming toddler to care for. So I called a day before our anniversary and by sheer luck got a 5:30pm reservation for the 12- course tasting menu. (They actually said: "We can only offer you the 12-course. Sorry.") The alternative was a 24-course (24!!) meal which costs $225. Not something I can stomach.

Me at 28 weeks, wearing the only formal outfit I could fit into:
This is actually a non-maternity dress that's four years old. Thank goodness for my collection of pregnant friendly tops and dresses.

Our menu:
The menu might look impressive, but the food sadly wasn't. Complex and intriguing it was, but it wasn't gob-smacking delicious. We spent most of the evening peering down at our food in bafflement.
I'm inspecting the RHUBARB dish, which came on a pillow of lavender air. When the plate is placed on the pillow, the air escapes, which creates a new dimension to the dish. C & I were sniffing around our table unglamorously, a little like our cats near fish.
The CHOCOLATE dish, the one I waited for the entire night. Thank goodness it tasted better than it looks! The clump of brown on the upper left hand side is the chocolate. The blue gobs are blueberry essences, and the white glob in the centre is maple ice cream. That strip of biscuit on top? Tobacco.
This is SWEET POTATO, the last dish. If you ask me, it looks like joss sticks and if served in a predominantly Chinese country, surely people will think pan tang. Its actually burnt cinnamon sticks with a glob of brown sugar, bourbon and sweet potato at the bottom. You're supposed to eat it ala satay style.

I can safely conclude that this molecular gastronomy affair was not for us. It was fun to experience it, but we'll be much happier with steak and fries or ramen or chicken rice or good old fashioned chocolate cake any day of the week. It was all too stiff and proper for us. I like our food to look like.... food. (and not globs of mud).

I spent the reminder of the evening apologizing profusely to C for my bad dinner choice. He was gracious enough to forgive me.

Ah well, at least we'll remember this anniversary!

wednesday, may 20, 2009

2009-05-20T15:47:00.000-06:00

Today I woke up at 8:00 am to sunlight pouring through the windows.
The temperature was 85F (or 28C).
There was a breeze in the air.
I made my breakfast of bread with nutella & cheese.
I chugged down my chocolate milk.
I watered my plant.
I checked my email.
I got on g-chat and talked with a friend.
At 10:35 am I took the train to my pre-natal yoga class.
I felt really good.
After my class I crossed the street to get a ham & cheese croissant.
On the way back I stopped by Anthropologie.
There I spent $112.50 on a babydoll top, pair of white sandals, a hairclip, a duck candle, a blue oven mitten and a planting kit.
They were all on sale.
I felt even better.
I walked home in the sunshine.
I got home, put away my things and planted the new seedlings.
I watered my new plant.
I put it beside my old plant on my deck.
I smiled.
I felt like I had created life.
I felt really really great.

So this is the part where I get standing-up cellulite

2009-05-19T19:10:00.007-06:00

Reading Dooce's recent post on her latest cravings for all things processed and artificially sweetened in her 8th month of pregnancy made me realize one crucial thing: the 3rd trimester is when I officially get the license to go nuts.

After I got past my nausea in my first trimester, my main craving was kuay chap and chwee kueh, both of which I successfully satiated during our trip home. Post-Singapore, however, I have been noticing a most interesting development.
I no longer have a craving for Singapore food.

Baffling isn't it?
I mean, the thought of chicken rice still excites me in more ways than one, but I no longer spend hours of my day fantasizing over it. I'm quite happy chugging down pasta, burgers, fries and all things American. Heck, I'm happy just to eat.

Interestingly, I have new obsession-
all things SWEET.

On Thursday, I had a carrot cream cheese cupcake (pictured).
On Friday, an orgasmic peanut butter chocolate cake.
On Saturday, a nutella cheesecake (yup you read right).
On Sunday, waffles with nutella and vanilla ice cream.
On Monday, a dark chocolate cake & half a slice of lemon cheesecake.
On Tuesday, the remaining half of the cheesecake.

(and this is of course, on top of my other four savory meals per day)

During the latest visit to my midwife, I stood on the scale to get weighed as usual and I got a raised eyebrow from the nurse. "You put on 6 pounds in 4 weeks?!" I bit my lip and said softly, "Water retention?"

Where will all this go?
Right to my thighs, I guess.

NB: Baby kicks whenever I eat chocolate. The little one has good taste.

Burning Pregnancy Question 1: Do you have to ditch your pets?

2009-05-16T16:37:00.000-06:00

When one becomes pregnant there are certain expectations from society that your life will or should change, in specific ways.
Of course, it all depends what society you belong to.
There are unspoken expectations, of course, that preggies will be become more homely, get gradually preoccupied with poo and puke and will slowly relinquish their former status as formerly carefree individuals.
Some of these expectations are valid and some actually do happen. But some don't. And some are really ridiculous. And it was one such ridiculous suggestion that really drove me up the wall.
This particular one came from a smattering of people- my in-laws & some friends whose opinion I respect and value- which makes it even more disturbing.
The question was:
So aren't you going to get rid of your cats?

My in-laws first popped the question, but when I went around sharing that incredulous suggestion with friends, to my horror some actually began nodding and quizzing us- Yeah, you guys should consider that.
The opinions came in various forms:

Cats' feces are harmful for mum & baby Cats, being pets, are "dirty". Cat fur will clog baby's lungs. Cats, being unpredictable, might scratch baby. You guys will probably not have time to take care or play with them when baby is here.

Of all the suggestions, only the last had any validity. I knew of so many cat owners who went on to have healthy children. In modern day Singapore, why did so many of my well-educated friends still entertain such myths?
Worse, they made us feel like we were BAD PARENTS for risking the life of our unborn fetus for the sake of our pets.

I admit, the suggestions came to such a crescendo that both C & I actually began considering giving away our cats. C became really concerned that our confinement lady would have to sleep with the cats (we only have two rooms) and she wasn't a kitty person at all. Plus I think all those months of clearing the litter himself finally wore on him. We began discussing options-shelters, people we thought could take them etc.

I felt so guilty just discussing it. For one, I had flashbacks of when I adopted my first cat- the lady who ran the shelter asked me: "So will you give away your cat when you get pregnant?" I said an adamant "no". Was I going to break that promise now?

The question bugged me throughout my trip in Singapore. Only on the flight from Changi to Narita did I arrive at my decision. I thought about my unborn child and her questions she might one day have for us.
What if she saw photos of the cats we had and asked me, "Mummy, where are the cats now?" Did I really want to tell her we gave them away because of social pressure, because of some irrational thought that they might hurt her, that because of her we had to send them to a shelter to be put to death?
Absolutely not. I would want her to have the opportunity to play with them, to know them, to care for them. To share in our love for animals.

To give them away would be a betrayal of my character. Of my values. And I do not want my child to experience that.

The cats stay.

Azuki suntans on our deck. Spring is officially here, and even my kitties are less depressed.

NB: A week ago Azuki (pictured) in a race against his brother accidentally jumped on my leg and scratched me in three places. C freaked. A question crossed my mind, what if it had been my child on the sofa instead of me? I entertained that for two seconds. There are a lot of what-ifs in life. I have to trust my gut. And I have to trust God.

When does a mother become a mother?

2009-05-09T20:20:00.001-06:00

Take 1:

I roll around in bed and say in a small voice: "So do I get a card for mother's day?"
C flips a page on his magazine: "Mother's day? Sure, if you want one, I can give you one."
(This is obviously the WRONG answer.)
I, perturbed by his lack of sincerity, say:"Well, I dunno. Technically am I a mother yet?"
C nods in agreement and say nonchalantly:"Yeah lor, that's what I thought. I mean you haven't popped yet...so...not really?"
Hurt, I turn over and pretend to go to sleep. Of course, all I'm thinking is KNS (for all you non-Hokkien wearing folks- that's ka na sai.)

Take 2:
I tell C in the car: "I sent my mother's day card to my mum today."
C, blur like sotong:"When is mother's day again?"

Do I have to spell in out in CAPS on a flaming red banner and wave at in front of him? I guess men don't take hints very well- wait, they don't take them at all. Hints probably fly past their head and land in their stinky socks.

So, no such luck with C. But I've unexpectedly gotten mother's day wishes from two random men. The owner of a Vietnamese restaurant, who, upon seeing my belly, gave me complimentary fruits to go with my order of Pho, and yelled loudly across the counter: "Happy Mother's Day!" And an African American man, walking by me yesterday, glancing over and saying: "You have a good mother's day." To which I replied, "Why, thank you."

Sometimes it is the unexpected that hits the spot.

NB: C eventually asked me what I would like. And I did the mature thing, did not assume he should read my mind and told him exactly what I wanted- an hour long prenatal massage (yup, another one) & a spa pedicure.
Blessed Mother's Day to all mothers and mothers-to-be!

26 weeks: Entering virgin territory

2009-05-08T12:53:00.006-06:00

After getting my pre-natal massage last week I casually stepped on the scale and saw the numbers flash to: 121.5 pounds (= 55.3kg).

The world spun, my head swirled, and I let out a huge gasp. I'm officially the heaviest I have ever been in my life!

The closest I have ever been to the 55kg mark was when I was 21, in my first American winter at Cornell University on an exchange program and stuffing my face with bagels and waffles every single day. My mistake then was to get on the all-you-can-eat meal plan. Unbeknownst to me at that time, Cornell had (and has) of producing the reputation of the best food on a college campus. They breed their own cows, for goodness sake- and the milk from those cows get turned into yummy, fresh ice cream, available at every corner, 24 hours a day.
*drool*
This is me at 26 weeks, clearly popping:
I am surprisingly calm about the steady weight gain and the ballooning of my entire mid-section. When I was a mere 16 year old, I thought of pregnancy with horror, and my biggest fear at that time was gaining weight. I remember thinking: "What if I never loose the weight, like ever? What if I become one of those fat, sloppy, tired mothers I see on the MRT?" Of course, I was an image-obsessed teen heading towards a flirtation with an eating disorder at that time.
Looking back, I shudder and think Aiyoh, so superficial. But it was a real preoccupation for me at that point of my life, and my new perspective on weight is a testament to my growth and maturity as a woman. (Funny how so many things that mattered 10 years ago no longer do.)

I have learned to embrace my new side/front/back profiles, with newfound glee.
Weight gain?
Bahh! I'll just get bigger pants.

(I'm especially cherry here- showing off my new G-star top in size L for a mere $27! Got it from a closing down sale down the street. Ah, its a good time for shoppers in the USA.)

Exactly 100 days to go

2009-05-06T18:10:00.007-06:00

I'm not sure what I should freak out about: the fact that I have only 100 days to go to the projected due date, or that my boobs can now touch my belly.
No kidding. I don't even have to bend or stoop over. All I have to do is to sit on the toilet seat and viola! the boobs merge with the belly. Heck, all I have to do is SIT.
My boobs have been steadily evolving into milking machines- the jump up two cup sizes (much to delight of husband), the morphing of my nipples into solid teats and the sudden appearance of bright blue veins- yup, they all scream C O W.
But aside from staring at my own boobs while watching America's Next Top Model, I think I've been doing pretty OK. I have come to the point- from shock, denial, worry, fear- to a happy and peaceful acceptance of my impending motherhood.
Boy, I hope this feeling lasts.

No matter how much has been written about motherhood, I think there is more to say. Simply because it continues to amaze all women, both mothers and non-mothers. I was in my Career Psychology class this afternoon and two real-life cases came up for discussion: One, a successful orthodontist who suddenly wanted out of a her 12 year long career after the birth of her first child, and a grant writer who is struggling with conflicting priorities of making money and being with her daughter.
The class discussion generated some interesting questions:
- How does motherhood change one's identity? Does it bring on something of an identity crisis?
- Why do women feel the need to do it all- work & family- and not only do it all, but do it all in superlative terms?
-And why do some women, after having tasted both a fulfilling career and raising a family, decide to devote their lives to the latter, in stark contrast to earlier generations of women who fought to get females into the workforce?

For me, motherhood does not bring about so much of a crisis, as much of a revolution.
From day one, when the knowledge that there was new life in my body finally hit my dazed and confused brain, I changed- inside and out- and this process is still taking place, while the baby is still in utero. I don't know how I will change as a person when the little one is here: Will I feel less passionate about being a psychologist? Will I suddenly discover that all I desire is to spend my days at home with my child? Or will I be like many other Singaporean mothers who are happy to leave their children in daycare or at their grandparents' while they continue to pursue their financial goals?
Or, will I drive myself into a tizzy trying to do both to perfection, only to one day wake up to find myself underweight, sunken and unhappy and scream, "I can't do it anymore!"
The fact is, there is no right or wrong.

It is all, so very personal. And I guess I'm going to find out, very soon.

Yet another thing to blame on those hormones

2009-05-01T19:42:00.007-06:00

You might have noticed a little change on this blog-
AHA! Yup those preggie hormones are demanding Change, with a capital C, which might explain why I've recently thrown out 5 pairs of shoes, 28 pieces of clothing (10 of which I have kept for the last six years), much to my husband's delight, and why I no longer find unagi appetizing.
Nesting instincts, cravings, and a sudden preoccupation with pink underwear - I've got them all. I'm changing, and I've felt a need to express that change on this website. Which, by the way, hasn't seen a layout revamp in over a year.
It's time.
So please excuse the sudden cute-ness of this blog and the sudden disappearance of Lobo the cat.
Let me know if you like it! (or not)

Unsolicited advice*

2009-04-28T15:16:00.005-06:00

Reactions from Singaporeans upon hearing about my pregnancy:
"Congratulations!!! (and then)
.....wah, so fast ah?
.....You how old ah? (Wah, so old already meh?)
.....(or) Why so fast? Must enjoy your couplehood more.
.....Aiyoh, you must be careful leh, after baby your marriage surely change one.
.....How come you still not fat leh?

.....You should: Avoid lamb, shun pineapple, not eat any cooling foods, drink bird's nest three times a week, put your legs up whenever you can, get your mother to go help you, stay in bed, do not jump at all costs, limit char kuay teow, don't drink orange juice or else your kid will have phlem, bath in hot water, don't waste your money on baby clothes etc etc etc."

Reactions from Americans upon hearing about my pregnancy:
"Congratulations!!! You are the cutest pregnant woman evar!!"
(Absolutely ZERO advice offered)

Now, can you blame me for thanking my lucky stars that I am going through my pregnancy in the U.S.?

* This is no way refers to the advice that I actually ask for from my fantastic mummy friends.

The lights are on and somebody's home

2009-04-25T19:46:00.004-06:00

I've had four ultrasounds so far- first time was my visit at the doctor's to confirm the pregnancy and got to see the little bean (my husband teared at this one- and said, "This is one of the most touching moments in my life."), second time to determine my due date (when I saw the little one dance), third time because of an emergency which sent me to the ER (a horrendous experience I would never want to repeat) and fourth, the latest scan to determine any possible birth defects.

I thank God that all tests- I've peed in a cup at least 10 times, and given about six test tubes of blood- show that our baby is healthy and whole and growing well.

Here's the little one at 19 weeks:

baby giving us a wave (spot the hand)

It was at this ultrasound that the technician points out the baby's heart, stomach, hands, feet, brain etc...and then it hit me- this is a real person, with a real spirit, growing inside me! How weird is that? And how amazing and how miraculous can that be?

baby's feet

What's the point?

2009-04-23T08:53:00.003-06:00

I saw this TVC last night and almost fell off my chair. KFC is producing GRILLED chicken?!
Talk about an ultimate betrayal of your brand.
Why would I go to KFC for grilled chicken? I go to KFC for fried, nasty, oily, sinful chicken. That's what I appreciate and remember it for, anyway. If I want healthy chicken, I cook it myself, or go somewhere else.

No doubt its doing this to jump on the health bandwagon to get more ka-ching ($) in its cash registers.
Ahhh...to sell one's brand soul for money, tis sad.

I ask you: Would YOU go eat an unfried, grilled chicken drumstick from KFC?

You can read more about it here.

Back post: at 11 weeks

2009-04-22T10:16:00.000-06:00

Written on January 22nd

At precisely 11 weeks pregnant, I puked my breakfast down the kitchen sink.
Mind you, I am NOT the kind who vomits.
The only other time I have was when I had been club-hopping and chugging down vodka for my 21st birthday. I puked on the street outside Zouk and then collapsed into a heap in an alley drain aka long-kang.
Not very glam.
I have been feeling distinctly nauseas for 5 weeks now- I have the all-day sickness- but I have so far successfully kept my food down.

Until now. I find myself, against my will, pathetically hugging my sink, vomiting the hot chocolate and banana I just ingested.
After I'm done, I feel surprisingly better- like the elephant that has been sitting on my stomach finally decided to take his leave.
Now, what am I going to do about my splitting headache?

Note: With the first trimester safely behind me, I can say "BOO, Nausea!!" I feel perfectly fine now, except for a small and nagging backache. But weeks 5 through 13 were hell- I was at my most pathetic state- pukey, fatigued and battling depression from winter. This just shows that in motherhood, sacrifice begins from Day One- when your baby is barely a zygote.

On that very personal thing

2009-04-21T14:58:00.009-06:00

Most of you on my invited list already know my worst kept secret to date:

I'm preggers!
I chose to lock this blog before writing about it because for some strange reason, pregnancy has brought out the most vulnerable parts of me, and having some semblance of control over the size of my audience brings me that wee bit of comfort. (i.e. I do not want some gossipy friend from high school stumbling on my worst fears as a soon-to-be mother and then having to deal with the questions that will inevitably follow)

As requested by some, here are some pics of my growing belly:

at 13 weeks

at 16 weeks
at 20 weeks

at 22 weeks

Pics are taken by C, who does not excel in the art of photography, (I complain he does not exactly take me looking my prettiest) so I attempted to take that last shot myself, in Ubud, not knowing how tricky it really is - the posing, holding cam, tip-toeing and smiling- doing a Karen Cheng.

I "outed" my news in this order: Husband, Therapist, Doctor, Cat-Sitter,Friend, Husband's boss, my boss, parents & parents-in-law, more friends, classmates, an accidental leak on facebook, and now, the blogsphere! Who am I kidding, the bump is getting too big to pretend its the result of an all-you-can-eat buffet. Although I honestly think most of my exponential growth was during that home trip, when I stuffed myself with chwee kueh- seven times.

On living with an obsessive-compulsive

2009-04-16T10:03:00.004-06:00

Upon our return I got to see the very detailed instructions my husband left for our cat-sitter. It wasn't enough that I had already written an email describing the changes in our cats' diets. Note: The circles drawn are literally the exact sizes of the canned pet food. And did you notice the color codes for each cat? Green for Azuki, blue for Lobo?
C was very proud of his work.

The best pulot in Singapore

2009-04-13T10:44:00.000-06:00

That's me staring delightfully at the best pulot hitam in Singapore.
Pulot hitam is black rice pudding, often served with a healthy dollop of coconut milk. I believe it has Peranakan origins.
Served hot, just stir and enjoy.
I've tried tons of pulot hitam not only in Singapore, but also across the world- San Francisco, Vancouver, Bali and Lombok.
This one hits the spot.
The best pulots have the right density, texture and taste- this one has it all.
Please keep this stall open and running (at least until I return)! Go to:
Tiong Bahru Market
(a big, 2-storey market that just renovated)
Level 2
And find a desert stall with a yellow signboard, run by two relatively young (30ish) men.
(They also sell very good tau suan)

One big wet spill later

2009-04-12T20:10:00.005-06:00

The flight back was uneventful, except for when my chair malfunctioned momentarily, and oh, the bit when the air stewardess knocked the breakfast tray on my water glass and wet my entire lap. Yup, I sat there in shocked, with drenched underwear and cordoruy jeans.

And I was sitting in business class, mind you.
Thank God I only had two hours of the flight left to go.
I spent it trying to dry myself with paper towels. The air stewardess, so traumatized by her spillage, stopped by at least eight times to apologize in broken English and fluent Japanese. It turned out that I had to reassure her that everything was going to be OK.

This 3 week trip home was a lot different from the ones before. I can't really place my finger on it, but it seems that I have changed in my relationship with the motherland irreparably.
I still love home, I still savor the tastes and smells and the sound of the sea breeze, and I still appreciate what humidity does for my hair.
But I have learned, the hard way, that I can no longer tolerate the crowds, the craziness and the whole ethos of tear-down-and-renovate. Nor can I stand the obsession with malls and the lack of silence.
My days home felt more and more oppressive and I began to long for an empty street. Just to walk down a lane or two without meeting another person. It wasn't possible in Singapore, not even in Woodlands. I had to wait to come back to Chicago for that.

I didn't feel this way when I returned for visits previously. My guess is that something happened when I crossed the two year mark. You see, in the first year away, time is spent exploring and adapting, feeling excited and uncertain. There isn't really time to create an identity away from home. In the second year, with all the touristy things done, time is dedicated to building a community, knowing who one is away from family and friends, and generally adapting oneself to suit the new environment. I got used to the transport system, the roads, the potholes, the bus fares, the catch phrases, the nuances between neighborhoods, the class disparities.
There was a whole other part of me now. The part of me that enjoyed my solitude, the part of me that appreciated the challenges of my work, the part of me that battled winter, and the part of me that would never take chwee kueh for granted ever again.
When one crosses that two year point away from home- one has to deal with handling two separate yet similiar identities. And confronting the question: Where do I really want to live for the next 3, 5, 10 years, now that I actually have a choice about the matter?
*Our first meal after arrival. The yummy Tokyo Banana (from our transit in Narita) with a cup of instant Milo. I know, pretty sad, given the fact that I was in Crystal Jade a mere 24 hours ago. But surprisingly, I didn't feel that bitter this time.

Locked

2009-04-07T21:55:00.003-06:00

I know I haven't posted in a while, and the primary reason for that (besides Life in general) is something really personal, something that I have often wished I could write about on this space, but have not.
I've hesitated to do so because I am scared shitless about exposing myself to an intangible and unboundaried Internet. I'm scared of being that vulnerable.
There, I said it.

So, for the next couple of months, until I'm ready to tell all, I'm going to limit this blog to invited readers only. I know the email addresses of some of the people whom I'd like to invite, but if you are an anonymous, silent reader who would like to be included- and not a serial killer or blog stalker or government spy- please comment below and I'd be happy to add your email to the list.

Thanks for coming back even though I've been such a bad blog updater.

With four days left in this part of the world

2009-04-07T21:23:00.003-06:00

I'm writing this 16 days into my trip back home, with only four paltry days left to savor the sights and sounds and tastes of sunny, sweaty, noisy Singapore.
The next time I'll be here? Late June 2010.
When I officially move back for good- for about five years at least- until I feel the urge to escape its craziness once again.
For it is a little crazy isn't it? It is filled with a pulsating, intense, irritating, rushed craziness. It is jam packed with people going to and fro. Squeezed tight in buses and trains all having someplace to go, someplace to be.
There is never a moment of stillness. A time of emptiness. Never a pause.

I made a comment to a group of friends the other day about the sounds that fill the air in this island. Specifically I ranted about the incessant buzzes and beeps that occupy the space. For example, the loud *BEE BEE BEE* before the MRT doors close, the *TEE* of the ERP machines, the *CHEW CHEW CHEW* of the traffic lights, the *TAA* when you swipe your transitlink card before you exit the bus.
Is it really necessary? I asked. Is really that important to fill our ears and minds with sounds that mimic an emergency evacuation?
How have the sounds we have chosen influenced the way we live? And why have we even chosen such sounds?
Really ah? My friends said. So interesting leh, your observation. I guess we never really noticed them.

I had to force myself sit and breathe deeply this morning. I took out my diary and pen and made myself listen to my core self. I needed to go inside myself.
Because even though I do love this place I call home, I really don't know if I even like what it is capable of making me become.

Encounters with Madness

2009-02-05T09:04:00.002-06:00

Everytime I see an American dressed in a t-shirt and jeans in 0C weather, I think...
MADNESS.

Everytime I see a woman jogging through the streets of Chicago in heavy snowfall and trudging through ice, I think...
MADNESS.

That day I read about how some people here love winter because they like to shovel snow. I think....
MADNESS.

Yesterday the newspaper guy around the corner yelled: "Enjoy today! It's going to be the last cold one in a while!" (It was -16C). I think...
MADNESS.

It's going to hit 11C this Saturday- I think....FINALLY.

Gong Xi Gong Xi

2009-02-01T10:10:00.005-06:00

Yu-sheng-ing. Me at far right. C is taking the pic.

It's February! And yes, I am well aware that I've been on a long hiatus from the blogosphere for over a month now, with good reason, I assure you.
Some of the reasons are, in no random order: a dreary winter, a heavy workload, repeated bouts of the flu and a lack of desire to write. And just like everything, the less I blog, the easier it becomes not to.
I guess after two years of living in Chicago, might I daresay I've run out of things to say?
Dare I say, its become a place I am so accustomed to, that I find nothing weird about it any longer-*gulp* just like a place I would call....home?

NAH.

I wouldn't say that.
I'm definitely not accustomed to the lack of Chinese New Year celebrations in this city, not when I know what my friends and relatives are doing halfway across the world- eating on my behalf. CNY is when homesickness hits me the worst and I try not to dwell on self-pity as I cook another MSG-laden instant noodle soup.
Thank goodness for a friend's mother, who cooked us nonya food (beef rendang, chicken curry) and carted a plate of yu-sheng all the way from Singapore. I was happy nibling on my kueh lapis and mandarin orange the entire evening.
This is my 3rd CNY away from home. Hopefully, it will be my last.

Seriously no joke

2008-12-21T16:07:00.004-06:00

Winds gusting at 68km/h careened through my Ambercombie cap and into my scalp. I felt my hair follicles freeze. Poor hubby had to spend 45 minutes under such severe conditions shoveling the snow that has buried my car. Now I truly know the meaning of snowed-in.

The other part

2008-12-09T20:11:00.004-06:00

Yes, there is another part about winter I failed to mention in my previous post. Although it is horribly cold to the point where I can feel my brain cells freeze over and my bones rattles in my rib cage, winter brings a kind of a quiet that only it can bring.
The ice, hail and snow covers the city with a strange and ethereal beauty. As humans concede to the power of nature, there is a sense of reverence for a greater power. And after the storm passes, quietness takes it place. People hurry home, emptying the streets.
So silence, it seems, and its calming presence, has filled the space instead, making it calm and surreal.
This is a photo that captures what I'm trying to describe.

S.A.D.

2008-12-08T18:14:00.000-06:00

On Dec 1st, we had our first snowfall of the year. Its always romantic and whimsical to see the first snowflakes drift in the sky and land at your feet.

But when it starts to become a snow storm, and accumulates on decks, sidewalks and roofs with amazing speed, eventually grinding traffic to a halt, its no fun.

Along with the snow, the sun has begun its descend earlier and earlier in the day. The usual sunset this month? 4:19pm. That translates into a mere 8 hours of sunlight.
Sometimes, there isn't even that, because the clouds gather and create such a gloomy overcast that it becomes such a pain to get out of bed and put on some respectable clothes.
I get grouchy and little depressed, I hibernate for hours, and I take refuge in chocolate bars. I stop exercising, become a TV addict and try to avoid going out as much as possible.
You could say I have a semblance of Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D.). SAD happens when normally mentally healthy folks get depressed during winter- its the winter blues.
This is what my neighborhood looks like:
It's affecting me in a different this year too, because I'm driving in the snow. First, I spend 10-15 minutes scraping off the snow from my car- I usually do the minimum, which is windscreen and side windows-a very cold and arduous exercise, I assure you. At the end of this, my gloved fingers have the beginnings of frostbite and my face has turned blue. Then I spend about 10 minutes in the car trying to warm my hands because I can't grip the freezing steering wheel. Driving on snow covered streets? Seriously NO JOKE. Worst if there is a snow/hail storm. Cannot see anything.
As a result I drive like an old lady (30 mph) and am routinely honked by impatient Chicagoans.
Here is how my car looks like after 12 hours of overnight snowfall:

A blacker friday than usual

2008-11-28T14:56:00.006-06:00

I like to reminisce. One of the reasons why I continue to keep a blog is the pleasure I get from knowing what I did a year ago, two years ago, on this exact same day.
Today is Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. I never knew why they called it Black, until C explained it- its the day when businesses across America try to get their balance sheets from red to black by having the most ginormous sales of the year- 50%, 60% & even 70% off prices. This is the day when Macy's, Bloomingdales, Saks, Gap, Old Navy etc open at ungodly hours at 5am or even 4am, offering the best deals to the earliest shoppers.
Last year, I wrote about my 8am shopping expedition, and my triumphant return with lots of purchases.
Not so this year.
This year I simply did not have the urge to enter the throng of crowds or to part with my money for another pair of boots. C & I did go to Michigan Ave, only to return with one small bag from Ambercombie & Fitch.
And it seemed like we were not the only ones who kept a tighter rein on our wallets. There were fewer people in the malls this year, and those who turned up seemed to be window shopping more than anything. People who did shop carried bags from the cheaper stores, rather than the high end brands. The mood, although high, was markedly more somber and constrained than last year's.
The recession is here, and its going to be here for some time.

Project Fatten

2008-11-26T09:28:00.002-06:00

The other day I stepped onto the weighing scale out of sheer curiosity and saw the digital counter flash to....105.
105 pounds = 47.7kg
I am officially lighter than when I arrived in Chicago almost 2 years ago.
Why?
In the words of my uncle, who exclaimed in astonishment when he saw me in August: "How come everybody go to America put on weight, but you didn't, ah?"
I could think of a few good reasons, but here are the 3 major ones:
1. No good food here
2. I cook all my food
3. I am tired of eating what I've cooked

So unless I suddenly develop and insatiable desire for greasy burgers, or if some great cook descends upon me with his services free of charge, I'm stuck with bumping my bony hips into door knobs.

p/s: I have been eating more chocs to put on the pounds. And yesterday I had a bacon cheeseburger AND pasta for lunch. So I am trying.

On a roll

2008-11-25T10:40:00.001-06:00

On of the reasons why I'm on a hiatus from blogging is the re-entry of a particular game into my life-

Mah Jong. I only learned it a couple of years ago, what can I say- I'm a late bloomer-gambler. But now it fascinates me. Mostly because I get to use a different part of my brain. It's numbers, numbers, numbers, as opposed to words, words, words.
We rarely play for money, which is good, because I have lost twice in a row.
Huh.
But its my favourite past-time now to while away the wintry nights.
The only thing is, we don't have the right chairs for the game, so it looks like we are playing musical chairs or something. Once I had to sit in a rocking chair for 3 hours, hunching over to look at my tiles. I always get a backache.

A valid excuse to eat cake

2008-11-12T07:19:00.001-06:00

That's what birthdays are, really. A time to stuff myself with cake. For my 28th year, I asked C specifically for a thick chocolate cake all for ME- so I could eat it slowly over a couple of days. I got my wish, and I was satisfied. Sometimes I ate it for breakfast. Ah, the decadence.
What did I do for my birthday? I took the day off from my internship, and planned a day of R & R- no work, no essays, no thinking. I booked myself a massage, went to yoga, cooked lunch, watched DVDs and then waited for C to come home so I could watch him cook us dinner. I was anticipating this fancy do-steak and soup?- when he *surprised* me with a home-cooked zhi-char style fried rice with eggs. OK, I was, um, *surprised* like I said, but eventually got round to recognizing that the poor guy was doing his best. (that was after 20 minutes of exclaiming "we are having fried rice??!!")

On Saturday I went to a casual dinner with a bunch of girls from class whom I am close to, at this tiny peruvian place which had a VERY LOUD band. See photo. Yeah, my ears got blown off by the flute. Later, they played the "Happy Birthday" song and the staff all sang along. It was a night of gossip and laughter. Fun.

One of them surprised me with a box of 12 homemade green tea cupcakes. Wow. I was touched, lah. I was um, hesitant to try the cupcakes at first (green tea?)....but they were really really good. More sugar is always welcome.

You can see my new hairdo here, albeit a little blurry. Next time, I'm thinking of chopping it off really short. Yup, its time for a change.

Moved

2008-11-05T09:45:00.004-06:00

Yesterday, in a bid to signify my coming of age, I went to a hairdresser and asked her to snip two inches off my hair.
But that isn't the real news. I think you know by now that Barack Obama is President Elect of the United States.
I watched with C, mouth open, the process by which he ascended the highest office in this land, and possibly in this world. I am not American, but as I watched the faces of TV brim with hope and tears, I, too, was moved. I was moved by the tears of Jesse Jackson and Oprah Winfrey, by the sheer hope that swelled in the crowd that awaited him in Chicago, by the mysterious power that is called unity.
For once, I am honored to be here, in this time, this historic moment.
For once, I felt hopeful for this place that is America.
And as I listened to him speak this words last night:

"As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, we are not enemies but friends. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.

And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn, I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices. I need your help. And I will be your president, too.

And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces, to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of the world, our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand.

To those -- to those who would tear the world down: We will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security: We support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright: Tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope."

....the crowds roared, the words Our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, rang in my ears like Shakespearian poetry, and I realized that this was a man who could move millions. I found a tear on my cheek.

And I found myself still envious of my classmates and colleagues who headed to the voting booths this morning to exercise their right to vote. Jealous that their choice mattered at such a time as this. And I realized then, the power and privilege of choice, and wondered if I would ever experience the same in my own country.