Yearly Archives

2009

pregnancy

Blistering Barnacles

April 16, 2009

I’m having a meltdown. In every sense of the word. I think I know what’s accounting for the decline in birth rate here in Singapore. IT’S TOO BLOODY HOT TO BE PREGNANT. I’m telling you, the heat is insufferable, and it’s not like pregos have it easy as it is.

I can understand if the likes of Halle Berry rave about how wonderful pregnancy is. You’re living in LA, where the weather is a cool 16 degrees, and you actually have servants massaging your calfs and feeding you organic grapes while you lie on your deck chair overlooking Malibu Beach, complaining about not having enough screen time in X-men. If I were you, I’d have a dozen kids, just to make sure I trump AJ-Pitt.

But for mortals like me, every time I step out of the house, the sweltering heat makes me want to strip down and go skinny dipping. But then I’d probably be caught for indecent exposure and hauled off to prison. Remind me to install a private pool in my backyard before having another child. At least I’d be able to stay in the water all day.

I’m not surprised that pregnant women are so snappish all the time. They’re carrying a furnace around in their stomach, and combined with the heat wave, it’s like being in a giant microwave oven.

And there’s something about heat that makes people go crazy. When it’s nice and cool, things don’t seem so bad, but once you turn up the heat, brain cells are massacred by the millions and you start to have a meltdown over the most minute inconveniences. So the stereotype is true. Pregnant women are emotional and snappy. And it’s an entitlement, not a privilege.

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kids inc

Unlimited Power

April 15, 2009

Question: Why do guys always resort to brute force to solve a problem?

I have a theory. It’s all thanks to He-man and Conan the Barbarian. Notice that all the male-oriented cartoons all feature muscular alpha-males that have bulging biceps and tiny underpants.

Conan

In recent years, the metrosexual male has taken over, but despite their floppy hair and chiseled, feminine features, they still can’t escape their roots, which is to grunt and shout (i.e. the louder, the more powerful) while displaying their special powers.

Ben 10Pokemon

In the world of men, there’s always a BAD GUY to destroy and life would not be complete if we all lived in peace and harmony.

So it’s inevitable. Boys grow up with the misconception that brute strength is synonymous with masculinity. Tru is already showing signs of it at 10 months. His favorite past-time is banging stuff in the house. Like when I put him in his cot, he’ll have to bang the wardrobe and SHOUT AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS for a good half hour before he’ll settle down to sleep. It’s a manly pre-sleeping ritual he’s acquired.

Or he will grab a toy in each hand and smash them together repeatedly (with an evil grin) to get that loud smashing sound. He’s drawn to the sound of destruction. I think it’s a very primal instinct. I should stop buying toys and just give him two bottles to pound.

I’m thankful girls don’t have that problem. We are peaceable creatures and we like to avoid strife where possible. We’d be happy to hold hands and dance around the campfire before braiding each other’s hair and giggling ourselves silly. There are no evil forces in Strawberry Shortcake and life is beautiful all the time. It’s practically utopia all year long and we can prance around smelling roses and eating strawberries.

I’m hoping Kirsten will bring order to the house after she’s born. There’s too much testosterone in the air as it is.

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kids inc

Labor Day

April 14, 2009

Was out with a couple of couply-parent friends over the long easter weekend and it has made me realize how life has changed with kids in the picture. I was hoping to challenge the cliche that life as we know it is over when kids arrive, and once in a while, it seems like there’s a glimmer of hope, but then it vanishes faster than a mirage in the Nevada desert.

It was the first time we’ve had an outing in months, and the original plan was to chill out at a decent cafe for a shot of coffee and some tiramisu like we used to back in the day. But now, instead of six young, hot singles, we were a party of six not-so-young, somewhat-frazzled parents with four (and a half) kids, three strollers, 2 diaper bags and a baby seat.

After standing in queue for 15 minutes, we thought we could squeeze into a 6-seater table tucked away at the back, but upon closer inspection, we decided there was no way we could have lasted five minutes in that cramped little space without being thrown out on our asses. So we decided to relocate (I’m sure I heard a sigh of relief from the nice lady at the cafe) to surprise, surprise, the Golden Arches.

Mackers was right down our alley, and we settled down comfortably, this time at a table actually meant for 10. The kids were certainly thrilled at the prospect of having french fries and chicken nuggets instead, and the distant call of Tiramisu was swiftly drowned out by the sound of screaming kids.
Straw-eating competition

Life is certainly different these days. But it’s not all bad. We used to pay $50 for an outing at a cafe, but at McDonalds, we even got paid for eating our fries and nuggets.

The kids got right to work cleaning the walls while we ate. I mean, they’ve got to learn to work for their supper in dire times like these. Besides, Chinese children are known for child labor. It’s our heritage, you see. We’ll send them to Nike by the time they turn 3.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98B-T955iE8

Ok, pardon the appalling quality of the vid, but to make up for it a little, there’s a running commentary from Superdad.

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Funny or So I think, Videos I dig

My kids are better than your kids

April 13, 2009

All mothers love to compare stuff. It’s just in their DNA. It could be something the pregnancy does to your brain during the nine months that makes you go all competitive and crazy, even before the baby is out.

When it comes to finding new stuff to compare, mothers are very creative. It can range from the size of the stomach, the heartbeat of the baby, the weight of the baby and the pregnancy symptoms they get, as if having it worse means you’re somehow a better mother because of the immense sacrifice you’re making.

Some do it subtly.

Mother 1: So which school will you be sending your child to? It’s such a dilemma. I’m considering between Julia Gabriel and Montessori.”

Me (with an obliging smile): I haven’t decided yet, but the public playschool down the road don’t seem so bad.

Mother 1 (affected laughter): Oh, public education! It’s just that some of the kids are a little rowdy, if you know what I mean.

Me: I suppose so.

Methinks: Yes, I know exactly what you mean. And I hope your little brat grows up to be every bit as shallow, self-obsessed and arrogant as you are.

It’s exasperating. I bring my boy for a walk at the mall and I can see mothers eyeing the kind of stroller I have, the clothes Tru’s wearing, the diaper bag I’ve got. And it’s the worst when a whole bunch of competitive mothers gather for a chat. It gets increasingly ludicrous as they go along. Kinda like these mothers on Goodness Gracious Me!

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3N7F-5zNVFI

I get that it’s a mother’s instinct to be unabashedly proud of their child, and I can’t help glowing when other people fuss over my kid. But there’s a line to be drawn as far as competition goes and it drives me insane when mothers go on and on about how brilliant their little geniuses are. (You know my 3-year-old boy just learnt to operate on his pet dog).

Get a life, woman! I’m sure there’s some kind of medication to curb those illusions you’re having. Or might I suggest a lobotomy.

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kids inc

Double, double, toil and trouble

April 10, 2009

Ever wondered where babies learn all their naughty stuff from? I’m constantly amazed by the kinds of nonsense Tru is capable of conjuring on a daily basis. He recites this motto every morning. “I solemnly swear that I will be up to no good.”

I thought it was a given that I’ll be able to preempt his moves, since my superbrain is like 10,000 times more powerful than his. But I’ll be honest. More often than not, I’m caught totally off-guard, gaping at his ingenuity. I’d like to take credit for it, but it’s certainly not from me, and unless a gnome is secretly having mischief lessons with him in the dead of the night, I’m completely stumped.

For example, whenever he does something naughty, he will laugh like this. “HA HA HA” (complete with mocking tone). It’s not a giggle nor a grin. It’s more like a cross between a smirk and a taunt, as if he knows he’s got the upper hand and he’s rubbing it in my face.

He’s also learnt to recognize locations. Whenever he’s at Grandma’s house, he knows he can get away with murder (as opposed to being put on trial at home). In the hierarchy chain, he seems to know that Grandma trumps Mommy and he’s got her all nicely wound around his little pinky.

Whenever he gets nagged at or scolded, he’ll take his tiny hands and cover the offending person’s mouth. Somehow, he’s worked out that the sound coming out from there is highly unpleasant, and he needs to put a stop to it.

And for his finishing move. When he knows he’s in deep trouble (the kind that will result in an ass-whipping), he’ll snuggle his head on your chest and hug you real tight as if to say “I’m sor-wee I was naughty, and I just want you to know that I love you so much.”

The baby discipline books all say the same thing. Laughing encourages bad behavior. Kids know that as long as parents laugh at their misdemeanors, they are less likely to get spanked. But it’s not that easy to remain deadpan in the face of such brilliance. I try to keep a straight face, but then Tru will suddenly burst out giggling like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and all my disciplinary efforts will be down the drain.

I think I’ll have to send him for obedience classes with Mickey the next time around.

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pregnancy

14 weeks and counting

April 9, 2009

I’m well into the third trimester of my pregnancy, and this is where the fun really begins. The first two trimesters are easy-peasy. You hardly even notice that you’re pregnant and you’re still able to resume around 95% of your normal activities (cravings notwithstanding). But now, all the pregnancy symptoms are in full swing and ALL I WANT TO DO IS GIVE BIRTH.

I don’t walk anymore. I have to get around by waddling, which makes me look like a fat duck. The stomach is getting heavier by the day, my back is breaking, my legs are cramping up, I’m retaining water (and fats) like a reservoir, my formerly-tight ass is ballooning out of proportion and worst of all, I am losing my ability to sleep. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s also incontinence, carpal tunnel syndrome, cellulite and stretch marks to deal with postpartum.

If you think about it, insomnia is one of the biggest ironies of pregnancy. I mean, there will be no more sleeping after the baby is born, so there should be some mechanism to allow the body to hibernate and store up on sleep just before the delivery. In fact, I should be retiring into a cave for the next 3 months and sleeping the winter away.

Last night was like the turning point. I was up at 2.30 in the morning developing ulcers watching Manchester United struggle at home against Porto. (GAH!) After which, I lay in bed tossing and turning till 6.45 waiting for Tru to wake up. I hate insomnia. The harder I try to fall asleep, the more awake I feel, and it’s so insanely frustrating. Besides, the whole counting sheep thing is rubbish. I reached up to 6,245,953 sheep before I decided that it was futile.

I’ve still got 14 weeks to go, and now that I think about it, it’s a really long time. Although, I suppose it would make it easier if I could just lie in bed all day with servants feeding me grapes and massaging my toes while I catch up on Grey’s Anatomy. (hint, hint)

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Father Inc

Superdad Returns

April 8, 2009

Let’s talk about dads. In particular, SUPERDADS. It’s tough for dudes to navigate their way around this whole having babies thing. For women, the maternal instinct comes rather naturally. After all, we are the ones that carry the child for nine months and have to push them out of you-know-where. So it’s only fair that we pride ourselves in being the ultimate authority on what they need.

But as far as dads go, all they do is contribute some fine specimens of their little fellas, which let’s face it, hardly constitutes as a chore. Besides, guys are just not wired to go all goo-goo ga-ga on babies. Most guys carry babies like they’re lifting a sack of rice for all of two minutes, then promptly hand them back, citing reasons like “I don’t know how”, or “See, the baby is not comfortable”.

So after the little squirts are born, what’s a dude to do?

In the world of fathers, there are three main archetypes.

1. The sperm donors. These days, you can get them off Ebay for $29.95. All they do is contribute the DNA (hey, DNA is very important, too) and take credit for anything good the child does. Once in a while, they provide very insightful comments like “Honey, the baby is crying” before resuming their oh-so-important quest of fighting the baddies on Resident Evil 5.

2. The functional father. From my observation, most dads fall neatly into this category. To avoid being nagged at by the wife, they do their share of baby chores like making the milk and running the bath. But they’re smart enough to make a hasty exit once there’s poop or puke involved.

3. The Superdads. They form a league of superheroes that can singlehandedly take care of all of the babies’ needs. For all intents and purposes, they’re practically women. They can tell the difference between a fontanel and a fingernail, whip up a pot of baby food, and change a diaper with their eyes closed. And in order to attain the status of a true Superdad, they have to pass through the initiation rite of being pooped on at least once.

I dare say, I’ve had the good fortune of snagging for myself one of those Superdads, which is the sole reason I haven’t completely lost my marbles. Of course, it wasn’t always the case. They did get off to a somewhat rocky start, which led to a rather embarrassing 3-hour screaming fit during a wedding dinner. But they’ve come a long way, and truth be told, I sometimes have to bribe Tru with snacks to make him like me more.

I’m not complaining, though. We’ve got a spiffy little system down pat. Mommy does the weekdays from 9-6, and Superdad takes over in the mornings, evenings and weekends. And that’s just fine by me. Plus, now I’ve got the handy little excuse that I’m preggers and can’t overexert myself. It’s good to be pregnant.

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