Browsing Category

pregnancy

love bites, milestones & musings, motherhood, pregnancy

Mommy time is good for me

May 25, 2009

Photo from media.sheknows.com

Being alone is awfully therapeutic. Walking around with headphones plugged in, blasting angsty music and looking all cool and sullen, without the shackles of motherhood. It totally brings me back to the days when I was in fact a troubled teen.

Except that my alone time used to be out of necessity, since nobody liked being around an ornery person all the time. To make my time-outs more bearable, I perfected this apathetic, don’t-give-a-crap-about-anything look that I thought was so cool back then. Man, I miss those days. Can’t wait till my kids are old enough to pull that stunt on me.

But now that I’m a mom, I’ve come to relish all the little breaks I like to call “Mommy time”. I get to go for walks, go shopping, do my hair, grab a cuppa and actually read a nice book that is not parenting related. An afternoon off alone can do wonders for my sanity. Not that I hate being around my kid, but when he’s around, everything seems to revolve around him. It’s feeding time, then play time, then nursery rhyme time. Even meal time becomes a frenzy of shrieking and hang-banging.

Tru has a policy when it comes to food. No one else can eat unless he gets a share. Even after he’s had a full meal with 2 rounds of dessert, he’ll still scream for more food the moment he sees us eating. So I either have to hide in a corner and gobble down my food or feed him with more stuff. I should start bringing out celery sticks to feed him, so he doesn’t end up obese.

Anyway, yesterday, I had some time off to check out the Crocs warehouse sale and grab a cuppa while Tru went home with Daddy for the afternoon. I was like a death-row inmate who just got out on parole – I did my trademark victory jig and skipped (ok, it was more like a lumber) all the way there and back. I didn’t have to lug around a kid, a stroller and a whopping diaper bag. Just me and well, that it. It was awesome. Seriously.

I came back with a truckload of stuff (RETAIL THERAPY WORKS!) and enough gumption to last me through the week.

by Daphne

pregnancy

Pain, pain, go away

May 20, 2009

With 8 weeks to go, all I can think about now is giving birth. I’m not looking forward to the birthing process per se, seeing that I’m terrified of needles and I’m averse to any sort of pain whatsoever. I have the pain threshold of a 3-year-old child, and the slightest bit of pain sends me hyperventilating.

I’ve got very vivid memories of Tru’s delivery after the anesthesia wore off and I was screaming the hospital down for morphine. Totally unglam on retrospect, but pain turns me into a raging maniac.

Suffice to say, I’m dreading the labor and delivery, but the final weeks of pregnancy is like being in Siberia. It sucks. There’s nothing I can do except twiddle my thumbs and wait for water to trickle down my legs (not pee, ok). I can’t remember what it feels like to run and skip without a care in the world. Just the other day, I thought I was going to pass out after 5 minutes of brisk walking, and I had to sit down for the next 30 minutes to recuperate.

There’s also a new ailment which didn’t show up during my first pregnancy. Recently, my crotch feels like there’s an elephant sitting on it from the inside, and any slight movement sends a wave of numbing pain (akin to a bruise) into the joints. Evidently, it’s put quite a damper on the romance and passion this time around.

On top of it all, I’ve been having unexplainable throbbing pains on various parts of my body. The husband seems to think its hilarious, but there’s really nothing funny about it when I’m on the receiving end of some ancient voodoo curses. I remember this scene in one of the Indiana Jones’ flicks where some tribal witches were performing a curse on a voodoo doll by stabbing it, and the pain would somehow be felt on the real guy. It freaked me out then and still haunts me till this day. I have also since stopped watching Indiana Jones. It’s evil.

seriously, it hurts. Stop it!

A couple of days ago, the pain started in my hands, like someone was stabbing my wrist every 10 minutes. After searching the net for possible explanations, the best advice was to leave it alone and lo and behold, it just went away the next day all by itself.

Now it’s moved to my left ear and it’s getting unbearable. It’s so bad that I can’t even swallow or think without wincing in pain. Unless some insect crawled into my ear and died there, I’m pretty sure it’s caused by some venomous Mother, Inc haters.

Whoever you are, I’ll hunt you down and may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits.

Ok, seriously, please make it stop. I’ll do whatever you say.

by Daphne

pregnancy

Do I really want to bore you with ultrasound pictures?

May 14, 2009

I’m crazy about babies. Probably more than the average human being. I’m the kind of passer-by that stops dead in my tracks and goes all googly-eyed at cute babies on the street. I once had a collection of Anne Geddes babies that would rotate daily on my wallpaper (till it suddenly dawned upon me that some of the pictures were a bit creepy).

Now, when I first saw Tru’s ultrasound photo, I honestly didn’t know how to react. There was this black mass staring back at me, and it looked nothing like all the cute babies I’ve been visualizing. He’s a stunning boy now, but back then, he was a cross between a giant-headed prawn and a martian. I was also secretly worried that he’ll come out all squishy and scary-looking. Before you tsk, tsk at me, I know moms are supposed to love their kids unconditionally, but deep down inside, we all hope our kids are drop-dead gorgeous.

Needless to say, I’m not a fan of collecting ultrasound pictures, even when they’re of my kids. Half the time, I can’t make out which is the head or bum. I was at the gynae yesterday taking a look at Kiki (until I find a better nickname) and my obgyn was patiently pointing out her various body parts. I had half a mind to tell him the scan looked nothing like an elbow or a head, but I I didn’t want to seem like a bad mother, so I did the usual mom thing and raved about how cute she was.

But that being said, I like my gynae visits. Looking at the ultrasound and listening to her heartbeat makes it seem like she’s really there. I know it’s bizarre, since she makes her presence felt by jabbing me in the kidney or bladder ever so often, but being able to see her makes it so much more real, which in turn makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Incidentally, despite my best efforts to keep her small, I’ve been informed that Kirsten is weighing in on the big side. (I hope she’s not fat when she grows up) I’ve got the remaining 8 weeks to starve her in order to have a serious shot at VBAC (or Vaginal Birth After Cesarean, for the less informed). Another C-section will kill all hopes of having 7 kids, so I’m going to have to squeeze her out of my pelvis one way or the other. Which also means I’ll be having severe durian withdrawal until after the delivery.

Anyway, to spread the love, here’s a sneak preview of how the little princess will look like. (Use a bit of imagination, will you?)

face

by Daphne

pregnancy

The necessity of nesting

May 7, 2009

my bags are packed i'm ready to go

When I first heard about the nesting instinct, I thought it was utterly bogus. Just another lame excuse for cleanliness freaks to validate their obsessive compulsiveness. It’s not surprising since pregnant women have all sorts of incredible terms for strange compulsions.

Wikipedia explains nesting as “an instinct or urge in pregnant animals to prepare a home for the upcoming newborn”. In humans, it is commonly characterized by a strong urge to clean and organize one’s home. Great, now I’m having the same primal instincts as rodents.

Seeing that I have no qualms subscribing to the philosophy of maintaining an organized mess in my home, I thought I’d escape the nesting instinct by sheer rationality.

*Phew, my superior brains are one-up over the common mammals.

I draw the line at living like a slob, but in general, I’m ok with stuff like rolling my laundry up into little balls and stuffing them in the cabinets. As a rule of thumb, as long as the common areas are neat and tidy, hidden mess does not qualify as mess. (In philosophy, it’s the falling tree in the deserted woods theory – if no one is there to witness it, it technically does not exist)

Which is why I was totally caught by surprise when the nesting instinct kicked in. Against my better judgment, I found myself having the need to organize and reorganize every little thing at home. It was pretty mild when I was pregnant with Tru (maybe it’s a boy thing), but with Kirsten, I’m unstoppable. It’s like an itch that I have to scratch.

With 9 weeks to go, I’ve repacked the nursery about 4 times. Each time, I would dig out all her clothes, re-iron them, re-fold them into neat little stacks (in exact dimensions) and place them back in the wardrobe, only to repeat the process all over again. I’ve arranged all her diapers with the precision of a neurosurgeon and practically sterilized the entire room.

The bizarre thing about the nesting instinct is that it just completely disappears the moment the baby is born. Within a week after Tru’s birth, I was back to the ball-rolling thing. Believe me, with a newborn, there was barely enough time to take a full crap, much less organize stuff.

But for now, I can’t help myself. Apparently, my super brains aren’t so superior after all.

by Daphne

pregnancy

Fat Girl Slim

April 21, 2009

Over dinner with some former colleagues (all ridiculously thin) who came to visit last week, I was made painfully aware of the fact that I’m no longer in the league of svelte, sultry young things anymore. The operative words being no longer, because I sometimes still reminisce the days when I was a size 6.

We live in a world where thin people have it easy. Designers create couture with a size 4 in mind, and it just doesn’t look the same when transposed onto a XXXL. You comb through the racks to find a nice top, but once you put it on, it will look decent at best.

Think about it. The seats in public transportation are meant to comfortably fit a thin person. Ever tried sitting next to an obese dude on the subway? You get really acquainted with the extra folds of his bottom as it presses up against yours. Even elevators are biased against corpulent individuals. The sign may say it fits 10 persons but if you look at the maximum weight allowed, it’s 500 kg. Do the math.

I never used to think twice about eating a chocolate fudge brownie with extra vanilla ice-cream, and still manage to pull off wearing a bikini right after. To be sure, I was never skinny, but at least I had some semblance of abdominal muscles and there was ample space between my thighs when I walked (it’s called the thigh test – as long as it doesn’t give you abrasions, you’re fine).

But with 2 consecutive pregnancies, I have since bade a tearful farewell to the thin(ner) version of me. So the colleagues (there’s a reason why they are FORMER colleagues) were having a very stimulating conversation on a new and highly effective slimming product and they managed to come to the conclusion that even that would not work for a case a severe as mine. Thanks, Bhav, good going.

But I’ll postulate that Slimspa can kiss my size 12 bottom because BIG IS BEAUTIFUL. It certainly took a while to get used to lugging an extra 30 kg around and I still get breathless after some brisk walking. But look on the bright side, it’ll give me a chance to form a special bond with my neighbors on the train.

The way I see it, I won’t be a fat chick forever and I’ll get back my figure soon enough. The abs may take a while to make a comeback, but I’m aiming to fit into my old jeans by Christmas. From now till then, I can either feel miserable or take a deep breath, suck in the stomach and enjoy the benefits of being big.

by Daphne

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.

by Daphne

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)

by Daphne

Older Posts

Newer Posts