Browsing Tag

truett

pregnancy, sexytime

Two is enough…for now.

jon_and_kate_plus8

Jon and Kate plus 8. I'll get there, someday..

With 2 pregnancies back to back, I’ve been pregnant for so long I can’t remember what it feels like not to be pregnant. To wear regular clothes and dye my hair and bend over to cut my toenails without passing out. And I’ve been telling everyone who will listen that I NEED A BREAK. My body is screaming out for some respite and I have this nagging suspicion that it will go on strike if I have a third kid. Like completely break down and refuse to work.

Just the other day my mom (who adores kids) told me flat out that if I had another kid, Grandma won’t be coming to the rescue. There’s no way she’s watching 3 kids while I head out for my weekly movie breaks.

And I ended up having this totally weirdish conversation with her in the kitchen. Cos it’s always awkward talking to your mom about the details of your very active sex life.

Mom: You should consider some contraceptive methods after you give birth.

Me: *mumbles* Yeah, we’ll look into it.

Mom: It’s important to do some family planning, like see what options are available.

Me: *mumbles some more* Uh, yeah, I know.

She probably had a lot more to say, but I had to make a hasty getaway before the conversation ended up something like “Mommy’s favorite contraceptive was…” Ok, TOO. MUCH. INFORMATION.

That being said, I am definitely going to have some serious contraceptive plan after I pop (which will be reserved for another post) because I cannot handle having a third kid, at least not in the next 3 years. I need my life back. But the totally freaky thing is that I’ve been having this recurrent dream that almost immediately after Kirsten in born, I’m preggers again.

So in my dream I’m holding the pregnancy test strip and there’s that plus sign which means positive and I’m freaking out at the husband (it will be all his fault if it happens) and screaming “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO” at the top of my lungs.

And you’d think the dream ends there, but then it continues and suffice to say, at the end of the dream, I look like a cross between a hobo and Helena Bonham Carter, except with crazier hair and bloodshot eyes.

Repeat after me. Not going to happen.

how i pretend to be a cool mum, lists you should paste on your fridge, techmama

Mama needs my iPhone

iphone-3g-s-200906081

So have you heard? The latest iPhone 3G(S) is out in Singapore. Well, almost out, and I’m practically drooling. I love Steve Jobs so much I’d give him a nice juicy peck on the cheek if I ever meet the guy. Don’t worry, the husband will give him a giant slobbery kiss on the other side just to even things out a bit. It’s hailed as the fastest, most powerful iPhone ever, and I’m SOLD. It’s a world of ingenuity packed into a tiny little shiny package. Come to mama!

Now, you might be wondering, what does a stay home mom need an iPhone for anyway? The only people that ever call me can be counted with 3 fingers. But that’s where you’re wrong. Stay home moms need the iPhone way more than say, CEOs and fancypants executives in their Armani suits.

1. Video Recording

Nobody takes more pictures than mothers. Every moment is a milestone and I need to be able to whip out my video camera in an instant the moment Tru takes his first step or his first pee in the potty. Without an iPhone, I’d be scrambling for a large-ass video cam and by the time it’s ready, the moment would be gone. But now, all I need to do is point and click. Voila. I can even zoom in for a close-up of his pee-pee/ba-dang-dangs/ding-dongs (you know what I’m referring to) to complete my collection of embarrassing nude shots of Tru.

2. Awesome 3 megapixel camera.

Never mind that some phones from inferior brands come with a 10 megapixel camera with auto-face detection and optical zoom. The new iPhone 3G(S) has an entire megapixel up from the previous version (it’s a 50% improvement!). Hah, take that, suckers. I’m so glad I didn’t get the previous version. Now I can have crystal clear images while you outdated folks have fuzzy images that looks like part of the footage of Blair Witch Project.

3. GPS System

If I got a dollar for every time I got lost and had to pull over at the side of the road to struggle with the road directory, all the while having to contend with a restless kid, I’d be a millionaire by now. Well actually, I’d have $22, 852, but that’s practically like a million in imaginary terms. I’m cool getting lost when I’m out alone, but with 2 kids strapped behind, I need to get from point to point in the shortest time possible.  So it’s down to having to drive at 200 km/h or get a trusty GPS. Yeah, I thought so.

4. Twitter on the go

With Tru like some sort of a mini celebrity, I’ve got to Twitter updates (see how hip i am to be using Twitter as a verb) of his daily goings-on to die-hard fans. With my lousy no-good O2 atom, every time I have to send out an sms, it’s such a pain I end up ignoring most of my messages and having folks think I’m totally unfriendly. Which I’m not. Wait till I get my hands on the iPhone, I’ll out-twitter Ashton Kutcher.

5. Voice Control

I need voice control way more than the average person. With Tru strapped to my back and Kirsten to my front, as well as a huge diaper bag, a blanket and a soft toy, I will not have enough hands to patiently poke numbers into my mobile phone. The only thing left is my mouth, and unless I can somehow master the art of poking in numbers with my tongue, voice activation sure comes in handy.

I have been fantasizing about the new iPhone ever since it got announced. Next to it, all other phones pale in comparison. In fact, it was so repulsive to me that I actually chucked the husband’s phone down the rubbish chute and he had to dig it out from the dump which was infested with creepy crawlies but to no avail and he almost got blinded by a killer roach. True story.

Just to make up for it, I might sacrifice my iPhone to atone for my mistake. Or maybe not.

getting ready for baby, lists you should paste on your fridge

Confessions of a confinement victim

let-me-out-or-ill-kill-someone

let me out or i'll kill someone

I don’t know about other postpartum practices but the Chinese have this concept of a confinement period after delivery. It is every bit as terrifying as its name suggests (the only thing missing is the word solitary – but it’s kinda the same, except worse). It’s tough enough grappling with post natal depression and a screaming infant, and then there are all these rules like no bathing, washing of hair, being in an air-conditioned room. I suspect it’s a mortality-rate control technique thought of by the ancient Chinese when they were halfway towards the 1 billion mark –  KILL OFF THE WEAK and only the strongest will survive.

It’s as if the trauma of pushing a human out of your crotch is not bad enough. You then have to endure an entire month of psychotic rite of passage that involves physical and psychological torment in order to deserve the title of being a mother. When I first heard of this whole confinement practice, I almost fell out of my chair laughing. True story.

1. No HAIR WASHING for a month.

You gotta be kidding me. Forget a month, do you even know what a week-old unwashed hair feels like? Seriously. It’s oily and clumpy and tangly and full of lice and dandruff. I lasted all of 4 days without washing my hair and I snuck out to a hair salon to get a thorough scrub from the hairstylist. I swear they were all huddled up to draw lots to pick the unlucky soul to wash my hair. The poor girl looked constipated the whole time and I felt so sorry for her.

Although I hear there’s some ingenious invention called a powder shampoo. It’s like adding flour to butter – you get a freaking lump of dough ON YOUR HAIR.

Confession: Alright, i didn’t quite last four days. In fact, i headed straight for the hair salon once I was discharged. So there.

2. Only VERY HOT BATHS with STINKING HERBS are allowed.

Notice the caps for very hot baths and stinking herbs. No, it’s not a metaphor, the herbs smell like 70-year-old men who haven’t showered for a week and covered their bodies with medicated oil. First you gotta boil the herbs for hours to prepare the bath water, and then bathe with it. The first time I had to go through that ordeal, I thought I was being scalded alive by drain water, and there were all these icky herby remnant bits stuck to my hair which wouldn’t come out for 3 days.

Confession: I couldn’t bear to bathe in that stuff again after that, so I ended up pouring the next few tubs down the chute. I’m terrible, I know. You should probably try it sometime just for kicks.

3. No AIR-CONDITIONING or FAN or any sort of moving air allowed.

The wind apparently will go into the bones to cause rheumatism or some other deadly ailment, so we’re supposed to be cooked alive for the entire month. For best results, stay in a sauna the whole time. Or in hell.

And you know what happens to women who don’t bathe or wash their hair or have any respite from the heat? You end up attracting flies and all sorts of other bugs so you’re like a moving pest factory. And I guarantee that when the husband sees you in that state, you can kiss the sexytime goodbye. FOREVER.

Confession: I spent most of my time at home in front of the fan, spraying myself with water (with, you know, the kind of spray you use to water plants) intermittently. This was after the husband explained to me about the latent heat of vaporisation.

4. Stick to a diet of SESAME OIL, VINEGAR and GINGER for a month.

I call it the triple threat. All the food you’re allowed to eat must be covered with these 3 ingredients. It’s pungent and oily and spicy and sourish, which makes u want to puke all the time.

I suppose it is a good way to help lose the postpartum bump, but I’m sure there are other less painful ones. I was so terrified of the smell of sesame oil I still have nightmares of it.

Confession: I ordered KFC delivery on day 3 of the confinement period. Or it could have been day 2. Everything that happened back then is real cloudy in my mind right now, it may have been the diet.

5. SLIM WRAPS and MASSAGES

At first I thought this wasn’t so bad. But it isn’t your average spa session and slimming wrap. There was this little lady with giant karate muscles who came to my house everyday to administer the treatment. I had to strip down while she slathered this green slob all over my body which was all slimy and HOT (I swear it’s made of chili and ginger). She would then proceed to massage what I would imagine were all the fats out from my pores and then wrap me up tight with cling wrap like an Egyptian mummy.

For the next 8-10 hours, I was not allowed to pee (the water was supposed to be squeezed out from my pores anyway, so there was no need to pee) or remove the wrap. I was in so much pain I started shaking and twitching uncontrollably.

Confession: I took it off on day 4. No wonder my fats didn’t seem to go away.

6. NO stepping out of the house.

Don’t ask me what good it does, but that’s the whole point of the confinement. To have my ass locked at home like some prisoner in Guantanamo Bay. I kept making up reasons to go outdoors, and when it was finally time for my gynae checkup, I was practically skipping all the way to the clinic.

Confession: I contemplated, after my gynae session, catching a movie, going for a shopping spree, sitting down for a cuppa latte then heading back at something close to midnight. Then I thought about poor Superdad – who was still in the infancy stage of discovering his powers then – and made my way home.

Suffice to say, it was a month of absolute torture. There were many days where I thought I was going to die. Like physically cease to exist. It didn’t help that I was convinced it was a whole bunch of bollocks. And the fun is going to start again in less than a month.

I can hardly wait.