Third Week

Into my third week now. The Cookie has his moments and sometimes I get flustered trying to hush him out of one of his fits. BF is progressing well and I'm making plans on how I can manage BF while on the outs without having to expose one breast to the public eye and juggle shopping and BF at the same time. I'm tempted to try the breast pump. But to do that, I may have to feed him on formula for one day while I pump for the second and introduce him the rubber teat which I imagine, will cause him to forget how to latch.

On that. I find myself going bonkers just thinking about him not on breastmilk but on formula. I am somehow convinced that he'd be missing out on a whole lot of good nutrients and having him on formula will make him a lesser person. I know that's not true and I'm still trying to convince myself out of it. Because how else am I going to head back to work and my exercise regime?

I also imagine that people are trying to sneak in other forms of liquids to him that to an extent, I dream of it happening! Last night, I dreamt I had bought three bowls of yam paste dessert and later found out that my dad had fed one of them to him. At 3.30am, I woke up and realised it's been almost five hours since the last feed and started to worry how much milk supply has depleted and if my dad really did feed him yam paste!

The madness of motherhood.

Yesterday, Joa and I went shopping after a checkup with the gynae. I started getting paranoid over germs in the air and kept checking to see if Cookie was still breathing. Strangers who enquired about him guessed he was about more than a month old. Then when I said he was barely two weeks, you could see this silence that befell on their faces. Like taking him outdoors now was an abomination. And that added to my fears.

We're planning the full-month party, or rather, parties now (we're having three sessions). Getting ready the cakes, caterers and sending out the invites. Friends will come a week later so don't panic if you haven't got it yet.

The Cookie is up. I need to go now.

... wide open

eyes and...
jaws!

Week One

It's been a big week - and a very different one too. Caring for Lil' J was hard work. Trying to decipher his cries was quite another. Struggling to strike a balance and requesting for understanding from well-meaning relatives about my confinement practice was a huge hurdle. Then there was the baby blues which ranged from the common urge to cry irregardless and the extreme end of the pendulum where my mind was flooded with pictures of the baby dead and cold.

Nine days since the night I went into labour and Joa and I had not had an uninterrupted night of sleep. Getting up in the middle of the night to nurse for hours is painful. But I do consider myself lucky to have Joa by my side. He hasn't complained and would always take the initiative to change the wet nappies, or cradle the baby just so I could sneak in cat naps.

Many people has asked me about my labour experience. It hurt like hell but mine was short (3+ hours) and I bore the pain without the epidural. My advice to everyone: get a good gynae, and don't think about the epidural. I did love the gas though. It made me so high that in between contractions, I'd drift into dreamland, forgetting that I was in labour.

Then Lil' J was born. In the midst of my drowsiness, I heard his faint squalling. When they put him on my chest, it didn't immediately register in me that this was my child. 24 hours later, I found myself sleepless in the night so I snuck out to the nursery to take a peek at him. How adorable he was. I felt like a happy mummy.

A lot of people came by to visit with nice hampers and congratulations. My stay at the hospital was enjoyable although not very comfortable. Too noisy and the bed felt too warm.

Then I came home and Mum began fussing about traditional confinement practices, mostly restricting my diet. But thank God i still got to shower - thrice a day; and shampoo - everyday. Relatives came by and warned me about drinking water and not indulging in herbs and tonics (Doctor's orders which they told me not to eat into it). It's funny how they disregard professional advice but take to old wives' tales from old China.

Lil' J is a contented baby for now. I try to nurse him as much as he likes and he's pooping and peeing to his heart's content.

I'm feeling a lot better now although I'm still bored as hell. There doesn't seem to be a routine or anything to look forward to in the day. The baby is one. But it's depressing knowing your movements and eating desires are restricted. Overall, I'm okay, for now.

happy mummy!

39 weeks

I'm due any time now. Dr C said we'll induce if Lil' J is not out by 5th May. Joa and I had a mini-celebration this morning announcing that Lil' J is now officially a Taurus - admired for their determination, drive, loyalty and kindness.

We did our final shopping this morning: some fitted sheets, a blanket and some towels. Joa is now busy assembling an Ikea drawer chest that Mum bought for the baby. For the past few days, I feel tired easily, restless, and sweaty all the time. I also get sudden numbs around my inner thighs. My weight has come to a standstilll and I haven't put on an ounce since the last check-up a month ago. At the moment, we're pondering over how to go about donating the cord blood and contemplating a medical policy.

It's nice to have Joa at home and sitting out the final twosome days. Although I know I will miss the privacy we now share but I'm sure the new addition would only bring us both closer together as a couple and family.

39 weeks. How time flies. 10 glorious, eventful months! Strangely, I can't remember how it felt un-pregnant. It feels like bading farewell to my old self and welcoming the adult me.

Nursery Corner

Progress! We've finally set up a little nursery corner in my room and madeshift a wardrobe space in my bookshelf. The cot bet arrived yesterday. A bundle package from the departmental store which came with a mattress, quilt set and bath basin. We also bought lots of stuffs from Kiddy Palace: vests, nappies, creams, lotions, and other necessities.

In the evening, Joa and I sat on the floor looking up at the white cot, finding it somehow disturbing that it's all going to happen so soon. It's a whole rojak of feelings - fear, excitement, apprehension, disbelief. It was like living out the Chan Brothers' travel ad: "Life could never be the same again" - a rollercoaster ride.

Frankly, we're both mentally and emotionally ill-prepared for this. Unsure if we'd even make the mark. But when I look at my friends' pictures on FB - those who'd recently had their own babies - I get this tinge of envy and assurance knowing that soon enough, my FB album will also be filled with these pictures of joy.

tattoos

Joa has a tattoo on his arm. It’s not a conspicuous one. Just a small, simple design of the Southern Cross, or sun, or star, I cannot quite make it out. He had it done last year to commemorate his years living in the Down under. He’s quite pleased with it. So pleased that he now talks about having a tattoo of our baby’s name on his chest. So we argue over it.

I’m not one for tattoos. I think the symbol and sentiments of one is merely known to one self. Other it being a show-off that you’re trendy, fearless, and have a higher threshold for pain, it can also be a topic for an ice-breaker when you meet a stranger. Plus, I always thought tattoos on men and women tend to attract the wrong kind of company since it makes you out to be someone you’re not.

I personally think tattoos are ugly. When I was younger I had a classmate who had one done just above her hips. She was extremely slim and very attractive. Went around with her helmet, smoked, and wore thick makeup. We were chatting about her many tattoos and he told me she was masochistic. So at that point, it got me thinking that maybe I cd be like her. Have a tattoo, keep my hair long, and wear thick eye liners. Later, I gave up that idea for practical reasons – 1) Tattoos would stretch along with any weight gain and 2) Tattooing was itself, a horribly bloody, painful process.

I have lady cousins who have tattoos done and one of them regrets it. Out of the several people I know who’s had tattoos, none of them are really proud of it. So that’s another damper.

Joa’s tattoo is not ugly or offensive. I’m so accustomed to it that I don’t see it anymore. But to have another one (on his chest!) would be a real put off. I keep telling him that I love his body. And I really do! I don’t think I’d seen any other men with such a gorgeous body. But to have anor tattoo emblazoned across his chest at my eye level is gonna be quite a drastic change.

We were arguing about Megan Joy, the 23-year-old blond from American idol, who had a huge colourful body art across one shoulder. She’s a beautiful girl but when I first saw her, I must have expressed my disgust a bit too loudly. So for weeks, we’d debate about why I think she should be ousted. And Joa is quite fond of her. Then again, he’s taking my disgust too personally.

I mean, she appears to be this pretty chick with blond bangs and then that huge tattoo just ruins any sundress of hers. Kinda dumb, innit’?

But Joa still thinks I’m prejudiced. I’m not (although I did a little mental jig when I saw the news about her being eliminated last night). But she definitely didn’t lose becos of her tattoo. She just lost because she didn’t quite have the idol quality. (And it cd have been becos of the tattoo.)

And to prove to Joa that I’m really not against him having anor tattoo, he can have another for all he wants. So long as it’s my name that he’s tattooing. That’ll teach all the other gals to stay away from him :)

Anyway, we made a pact. So long as I don’t go get a motorbike license, he’ll stay away from the tattoo parlour.