blessed

I just received a phone call, which jolted me out of feeling miserable at how naughty Day has become.

Basically, it was my friend telling me that it was the end of the line for all her attempts at conceiving a baby.

And it sort of started from me, when I did this story in March 2004 (a month before Day was born) on how reluctant people here are, to donate sperm and eggs.

The Martha in the story, the poor girl whose periods stopped at 16 because she has no more eggs, is my friend. Actually I did the story because of her.

Following from the story, a lady stepped up and offered to donate eggs to Martha. I match made the two of them and they took it offline. Suffice to say, things worked out pretty well.

The lady decided to go ahead, and five of her eggs were fertilized with Martha’s husband’s sperm, making five precious embryos which were frozen for storage.

Then it was the long road to prepare Martha’s womb for pregnancy. I don’t know the details, but it took months and months, and more months of painful technicalities like enlarging Martha’s uterus because it simply was not big enough.

She had to endure loads of injections (as with any woman who goes through assisted reproduction), pill cocktails, have all her parts poked and prodded.

Not to mention her husband, who was always standing by supportive as my friend’s face brightened with increasing hope everyday, but with an undercurrent of fear because he knows how dicey the whole thing can be.

The process of dumping his sperm into a cup was not easy either, or of having to fork out tens of thousands of dollars to pay for the donor’s eggs to be harvested, and for all the procedures.

I knew that if all things worked out, Martha would be pregnant latest by the end of this year.

And just now, she called to tell me that the doctors thawed and implanted the embryos two weeks ago. A week later, she was told that none of them made it. Not one. Not one burrowed into her womb to grow into a baby.

So the 18-month journey ends for her. I was shaken. I prayed for her and I fervently hoped that she would get the baby she so longed for, and I was really really hoping because I had a part to play in getting her hopes up. By getting her a donor through the story.

So I was speechless. I am still feeling numb for her. All she could say was that perhaps it’s fated for her not to have a baby.

In the next breath, she then said: “I heard you are pregnant again”. Right away, I felt the EXACT same feelings of guilt when I was pregnant with Day, and she was recounting her experiences to me for my first story. I can’t help but feel torrents and torrents of guilt, for having eggs. That life should be so unfair to her.

I called KK for a reality check. And he told me something which I already know: that there is no reason for me to feel guilty. If anything, this episode should make me realize how blessed and lucky we are. That we have 2 kids and that everyone in the family is healthy.

But I wish, I so wish that she can have the child she dreams of every night.

music gene

I had frankly given up hope on Day showing any signs of interest in music. He’s always been indifferent, though when he was in the womb, I did hell of a lot of violin playing.

What I remember most was playing through many consecutive nights of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly (one of the best operas around, musically) and feeling Day kick, vigorously, every time during the loud passages, when Butterfly discovers that her lover is leaving her, stuff like that. He was probably scared but it’s impossible to be unmoved by the weeping melodies!

There was more, piano concertos and all, I played all the way till I nearly popped.

So out comes Day, and my little man cries when I play the violin. Okay….

Thus it was a nice surprise when he started showing some interest. Apart from the dancing / wiggling, he has started humming or singing. OK the only thing he hums is “B,C,C, B,C,C” over and over again, in his tuneless little soprano. He can also manage “Now I know my B,C,C” both ditties courtesy of the ABC song but hey, it’s something.

He also frequently demands for “Baa Baa” which is, of course, the “Baa baa black sheep” song. Er, same melody as the ABC song but heck lah.

What is even better, to me, is that he is trying to play the keyboard! Big deal, OK. That was how I started. In the house, the lucky tyke has got a choice of three real keyboards: 2 pianos, upstairs and downstairs, and an ancient organ more than 20 years old, the old Yamaha types.



Recently, I cranked up the organ for him and amazingly, it worked. In fact, it seems to work better than ever since Day started obsessing over the buttons and levers. Maybe all it needed was some attention. Oh he’s sitting on a stack of my bro’s nutrition textbooks. The organ chair is long gone.



And more often, he plays the piano simply because he sees it everywhere. His SOP is to clamber up onto the stool and demand for someone to “open, open” the lid. When it’s open, he uses his fingers to play some keys and individual notes – which is also cool because he used to use a fist or his whole hand to bang the keys.

His attention doesn’t last long, 5 to 10 minutes. And the piano lid also came crashing down on his fingers once.



But he doesn't seem deterred, yet. It would be a waste if he isn’t interested at all. Apart from the pianos and organ, there are a couple of guitars and baby violins waiting for him to lay his hands on.

burglary

While we were sleeping soundly in our beds this morning, with Day comfortably tucked in next to us, an intruder broke into the house.

The big man in white T-shirt and khaki shorts climbed over the fence, broke open a window grille, snuck into the house and started snooping around with a flashlight.

Norma the maid, a light sleeper who is the only one in the house to sleep on the ground floor, jolted awake when she sensed the beam of a flashlight on her. She thought it was my dad but later realized it could not be when the burglar started switching on and off the lights in the living room repeatedly.

Worse was when he snuck into her room and crept around her bed. With arm flung across her face, knees weak, she stifled her urge to scream and pretended to be sound asleep. The man swiftly picked up her handphone before sneaking out.

15 minutes later, she crept out of bed and ran upstairs to wake us up.

After a quick inventory we realized that the petty thief, apart from the phone, took my bro's wallet which was lying on the table downstairs. But that seemed to be all.

It was when we went outside to open the gate for the police, who arrived at 5am, that we realized he had taken more. Scattered on the lawn were my bro's wallet - sans cash - and MINE! I didn't even realize that my wallet had been taken. The thief only took the cash, luckily he left all the other cards behind. I have to thank him for that.

I thought that was all. The cops told us to check further. That was when I realized my handphone was missing too.

And that was also when we discovered to our horror that the man had gone upstairs as that was where my phone was being charged. Upstairs, where we were all sleeping and God knows what he could have done to us. Tie us, gag us, kill us. Who knows.

Obviously he didn't. Thankfully for us, he seems a pretty harmless and possibly dumb thief. Clearly expensive cameras, handbags and swankier handphones were left untouched. He took just 2 phones and some cash.

It sucks though, as this is like the 10th handphone I have lost.

And more importantly, I can only thank God that he was only a petty thief and didn't do worse. The only thing that Day will remember from this, is waking up at 6am to discovery four policemen uncles prowling around the house.

It really could have been much, much worse.

day and death

That isn't the most auspicious of titles I know, but kids and funerals really don't go.

Day's tai-po's funeral was on Sunday. So was the cremation, which was held at the super-swanky Mandai crematorium. A far cry from the Vernon Crematorium, it is a gleaming structure of glass, steel and Zen features like bamboo, pebble gardens and fountains. Seriously.

One of my cousins, a stewardess, remarked that it reminded her of an airport terminal while it reminds me of an idyllic mountain retreat.

Anyhow, Day had to be present for the cremation. So there we were, all in the viewing gallery (yes there is a viewing gallery which actually looks like a mini auditorium with elevated steps so everyone can see the coffin being pushed in).



Despite the lecture hall-like feeling of the place, it was a moment of grief. Cremations are usually the point when the floodgates open, probably as that is when our loved one will thereafter only exist in our hearts and minds.



The entire place was silent as all of us watched tai-po being pushed in. Only my uncle, who was holding prayer beads and a joss stick, could be heard. He was chanting throughout, his voice rising and breaking at certain moments when he felt overwhelmed.

And right at the back of the hall, was Day's papa, carrying him and desperately trying to shush him. At one point, his petulant demand to "walk" rang out like a shotgun.

But thankfully, that was it. I don't know KK did it, but by making faces and tempting him with the handphone (on silent mode) Day shut up for the rest of the ceremony.

That was perhaps the most chalkboard-scratching moment.

The rest of the time, during the wake, Day might well have been at playschool.



He was pretty much happy to be out and doing something different for 3 days in a row. He got to eat lots of our buffet food, as no one could be bothered to concoct his porridge slush. He got to play with my cousin's lovely fat cats.

And he spent most of his time at the playground next to the wake.




When he did come round to the wake area, he would walk freely round the coffin, mess up the fans, nearly kick down the wreaths.

But at times, it was pretty entertaining for Day to be around. Honestly, he lightened up everyone's spirits.

bye bye tai-po

On Tuesday night (Sept 20. 2005)), Day's tai-po died.

This would be Day's great-grandmother. She was 96.

She left in the best way possible, quietly and peacefully after falling into unconsciousness. Her organs were failing - kidneys, lungs etc - simply because of old age.

She leaves behind three kids, six grandchildren and 1 greatgrandchild (Day), with 2 more on the way. She was a hospital amah who lied about her real age so she could work a couple of years more.

The remarkable thing was, the day she died, the hospital staff actually pushed my uncle in a wheelchair - who is paralysed from a train accident in the US and who is staying in the same hospital a few blocks away - to see her. It was his birthday. That was the first time the two saw each other in a long time, and the last. Thank God they got to meet before she left.



The wake is the best kind there can be: Hardly anyone is crying, everyone is glad that she lived such a long and fulfilling life, it's more a gathering of relatives who have not seen each other for ages, gathering together to munch peanuts and chit chat.

My one regret: I missed being by her bedside. I had an orchestra rehearsal. So when I saw (my) po-po and touched her hands, they were already cold.

The exact same thing happened with my other grandma: I missed being at her bedside in her last moments because in the days of no-mobile-phones, my parents could not contact me in the hall in the wee hours of the morning. Even after they repeatedly called the communal phone to wake a disgruntled hostelite up, I was not there because I was involved in some late-night hostel activity.

For tai-po, Day wasn't there too. He was at home, sleeping. He would not have been able to go anyway, everyone bans Day from going to hospital becuase of the germs flying around.

We are at the wake though, and it's night after night of staying up to make sure the candle flame remains lit for some spiritual reason. Something to do with the soul's journey I guess. I'm excused because of #2.

When I carried Day to see tai-po in her coffin, I told him to say "bye-bye" and he did, with a little wave. Then he started rattling "no more, no more, no more" over and over again. I wonder if he knows just how apt that is.

fever high

I was truly horrified when Day woke up from his nap today and I picked up the little fireball. He was burning up at 40.6 degrees Celcius.

He came down with a fever on Thursday night, we brought him to the doctor on Friday. She seemed non-plussed, just any other infection which I hope to God it is. His throat was apparently red and swollen.

We were a little laissez-faire, given that Day hardly falls ill and has always recovered remarkably fast in the past. This morning his temperature was normal, and as he was behaving normally we didn't give him the fever medication. Bad move.

While I was staring at the thermometer in shock, he peed in his nappy and because I was carrying him, the urine, as usual, soaked the front of my shirt. It was scalding.

As I type now, he has fallen into another nap, after I carried him for just 2 minutes. Another first: None of his illnesses before have made much of a dent in his behaviour. This time, he is super lethargic, whimpering a little here and there, and just wants to be carried all the time. Refuses to walk.

I daresay he has never been as ill, as now.

All we can do is to force the medicine on him, stick suppositories up his anus and give him his water therapy. He plays in the tub for at least 20 minutes but it really works to (temporarily) bring down his temperature.

papa speaks

I thought it would be weird if Day / #2 sees this blog when they can read and they realize that their father has no voice in it. Not that I don't let him. I tell him to post, all the time. Or comment. But like I said before, he's a man of few words.

I wanted to put my skills to the test and interview my own hubby, put up his quotes. But I was pleasantly surprised when he said he would post something. So here it is, the first time Day's papa is expressing himself.

"wife asked me to add voice to her blog so here it is:

first of all, her blog is great! often one of the first few websites i will go to whenever i switch on the comp!

for me it is still v exciting to expect a 2nd child, as much as it was for Day. the reasons are plain, #2 will be a different addition to the family, a different personality, a different 'project' lasting 21 years. u will be wondering how he will look like, behave, etc. it's almost like expecting your first one all over again.

seeing the scan of #2 was amazing. he was kicking, dancing and punching! i can see all his 10 fingers as doc was running us through the scan! amazing! frankly, i wound't mind if it was a girl cos maybe then we can just stop and deal with only 2 kids. my gut now tells me that wife will try for a girl next and #3 may just be too much financially.

I am just waiting to see wife's tummy bulge again, ha ha."

#2 at 12 weeks: the penis

Boy, oh boy.

I had my three-month check-up. #2 has tripled in length, from 2cm a month ago, to 6cm. Certainly growing well, unlike me. I'm still not even 47kg and I'm afraid my worst nightmare of resembling a bee (with a huge middle and skinny little limbs is starting to come true) but doc says it's ok. Not about the way I look la, but about not putting on weight.

However, all that is not important, really.

The only thing that's been on my mind ALL DAY is seeing a tiny little third leg in between the foetus' legs and we all know what that means. Doc said several times, looks like it's a boy. And as even I could make out the penis from the grainy ultrasound, as tiny as it was, it was pretty clear-cut.

The instant feeling was not one of joy. The only thing that ungrateful selfish me could think of was: Not. Again.

It just means that everybody else around me was right and the little thrill I had from calling the foetus a Her lasted only a short time.

At the same time I was reeling from the early discovery of baby's sex, Day (who we brought along for this appointment) was careening around the room, attempting to touch things which go into women's nether regions and banging his head into the table. Doc laughed and said: David is really a boy's boy!

Which made my thoughts repeat themselves: Not. Again.

Hubby just gloated. He was right. I reckon he knows his sperm better than I do.

Well. It just means no dresses, frilly things or long hair.

And after the initial (I have to be frank here) disappointment, I think it will be fun to have another healthy little boy and from the scan, #2 looks healthy enough. It was a shock to see the dancing he was doing in my tummy on-screen and yet not feel a thing. As KK said, in a reverent tone when we emerged from the clinic: "He's alive and kicking alright."

* You know, this just means I might be tempted to try for #3 down the line.

chilling out at changi

Cool, isn't it? Day holding a biscuit in his hand cigarette-style, lying on a float in the middle of the sea. Heaven.

Here's the Bigger picture.



Slight tinge of suspicion on his face there. He's probably wondering why his balls were exposed on a cold gray afternoon, and what the fiendishly grinning uncle next to him is trying to do...

Nothing la. Day's short 10-minute journey out to sea (he was mostly dazed and frowning throughout) was the climax of a day out at the Changi Beach on Sunday with my ex-colleagues and their kids.

Lightning flashed perilously close and rain fell for a while, but we managed to squeeze in a decent afternoon of grilled beef patty hamburgers and milking some laughs from the kids.

Day had a great time. He was fascinated by the aeroplanes flying overhead (very close because we are near the airport). And lucky for me, he was in a I-can-entertain-myself mood. I mostly left him to his own devices and Eugene (grinning uncle in the above picture) was particularly great with him.

Eugene also had loads of gadgets which are not normally meant for kids, but which he kept pulling out from his car and which turned out to be winning toys. Like this one:



Day spent a long time sitting on the float stuffing cups into the holes.

OK more on the kids.

Here are two of the kids. Day and (No, not Xueying or Fen) but Ethan, who is in Fen's tummy and who will see the light of day in two months time. Day is wearing the hot pink girly shoes which Xueying so appreciates. (Note how the two of them match.)



The third "kid" was Blazer - Fen and her hubby Eugene's dog. He's three years old and is a lousy guard dog because he's so gentle. Oh, and Blazer suffers from car sickness, unbelievable. He's actually got a motion sickness pill somewhere in his tummy.



The fourth kid, who arrived super-late because her folks were busy trying to put her to sleep but failed, is two-year-old Megan. She was scared of the thunder.



But hey, look what the storm winds do to her hair! Doesn't she look glamourous!



I'm really glad she came too because after Day's swim (for which I was totally unprepared for), Megan loaned Day her jumpsuit. Megan's mom Stephanie was way more prepared than I was. It was far too big for Day but hey, it'll do!

speech

Day has been growing and growing (I don't mean size-wise but development-wise) and I haven't noticed. I really haven't.

I haven't taken any videos of him in a month, hardly any photos. It's different when you have a completely stationary babe suddenly roll over or hoist up his head: The difference is major and the milestone is colossal.

I think the last big milestone I took notice of was when he walked.

But when you have a walking toddler who is kind of behaving like a little boy anyway, the changes become quite invisible. And it is no longer BIG one-off milestones - like walking - but progressive ones. Like talking. Or comprehension. Or association.

The signposts are sort of smeared out over several months.

One big one I have finally sat up and taken noticed of, is his talking. He's definitely not a chatterbox. Again, just like his father.

But I realized how far he had come when he came to me one day and, without pointing or any hand gestures, very earnestly told me "crane" (or his version of crane which sounds like "kng") followed by "up, down". So I said: "Oh, you saw a crane and it was going up and down?" And that is exactly what he saw.

Or another time when he woke up and, eyes still bleary with sleep, mouthed "gor gor, Ye Ye". Which I take to mean he had had a dream of the boy next door, Matthew, and his grandfather whom Day also calls Ye Ye.

And his favourite (no surprise here), No. The question I always ask is whether he wants to sleep and his answer is always no.

As stupid as it sounds, I am so thrilled to have an insight into his little world. And I know he is just as delighted because whenever I get it, he laughs out loud.

no more nan nan

That's it.

For the record, the last time I breast fed Day, was last night September 7, Wednesday, before he went to bed.

There was nothing, no milk. I think he knows it's time to call it a day.

He hardly protested tonight when I didn't feed him.

All in all, the weaning process took just five weeks. An incredibly short time to end a 1 1/2 year relationship.

Oh well, it's time to get a move on! Think everyone, especially hubby, is completely sick of my moaning about breastfeeding.

And frankly, it thrills me to know that I can now go overseas and leave Day behind for more than a day. Like, I could go to Nepal for a trek if I wanted to...

black people

Came across a blog posting by a childcare teacher on racist six-year-olds which brings to mind the discomfort I have over how some friends of Day are... just that: Racist.

In her posting, she writes:

"It all started when one of the six year olds called an aboriginal figure of a story book 'ah bu neh neh' which is often mistaken colloquial for indians. She tells me that her parents as well as her room teacher uses that word."

Now Day's friends, and I'm not saying which ones, go "ah bu neh neh" the WHOLE BLOODY DAY LONG. Young kids, two to four years old, not even six. The other day, they were putting little stickers on each others' forheads and calling each other "ah bu neh neh".

Fine. In that context, maybe you can call it racial awareness. Knowing that a pottu is usually worn by Indian women, so clever right.

But not when that offensive label, already wrong in itself, is frequently bandied around as a means to SCARE the kids. And I've heard it myself. Whenever they do or are about to do something wrong, the parents / maids favourite admonition is: "Be careful the 'ah bu neh neh' come and catch you ah!!!" It always works, they run away squealing.

And inevitably, they start using it to scare each other. In their minds, black people are scary.

It gets worse. At a birthday party recently, one of the older kids in primary school (also from the same 'ah bu neh neh' family) got into a fight with an Indian kid. Oh yeeesss...

Before it came to blows, his mother dashed over to physically pry the two boys apart. Then he let loose a torrent of verbal abuse. All racial, to do with smells and slurs, using the worst imaginable kind of words. All in 5 seconds, before his mom shut him up.

At the side, the Indian boy's parents remained silent. But I am quite sure the kid developed that kind of mentality because his mother said the same things and made those same slurs, at home.

I was recently asked: Are you racist? I would like to shout an outright No, but I won't because at times, I catch myself making sly little comments that I wonder later, where the hell it comes from. I would like to think that I am oh-so-nice and PC and universally benevolent, but I probably am not.

But at a conscious level, I never never never want Day to grow up saying "ah bu neh neh". NEVER.

To that end, I am glad that at the moment, he greets every Indian uncle or auntie he sees, including the construction workers nearby who are quite fond of him, the same as he greets everyone else. And thank goodness, he shows absolutely no fear of their skin colour.

the cockroach

Ahahahahaha!!! Today I found a dead cockroach on the car porch.

Now I know lots of people hate cockroaches, makes them squirm, wouldn't touch one for a million bucks. That includes Day's papa, who recently sprayed acrylic on a roach (from very far away) in a desperate attempt to "freeze" it as there was nothing else on hand.

I don't have a problem with cockroaches, have literally grown up surrounded by cockroaches crawling or flying around me. I'm just not very good at killing them and if they fly, I really would rather be out of the room in case they land on my face. But Day, like his papa, does! He's PETRIFIED of cockroaches!

So when I saw that dead roach, I thought: Time for some fun!



I picked up that roach by its strangely short feelers (it got progressively shorter as the feelers started breaking off in my fingers, couldn't support the weight of the roach's body I guess) and started chasing Day with it. So evil! But he was so funny!



Whenever he saw me coming, he would run.



And hide. At one point he ran indoors and refused to come out.

I hope this phobia of his doesn't last. I need a roach killer in the household.

#2's sex

Now why is it that the whole world thinks #2 is going to be a boy?!?

No one knows as yet. But to date, KK, my bro, the 2 maids next door and a couple of friends have all told me: "It's a boy". One or two others inadvertently referred to #2 as a "him".

Now here are their implausible, ridiculous reasons:

I am not preening myself. One of the maids swears that in her experience - and there are many women in her native village - women who are expecting daughters take a lot of care with their appearance and are much more vain than usual. She then looked at me, in my surf shorts, singlet and wild uncombed hair and pronounced: "That's why you look like that. You are having a boy." To all my protests that I have always been shitty-looking and it was only recently that I got my first piece of makeup (a lipstick) and what, does she expect me to go to her house with foundation?, she wasn't having any of it.

I am frequently tired. In all fairness, I must say I do get tired more easily but not that much more, and the maids always see me tired because I only go over when I am about to drop dead and need extra eyes on Day. Anyhow, if I were having a girl, I would supposedly be perky and active and chirpy all day. Ridiculous.

#2's size is on par with Day when he was in the womb. Engineer KK's reason is that girls tend to be smaller than boys. So logically speaking, if #2 is the same size, then it stands to reason that #2 is a boy. I say, the foetus is far too small for any growth difference to be significant and I have known plenty of newborn girls to be far heavier than the boys. Then again, KK has always had a feeling that #2 is a boy, even without this size comparision. Even before I conceived, he said that all my kids, whether 2 or 3 or 4, would be boys. Some misguided misogynistic belief in the power of his Y chromosomes and testosterone? Or really a gut feeling? The latter scares me.

As to my bro, he just insists that Day is going to have a little brother, with no reason.

To date, the only one who has said #2 is a girl is... Day. I asked him if it's Didi or Meimei inside my tummy and he said Meimei.

Frankly, either way, I'm fine. I know it sounds like I want a girl, and I would prefer one because then I would be less compelled to try for a third kid. I think it's also helluva lot easier and more fun (clothes and hair-wise) to have a girl!!!!

But here's my politically-correct kicker: Having #2 is a blessing already and if it were healthy, that would be more than I can ask for. Who cares about its sex.

durian?

You either love durians or you hate them.

Is it genetic? Who knows?

I'm just really glad that Day seems to loves durians. My friend Alicia used to tell me how her mom would buy a whole load of durians to eat on her own, while her husband and 2 children who hate durians stayed far far away.

I'm glad that so far, everyone in the family loves the fruit.



Me holding the seed for him to suck wasn't enough. He used both hands to grab the seed towards him so I ended up giving him the whole thing.

jo's clothes

What Jo wants, Jo gets!

My friend Jo bought Day a set of real nice clothes she got from the US when she came back for a visit in June. All branded but HUGE! If I have ever seen a one-year-old that big, the babe belongs in the Guiness Book of World Records.

Anyhow, she thinks he looks taller and asked: Do the clothes fit?

Do they?



Can't tell? His face looks screwy but it is a "good" expression. He always scrunges up his face in that funny way when he sees himself in a new outfit or a new hat. Maybe he just wants to make sure that the boy in the mirror is himself.



Clearer now?

The shirt hangs to his knees but it makes a rather cute nightie! The pants were even bigger, it hung way past his toes and I couldn't get it to stay up.

He sure liked the clothes though. He refused to let me take them off and when his pants threatened to slide down to his ankles, which was all the time, he was very very distressed and upset indeed. The poor boy hung on to his pants for dear life.