studio shots

Our family! (Dee in tummy)

After Huifen took a family picture for us, I thought it would be nice if we took a formal portrait. Never done one, frankly, apart from when I graduated from uni. Didn't even do one for the wedding.

Reactions I have got so far: Eeee! Your tummy!

Which sucks. Obviously most people still think a pregnant woman's tummy should stay under wraps.

The next thing they usually say is: Oooh your son looks much better than the two of you!

Which is absolutely true. Devoid of make up and any artifice, Day was his usual smiley worry-less self.

It helped that for some reason, Day found the photographer hilarious. It also helped that the photographer kept plying him with sweets.

dining with beckham

Amongst all the lovely presents Day received, the weirdest must be this David Beckham piggy bank with a head so huge it's bigger than mine.


Presumably the giver thought - same name, David, nice present. And it is a truly unique coin savings bank which I will get Day to use when I start giving him pocket money, I couldn't have gotten him a more unusual bank.

But it's the kind of present that, if I were to come downstairs in the dark at night for a drink and spotted it looming from the corner of my eye, I would scream.

Day doesn't fear it though.

He's been insisting that he dines with what he calls the "uncle-man". Everytime he sits in his high chair, he asks for he uncle-man to be placed facing him.

Sometimes he tries to feed Becks.


At other times, he just likes having Becks there, silent and smiling.

And on more than one occasion, he has tried digging Beckham's temptingly large nostril.

day's two

Unforgettable moment of Day's birthday party: When this strange flying object appeared in the sky, bobbing up and down riding the wind at roof level as the birthday posse watched open-mouthed from below.

Actually it's one of Day's birthday balloons.


That's the flying object in the foreground: the dino.

Filled with helium and bereft of its feet anchors - which had come off in the fray - it rose into the sky unnoticed by all until it was too late. Luckily, after travelling two storeys up for a short distance, it slowly drifted down and my friend Jason, after a few jumps, managed to grab it by its leash.

All 3 balloons were snapped up by the kids, am I glad I found them at this great party shop at the Concourse, which stocks loads of party things.

Day's second birthday party was very different from his first.

For one, he now knows what birthdays are all about and was eagerly looking forward to his own.
For another, he's got friends that he knows and remembers.

So I invited all his friends. All the kids that I brought him out to play with before (mostly my friend's kids) and even adults that he likes.

And we all put in a lot more effort for his 2nd birthday party than his first - where we just called the caterer and ordered a cake - as we all wanted him to have a good time!

His gong gong, characteristically brimming over with enthusiasm over the thought of hosting another party, spent a good amount of time digging a deep hole in the ground so he could plant a huge green umbrella in the garden.

Not only did he bring out his best orchids to hang under the umbrella and place on the stone table, he even took pains to hoist out the ladder to shower the top of the umbrella, which he said was dusty. Not that any of the guests would notice, but his efforts were much appreciated.


On my part, apart from the balloons, I got party packs for the kids (I reckon they are of the age where they would appreciate junk food and bubbles) and a Happy Birthday sign for good measure.


Thanks to my mom too, for preparing a spread of kueh pie tee, fried beehoon, red bean soup and chin chow. All I had to pick up some fishballs.

Did Day have a good time?

I'm happy to say yes!


Picture says it all. He was particularly exhilarated at the end, when some of the guests had left and he didn't feel so overwhelmed by all the uncles and aunties.

He, Kieran and Sophia must have run up and down the slope at least 20 times.

And though I didn't manage to get a big cake - because I didn't know that 2-kg cakes had to be ordered in advance - I did get him a nicer mango cake which I was afraid would be too small for everyone, but turned out in the end to be too much as everyone was sharing. We cut the cake under the new umbrella which Day's gong-gong had put up!


Everyone standing around to sing Day his birthday song.


And no, Dee wasn't forgotten. She got to meet up with Kieran's sister Kirsten, the girl who was born just two days before her.


It's fun having birthday parties for kids.

Adults never have fun.

Here's proof: KK's birthday was on the same day as Day's! But he absolutely refused to be featured in any way. Said it would be so lame...

Well, happy 35 dear!

cake envy

Ah my poor boy.

His little Bengawan Solo marble cake pales in comparison to his schoolmate's magnificent concoction.

One of his teachers whispered to me in a consolatory manner: You know, actually I prefer your cake. It's simpler and less jelat.

The little Yugoslavian princess's mother also came up to me to apologize profusely: Oh I'm sorry for the cake, but this is her only party and she has few friends here in Singapore...

Anyway here's the point: DAY TURNS TWO!

Apart from having his birthday party, I thought it would be nice for him to cut a cake with his school friends since he's forever talking about them.

The school's lovely. The teachers made him a lovely crown - King David he is - and assembled all the little tots in the eating area to sing Happy Birthday in three languages (English, Mandarin and Malay).

Just two days older than him was his Yugoslavian classmate Sofija, who is lamentably about 1 1/2 times his size.

Was Day happy? I thought he would be, to see him Mummy turning up at school with cake and party packs in hand.

But no. He was most definitely not. Most of the time he looked like this:


From the moment he saw me, he became Mr Whiny. Tugging on my hand, he kept imploring me to go home. Even with crown on his head, he was wailing and at one point, Sofija turned to him and very sternly put her finger on her lips, telling him in no uncertain terms to shut up.

It was only when the candles were lit and when the kids all tucked into the food that he lightened up.


But he didn't really become himself until I left the premises entirely.

Clearly, I spoilt his birthday celebration at school.

I enjoyed myself thoroughly though, putting faces to all the names he had been spouting and finding out that who he said were little girls were actually little boys.

privates

Amidst the stress and tears of coping with Dee, one thing never fails to make us laugh: Coming up with a name for her privates.

Crass? Yes.

But hey, it's a real dilemma and is just as brow-furrowing as coming up with her name.

In the last month, every conversation involving her privates goes something like: "Make sure you wipe her... what do you call that? What ARE we going to call that?"

For Day, it didn't seem such an issue, maybe because he's a boy and there are plenty of colloquial terms for the penis which we bandy around quite comfortably, mostly to do with a bird. Even now he refers to his own penis in colloquial terms.

But for a girl... nothing seems very elegant. All the colloquial terms are just so distasteful.

And it's really weird, when wiping her up, to say "Wipe up her vagina". It seems too scientific, too medical. As for what I was taught to call my own privates when I was young, I can't even say it now. I'm so uncomfortable with it.

I told KK to call it a Flower and he cracks up everytime. Clean her flower. That's fine, isn't it?

What cracks me up is when he suggests that we call it a "ham chim bang", which is Cantonese for pancake.

Oh well. The only plus is it makes for some fun moments. We still haven't decided on a name though.

then and now

Then (November 2004)...


And now...



Same man, same hair cut, same shirt, same mattress.
Only the baby is different.
Some things never change

her first dress

We did not buy a single thing for Dee before she was born. Not one, apart from a bag of diapers.

For her first month party, I was determined to get her a dress. A nice one that I can keep so she can check it out when she's older and chuckle at how tiny she was.

Here it is.


Objectively speaking, the dress looks nicer than her - she's still looking squashed and red - but really, that purple concoction does wonders in feminizing my daughter. She's been wearing all of Day's cast-offs and she usually just looks like ... Day's little brother (as they look so alike).

Anyhow we had a first-month party for her on Sunday, mainly for relatives and because my parents said it was necessary. She was four days short of being exactly one month old.

She slept peacefully throughout the event, unlike Day who was awake and troublesome throughout his first-month do.

The smell of vinegar and pig's trotters, that obligatory foul brew which follows the birth of a baby, permeated the whole place. Clearly, it's not a dish I appreciate but my aunties and uncles lapped it up.


The other highlight of the day was when my cousin brought his baby Janine, who is just a few weeks older, and plonked her besides Dee.


As these munchkins are the only two girls of that generation on my mom's side of the family, we can't wait to see them grow up together.

crying it out

Time flies? Not if you are being blasted by a screaming baby in your arms. During those moments, I can't believe how long it takes for one bloody minute to pass.

Jody, unfortunately, is a champion screamer with the disposition of a mule and she has gone on and on, for an hour, as my husband patiently waits for the never-ending storm to pass.

Is she hungry? Wet? Uncomfortable? No.

Unfortunately, she has got it into her head that the only place for her to be, is someone's arms. And not even anyone. It has to be the maid, or her grandma. Neither of her parents (us) are much good with her.

And not even while she is awake. While she is sleeping, she has to be in arms at all times. Put her down (even after carrying her for an hour) and she twitches awake in a frenzy, hysterical.

Do I mollycoddle her? Give her all that she wants? Frankly I can't. We are due to go to Sydney very soon and I'll be alone there. The thought of having to cook and clean and entertain Day and carry Jody or pacify her with the breast, as she is crying throughout the day for no good reason, is just too scary for words.

Desperate times call for desperate measures: I've had to train my baby girl.

I never thought I would resort to this but suddenly the Ezzo method, which I had previously blasted, looks like the only option.

We have been letting her cry it out. Whenever it is very clear that the only reason she is bawling is because she refuses to be put down, we put her down anyway. We stay with her, pat her back, coo to her but never pick her up.

Theoretically the duration of screaming should get shorter and shorter until she just knows that she has to sleep right where we put her.

KK has tried it in the past week or two, but I sabotaged his efforts. For I fear, that my daughter will suffer permanent psychological impairment as a result: lose her self-confidence, be a less happy baby, give up easily because she thinks her parents don't care about her needs or that nothing she does will make a difference.

But after yesterday, when I myself had to deal with her crying on and off between 2pm and 1am, all bets were off.

Ah there she goes again...

zijun

The all-important Chinese name has been chosen.

And it's ZIJUN.

What does it mean? Beats me. Purple-something.

I'm sure my dad knows what it means, and I'm sure it means something good (it's got the right number of strokes) but I chose it because it sounds nice. And it sounds strong, and it's very important to me that my girl becomes a strong woman.

I have been told that her classmates may twist her name and call her "zi-jing" which means tissue, but in all likelihood nobody except her Chinese teacher will call her by her Chinese name anyway.

I made a special trip down to TMC to register her birth certificate together with KK, because his writing sucks and Day's BC has got really lopsided spidery-looking Chinese characters on it, and the BC is for life.

Because I wasn't sure how to write her name (so many strokes) I got my dad to write it down again on that little scrap of paper in the photo above (I'm so pathetic) so I can copy stroke for stroke. I practised a few times too, being so unfamiliar with Chinese characters.

Best person would have been my dad, his Chinese characters are virtually calligraphic, but he wasn't free.

So there's that. Jody Loh Zijun it is.

a better dad

I always say, my husband makes a far better parent than me. I for one would rather have a parent like him, than like me.

He's supremely patient. He never flies off the handle ie. no screaming or throwing objects around which I am prone to.

He's far more nurturing. He WANTS to bath the baby / carry the baby / talk to the baby / coo to the baby. And he's better at it. I'm not very motivated.

He's calm and logical when it comes to the kids. Like I said, Dee's cries either scare me to hell or make me want to throttle her. He looks at her face, all screwed up and red from crying, and tries to figure out what the problem is and he tries to fix it. It's such a consolation to me that I can rely on him and turn my back when the situation threatens to cloud my sanity.

So why isn't he the one to stay home? Because he hasn't got the breasts haha.

And I'm pretty sure that if I were to continue working, and he stayed home, the kids will really not know who I am because I really don't have a way with kids. For me it's quantity time over quality.

Anyway, at the moment, Day is showing himself to be nurturing. He wants to hug and stroke and kiss Dee all the time although she seems to be rather scared of him. When he comes near, especially if he shouts, she whimpers and cries.

the wind in me

Still on post-pregnancy issues, part of the Confinement has to do with the presence of Wind in the body.

By Wind, I don't mean gas, but some mystical chilly essence which manifests itself in every post-pregnant mother's body and which must be got rid of at all costs. That's what the old people believe anyway.

Part of it (I think) has got to do with making sure the mother is never chilled as that would hamper her recovery process and she would suffer from bad rheumatism years down the line as the wind has got to her. So she always has to keep warm.

Zoe Tay apparently believes in this too. That's why she apparently (I heard) went through all the anti-Wind measures, which include:

* Not bathing for a month (just powder on the hair and body if anything gets greasy)
* No exposure to air-conditioning and even the fan
* Going through post-pregnancy massage to "rub" out all the wind - push it all out of the body
* Drinking loads of red-date tea (no water)
* Bathing in special herbs which will help to presumably "wash" away all the wind from the body
* Eating loads of special confinment food with ginger and sesame, which are "hot" foods believe to remove wind from the body

I can't even fathom the scientific basis behind some of these beliefs.

And I certainly can't find anything on the Internet.

It's not something which just old people believe in. My friends believe parts of it too, but I don't think anyone can explain why.

Anyhow, this round, with Dee, I strangely took a lot more anti-wind measures than with Day. It just happened that way.

Post-pregnancy massage


For the first time I hired a lady to do a post-pregnancy massage for me. She came for 7 days, for $450. She was brilliant. Not because of the wind (though I did fart a few times after she squeezed all the gas out of my tummy) but because my aches and pains all went away after her rubs. Her hands were sheer magic.

That's the wrap she made me wear for at least 12 hours. She ties this long sash around my tummy. One round, she makes a knot, for like 20 rounds. It can get excruciating...

Date tea


My parents make sure I drink lots of this. Every morning the maid boils a big tub of date tea for me with 2 types of dates. It's yummy so I'm not complaining. KK loves it too.

Herb bath


My parents (again) got some herbs from the market to boil with my bath water, which is supposedly anti-wind. They stink and the liquid looks vile, but as I soap myself after it's OK.

May all this save me from rheumatism in future...

confinement prison

Whoever came up with this confinement nonsense should be shot.

Staying at home for a month and not being allowed to go out, and expecting every woman to follow this silly rule, is just ridiculous.

A week after I popped, I went to fetch Day from school (it's a ritual I love because I love to peep at him playing with his friends before I make my appearance) and his Chinese teacher was most offended to see me there. Very sternly, she admonished me in a manner that reminded me somewhat of all the Chinese teacher dragon-ladies I had in school, and scolded me for coming out before the first month.

Well!

It's really a Chinese thing. I believe women in other cultures go right back to doing what they used to do before they gave birth. And as a nurse once told me, the confinement month applies to women in olden China who probably gave birth in freezing conditions and really had to take care that they weren't significantly weakened by the labour. Not women in sweltering Singapore.

I feel a lot better when I go out, thank you very much. At home, as I sit around with sweat rolling down my back, with nothing to do but wait for the dreaded wails of Dee, life is truly miserable.

And so I have gone out.

With Dee, Day and KK. Each time I do, I get the inevitable "You shouldn't be out before your first month!" but hey, we're there already. Most times, it's because Day is really really bored and KK wants to bring him out and I don't want to be alone with Dee at home, plus I just want a change of scenery.

So far we have gone to the SAFRA Golf Club, where Day went swimming. We went in a cab, Dee in a sarong sling carried by her papa (he's much better at carrying her than I am. Actually he's much better at everything to do with parenting except for breastfeeding).



Me breastfeeding at the club.


And this morning we went to a lovely new wakeboarding place near the East Coast Park hawker centre, with a glass-walled restaurant serving yummy breakfasts with lovely grilled mushrooms.


Day, who has been here with KK several times, is on familiar terms with all the aunties there and he particularly loves scooping up handfuls of sand and throwing it into the water.


Sadly, going out remains a weekend thing.

No way I can bring Day and Dee out alone. Not yet. Maybe when she can hold her head up.

fearing jody

Such a tiny frail pink thing. But she strikes such terror into my heart!

I am going through the exact Cycle of Fear with Jody as I did with Day. I don't want to look at her or hug her or tell her how much I love her. Far from it. I want to put as much distance between her and me as possible.

Her every little whimper, that little twist of the blanket I spot from the corner of my eye, sends my heart racing and I start to sweat. I just want to run away and escape. Escape all responsibility.

Sometimes I wonder if it's because of the breastfeeding that I'm like this. The Fear is particularly acute when I have just fed her and she doesn't sleep and she starts squalling 15 minutes later and nothing will sooth her except... my mammaries. When this happens for the 6th or 7th time in a row ie. I have fed her literally continuously for the past few hours, I really want to run and leave her.

Oh she's certainly better than Day was. Day was a real terror, a muncher, a predator who could sniff out and gobble me up. She, at least she gets sleepy sometimes. And she does give me 3 to 4 hour feeding respites part of the day.

But when evening and night approaches, my palms get sweaty. It's when she stays awake, doesn't go back to sleep after feeds, yells and screams. I can't even carry and sooth her because the moment she smells the sweetish breast milk which stains all my shirts and permeates my pores, her mouth starts arching to the left and right, searching for the nipple. If she doesn't get it, she screams some more. So I am in effect the worst person to carry her.

When I run to Day's room to seek refuge with my peacefully sleeping son, the irony doesn't escape me. I used to want to run away from him!

KK, the wonderful man, is a brave father. He takes her, looks at me and tells me: "Just go and sleep. I'll take her until you are ready to feed her again." She ends up screaming in his ear for ages while I the cowardly mother, in some other part of the house, am covering my ears with a bolster and singing nursery rhymes to myself so I don't hear the screams.


He, like with Day, is the one who's completely in love with the baby. He stares at her for hours, admires her every feature, tweaks her toes and twiddles her fingers. I take a look and scoot off in case she starts crying.

She'd hang on to my breast for hours if I let her, I reckon. But I refuse to let my breast end up as a pacifier again.

So here I am after two weeks of Jody. My feelings for her have taken a distinct downhill turn.

I'm not surprised, it's a repeat of my feelings towards Day. I remember it was only at the end of his third month, when I was preparing to go back to work, that I felt a surge of maternal love.