The Big Day - Say Hello to Julien Low Rui Kai!

And he's here finally, our son Julien Low.  Born on 23 Aug, 9am, weighing 3.345kg and measuring 50cm.  Looks-wise, does he resemble Mummy or Daddy more?  The verdict is still out there, but one thing is for sure - he is a cutie with lots of jet black hair!

Originally estimated to be due on 23 Aug by our gynaecologist in Singapore, the date was later revised to 19 Aug. In a strange sort of way, he was right on both counts. On 19 Aug, we had our first sign, when I had my show. This was followed by the onset of labour on 21 Aug,  4am. Waiting out at home, I was persuaded by Henry to go to hospital on 22 Aug late night and not a moment too early were we.

The happy news was: I was already 5-6cm dilated; the bad news was: I was in excruciating pain.  At home, I had discovered that hot baths did nothing for me in relieving labour pains, so I abandoned all thoughts of a waterbirth.  Instead, the first thing I told the midwife was - "Just give me the epidural!"  The good woman told me that she had a very good anaesthesist that night - Lucky me!  Within minutes, we had the epidural going, and I was in bliss, especially when I already had some nice puffs of gas and air.  For all aspiring Earth Mothers out there, take my word for it - go for the drugs!  Because established labour alone can take hours, and mine took at least 10.

The amazing thing about the epidural was that I didn't feel the contraction pains, though I could feel the motion of the contractions, as they became stronger.  And call it a cheap thrill, but I felt a certain glee to have "cheated the contractions", so to speak.  And given that the epidural would prolong labour and labour is hard work, I was glad to have the time to rest before my joint poussez performance with Baby.  By then, I was a giant active volcano with ever stronger tremors rumbling out from inside me.  It was then that I truly appreciated the contraction graph machine beside me, as its needle scribbled away busily, noting down the intensity of these tremors and giving me the much needed confidence to know when to push.  What will we do without the wonders of technology and medical advances?  I thank my lucky stars for being a preggie in this amazing modern age! :)

By 8am, I was told that I was fully dilated and my turn to work.  Confidently, I started to push and was astonished to find it was much harder than I had imagined.  Without much feeling below due to the epidural, I was not only unsure when to push, I was also unsure how to push. I mean, I was pushing, but often suspected I wasn't doing it right.  And when we lost the trace at one point, I started to seriously worry.  Mustering all my remaining strength, I gave the last few pushes as much as I've got left in me.  And finally, I felt a sudden whoosh and heard a watery 'gloop' sound ... I still struggle to describe this feeling in words properly.  All I can say is that I felt oddly like a sea creature at that funny moment of something slippery sliding out; it is the strangest yet most amazing experience.

And with tremendous relief, I burst into tears... that Baby is out finally and safe, that we've done it, this miraculous thing, that we can now move past the 9 months of inside-belly journey to the henceforth-forward-outside-belly journey, dissolving into a I-dunno-why-or-what-but-just-wanna-cry moment...

I had him on my chest for 20 minutes, that wrinkly reddish-brown mess of skin, and was in awe and wonder at this thing we have made. I fell in love instantly. You forget all about the blood and mess all around you, the pains of labour, the discomforts of the past nine months, because your universe, your very existence is suddenly reduced to this one moment, encapsulated in this one little being that has suddenly entered your life.

And yes, my friends are right - you can stare at your baby for eternity... Much as it may sound trite, the ability to give birth is a privilege and I am glad that no matter what rights I have savored and enjoyed as a modern woman, I have not missed the ability and opportunity to experience childbirth and motherhood.  Of course, I am not toeing the traditional line in the gender debate and saying all women must go through this experience to feel like one; motherhood and parenthood are ultimately really personal choices.  But I'll say that I am glad I took the plunge and did not miss my boat.

So, now, Baby, it is time to embark on the next part of our adventure - outside Mummy's belly.  Where before, Daddy has invited only me to walk Life's journey with him, we now invite you to join us on our path together.  Hold our hands tight and let's go forth and explore the world!

Are we there yet?

So this is how it feels like to have an overhanging belly.  I had mentioned to a male fren the other day that I am tired of sporting a cannonball in front of me for so long, and his reply was that he understood how I felt. I did not think he has a belly big enough to understand, but certainly it makes me think now that perhaps I understand how the men with big bellies feel! 

My bump has descended to the point where it touches the top part of my thighs when I sit down and it is so weird to feel this unusual skin-to-skin contact in this part of the body.  And at this point, the baby just feels like it is pooling right at the bottom of the belly, so that there is a constant weight and tightness in the front of the body. Walking is a huge manoeuvring exercise, while bending forward, even at a slight angle is an impossibility.

Before, as one progresses through the pregnancy, one is just preoccupied with the wonder of the expanding belly and how far more one can possibly grow; the due date was never a question, it being a matter of fact, backed by the proven experience of scientific knowledge and the expertise of professional medical personnel.  Ironically, as one approaches the due date and passes it, coupled with the physical reminder of an increasingly heavy belly, that magical due date seems to fade in power and the possibility that one may be stuck in the perpetual state of pregnancy becomes more of a reality.

At this point, the host vessel (i.e. the mother-to-be) gets increasingly moody.  She starts to wonder whether she will ever be able to sleep on her back again, whether she will ever be able to freely toss and turn in her sleep without the aches and twinges of a severely tested pelvis, whether she will ever be able to read a book lying on her stomach, whether she will ever see her toes again, whether she will ever be able to reach the ringing phone fast enough before the caller gives up and hangs up.  In fact, at this point, I am struggling to remember how the pre-pregnant Me looks like; the Me in my old photos looks like an unreal fantasy.

Don't get me wrong; I am not ungrateful for my growing bud. I am fully aware that there are many out there who yearn for a baby and are resorting to expensive and physically and emotionally draining fertility treatments or trying adoption programmes to get that little one. I fully appreciate the miracle of the little life coming our way and am thankful for it.  And I definitely believe in the testimony of so many frens who have gone through delivery - that they feel this incredible, huge rush of love, as they meet their baby for the first time and can stare at them for eternity.

But like all other women who go overdue, patience has a limit. And the line between reality and disbelief can become fine - the longer the baby stays inside, the more it does not become a real, tangible presence.  Even the allure of the luxury of sleep and personal 'Me' time loses its appeal.  For surely, the earlier the delivery is done and over with, the faster bonding time and recovery can take place too. 

Today, I heard that my sister's fren has had her baby induced by one day early. Apparently, the poor girl has reached her limit. Not that I am at the point of wanting induction without being offered, but while, in the past, I would have clucked in disapproval, now I no longer judge.  In fact, I applaud her for knowing what she wants and taking control, for now she reaps the reward of holding her baby in her arms and having the freedom to stare at her baby for eternity. Sadly, this option is not open to me in UK; here, you are only offered manual induction (a sweep) if you are one week overdue and induction by drugs if you are overdue by two. So, all I can do now is to tap little bumpsie now and then to check he is okay and sigh in relief when he responds with a thump here or a bout of hiccuping there.

Well, Baby, Daddy and I are ready to meet you. We know you are physically ready for the business of living outside the womb, so come soon. Our love is waiting to gush out all over you, as we anticipate locking eyes with you for the first time.

A Tribute to Fatherhood

Today is The Day - 19 Aug 2010 - Baby's due date.

And as the prospects of an early arrival start to dim and our spirits start to dampen, Henry came up with a strange but funny idea to cheer us up and cheer Baby on - He decided to sing Baby the "Happy Birthday" song.  From morning till before he left for work, Daddy Low put his face near my bump and sang to Baby.  He cajoled Baby, telling him that it is time to come out, that he can better hear the song directly without the interfering sounds of Mummy's gastric juices. He rubbed little bump gently and Baby responded with little tsunami rolls.  I think if he thought Baby could see him, he would be making funny faces too.

And all this while, I watched Henry in amusement and a growing warmth. 

I have heard testimonies from friends of how their husbands showed a hitherto unknown softer, gentler side as they well up in paternal love when they have children. That this is as much part of the miracle of birth.  That you fall in love all over again with your partner, as you both evolve in your roles in the newly enlarged family unit.  But to see it for oneself is truly amazing.

At the beginning, Henry has always indicated that he is happy not to have children. And I did not mind so much at the beginning, because I was simply not ready yet. We enjoyed the freedom and lifestyle of a DINK (Dual Income No Kids) family, spending our money on whatever we want and travelling whenever we like.  There was no other party to worry about, no other consideration to include in our plans or decisions.

I think the turning point came when Henry embarked on his MBA in Switzerland. At that time, he was only thinking about a career switch to expose himself to more possibilities in life, to stretch himself and test his potential in the private sector.  I was just keen to have a break from a gruelling, exhausting work schedule. Babies were not exactly part of the concrete plan.


But all that slowly changed, when we came into regular contact with classmates who came with family in tow. It doesn't matter how many kids they have, but it is always the same - the kids come alive when they are with their daddies, and the men light up and transform from sharp MBA students to silly, funny family men when they meet their babies. And you see the same story with new daddies, whose babies only enter their lives last year in the midst of their studies. They go all soft and gaga once this new life has entered their lives and can't wait to go home as soon as class is over (Dennis and Alejandro, this is you!). The transformation is almost immediate, but yet not abrupt. It is almost as if this new softer paternal side has always been inside, but only the new little life has the ability to tease it out, to help it blossom (that's definitely you, Martin and Graham!).  


And without a doubt, you see what a strong bonding gel the babies become in the fabric of family life. Mummy wakes up early with the children and they have breakfast with Daddy before he rushes off to school (and school starts at 8.00am!). And at break time (usually 4pm), the school foyer is packed with mummies and children, waiting excitedly to meet the daddies (Angie, Nikos and Stelios, I am thinking of your family!). I was not there to witness this everyday, since as a no-kid wife, I am happily gallivanting outside with other no-kid wives or just relaxing at home. But it is undoubtedly a heartwarming scene, the few times I have witnessed it.  And to see Henry enjoying the interaction with the kids is doubly warming.


Not only do men become marshmallow-like softies when they put on their "Daddy" hats, they also take on a different persona when they meet other daddies - they become Daddy-frens instead of MBA classmates. I remember clearly dear Walid, who would help to babysit David for Angela and Andreas, as well as helping to carry Alexander while daddy Johan went to the group room to pick up something.  And these daddy friends form strong friendships, becoming a sort of support network for one another. In a cute sort of way, they have formed an exclusive club that non-parents have neither an understanding of nor any access to.


Then, there were the daddies who left their families behind in their countries and it is obvious how they miss their wives and children, even if they don't say much about it. Some even had wives who popped back home when they were away in Switzerland and you know it was a difficult decision for them not to be there for their wives and babies on that special day and thereafter. It is always heartwarming when you hear of how they enjoyed being with their family after they have returned from a visit home during the summer break.

Recently, I read this in a newspaper article - "Men who become fathers experience a surge in parenting hormones very similar to that experienced by women, researchers have found. The neurochemicals seem to alter men's brains in ways that help them form caring, long-term relationships with their new child... Such findings offer a scientific basis for what many men have experienced at first hand - a sudden upheaval in emotions and attitudes following the arrival of a child." - The Sunday Times, 15 Aug 2010.


I remember my girlfren Cheralyn sharing with me her birth experience and how her husband just broke down when the baby emerged. Truly, the birth of a new life is a miracle indeed.  And when you see a reciprocal affection from the baby, you know that is when the magic has struck. I think Henry was pleasantly surprised when two frens' boys, Kenshin and Shawn (who do tend to only want their mummies) allowed him to carry them and stayed in his arms without protests for quite a while too.


And as the birth of our own baby approaches, I am curious to see Henry's reaction at the birth and in his fatherhood role.  I think I am not far off to say he will make a wonderful and adoring daddy.  Already, nothing seems too expensive for Daddy Low to splurge on Baby...

The Silly Exuberance of the First Pregnancy

Any new adventure has a novelty and I think this is in every way true for the first pregnancy. When my midwife wrote in my hospital notes at our appointment 4 weeks ago that Baby had engaged, I went all abuzz with excitement.  It reinforced my conviction that Baby will arrive early.  And with no previous experience, I took my midwife's words as a sure sign.  So sure was I, that I wrote such an affirmative status update on my FB that I had a long string of well wishes and "bon courage" messages from well-meaning friends.

Now, I feel sort of deflated. In fact, I feel silly, like the hen in the fairy tale who went around town clucking away about her achievement, because she had just laid one egg. Yes, Sir, ONE egg. 

But me... my one egg is still not laid...


What did I learn from this? That one should shout only when one has given birth? That one should be more reserved and not shout out one's happiness to the whole world?  Well, yes, all these went through my mind and I have to say that I did feel somewhat embarrassed by my excited trumpeting... and still no baby in sight. Sigh.

By now, friends are either sending excited emails of enquiry or worse, posting them on my FB Wall for the whole world to see, and still, I have no good news to share.  Others are writing words of encouragement or offering advice on how to treasure the remaining precious "me"/"couple"/"me-and-parents" time.  And the whole time, I just feel like a lame duck, a lame duck who has psyched myself and everyone up and finally psyched myself out of this whole pregnancy buzz.  


I wonder if this has got to do with my blood type. I remember watching one YouTube video about how different blood types react differently. And mine apparently is ever ready to shout out everything, the whole truth and nothing but the truth to the whole world regardless of tact/diplomacy/occasion. No holds barred... which now, on hindsight, is really not the best policy.


But that sounds like the easy way out for myself, to blame it all on biology.


So well, after a lot of thinking and yesterday's blog entry, I am resolved to feel free to be myself and not be apologetic for being me. And like the good, proud, one-egg mother hen, I feel entitled to be happy, to be exuberant, to embrace and luxuriate in my joy of my coming baby. 


I didn't carry this baby for one month or two, but for nine long months, which have been nothing short of a dramatic, eventful ride.  With all those rampaging hormones coursing around, I suppose I do feel at a higher HIGH than usual... And let's not forget that a happily rambling preggie is better than a grouchy, moping one - Henry will testify to that, I am sure :)  And by now, I am past the worry of birth pains; just come, I say!


So, my frens, if I have sounded like a broken record, going on about Baby coming, please be generous and indulge me, silly Kelly Belly.  This one-egg hen is all ready to meet her little cutie chickie! And hopefully, so is he ready to meet me.


Videoclip of Blood Type Experiment 

What's your Attitude to Life?

"I feel so happy to be alive. I feel happier if I'm living everyday to the fullest.  You could die tomorrow, so just live.  That makes me feel freer and happier. The funny thing about having children is that now I'm twice as motivated to do a cool stunt because my kids will like it. The worst that could happen is that I have an injury but I am still free. " 
- Angelina Jolie in an interview about her movie Salt with News of the World, 15 Aug 2010.

Granted, the News of the World is not the best newspapers in UK, but this quotation from the interview certainly caught my eye.  This philosophy is akin to what I myself believe, though I would say my risk tolerance is a lot lower than Jolie - I would certainly not think that the worst that can happen to me if I do a dangerous stunt is to have an injury; one could certainly die!  I am quite aware of my mortality :)


But one can certainly take a page from Jolie's words. Given that I am more or less a pagan and not sure if I believe in reincarnation or life after death, the words "we live only once" ring especially true for me.  For me then, every experience in life is precious and valuable in itself. And I try to stretch myself as much as I can in everything, as long as it does not cost me my life, limb or sanity.



But most of all, this approach has made me feel alive. Alive because I did not waste a single moment of my life, nor waste a single emotion. Alive because I have tried to embrace every new experience even if in the end, the outcome has been short of satisfactory. Of course, there have been stumbles, and there will be disappointments, but one does learn and reflect and move on with a newfound wisdom.

There have been days, when I have packed my day full of activities and pushed myself to be open-minded and try new experiences to the extent that I am physically exhausted and emotionally burnt out. But nevertheless, when I look back, I have no regrets and even if I cannot remember every exact detail, I do know that it has been a wonderful blur of events that has packed my existence with meaning and given me much satisfaction. 


Yet, paradoxically, I am painfully aware that I am not there totally, all the way.  I am not as adventurous as I would have myself believe. At the end of the day, no matter how much I think I am open-minded and free, there are inhibitions that I cannot break free of, reservations that I cannot shed. And that stops me from embracing the attitude of living life with total abandon.

This is every man's Achilles' heel.  And behind it lies this - the inability to be unapologetically oneself. 

This is the one thing that we can learn from Miss Jolie - to be comfortable in one's skin and not feel the need to explain oneself to anybody. Be it in real life or reel life (think about Lara Croft, Mrs Smith, Assassin Fox and Evelyn Salt), Jolie has lived the way she wants to.  Except that I would add the qualifier that one should be careful not to hurt others in one's actions. For certainly, I can't say Jolie is right in all her actions or conduct, but when one only lives once, I can only say one may choose to live by one's terms, but be ready to face the consequences.

And as I ponder this rather philosophical piece, I wonder how I shall guide Baby through these complex intricacies of life.  After all, I am nowhere nearer to self-mastery in my ripe mid-thirties! The job of child-rearing weighs heavily, but I think I can only leave Baby with these words for now... a personal favourite quotation that I came across. 

"Look, I don't want to wax philosophical, but I will say that if you're alive you've got to flap your arms and legs, you've got to jump around a lot, for life is the very opposite of death, and therefore you must at the very least think noisy and colorfully, or you're not alive."
- Mel Brooks  

And with a mother's faith, I know Baby will find his own wisdom as he navigates Life's multifaceted delights and treacherous falls, and that he will emerge the stronger for it.

Waiting for Baby...

Having heard from my mum that all three of us siblings were either 1 or 2 weeks before due date, I was convinced that my own would be at least one week early.  My parents arrived one week earlier accordingly, but we still have no signs that His Highness is ready to come into our world.  Nevertheless, it was a good time to catch up, settle in and show the parents some places.

I had planned on just having a quiet weekend with my parents at first, but being persuaded by Henry that labour will take several hours to finally kick in anyway after the first little contraction, we decided we will take our chances and plan the weekend with activities. Saturday saw us hosting family for a barbecue, while Sunday saw us drive one hour to the furthest borough of London for a Singaporean birthday party.  I was so convinced by Henry that I did not even pack in my hospital bag into the car, believing that we will stop by home to pick up the stuff on our way to hospital if indeed, His Highness shows signs of coming. After all, the worst thing that can happen must be reaching the hospital and having not much action and being sent home again. So, the reasoning goes: the more I can tahan and the later I reach hospital, the greater will be the dilatation and the shorter the labour in hospital. Hopefully, I can even be home for dinner! :)


At the party, the other guests congratulated me warmly and asked me innocently when I am due. When I smiled and replied, "Coming Thursday", jaws dropped, followed by exclamations of admiration.  In one minute, I had either become the incredibly amazing, brave preggie or the hopelessly foolhardy one. Either way, I had a blast catching up with my Singaporean frens and I am glad we went, because my parents enjoyed meeting the other Singaporeans too. I think they are relieved that I have found other countrymen that I can hang out with. Before coming, my mum had asked me how far away is my nearest neighbour. I think her idea of staying in a quiet "countryside" (anything outside London seems to be countryside) means my nearest neighbour must be out of sight totally! My father kept asking me if I had met other Singaporeans.  Happily, they can now feel at ease.


After Sunday's party, I was all ready for Baby.  Henry and I had told Baby to hold off till after the birthday party, so Mummy can have her last fling with her frens.  And when we got home, I sat down and composed myself quietly, waiting for that magical moment of waters bursting or some other sign.  


I waited and waited, but nothing happened.


So, I got up and decided to do the laundry. Followed by ironing of the dried laundry. And then, I took a shower. Followed by Mum's yummy dinner. 


Still nothing. I went to bed a disappointed woman.


The next morning, Henry told me he dreamt of Baby. I was ecstatic. I asked him, "Did Baby say anything about when he is coming? What does Baby look like? Is he more like me? Or more like you?"  And the poor man could only say, "I dunno, but it is Baby."  Sigh... trust a man not to remember the important details...


So, after more laundry, more ironing, a shower and dinner, I am back to the waiting game. And while I am at it, I decide that I will get back to my blog writing. 


And as I retire to bed a despondent woman, I hope I will wake up racked with contractions... for then, I shall be a happy woman again.  Did anybody ever say that the road to motherhood is easy? Hell, no, only masochists take this journey!  =>

Mistress Fickle - The British Weather

Mistress Fickle, the British Weather

has a daily ritual.

She sits down every morning with her cuppa

and peers into her world below.

She slowly enjoys her cuppa,  reads a bit of paper

Then, her tea leaves contemplate...

Should today be about the blazing sun, the chilly wind, 

the gentle drizzle or the angry hail?
Undecided, she purses her lips and furrows her beautiful brow.

Then, breaks into a jubilant smile, when everything becomes clear.

Why? This is no hard problem;

The world can taste all of her delights

All in one splendid go!

Oh, Mistress Fickle, Mistress of my Soul!


I was told the British weather is a topic so close to the British's hearts, that conversations about it can run endlessly.  Which is a total surprise to me really, 'cause I can see no fascination in a topic that can be summed up in a question and answer - 

Q: So, what's the weather like today? / going to be like tomorrow/next 2 days etc?
A: It's gonna ________________ (fill in the blank with the following: rain, hail, blaze, be cloudy/windy etc)


And for that, one can easily refer to the weather services on Internet or the UK Met service.  

And I suppose if anyone really wants to say more about the weather, the next logical useful thing would be to consider what weather implements one should venture outdoors with - a brollie, a raincoat, wellingtons etc...


To go on any further about this topic seems to me to be an exercise in superfluous, inane conversation, with a mind on filling time rather than meaningful interaction.  A superficial discourse to expend with an acquaintance or to hold someone at length and not get any closer... 

Or so I thought, before I came to stay in England.


When you become a resident in this land governed by Mistress Fickle, you learn to respect her powers and consult the weather forecasts before you plan your day's activity. The other effect is that one becomes almost immune to the weather and does not let it deter you from your plans, because after a few weeks of wallowing in misery over the perpetual grey skies or unpredictable weather, one is soon hit by the realisation that one can't control Mistress Fickle anyway. So, one just puts on whatever attire and brings whatever implements necessary and goes on with one's plans.

I had learnt these lessons after settling in here for a few months, even if I still hate grey skies and Mistress Fickle.  And it is with great amusement, as I observe my parents' astonishment at the rapidly changing patterns from one extreme to the other and their reactions as they try to anticipate Mistress Fickle.

Our Saturday's barbecue plans were in peril. The skies have been showing gathering streaks of grey before opening up into a soft drizzle.  The parents were dismayed; we had prepared a lot of food and have my sister's future in-laws coming for this long-planned gathering.  Henry and Ben (my sister's bf) were nonplussed, simply taking out the huge golf umbrella to shelter the barbecue pit. The food turned out well, despite the unfriendly weather. The rain stopped for a bit, and everyone walked out to enjoy the cool air in the garden and we were in better spirits. And a few minutes later, the rain sent everyone scuttling back in... At night, the parents complained of the cold and went around the house all wrapped in longs and woolly socks. 


The next morning, the sun shone brightly, before turning grey and rainy a few hours later.  We did our washing nevertheless and hung them indoors. By afternoon, when we returned from our outing, the sun was out again. My mum, like all Singaporeans used to the sun, jubilantly brought the washing out despite our strong recommendations not to. And before you know it, a shout "Rain" was raised and we all scrambled to bring the washing in.


Today, the sun blazed without mercy and we put out fresh washing once more. When we suggested going out, my mum was reluctant, wanting to stay at home to watch over the washing instead. When we finally persuaded her to come along, she insisted on keeping the laundry. Well, from my few months of experience, I was sure it would not rain. I had moved from layering up the past few days to just wearing my short-sleeved top and loose, short pants today. And our sweat pores were working overtime too! But no, Mum is bent on keeping the washing and Dad was bent on wearing a pullover and bringing his waterproof jacket. So, out we trooped with the attire and weather implements of our choice...  


Throughout our outing, there was not a single grey cloud or a drop of rain. And Mum could not help moaning over the fact that she should have left the laundry out in the sun... while Dad staunchly kept his pullover on.

So, what would Mum do next time about the laundry when we head out? I think she is going to continue to be conflicted about Mistress Fickle and will probably still end up being bent by Her Mightiness' power - either keep the clothes or stay in to watch over the washing :)

Home is where Family is...

Finally, they are here! My parents, that is. 

I still remember the day we left Singapore for UK in March. I was 20 weeks pregnant and had been staying with my parents after returning from Switzerland in December the previous year. I had been an emotional wreck in the weeks before that and up till that sad March day, dreading the day of departure, as I felt time slipping by.

If I had wanted and enjoyed my freedom from the parents in the previous year, my roller-coaster of a pregnancy has certainly put me back squarely in the child's role of wanting her parents' love and pampering.  So, for the first half of my pregnancy, I felt strangely like a little baby, much comforted by my parents' attention and care, as I was hijacked by bouts of nausea and emotional troughs.

Thus, I guarded my time jealously and wanted to spend all my time with my family. Given that I could not bring myself to go out and face the crowds and risk being assaulted by food smells (they have suddenly taken on a sinister intensity), meeting friends for meal dates was a near impossibility. I wanted to only eat at home, hankering for homecooked food, even though my mum was at her wits' end, given that the list of foods I can no longer tolerate increased by the day. And after every meal, I would have to lie down to keep the food down, before running to the toilet at some point, before crawling back into bed again. And absurdly, I would be hungry all over again in 2-3hours' time. 

If those few months were a torture for me, I know it was not any easier for my family or Henry. My mum was worried sick and could not understand why I was still throwing up my food after the first trimester. My dad may not have said much (but then Asian dads seldom betray their feelings), but he would try to help by stocking up the house with bananas, bread and other healthy snacks to fill those sugar-low moments.  And my brother would call every night before he comes home from work, to see if I had any cravings and wanted any supper.  And finally, Henry would be there, when I fell into crying fits and could not let my parents see.


You can thus imagine why I was reluctant to leave. My family had become my security blanket and was the Known, while UK would be the Unknown.  And leaving my dogs behind was another unbearable thought, even if I knew they were in good hands with my parents. It broke my heart to leave them for another year after having already left them behind for one year with my parents when we were in Switzerland.

I remember that my greatest concern about going to UK was food (given that I have established a rather limited list of food items that do not send me helter-skelter to the new frens I love and hate - the sink and toilet bowl.) But more than anything, what am I to do without my family and dogs? They are part of the strong wall that is familiar and protective of me, and when Henry is at work, I would be alone and vulnerable. 

[Luckily, I have my sister here and she was and continues to be my pillar of strength in my transition. After 8 years apart, we had a lot to catch up. And she has been most wonderful in being understanding to a very grouchy, pregnant, difficult sister... but more of the sister another time...]


We had a tearful farewell at the airport. And the key thing that gave me strength was that in August, I would see my parents again, when they come to help me with my confinement care after delivery.  Every day in UK, I am thankful for technology. Through Skype and Facebook, my mum would be there and would make it a point to show me my dogs. (And now, she makes an effort to read my blog... and she doesn't even really know English! My dear ole Ma - I love you!)  Without that daily support, my wait till August would really have not been so easy. And finally, that day is here! I could hardly believe it. 


The days before their arrival, I was in a state of excitement. I cleaned the house feverishly. I prepared their room, stocked up on toiletries and thought about all the things we could do together and the places we would see. And then would laugh at myself when I remember that Baby might come any moment and we would just stay at home. But my parents would be here with me!  And that is a such a sunny thing! (haha, this is not a proper expression, but somehow it seems perfect for this moment, this thought! :)   


I cannot pin down exactly what makes the bonds with parents so special. Is it purely a biological bond? I don't think so; children brought up by foster parents or grandparents would feel this way too.  Like all children, I have gone through high and low moments with my parents. I have not always been the most polite or dutiful daughter. I have complained about their nagging or their constant offering of opinions... I have actually secretly relished being away on my first trip away from home, when Henry and I were in America. So, perhaps, the old adage "Absence makes the heart fonder" is true. Perhaps, the distance and time apart have made them more precious to me. Life and time will change our views. After staying away from home in different countries for a few years, one doesV start to appreciate home and family more. Whatever differences, unhappiness or even just a bland neutrality one may have before about one's family, that changes when one is away for long. 

But most importantly, age has mellowed us too. As we go through life's journey, one's eyes open and see life's truths anew. What matters most in life is relationships, and familial relationships come above everything else. And at this point, when I am at the cusp of motherhood myself, one starts to ponder and question more about what it means to be parents. And the truth stares at you in the eye - parents love children unconditionally, simple as that. It is not the goodies my parents bring from home, but it is everything else that they have done for me all throughout my life, that has continuously imprinted a constant message of love in my consciousness. And I thank my parents for this lesson, that I may hold this in my heart and do the same as Henry and I embark on our new roles as parents to a new life soon to join us in our life journey.

Feeling somewhat like Persephone, I shall once again treasure and guard my time jealously with my parents. And with what glee, I shall do so!  Here's one for the Chongs!  =>

A Dose of Sensitivity, please.

"What is it about heavily pregnant women? ... In the modern world, we are unapologetic about the space we occupy, and rightly so... It's not as if we are invisible in the workplace or in the public.  Yet, we are still strangely, somehow an oddity. The more pregnant you get, the more people stare and pass comment, as if in the presence of a giant, lumbering freak. They often look frightened or intimidated.  Either that, or they veer towards the other end of the spectrum, sweetly and politely insisting that, "You're not that big, " "You look very compact," or "That's a neat bump you've got there." "

This is an excerpt of a newspaper article I read today, entitled "Why People are Rude to Pregnant Women".

It brought to mind my own similar feelings during our weekend jaunt to London. As Henry, Yen and I walked through the park, I had, more than once, caught other people staring at me.  Specifically, they were staring at my bump and then walking away without even looking at me in the eye.  Or if they did, they looked furtively away when our eyes met. I had remarked then that people must think I am so big that I should not be out running about.  Henry and Yen thought that I was being sensitive and that people could simply be envious of my coming bundle of joy or are happy for me. 

Certainly, this could be an issue of perspective, but I did not think so and was not convinced. Especially not when people do not acknowledge your happiness with a smile, but simply look away when you look at them.

Perhaps, because I am Asian and so an outsider to this society, I have been spared most other variations of this attitude. My friends from my antenatal classes have had animated discussions as they exchanged stories of how they feel "objectified".  One had been upset that people, whether colleagues, acquaintances or mere strangers, had constantly made comments about how big she was in her last few weeks of pregnancy.  Some had wondered out loud how she would be able to have the baby out if it is so big.  Such comments did not help her, especially when she went overdue. While my bump was not extraordinarily big, I did have the odd comment or two that it was, and I have to say, that did put me in a bit of a state, as I wondered if everything was alright and started fretting about the pain I would have to go through if this is a big baby.  Very unnecessary stress for a pregnant lady indeed, considering that our hormones are on overdrive and we are even more sensitive than usual.

Another strange and unwelcome phenomenon is that some people seem to be drawn to touch your bump.  And this could be people one doesn't even know well, such as colleagues from another department that one only knows by face.  My friend was totally caught unawares, because the person did not even ask, but simply came up, touched her bump and said, "Oh, how big you have grown!"  After she got over the shock, my friend found it rude and felt her personal space violated.

Perhaps, this is what non-pregnant people consider as a positive greeting for a pregnant woman, since the gain must reflect a healthy baby and the touch would suggest an intimate acknowledgement of the little bud inside. But please say hello to us first; we are human too, even if right now we are the host vessel for the little life inside. It does not help if after this cursory greeting, the person walks off to get on with her work.  It would be nice if you ask how we are instead of just focusing on Mini Me, thank you.

Personally, I hate the question, "How did you grow so big?!"  As if a pregnant woman doesn't feel sorry enough about her weight gain and ballooning figure! I did not need the additional guilt of going through the internal turmoil of wondering if I had overeaten during these crazy, hungry days (Yes, I am always ravenous!).

I appreciate when people make way for me in a crowded aisle or give up their seats on public transport.  But may I suggest that you accompany your nice act with a smile? Most get up hurriedly, move around me gingerly and they sometimes look petrified.  No, I am not a bubble/balloon; I won't pop or break easily.  Pregnancy is part of life and we all came out from  a distended tummy once, so don't look at us like we are the Unknown or some inexplicable mystery.

Smile, it will put both you and me at ease.




An Additional Note:
And believe it or not, there are the rude-beyond-belief-anti-pregnant-women people.  I think this is such a rare breed that what I am about to relate will make you gasp. This happened to a friend's pregnant colleague recently. Commuting to work in the London tube one day, she was standing in front of a lady in a seat.  The sight of her heavily pregnant bump probably made the passenger uncomfortable, but unwilling to give up her seat, the latter felt it necessary to offer her explanation by way of a shockingly rude advice, "If you choose to take the tube when you are pregnant, you have only yourself to blame."  At this point, several other passengers who have overheard this remark jumped up promptly and offered our pregnant fren a seat! While this did lead to a seat, the uncalled-for, hurtful remark certainly ruined the poor girl's day.  If London's traffic is not so infamously start-stop and cabs are not so expensive, which preggie would not choose to travel in comfort?  May this passenger be haunted forever by her shameful conduct and have a taste of her own medicine one day!

Do you believe in love?

I was not always a happy person.  In fact, I did not always believe in love.  And it did not help that my sister always seemed to be popular with the boys, as we were growing up. After a failed relationship of 5 years and a 4 year drought after that, I was convinced that I would be me, me and only me for the rest of my life.  

But the funny thing is... I have actually forgotten about that long sad period, because Henry came into my life and brought me so much fun, laughter, happiness and of course, love.  He had effectively largely erased this unhappy part from my memory. So, it was with great surprise that today, I was reminded of this exorcised baggage...

But this entry is not going to be a grand expose about the great love story of Mummy and Daddy Low... (oh no, Baby, you dun get to know about this yet!)

It is actually about my next favourite topic:  Being Single and the Right to Find Love.

My urge to write about this came I watched... yes, you guessed it... today's episode of "New Dating in The Dark"!  Man, I love this show :)

So, let me first start off by saying I found today's episode absolutely enjoyable and believe it or not, meaningful and "educational".  In fact, I think if this show had been around in those sad years, I might have learnt a thing or two about love and the vibes one sends with one's behaviour, personality etc that might make or break a potential relationship! 

I mentioned before that participants generally sign up, because they want a shot at love, without being judged by their looks or perceptions/associations with their work.  Let's meet the participants:

The Girls

• Natalie - Half Filipino, half Ghanaian, Natalie is a fashion retail manager, who spots a tattoo of a heart with a hole and is looking for a serious relationship and so hopefully  patch that hole in the heart.  She says men find her attractive, but she is not in a relationship, because she reckons they find her intimidating.
• Vicki - A glamour model, she is very aware that men who try to know her are always after one thing - sex, because of her job and her physical appearance.  She is hoping the show will give her a chance to meet someone who can see beyond her looks.
• Maria - A real estate agent, who is looking for a serious relationship. She has put in the hard work, having gone for 30 dates over the past 6 months.  She seeks a man, who will like her and like her family. 

The Guys

• Andrew - One of the dancing instructors from Pineapple Dance Studios, which is also now a reality show; thus he is also a TV celebrity.  He hopes the show will help him to find love, without the potential dates having preconceptions of him because of his fame due to reality TV.
• Paul - A sales executive, Paul describes himself as a one-woman man and is looking for a serious relationship.  Seriously good looking, he is more of a quiet person and listens first before speaking (Yes, he is a very likable man, the kind a girl will be happy to bring home to meet the parents! Haha).
• Justin - A business development manager, Justin has tended to go for looks in the past. He himself admitted that his favourite body parts are lips, boobs and big butts, but now reckons that this is his downfall, since looks go after a while and one does look for something more. Thus, he is now determined not to zero in on looks, but seeks substance instead. 

Paul, Natalie and Maria
After the first group date, some of the participants already have an idea of who they would like to know and by the end of the first one-to-one date in the dark, it was clear that both Maria and Natalie like Paul, but Paul felt a strong chemistry with Natalie and not with Maria. And happily for him, Natalie felt the same sentiments.  


Justin and Vicki
Justin had a good impression of Vicki from the group date in the dark, although he was wary that she is a glamour model. Yet, clearly because of her profession when they went through the introductions, he was interested and was the first to remark that she must look good and asked what she models for.  He thought she has more depth than the usual model and was open to meeting her.  However, he was put off in the first solo date when she asked him what kind of car he is driving (a Golf GTI by the way... my kind of car :).  Obviously, he is sticking to his guns of staying far far away from any suggestion of superficiality indeed!  


Andrew
Andrew has a loud, confident personality that is so often the case with arty, creative people. And unfortunately, this came across as cockiness and arrogance to the ladies. It did not help that he told one girl that he can get sex easily if he really wanted to, and throughout the whole show, did not show any particular liking for any one girl, and snogged (and I mean, the deep deep passionate type of kiss!) the different girls (Vicki and Natalie) he saw for solo dates!

In the end, the surprise couple that came together was Justin and Vicki, who had chosen each other for a face-to-face meeting. Paul agonised over meeting Natalie or Maria, who had both chosen to meet him.  No girl invited Andrew and he also decided not to meet anyone and left the show.


So what happened? 
Today's episode proved without a doubt that looks do matter. Our obvious golden couple from the start had been Paul and Natalie. Both of them had professed in interviews and to their fellow housemates that they had felt a strong chemistry with each other (even though the compatability test had matched Paul with Maria). In both dates, they had enjoyed each other's company tremendously and had been honest with each other in communicating their feelings (Andrew had insisted on a kiss in their solo date; despite Natalie's reservations; she did not enjoy it and had been paranoid after that about how Paul would think of her. Paul had been gutted when he found out and asked Natalie about it in their next date).  By all accounts, it would seem that these two would be meeting in the drawing room at the end of a show and give a go at the relationship. But once Paul saw Natalie in the light review, he said she was not his type, that she wasn't how he had imagined her and the double whammy was when he saw Maria, and said that she is blonde and he has a thing for blondes!  In the end, he was terribly conflicted, since he could only choose to meet one... 

Paul chose to walk away, because he wanted to do, in his own words, "the right thing for himself". I had thought he might have gone to meet Maria, for after all, he is going to be miserable if he ends up with Natalie and always wishes that she is blonde when he looks at her! (Just like how I had told a fren that you can't live long in a house with deco you hate, even if you like the space, when she was looking for a rental house.)  But he did not, and I was proud of him, for knowing what he wants and accepting his new understanding of himself - that looks are important for him! Natalie was really angry that he walked away, because she knew they had shared a connection and yet, he had walked away after seeing both her and Maria in the light. Maria was happy that she took the gamble but was surprised that he had walked away from Natalie, because she too felt their connection; she then concluded that Paul was shallow.  

This difference in perspective was interesting for me, since Paul's decision had been a genuine one of self-discovery and respecting what he wants. Imagine how many of life's misunderstandings could have been avoided if only we knew how people really thought! And in that respect, I learnt that we can so often be miserable because we have erroneously explained another person's thinking/actions.  The power of different perspectives is clearly underrated in real life, because Man tends to be self-absorbed and looks only from his own angle.


And in the same vein, though I had disliked Andrew before, I liked him by the end of the show.  He saw Natalie in the light, and though he was far off the mark in his expectation of her looks, he did think she was an attractive girl. Yet, he left in the end without meeting anyone, because he does want to have children and he knows "scientifically" (in his words), people do want to be with someone who looks like themselves (by that, I believe, he means of the same kind) and so Natalie would not fit the bill, because she is not white. I like him for his honesty and also for being happy and unapologetic about being himself. He was unfazed that he had no invitations for a face-to-face meeting, adding cheerfully, that he will meet someone once the net is cast wider.  There just wasn't someone suitable for him in this show, that's all.


The twist is of course, the pairing of Justin and Vicki. And this couple proves to me that no matter what, one can't run away from one's true preferences. Justin had wanted to avoid just going for looks, but was immediately attracted to Vicki in the first group date.  He turned away from the second date because of her question about his car, but changed his mind when she initiated the second date. Why? Because they had physical contact!  Vicki gave him a hand massage and he said she has the softest hands ever and he really enjoyed the massage.  She was not coy or flirtatious, but said simply that she could massage him the whole time and just chat with him forever. Then, they shared a kiss and he said she had the softest lips... like rose petals (a bit tacky, but I also thought rather poetic and sweet!)  

Justin's impression of Vicki had clearly changed, but I would not think it fair to just put it down to this being a physical thing. In their interaction, they did have fun - they laughed, had a good clean time and even though, they kissed, it was more like an exploration of each other's personality through touch - Vicki said he had a very gentle kiss and must be a nice, gentle person.  Superficial and simplistic this judgement may sound, I think it is her true belief!  And nothing takes away from the sweetness of the moment when they finally meet in the drawing room. He had been apprehensive that she was not there and he would be disappointed, while she had been anxiously waiting in the room with the same worry.  And when they both meet, you can sense the relief and happiness.  As a viewer, I rejoiced with them and there is the feeling of a brand new journey and possibilities opening up ahead of these two. And it feels right, because you know that both had met someone who had fulfilled their criteria and, in fact, gone on beyond to the best of both worlds - to have both substance and looks.  


Of course, at the end of the day, this is a reality show and one can only hope that the relationship will continue on strong once the euphoria and novelty of the show has worn off.  Their one-week-later interview showed them to be still happy with each other and Justin was saying that there might be wedding bells... You will be happy too, watching such an ending!


I love this show, especially this episode, because the participants dared to work towards their goal.  They dared to cast their net wider, to the extent of putting themselves under public scrutiny on national TV in their quest of love. I am tired of singles who profess to be single because they choose to be so, when you can hear the desperate defiance in their tone, almost as if having to convince themselves. (I am not discounting that there are really singles out there who are truly happy to be so). I hate society's stigma of singles, treating them as if they are rejects. And I detest the expectation that singles should be demure about their state and just wait passively for the right man/woman to come along, because an active search would otherwise make them look desperate!


I say everyone has a right to find love and happiness. And singles should drop the mantle of expected modesty, but instead take the initiative to help themselves.  There will be no success unless one makes an effort, and this general rule applies to all things in life, including love. The sad thing is society tends to price the needs of married couples, especially those with children, above singles. In my work life, I have been asked to cover the work of colleagues on maternity leave and had protested when expected to continue to do so even after they had resumed work.  The new reason? - that new mothers need more time for their new maternal responsibilities.  I had retorted then that singles have an even greater need of time - how else can they find their soulmate and have a chance at even possibly reaching this amazing maternal/paternal role?!


If you are a single, let nobody stop you from achieving happiness and love for yourself. You deserve it, so go for it!  Do I believe in love? You can bet your last dollar I sure do! 

Hallo, are you Singaporean?

After my maternity check-up with the consultant today at the hospital, I dropped by the delivery suite to speak to a midwife, any midwife about my birthplan.  For those of us used to the system back home in Singapore, a birthplan is not as common a practice as overseas, as in UK.  According to www.babycentre.co.uk, a birthplan is "a way of communicating with the midwives and doctors who care for you in labour. It tells them about the kind of labour you would like to have, what you want to happen and what you definitely want to avoid."  

Sounds good so far?  Basically, it gives the mother some degree of control over the birthing process. There are all sorts of aspects and options to consider: epidural or drug-free? And if the latter, waterbirth or the normal mobile drug-free? Episiotomy or tearing?  If the baby needs instrumental assistance, forceps or venthouse? If baby is breech, C-section or vaginal breech delivery?  How about induction - a sweep or a drip? To many advocates of birthplans, the birthing process is a special, almost sacred experience and given that every child is a unique individual, it is also a "once-off" opportunity between you and that child, so do you want the baby on your bosom for immediate skin-to-skin contact (advocates believe this is the crucial window for bonding...)  Do you want to breastfeed straightaway? (Then, you will need a front opening gown, in which case you have to bring your own gown, 'cause the hospital gown is back opening...) Or do you want your baby wiped down first? (Again, the concern is that precious window for bonding...)  And the list goes on.

And then there is the issue of the hospital bag.  Apparently, because resources are finite in a public hospital system, it is wise to bring your own supplies.  The NCT (National Childcare Trust) antenatal classes I attended as well as the community hospital midwives have indicated that it is good to bring your own pillow, mat, birthing ball, towels (was told by other experienced mothers that hospital ones are small and often very worn out) and the nice extras like a TENS machine, aromatherapy/massage oil, CDs, books, snacks... 

With this mind-boggling list of options and considerations, we decided to speak to a midwife from Bedford Hospital (which is my choice of hospital and not my community hospital; my community midwife consistently has this sharp reply for me, whenever I ask anything about what to expect during delivery - "I don't know; I don't work at Bedford Hospital."  Small wonder that I am happy to go to another hospital, thank you very much!)

And as chance would have it (or Fate if you will), we were attended to by a Chinese midwife of Malaysian origin.  I have never thought myself to be one who is sticky about finding people of my own race and Malaysia is not my homeland, but I have to say I was absolutely delighted and almost relieved to hear a familiar accent and a Chinese face who understood our customs, practices and beliefs regarding pregnancy, birth and post-natal confinement care. 

Auntie M is about my mum's age and I suppose that adds to my increasing comfort in sharing with her my concerns. The dynamics and direction of the conversation is nothing short of an interesting development. The minute I mentioned the words "birthplan", you can see her stiffen and she started the discussion on the WE-THEM footing ("WE-NHS": read "medical staff who just want to do their job, i.e deliver the baby safely and ensure the mother's safety", and "THEM-NCT": read "fanatical natural-birth, difficult preggie who must have her way as detailed in her birthplan and not be robbed of her precious birth experience").  When I assured her that I only have one objective - to deliver my baby safely, she relaxed and prefaced her sentence with "Back home, we ..."  And before long, we were talking about home, Singaporean/Malaysian practices, our regional dishes, Malaysian restaurants in MK, Malaysian community/networks in our area etc. She ended up giving us an impromptu tour of the maternity ward and by the time we said our goodbyes, I hoped aloud that she would be there when we turn up for our Big Day. 

As I look back at this happy encounter, I thought about how Auntie M has made me feel extremely safe and at home.  Is it because we are from the same ethnicity? Yes. Is it because she is from my region of origin? Yes. Is it because she is around my mother's age? Yes. But more importantly, it is because of her personality. As with any frontline staff, communication and personality are such important factors and now that I am pregnant and in constant contact with them (though I feel "at their mercy" might be a more apt expression here), I have to say these are really crucial attributes for medical staff whose "subjects", i.e.  patients, are naturally usually anxious and concerned. 

Most notably, this experience has reinforced my observation made while living in Switzerland last year. I have always believed that when we are overseas, our friends, regardless of ethnicity/culture or nationality, become our family. And this was very true for me as the wife of an MBA student, who, with the other partners have found in one another a good support group in a foreign land. However, I have also come to realise that people do still prefer and tend to gravitate towards people of their own cultural/national origin (esp when culture and nationality are strongly fused and synonymous), no matter how close you may feel to them.

Singaporeans are a bit of a unique case, I suppose; as a nation, we are made up of very diverse peoples (of a different racial/cultural mix), but we are bound together by a common language that is actually foreign to us all - English. While this can functionally help us to communicate and co-exist, it is not easy to make our ties run deep.  (After all, language is the gateway to culture!) With the dilution of cultures as our society modernises, Singaporeans with their mastery of English, have been able to more or less adopt and blend in (I hesitate to use the word "integrate") rather smoothly into the cultures, habits of most foreign countries, especially so if the language of use is English.  And this may seem to have reduced the need to find people of your own community/nationality.  However, there is no denying that we cannot run away from our roots and the sense of relief and being at home is palpable when one finds a decent restaurant serving Singaporean dishes and meets a fellow Singaporean, and we slip effortlessly into a Singlish conversation peppered with references that only another of one's own community can understand and appreciate.

So, you can understand my delight at meeting Auntie M today at the hospital (even if she is Malaysian; we do have very similar cuisines and we are after all from the same region). And I definitely enjoyed myself yesterday, as we tucked into a Singaporean dinner of laksa, assam fish curry, rojak with a fellow Singaporean and her family (they had Hainanese chicken rice and beef hor fun...YUMS!) at the quite authentic Singapore Garden restaurant in north London.  (Thanks, Wendy, for the last-minute dinner date :)

So here's one for you, Singapore... Happy National Day! 

P.S.:

1. Singapore's National Day is 9 August, but given my penchant for writing after the stroke of midnight, this toast has come late on 10 Aug instead :)
2. I started off this post discussing birthplans, and as part of my online research to ascertain how common a practice birthplans are in Singapore, I came across the Singapore Expats Forum with a thread on birthplans.  My conclusion, after reading it, is that birthplans are not a common local practice, but what I want to add is that I could not help but suppress a chuckle at how the expats found the birthing norms and practices in Singapore primitive (at best) and unethical (at worst), when I had thought the same of my new host country's birthing norms and beliefs (Natural birth fanaticism + most public hospitals prefer you out of the hospital on the same day if everything goes well and normally + hubby cannot stay overnight with you if you are staying overnight; don't even think about private hospitals unless you have a lot, a lot of excess cash to spend!). Desperately wanting to go home to give birth at first, I have since come to accept that wherever I am, this baby has to come out anyhow, anyway and people have given birth here for ages and are okay. But ask me any day, I will still prefer to go back home to deliver - no troublesome or confusing list of options ... just give me my own gynae, the epidural and 4 days' rest in hospital with a room of my own complete with ensuite toilet and yes, the husband will stay overnight with me, thank you! :)  

http://forum.singaporeexpats.com/sutra394132.html&sid=2861784b8c1cb146ba2823ff6860dd7d

Laksa

Rojak

Beef Hor Fun