Happy Birthday Little One!

5 days old

14 days old

23 days old

30 days old

And just like that, a whole month has passed. :) Already I can tell what kind of little girl you're going to be. Well, sort of.

You have a very different cry from your brother's when he was a newborn. It almost seems like a 'gentle' cry, if a cry can be called gentle. Even your little farts sound gentle, like little air pops! Hmm... except for that one time in the middle of the night when you really let it rip because you thought we were all sleeping. Sneaky.

You're a pretty chillin' babe. When your older brother was a wee one, he could never sit still in his bouncer. He always needed a change in scenery. You on the other hand, like to chill. You can sit in your bouncer, for up to 20 minutes sometimes, just looking around, looking at your mobile, and basically just chillin'. Groovy.

You hate a dirty diaper. And in this respect, you're just like your brother. But then again, who likes sitting in poop all day? Especially poop that looks like radioactive tau suan. Your favourite place is the changing table. You hardly ever cry whenever you're there. Odd.

Like a true lady, you don't like burping, and hardly ever. And that means I spend quite a bit of time just thumpthumpthumping you on the back until you let it rip like a bullfrog. Just this week though, you've taken a fancy to spitting LOTS of milk out when you burp. Nasty.

And oh yeah, one last thing... you coo like a pigeon! I love it!

Happy Birthday little Der Shyen! I love you.

Very very much.

(and now I'm going to SHOWER, change and Papa is going to bring both of us OUT for some Japanese dessert!)

Excuse me, I think there's something on your head

Tissue paper is a wonderful thing. You can use it in a multitude of ways. Blot an oily face, fling a bug out the window, hide some contraband food from the prying eyes of confinement nazi, blow a stuffy nose and... cure hiccups!

Yes sir-ree! Betcha didn't know that.

DS erupted into a fit of hiccups the other morning and confinement nazi sprang off her feet and dashed towards the tissue box. She tore a little corner off, wet it, stuck it on DS's forehead and stepped back happily to admire her handiwork. So forget holding your breath or frightening yourself. Prrttth! That's just an old wife's tale. Really. Tissue paper is the way to go man. Got a cough? Stick a mop up your armpit. Works like a dream. Bad flatulence? Feather duster up the ... never mind.

Okay, this next one I can't explain. I think it's because confinement nazi and I are on different frequencies (in more ways than one, as you can already guess). She only speaks Hokkien and I only speak English. It's chicken and duck talk every time. Our conversations usually involve lots of pidgin Hokkien, tons of frantic hand gestures, many furrowed brows and the occasional rolling eyeball. Painful.

Anyway, today I discovered this hidden in her swaddler!

I have no idea what those sprigs are, where they came from and why they're there. Apparently they can cure a fussy newborn. Aha... I didn't know that either. As you can tell from the picture above, it's working really well. Not.

So what cures a fussy toddler? My money's on cauliflower in the underpants.

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus and Confinement Aunties are from Hell

It's officially day 26 of my incarceration confinement and so far, I have resisted counting down the days until now because I can now count the days down on one hand. It's five more days to freeeeedom...! *William Wallace ROAR*

Confinement has not been fun. Wait. Let me rephrase that. It has been a pure, unadulterated, like watching Singapore Idol on repeat, kind of torture.

I mean no disrespect to our confinement auntie who's just doing her job (and who actually cooks a pretty mean ginger cod fish), but honestly, is this woman on crack or something?

1. Thou shalt not bathe

Ah, my biggest beef with this whole confinement nonsense. According to confinement nazi, I can't bathe or wash my hair. Now that's really weird because in one of my pregnancy books, one of the things recommended to postpartum mothers is a nice, long, hot soak in the tub! So technically, shouldn't these women be crawling out of the tub, doubled over in arthritic pain? Tut tut. These editors. They're trying to kill us all!

For DN's birth, I think I managed a week without showering or washing my hair. My hair was so clumpy I felt like Bob Marley. Not cool. Around day 14 I caved in, threw all caution to the wind (and all the bathing herbs into the bin) and enjoyed my regular showers again. For this birth, I didn't bother messing about at all and showered (yes, hair and all!) daily in the hospital. I figured I'd already sealed my arthritic fate when I broke the no-bathing-rule the first time, so I might as well do things properly this time (and be clean at it!) and go out with a bang.

After checking with many friends, it looks like I'm not the only one taking illegal showers. If confinement nazi is right, in about 30 years, there'll be a whole generation of old ladies walking around like Quasimodo, cursing the world with gnarled and shrivelled hands.

Except for PF, nobody here knows I've been sneaking in those showers. I think. Er, I hope!

I've been diligently bathing with herbs on alternate days, and having illegal showers on the others. I think confinement nazi knows about those illegal showers though, because I swear, she tried to kill me. Good thing I tested the pail of herbal water she prepared for me the first time. If I had just poured that on myself, PF would have had to rush me to A&E. I was this close to cooking myself! Geez.

A friend is convinced that all this must-bathe-with-herbs-and-very-hot-water-mumbo-jumbo is just a front. What all confinement aunties really want to do is cook their charges. Herbs for bathing? Nope. They're really herbs for MARINATING you. Jamu massage to release "wind"? Nope, just a cover. They're TENDERISING the meat, i.e. you. And when your confinement auntie suggests that you go sit in the oven? Time to get the hell out of there honey!

2. Thou shalt dress for winter

When we brought DS to the PD for her 1-week check-up, I saw another mom with her little newborn. The poor girl (mother, not baby) went the whole hog - woolly hat, sweat pants, long-sleeved tee, hoodie, socks and trainers. The only things missing were gloves and skis. Strangely enough, she didn't look miserable! I think it's just me. I'm being a real brat and rebel about this confinement thing.

I weighed my two options. One, be comfortable in bare feet and sleeveless tees, or two, be grumpy in a cardigan and socks. Coupled with a bit of the postnatal blues, number two was the more dangerous option because it might involve me and (someone else's) murder. So I chose option one and have been very happy in bare feet.

3. Thou shalt not starve

Okay, this is one part of confinement that I'm actually enjoying, heh. Pan fried threadfin? Yes please! Steamed pomfret? Okay! Vinegared pork? Bring it onnn!

Let's just say I'm definitely not starving over here. In fact, I feel rather like one of those french geese being reared for foie gras. (Hmmm... that confinement-auntie-cooking-her-charge conspiracy theory is becoming more and more plausible...) Confinement nazi gives me rice like it's going out of fashion and my gosh, you should see the amount of protein I eat everyday. It's amazing I don't look like Jojo Sinclair yet.

What I had for a weekday lunch last week - pan fried threadfin, stir fried vege, vinegared pork, sesame oil pork loin and potato, carrot and pork soup.


4. Thou shalt not leave the house

ARGHHHHH...!!! The penultimate confinement torture because it's impossible to cheat on this! Except for two trips to the paediatrician and one trip to the gynae, I've really been stuck in the flat for 26 days. OH. EM. GEE. I'm going bonkers. With DN, I served my confinement at my mom's and so, was allowed out for little jaunts to the shopping centre nearby. I'm not staying with her this time round so, no dice. :(

The only good thing that has come out of this is, from now on, I'm going to be the most law abiding person I know. (Scared already!)

So if you can't go out, bring the "out" to you I say! Over the past 4 weeks, kind friends (and PF) have brought over tidings of joy in the form of donuts...

... cupcakes...
... chocolate, crisps, macaroons, char siew, roasted suckling pig and fruits!

Thrilled to be 3!

I can't believe it, my little boy is THREE! Remember this photo?

DN was about 9 months old when we took that. And look at him now! Goodness, where did all that time go?

It's that time of year when I put on my proud-mama hat and wax lyrical about DN and his amazing abilities and talents. Come on, indulge in me a little. I will only do this once a year... per child! Heh. ;)

1. Pronunciation

I really should take more videos of DN speaking. I remember stumbling upon an old old old cassette tape recording of myself reading when I was little and it was just precious! DN will never speak this way ever again, so I really should record it.

He says...

"meep" instead of "meat"...
"stot" instead of "spot"...
"shimish" instead of "finish"...
"beebee" instead of "baby"...
"reek" instead of "read"...

I love it!

2. Quirks

He is quite anal retentive. I like! How do we know he's anal about things? Well...

Halfway through dinner yesterday, DN asked for more "meep". On the menu yesterday were chicken and pork. I put more pork on his plate, next to the chicken, because he'd finished all of it. Suddenly, there was an outburst from DN.

DN : Nooooo...! Cannot!
Me : ???
DN : Cannot touch! *point*point*point*WAIL*

And he pointed at the pork that was touching the chicken!

Another thing he's anal about? His socks. He absolutely HATES it when his socks are not pulled all the way up. Like ALL THE WAY UP. There cannot be any slack in the sock AT ALL. And both socks have to be the SAME HEIGHT up his legs. Slack socks drive him absolutely livid and his eyes literally pop out if he spots a height difference in both socks. He'll wail, start pulling crazily at both socks and complain to us about his socks. As this happens on an almost-daily basis, it's gotten to the point where we've started buying ankle socks so he cannot complain. Either that or he'll have to start wearing tights. -_-

3. Dressing

Question: Why do kids only want to wear just ONE outfit? For like FOREVER?

Answer: Because they know exactly how much you've blown on all those trousers, t-shirts, shirts, socks and shoes so when they go out in public, they will look loved and well taken care of, and they just want family and friends to think the exact opposite by wearing only one outfit everywhere. Crap, what am I saying? They just want to make life difficult for you!

DN only ever wants to wear his one and only pair of jeans and his Mickey Mouse t-shirt. Sometimes he'll relent and wear this other pair of trousers he has, but nothing shorter. On days when we manage to get him to wear shorts, there's usually much cajoling, negotiating, deceiving and bribing going on.

4. Likes, Dislikes

DN likes Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, all sorts of vehicles, tofu, sushi, animal biscuits, soya milk, kissing his sister, disturbing his sister, his excavator pajamas, his teddy, riding his tricycle, going to the park, swimming, telling us when he farts, spotting cement mixers on the road and being independent and doing everything himself.

And he dislikes brushing his teeth, bathing, carrying his own school bag, walking when we go shopping, using his fork and spoon when eating, creepy crawlies like ants and spiders, fried rice, gravy on his white rice, skin on his apples or pears, puzzles, sandwiches and when any one of us takes up HIS space on the shoe rack.

One thing that I'm really glad he likes is reading. Or technically, US reading to him. Reading is something we started the day he could sit up comfortably and I'm so glad he has always enjoyed listening to stories. Every night MUST end with at least 3 stories. His current favourite book is a treasury of Bob the Builder, Fireman Sam, Postman Pat and Thomas The Tank Engine stories. I've been trying to get him to tell the story back to us, but no dice. He'll just go, "No! You reek (read)!"

5. 3 years and counting

Overall, this past year has been quite a ride. He spent 2+ months with me in the UK and got to see, and play with snow. He went to Paris Disneyland and met Mickey in person/mouse. He started school when he was 2 years and 8 months old, and also started on music classes and swimming classes (both of which we've pulled him out of because he keeps falling sick). He had his speech explosion (when he was 2 years and 2 months old) and he became a big brother. :D

The terrible two's weren't as terrible as I thought they would be. In fact, they weren't terrible at all! DN has been very agreeable and reasonable this year (mostly). I really think they meant terrible THREE's actually. :p

If looks could kill...

... I would have been dead twice this week. I promise, honest to goodness, cross my heart and hope to die, it's TRUE. The (innocent!) victim? Me. The (almost) murderer? My confinement auntie.

The first time I received the look of death was on day 3 or 4 I think and I wasn't exactly in the best of moods. I mean, I just gave BIRTH. I'm on some hormonal trip, sweating like a pig, shuffling around because of stitches and struggling with nipples on fire. The only thing I need is a nice, hot shower and the last thing I need is someone telling me I'm not supposed to have one. So, as much as I would like to be the model "confine-d" mother and walk around dressed for winter (hat, long pants, cardigan and thick woolly socks) and not shower for a month, I just C.A.N.N.O.T.

So what do I do?

I shower.

In secret.

And enjoy every single water droplet of it!

But I paid for it when I stepped out of the toilet with a towel slung over my shoulder. I stepped out just as Jack the Ripper my confinement auntie walked into the corridor. ACK! The look she shot me! Now I know what it feels like to stare Medusa in the eye!

Then, confinement auntie barked (if she were a dog (HA!) she'd be a pit bull-rottweiler pariah), "Chong Liang???!!" or "WHAT THE HELLLLL???! DID YOU TAKE A SHOWER???!"

And I (the chihuahua) whimpered, "Mei You!" or "No I didn't! This is not a towel over my shoulder! I'm not wearing clean clothes! And I'm not holding a set of dirty clothes in my hand!" and scampered away, tail between my legs... but clean as a whistle!

The second time I received "the look" was today. Last week, I tried (unsuccessfully) to get out of the house by saying I wanted to visit my mother and grandmother. Of course, this request was met with incredulity and disbelief - "Stupid, ignorant girl. Doesn't she know she's going to die a long and painful death if she leaves the house during her confinement month?". So yeah, my request was shot down. Big time. So when Jeffrey Dahmer confinement auntie saw me dressed in jeans and a t-shirt today, ready to go out, she shot me another one of her special looks that could have curdled milk. Can you spell S.O.U.R.?

This was followed by another bark. "Qu Na Li??!!?" or "ARE YOU GOING OUT FOOL???!"

(I swear, this woman has taken 5 years off my life!)

Again, I let out a chihuahua squeak. "Dai baby Qu Kan Yi Sheng!" or "I'm sorry for offending thee, oh wise and all-knowing one, but my baby is looking rather orange so I'd like to bring her to the doctor to get her jaundice level checked out. I promise to be back here immediately after the doctor's." NOT!

After the doctor's, I forced PF to drive me to this cake shop for some macaroons. Mmmm! They cost a pretty penny, but hey, I'm going to make the most of my clandestine trip out of jail okay!

It all happened on...

... Saturday, 29 August 2009!

Yeah, so my big, grand, what-are-the-odds dream of DN and his sister sharing the same birthday didn't materialise, but heck, who cares? It was a quick (ISH) labour and DS is finally here. *proud mother beam*

So here's my birth story. Prepare yourselves. It's quite a long post for a short labour! Unless you're also serving imprisonment (ooops, did I say "imprisonment"? I meant "confinement") like me and are imprisoned confined at home against your own will and exhibit one or more of the following:

1. slowly going bonkers
2. sweating like a pig
3. feeling and smelling like crap
4. producing enough oil on your head to fill a vat
   
5. constantly entertaining thoughts of killing your confinement lady
   

... then go ahead and read the whole thing. You have nothing else better to do anyway. Otherwise, just read the red bits. That's the chop-chop-car-li-pok version!

Friday, B-Day minus 1
When I woke up on Friday morning, I had the "show". That caught me totally off guard because honestly, I was all set up for 2 Sept. PF and I even planned our fancy dinner for Tuesday, 1 Sept. Yes, I know... the audacity! So when I saw the "show", I was like, "My steak dinnerrrrr!" -___-

I started getting panicky because I wasn't ready. AT ALL. And I really wanted that steak dinner. But the day passed without event, no tightening, no surges (or contractions), no nothing, just the "show" throughout the day, so I started to relax. I googled "show" and "mucous plug" and read that 35+% of women give birth within 2 days of arrival of the "show". That night, or early Saturday morning, I started getting more intense surges and I was 90% sure IT was going to happen so I woke PF up too. (For better or for worse buddy.) But they turned out to be Braxton Hicks because they disappeared after 2 hours. Ho hum, twiddle thumbs.

Saturday, B-Day
Of course I had no idea this was going to be Birth-Day. So at 2pm, when PF said, "Come, let's go out!", I said, "AWRIGHT MAN!" DN was napping so we snuck out for a quick romp in town, hee hee. In the car, I started getting surges, just like the ones the night before but a little more intense. Still very manageable though and I practiced my hypnobirthing relaxation exercises. All was good.

We got into town and I bought a custard choux puff from the Food Fair at Isetan Scotts (which I hear is already over, so am I glad I got to try one or what!). Phwoargh. The puff was crispy crunchy and the custard was perfect - creamy and sweet and dense. Not like some so-so custard you get in some alibaba puffs. Bleah.

We then popped over to Wheelock Place and even ventured over to Ion (maybe the shock of seeing the crowd there triggered labour, hot damn!). I bought PF's birthday present and was tempted by a Dunkin Donut. Unfortunately, I had to pass that by unless I wanted to give birth in Ion itself because the queue was just insane. We left town just before 4.30pm and until then, I was having surges every 20 minutes or so. All very manageable and the shopping definitely helped. I mean, with so many things to buy (and eat!) who would be able to concentrate on those surges anyway? They really should add "shopping" to the hypnobirthing plan of things.

When we got back, DN was bouncing off the walls. It was a good nap.

I tried to play with DN, but was finding it difficult because the surges were coming more regularly and were getting more intense. I started timing myself and they were lasting between 1-3 minutes each. I decided to lie down, listen to the relaxation CD and concentrate on relaxing. I managed to fall asleep and that helped to blur the surges. As I was "in the zone", PF was running around like a headless chicken, feeding DN dinner, packing last minute things into the hospital bag (like snacks!) and checking on me every now and then. Poor thing was sweating buckets, BUT! A small price to pay compared to what we have to go through, I say.

My PIL brought DN over to his great-grandma's and PF and I left at 6.30pm. The traffic on the PIE was absolute crap. As I closed my eyes and relaxed, I imagined PF barrelling down the expressway with police cars hot on his tail, and a baby hot on mine. Not a very relaxing image, but so Hollywood!

We reached the hospital at 7pm. On the way to the labour ward, I had 3 surges. One of which was spent in the car park, leaning against a red Honda Jazz with the bemused driver standing patiently to one side as I had my moment. If that happened to my husband, he'd probably have sped off to Singapore Pools after that. Pregnant women are supposed to be bursting with luck right?

In the labour room, I changed into my own clothes while PF set up the music, essential oils and dimmed the lights. (Yes, I was going to have a baby, not make another one!) I got annoyed with the registration essentials - CTG monitoring, blood pressure and temperature check, signing of forms, blah blah blah... HELLO! My uterus is contracting (and not exactly painlessly) and my body is getting ready to push a 3 kilo baby out, do I look like I want to sign some forms now!??!

At 7.10pm, the CTG monitoring started and it was reassuring to see DS's heartbeat on the monitor, and interesting to see my surges on a graph chart, although I didn't like having that strap around my belly. But I still managed to "zone out" and relax with every surge until about 7.50pm or so I think. Then, sadly, I lost the plot. And my nerve. And my resolve. And my sanity.

It'd gotten to the really intense stage and I couldn't relax anymore. When I first went in, the nurse said I was about 5-6 cm dilated. When it got really intense and I started tensing up, she did another check and she said 4cm! So it really is true! If you tense up, it doesn't help with dilation at all! Then the next surge came and despite PF trying to keep me on track, I caved in and asked for epidural. :p

BIG SIGH!

I was so disappointed with myself because I managed to give DN a drug-free birth (just barely!) and wanted to do the same for DS. Oh well. *guilt trip*

Back to the labour room. It was close to 8pm and I was wondering where on earth my epidural was. PF on the other hand, was stalling for time and kept asking me if I was sure about the epidural. This is the part in labour where I hear of many mothers asking to be shot. So yes, I was sure. When the nurse finally came with the form, I scribbled my signature onto it and asked her to hurry up! Suddenly, think it was about 8pm, I felt this HUGE urge to poo! A midwife came and said I was 9cm dilated, no more epidural for you missy! 9cm?! But I was only 4cm about 10 minutes ago! I was relieved (I can give Bessie a drug-free birth, albeit reluctantly!) and disappointed (ouch!) at the same time. Then she said my gynae wouldn't be able to make it on time, so she would deliver the baby. I was relieved to hear that because I've heard of some gynaes who won't let anyone else deliver the baby. Thank you Dr Chang, but are you still going to charge me delivery fees???

The midwife and nurse attending the birth were really good. They knew we were a hypnobirthing couple, so they kept telling me to "breathe (the baby) down" instead of "push". But I just couldn't. I pushed. And pushed for my country at that. At 8.29pm, out popped little Der Shyen!

Immediately, the nurse and midwife starting going "skin to skin, skin to skin, skin to skin" and they plonked the baby on my chest. Honestly, at that moment the ward could have collapsed around me and I wouldn't have bothered. But holding DS for the first time was amazing. I think I cried.

It was a busy day at the hospital so by the time PF sorted out the registration bits (he didn't get to do ANY of that before I gave birth because there was just no time!), we got into our room just after 11pm. It was so nice to settle in, just the 3 of us, in that quiet little room. My spirit was far from quiet though. I was so pumped with adrenaline, mentally I could have hopped up Kota Kinabalu. Physically of course is another story altogether! It took me forever to fall asleep. And even after I finally did, I kept waking up just to look at DS.

And that's THE END!

But really, it's just the beginning.

Welcome To The World, Baby Girl!

YES! She's here! ANd let's just say, boy am I glad the birth part is OVER. Adios, sayonara, so long, GOODBYE!

I shall blog about the birth another time because it's almost 11pm now and *yawn* the interrupted nights have started. Need. To. Get. Some. Shut. Eye.

But before I go, just a few little golden nuggets of advice we got from friends throughout this pregnancy and after I gave birth.

Pre-Birth

1. Sleep as much as you can now!
2. Eat your placenta!
3. Don't forget your Kegels!

Post-Birth

4. Start saving up for her wedding now!
5. Eat more ginger!

... and my favourite...

6. Buy a gun to ward off all the boys!

Gotta love my friends. :D

DN's 3rd Birthday Party (part 2)

I think DN's favourite part of the party has got to be the birthday song part. You should have seen his face - it was absolutely gleeful. As everyone sang the birthday song, he was smiling to himself and staring at his cake (which he didn't really eat, humph!) the entire time. It was so funny to watch. Seeing him so happy just made my day. Made all the frantic running around before the party all worth it.

The cake was a dairy-free, wheat-free and gluten-free one. The baker actually asked me if I wanted it sugar-free too. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Of course not! I liked the cake. It was lighter than other usual chocolate cakes so not as tasty, but the fudgey chocolate sauce on top was pretty good. PF hated the cake and thought it was gross. LY thought it tasted like tofu. But it really wasn't that bad!

Of course, we HAD to take pictures with the cake! With Mickey ears! Although they looked more like pimples on PF's head, hohoho.

Here's the little family again, all donning DN's trademark fake smile.

Now, this one, I'm not sure what kind of smile it is. Probably something like a I-can't-believe-these-are-all-my-presents-are-these-all-MINE???-yes-they-ARE!!! kind of smile.