Baking A Diaper Cake

When I first heard the term diaper cake, I was like, "diaper wha...???". And my first thought was, "Why would anyone make a cake in the shape of a diaper???" Mention "diaper" and I think "poop", "pee" and (god forbid) "leaking". The last thing I want to do is eat something that looks toxic.

Of course, I soon found out that you don't eat a diaper cake. You give it, yes sir-ree. And they are all the rage in the mothering world right now. I didn't know because they don't have those under the rock where I come from. 

So when my good friend got pregnant (we've known each other since we were 6... that's 29 20 years ago!), I knew straight away that I had to welcome her into this crazy world they call parenthood with a diaper cake. Never will her life be sane / normal / the same again. Hopefully the said diaper cake will get her so excited she'll forget that once she gives birth, there are no exchanges, and definitely no refunds.

So I trawled the internet and found the perfect diaper cake. Read : cheap and good. I pitched this idea to Funny Bee (who has also known Good Friend for like, forever) and she promptly said, "Since I am crazy and you are crazy and we have nothing else better to do... Let's make it!" And I said, "We are mad! Hokay!"

All this took place about 4 months into my friend's pregnancy. And what does that mean? It means, dear friends, that Funny Bee and I had 6 months to learn how to make a diaper cake. And what do we do? Of course, squat.

*sigh*

I soon came to realise that making a diaper cake consisted only of two parts. Part one was buying the ingredients. Part two was making The Darn Thing. Part one was easy and quite fun. Part two? Erm, excuse me... Need. To. Tighten. This. Loose. Screw. In. My. Head.

Fast forward to a week before Good Friend's due date. By this time, Funny Bee and I are shaking in our underpants, totally flummoxed by the gargantuan task ahead of us and preparing ourselves for the worst (i.e. presenting Good Friend with a plastic bag full of baby items that were supposed to be in a diaper cake). Each one of us had done the obligatory google search on diaper cakes, but nothing more than that. Funny Bee even found out that a cousin of hers MADE them to sell. Now, if only she lived in SINGAPORE! Grrr!

Finally, we decided to bite the bullet and just make The Darn Thing. No guts no glory, I say! So I found this video and gave everyone (we roped in another brave friend) strict instructions to literally, watch and learn. My morale was further boosted by another website that said I could make one in only 30 minutes. "Hokay!" I said to myself, "We're educated females. We're Singaporean. We can follow instructions. We can do this! Roar!"

And we did! *smug*

In 30 minutes 3 hours! *snort*

Looks simple enough right? Well, it took us about 1.5 hours of squabbling, rolling, unrolling, tying, squabbling, rolling, unrolling and squishing to get to this stage. That's the bottom tier and we've got a receiving blanket tied around it.

Why 1.5 hours? Well, let's just say we had grand plans that had to be scaled down. Our original base had like 20 rolled diapers in it. Too bad it was SQUARE! After much scratching of heads, we finally decided to be realistic and go with a 2-tier cake. And that meant that 35 of the 50 diapers didn't make it into the cake. Sorry fellas.

Presenting... our top tier! Another reason why it took us 3 hours to make The Darn Thing? We were so tickled by this we spent like 15 minutes taking pictures of it, and with it.

We wrapped the top tier in a onesie and a pair of pants to hide the diapers. As you can see, we went with a puppy theme and stuck with blues and browns. Yup, it's a boy. :)

We then filled the space between tiers with argyle babylegs in the same blue-brown combo and a set of travel-size toiletries for baby (diaper cream, shampoo, body wash, powder).

Finally, we added some toppers - a pair of baby socks, a stuffed toy-cum-blankie and a card. Ta-dah! Besides tears and sweat, it cost us about $97 for the entire cake, including leftovers (35 diapers, 1 onesie, 1 bath mitt, 1 babylegs). We probably could have gotten a nicer, professional-looking one for slightly less than that, but we had good quality stuff in ours. Plus, it was a ton of fun. ;)

I'm happy to report that Good Friend was very pleased and quite impressed with our efforts. Or at least, that's the impression she gave us!

Update : Good Friend has since given birth to a happy and healthy baby boy who, so far, is doing a pretty good job of turning her life upside down.

Laugh or cry?

DN : I got two cars!

Me : I have two cars.

DN : No. You don't!

Me : ...
Okay, this one can laugh.

Me : (lifting DS up by her armpits)

DN : Mei mei is superman!

Me : ...

This one also can laugh.

DN : (looking up at me and pointing at my belly) Mummy! Got more babies inside!

Me : ...

CRY! WAIL! SOB! SNIFF! HOWWWL!

Imagine my dismay when DN said that. He used the plural form too! BABIES, not BABY. It's been 12 weeks since I gave birth and I tell you, I'm sick and tired of still looking pregnant! And PF is sick and tired of me constantly asking him, "Do I look like Big Momma?"

My wardrobe is so limited. I can't wear sleeveless tops because my arms look like honey baked hams, I can't wear ANY of my skirts because my muffin top threatens to overflow and I still can't wear my old jeans. If my arms look like honey baked hams, I don't even want to think of a comparison for my thighs! The only pre-pregnancy thing I can fit into comfortably now are my goddam shoes, and that doesn't count!

I know I'm supposed to be patient and give myself six months, and I guess it makes sense. After all, if it took me 10 months to put on all that weight, it should take equally long to get it off right? Technically yes... if you're a mere mortal. If you're Heidi Klum however, when your baby is 5 weeks old, you abandon said baby walk in the Victoria's Secret Show. In your undergarments! For the whole world to see! Goodness, when DS was 5 weeks old, my undergarments were big, white and 100% cotton. Hang on, DS is now 12 weeks old and my undergarments still look like flags on the washing line.

Did you see that picture of her? I mean, seriously! 5 weeks after giving birth?! And this is her 4th kid?! Give me a break. This woman's either of a different species than me, or... of a different species than me, i.e. NOT HUMAN.

But God is fair. I think I see a hint of a water-retention ankle in this picture. And I think my baby is cuter than hers! Humph!

*sniff* Something smells sour in here...

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!

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

Waiting-for-Bessie Update

We saw the gynae on Thursday and she's engaged! (Bessie, not my gynae) In the words of my gynae, "Any day now." Ack! I can't give birth yet. There's too much hanging on the line. There's DN's birthday party for one, and my last assignment to complete for another. And I want to watch one more movie, and have one last nice dinner, and bring DN for a picnic (and maybe the zoo?), and wash all the baby clothes, and set up the cot, and eat a Dunkin' Donut, and convert the home office into a nursery (yup, it's NOT done yet!), and practice my hypnobirthing relaxation exercises, and eat a Dunkin' Donut... and eat a Dunkin' Donut.

Birth-day is just around the corner though because my belly has "dropped". Bessie has moved down a little and that means 2 things - one, I don't feel so full now after eating and two, instead of pressing against my stomach, she's now pressing against my bladder and making me run to the toilet every hour or so. Not fun. >.<>It was DN's birthday party today and it was FUN! Will promise to blog about it in the next few days. :) Watch this space!

About Bessie

I realise I haven't really been talking much about Bessie on this blog and I think Bessie knows because I had Braxton Hicks all day yesterday! Like ALL DAY. Think she's trying to tell me something, hmm. They were still kind of mild and hardly causing me any discomfort, so I'm not that fussed, but woah nelly, I don't have that much longer to go! Technically, it's 20 days to Bessie's EDD (which happens to be the exact same day as DN's EDD) and I am willing myself to pop on 2 Sept - DN's birthday! So hang in there Bessie, no rush. If Bessie really makes her grand arrival on 2 Sept, we're definitely stopping at 2 because if #3 doesn't come out on 2 Sept as well, I will not be able to live with myself. How can one ever live with that kind of inconsistency??? It's just as bad as NOT having all your Yusof Ishaks in your wallet facing the same direction.

Which person in the back snorted "anal retentive"? COME HERE!

This pregnancy with Bessie is very different from when I was pregnant with DN. With DN, I had morning sickness, but nibbling on dried mangoes always did the trick. With Bessie, I puked on the road. Like, on my car tyre! Eeep.

While pregnant with DN, I was quite fit. With no 3 year old to take care of, I could go to the gym 3 times a week. Yoga, pilates, spinning, body pump? Bring it on! Now? Prttthhhfff! Not only is the flesh unwilling, the spirit has gone on no pay leave too. Bah.

Halfway into my pregnancy with DN, no one knew I was pregnant. I was just DYING for the bump to show because I just looked like I had really enjoyed myself at some buffet, sorry, BUFFETS. This time? Bah. I started getting comments like, "Wah, you're so big ah?" in month THREE. @#$%*!! *piah*piah* (read: slap, slap!)

But overall, I cannot complain because Bessie is doing well and growing well. At 36.5 weeks, she weighs about 2.5kg and doc says she'll probably just hit 3kg by the time I pop. Measurements suggest that she's a little on the petite side, but PF and I both agree that health is definitely wealth so it's okay!

And how's DN dealing with the idea of having a baby sister? Well, he knows there's a baby in mummy's belly, but I'm positive he doesn't know what's really flying his way come September. Actually, us too, because the motley (and hao lian) pair of PF and I are still insisting on sleeping at 12-1am even though we know full well about the sleepless nights ahead of us. Back to DN. He can be quite sweet to his Mei Mei at times. We have an empty kitchen roll that we use as a "baby telephone" and DN uses it to talk to his little sister. He says things like, "Hello! My name is Ong Der Nen. Mei Mei, what are you doing?"

LOL!

And the other day he sang Baa Baa Black Sheep to her. She responded by kicking him back.

LOL!

We haven't decided on Bessie's real name (it's NOT "Bessie"!) so the other day, we asked DN, "What do you think Mei Mei's name should be?" His reply? (and it was instantaneous) "Ong Baby Mei Mei!"

LOL!

I bet, if he had known about the wonderful, multiple uses of the word "DUH", he would have added "Like DUH, people" at the end of that.

Bessie

Did you have nicknames for your baby during pregnancy?

PF and I called DN "pups" (and we still do sometimes) because he was born in the year of the dog.

When we found out about #2, we toyed with "buttercup" and "bessie" (cow mah!). Personally, I prefer "buttercup". Gives you an image of a peaceful cow chewing cud in the meadow and swishing her tail eh? But saying it is such a mouthful. So "bessie" it was. Anyway, isn't "buttercup" the name of some Malaysian brand of butter?

Anyway, I must say, for Bessie, I've been really really good. I have only bought ONE THING for her so far. I'm quite impressed with myself because oh my, the things you can buy for girls! Hair clips, hair bands, petticoats, tights, dresses (oh, the dresses!)... etc. Shopping for boys is really boring. So boring that I only bought 6 months' worth of onesies when I was 6 months pregnant with DN. Like I said, *yawn* boring. It was more interesting picking the colour of his stroller.

Surprisingly, I've managed to keep myself in check for Bessie and only bought this pair of shoes from Pediped. Gasp! Am I growing up???

I'm Still Here!

Just wanted to leave a quick note to say, yes, I am alive and yes, I'm still here. I know I ought to be flogged for being such a terrible blogger (i.e. shamelessly and guiltlessly carrying on reading other blogs as I ignore my own) but so much has been happening, it's not funny.

1. Coming down with the flu... TWICE (ugh)
2. Wrapping up 2 projects, 1 with a children's performance at the end :)
3. Starting a new project
4. TRYING to get started on my journal articles, which are due in less than a month's time :(
   
5. Hosting my lecturer from the UK
6. House hunting (double triple MAJOR ugh!)
7. Packing up and moving house
8. Starting DN in school/childcare
   
9. Growing a baby
   

Yup yup, you read right, DN is going to get a little sister in ... da-da-da-daanggg... early September. Yikes. That's only 4+ months away, and I have to finish my dissertation by then too! Why do I make life impossible for myself, I want to know. I might as well stab myself in the foot. It's probably less painful. -___-"

On the DN front, here are some updates.

Toilet Training

He has conquered toilet training! Whoopee! It was SO quick and painless, it felt like someone was hiding behind the wings, waiting to jump out at me and say, "Gotcha! You're not getting off that easily, ha! DN, pee on mommy's leg!" But honestly, it was SO easy, I actually feel bad gloating about it. Er, okay, maybe not, ha ha!

I was so scared of potty training, I literally didn't want to start. One (brave) day, I decided to just give it a shot. And in my panicky state, I brought DN to the potty every half an hour. In 2-3 days, both of us got used to the routine and within a week, he was telling us when he wanted to pee and poo. After 2 weeks, PF and I even tried going out diaper-less, and it was FINE! I really wanted to give myself an Oscar / Golden Globe / Nobel Peace Prize / President's Scholarship. Er... but we haven't done it since. (Okay okay, take the statue back!) We've been doing lots of house-hunting, so to tell people, "Er, sorry, can my son use your toilet please? He really needs to poop." just doesn't cut it. So unless we're going to a nice(ish) mall, he still has his diaper on when we're out. (Okay, take the scholarship back too!)

Attack of the Cheese

DN had a "major" allergy attack a couple of days ago because of his parents' lack of judgement and bad junk food habit. You see, my favourite chips are tortilla chips and I just lurve the Doritos Ranch Chips. Now, when you think "ranch" you think "cowboys, horses, stirrups, chaps and yee-ha" right? You don't think "cheese" right? Yeah, so we allowed DN to have some quite a bit of ranch chips and in 5 minutes, his mouth turned all red and soon after, his eyes started turning red and puffy too. The poor guy kept rubbing his eyes and we knew it was an allergic reaction and the culprit was the chips! I quickly gave him his anti-allergy medicine. This time it took longer than usual to settle down but thankfully it did in the end and DN looked normal again. Phew. The only good thing that came out of this is, he doesn't bug us for those chips anymore!

Starting Childcare / School

Because of Bessie's impending arrival (will explain why we've nicknamed the baby such soon), PF and I decided to start DN in school. We know that when she arrives, all hell will break loose and soon, we will start looking like what the cat spat out and dragged in. We figured it would help if DN wasn't around so that we can devote all our time to Bessie and make sure we don't put diaper cream on her hair in a sleepy stupor for example. It might also help DN deal with any jealousy because he won't be around to see us fussing over the new baby. Well, we'll see if it works.

Anyway, today was DN's first day in school and it went "alright" I guess. It wasn't fantastic, but it wasn't a total disaster either. Alright. So-so. Okay. Can lah! I'm allowed to sit in / hang around for 3 days in total so I'll blog more about this later this week. Stay tuned. :)