Auntie, tak boleh

I was doing my usual grocery shopping at the supermarket with conrad in toll.

The boy was getting fussy and was threatening to start his nyak-ing concerto. (nyak: an unpleasant sound the nyakasaurous, conrad wong makes when he is bu shuang) It scares me, that boy. Anyway, so I was carrying a piled to the brim shopping basket, boxes of tissue and trying to navigate his stroller. Not a pretty sight. But never mind that.

While I was silently chanting my "please don't start nyaking now, just give mummy five minutes" mantra, I felt a tap on my shoulder, it was the auntie queuing behind me. I was ready to give my standard reply to the "aww your baby shooooo cute...."

Auntie: "Eh, can let me go first? I only one shampoo.
Me: !@#$%^&* No, please join the express lane if you're in a hurry.

Yes, I know you're an auntie and you don't give two hoots what others might think of you. I am an auntie too. So it's ok for me to say, PEOPLE LIKE YOU (case in point above)  GIVE AUNTIES A BAD NAME. *ROAR*

A baby's tyranny and Murphy

I've made a huge discovery over the past week. Murphy's law was established based on, a baby.

You see, you can go ahead and make whatever plans you want, whenever. But, babies, oh babies, they work by their own clock. And they, pretty much do whatever they want, whenever they want. They're not gonna spare any regards to your date night/weekend shopping plans. Neither are they gonna bother about whether or not you need to work/sleep/rest when you're ill. They're tyranny like that, babies.

1. If anything just cannot go wrong, it will anyway. 

The thing about babies...You give them the whole suite of immunisation jabs, make sure their fans have e-ion modes, install air conditioning with specific patrol sensors, give them organic food, separate their laundry from yours, use ultra gentle baby detergent, wash their sheets three times more often than you would yours, wash and sterilise their bottles meticulously, rinse their pacifiers in hot water before you pop it into their mouths, wipe their small hands every so often, and you obsess over every minor detail you might have missed in fear of every germ that might sneak up on the little fellow. Its almost like you built some kinda sterile, vacuum bubble around them. I mean, so much effort has gone into painstakingly ensuring that bubble doesn't burst, so how could it? IT WILL ANYWAY.



2. Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to worse. 

You wake up one morning noticing unsightly, red patches starring back at you, on your baby's most adorable chubby cheeks. You've read enough "baby literature" to deduce it could be just baby acne which is hormonal and would likely go away quickly.
Baby throws up after his feed. Ok. Not his first "merlion moments". Lets wait for the next feed and we'll see. After all, someone said "chillax" is the best parenting policy. So hey mummy, chill and relax already.
And then he starts running a fever.


3. If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.

The chillax parenting policy dictates: "thou shalt not over-react, unnecessarily". Baby seems to be active and happy still. What am I missing...?


The red patchy spots started getting worse. It was spreading all over his body and threatening to leave a scar on his cutsie face. One particular patch on his right cheek measured 6cm by 7cm. That is mother huge given his face is still really teeny weeny.

We went to our regular 24-hour GP cause it was a Sunday and our PD's clinic wasn't open. GP's diagnosis was consistent with PD's previous diagnosis, cept this time round, it was SEVERE infant eczema. He wrote us a letter and hurried us to the KKH A&E for fear any delay in treatment would cause the poor boy permanent scarring.

At the KKH's children A&E, we registered and waited at least 3 good hours before we caught a glimpse of a doctor.  While we were waiting, the lack of proper isolation facilities for children running a temperature unsettled us a bit. We tried our best to stay in an obscure corner and we hung around anyway. DUMB parents.

Later that evening, when daddy picked him up after his evening feed, he threw up. And then he threw up again. And then, again. Repeat x 7. The next morning, repeat x 3. And he started running a temperature. We brought him back to the PD where he was given a suppository (since he couldn't keep anything down) and were told to monitor him for the next few hours.

Continues on repeat x 3.

And you had to be admitted. My baby. In the hospital, where he was born. Not because he had to be borne.

I cried buckets. Imagine trying to cannulate a chubby baby. It took four points of invasion, a whole hour of screaming (him), crying (him plus me) and exasperated consoling (daddy) to find the elusive vein and thread through that.

That stayed in for four very very long days.

Dr Cheng concluded it was gastroenteritis (which you probably caught from some kid at the A&E). Since you've already gotten your rotavirus jab, mummy was convinced it belonged to the norovirus family of bad bugs. I HATE THOSE BUGGERS.

You've recovered pretty well since then. Not without first passing the virus to mummy, and then daddy. (which further reinforces mummy's norovirus conjunction; it is highly contagious). Daddy and mummy are still recovering from the viral episode. But our isolation procedures (quarantine ourselves at home) have apparently bored the daylights outta ya.

The boy has no patience for daddy and mummy's downtime to pass at all. His lethargy has worn off, he wants his entertainment and he wants it right now. Babies, they're tyranny like that.

How not to break mummy's back

Despite investing good money into kick-ass strollers, I'm still hardly poster-girl for easy breezy baby handling.

Remember the monster which earned myself & the hubby lots of dirty looks?

Granted, this is indeed a very versatile good-looker and the boy looks pretty damn comfy in it. It's just very unfortunate that there's been too many instances I've had to bring the boy out on my own and it involves mustering every inch of strength in me to even bring this pram-zilla out from the car boot. And I honestly can't imagine doing this without the fallout stabbing Conrad's eye, or breaking my back.

And the quick solution to this was naturally, a baby sling.

Baby wearing worked great! In fact, it worked so well, he preferred to be worn at home too......

And then I thought, maybe if we tried one of those structured baby carriers (which doesn't envelop him that snugly), he would be less niam. Well either he grew out of wanting to be skin close to mummy all the time or this successfully achieved my goal of weaning him off wanting to be 'worn' all the time. But alas! Babies grow REAL FAST. Who knew right?

By the time he was four months old, he weighed more than 7kg. It may not sound much, but lugging that load around for a full hour whilst grocery shopping requires one to have mastered significantly advanced levels of Kungfu. Which, I have not.

So how?

Buy another stroller lo.

This time, priority will be given to ease of use. It had to satisfy the following criteria:
1) lightweight (no, 12kg is not light, I'm looking at you Quinny)
2) easy to operate (after God gave Eve breasts, he was too distracted to remember giving her another pair of arms)
3) safe & comfortable (won't want Conrad to feel like he's on iGallop), and
4) handsome (kidding not)


And with these parameters, I reembarked on my "find the perfect stroller" journey. After obsessiveextensive research and reading approximately 10,000 reviews on the internet, I narrowed the choices to the Peg Perego Si and the Combi Urban Walker.

Both fulfills the above stated criteria. The Combi had a slight edge cause it's lighter and operates with a one-hand open & close mechanism. I preferred the Peg Perego cause I felt it was sturdier. But the hubby prefers the Combi cause he felt we might as well go all the way if we wanted light. Studier = Heavier

So, surprise surprise! We got the Combi. In Aqua. If I had my way. It would be pink.

But that's alright. I'm saving all my pink-ammo for princess Kitty ??? I haven't thought of one.

I've been using the Combi for weeks now, and it has served its purpose.  Did I mention it has active suspension? No more dreadful back-breaking shopping trips. Gotta give it to em' Japanese.

Of bottles, pacifiers, creams, breastpumps and...Kiddy Palace

I'm not sure I am alone on this, in fact I'm quite sure I'm NOT alone. I developed an obsession for teats, milk bottles, all the above mentioned and all things, BABY.

That was when I went on a baby shopping frenzy (probably typical of a first-born mother) and became a member of Kiddy Palace, Mothercare, John Little, Metro, First Years, Tom & Stefanie and the list goes on. You name it, Xiangying probably has it.

It is extremely peculiar though, I never seem to own enough teats or milk bottles honestly. My kitchen work top was beginning to resemble, in the hubby's words, a science lab. But it just never seemed quite enough.

A fraction of my stash left out to air dry after sterilising.

At this point, let me gently remind you that I have a grand total of 1xbaby to feed.

1xvery very very adorabe chub chub baby, but 1x baby nonetheless.

At last count, I have, including those at my mum's, 24x nuk teats, 12x pacifiers, 15x milk bottles, 2x steriliser, 2x bottle warmers, 2x electric sarong, 2x playpen, 3x breast pumps (which I will dedicate another post to, or I may not since it will almost definitely fall into the category of too much information for many), 3x strollers (more about that later too), god knows how many sets of baby outfits and bibs, too many bottles of baby wash and creams (which I would tell you is absolutely necessary cause of his hyper-sensitive skin), and too little space for everything.

Despite the growing real estate we have needed to apportion for the 1x baby, I continue to be undaunted in my quest to devour every single item on that most adorable shelf in Kiddy palace. And it has come to a point whereby I no longer shop for myself, and everything I buy is converted to baby currency. i.e. how many milk bottles I can buy if I were to NOT buy that ZARA top...

Oddly enough, I still find it particularly hard to resist steering into the huge Kiddy Palace at my favourite neighbourhood mall (NEX) everytime I do my grocery runs, or just happen to be there. There is just this overwhelmingly strong draw luring the mother in me, in.

Breastfeeding. The miracle diet prescription.

They say, a picture speaks a thousand words. I think they meant, pounds.

That was mummy, pre-pregnancy.

And then, this is mummy plus you at 28 weeks.

And mummy plus you just days before you were delivered.

That is a total net gain of 25kg. T.W.E.N.T.Y freakin F.I.V.E kilograms.

And you were barely 2.8kg at birth. Much to mummy's dismay. No prizes for guessing where the weight went.

You see, mummy developed a very orderly eating routine for fear you may not be getting enough nutrition (read: plain greedy). I was binging on LARGE servings of junk food, bubble tea, and pretty much having something in my mouth every other hour. The seven meals a day obviously had to end up somewhere. I mean who in the world bothers about keeping trim and fit when they're pregnant right?...

Because my weight gain was so appalling, I decided even before giving birth I HAD TO do something about it, post-delivery. i drafted gym plans (and mind you I ain't no gym bunny), demanded for marie france slimming packages, campaigned for supports to demand for it with me, and had all sorts of fad diets at the back of my mind. But it turned out, god was feeling charitable.

He was when he made breasts for Eve.

I recall being extremely determined to breastfeed. Even though my supply was quite low the first few days (which explains why Conrad got very frustrated whenever I tried to latch on...I mean imagine you were the dude, and you had to work that hard for that miserable amount of dough, you would be pissed too wouldn't you), I stuck diligently to a three-hour pump schedule (even through the night) in order to build up a sizable supply. And boy, it worked like a charm.

By the second month, i was producing a good 1.2 to 1.4litres of milk a day. I was officially in the league of cows. And this amount of output was definitely drawing on the fat reserves I had build up over the 38 long weeks.

That's mummy at the end of month no.2.. I was one of Auntie Elise's Jie-meis when she got married to Uncle Jonathan. I felt pretty cheated though. She was not supposed to get married till year-end but had it brought forward a good half year cause Uncle Jonathan was gonna get posted overseas. I didn't have time to lose all my baby weight before fitting myself snugly into this cheongsam. But, I had lost a commendable 15kg by then.

And that is mummy with YOU at 4 months. All 25kg has gone into making food for you. I am proud to announce, I have banished all that baby weight. Sans any extreme physical activity or dieting (in fact I still need machiam I was still pregnant).

p.s. I'm still breastfeeding but my weight loss have since, stopped. Charity has its limits. 

All hail, Prince Conrad

The lead up to his arrival was can be effectively summarised as such:

PAINFUL.

If you have never been pregnant, just take this at face value. If you have, you will know the real magnitude of that 7 letter word. It will not earn you more than 12 points in a scrabble game. But when you have weathered it, you will emerge, a mother.

By the last few weeks, we were playing the waiting game. It was a game many parents would be familiar with. The rules are simple. Step 1: Wait. Step 2: Wait somemore. Step 3: You continue waiting.

And then when you can't bear the waiting anymore. You induce. And when you get wheeled into the delivery ward to be induced. You WAIT AGAIN. This time, in a hell lot of pain. 22 hours of a hell lot of pain to be precise.

And then you get this:

A screaming bundle of joy. But a bundle of joy no less.

One of my favourite picture of my baby darling in his first moments of his arrival. The feeling of holding him in my arms was quite, surreal. Like one moment he was a lump in my tummy, and the next, he becomes this fully-formed (thank god) human-being lying and peering at you, in the arms that will cradle him for the good, first years.

There is no experience like childbirth really. That is information only privileged dudettes will ever receive. And this is why dudes should always give in when we argue. I remember reading this somewhere and these are words of wisdom: Childbirth is like an invincible trump card which has unlimited power.  Henceforth, fights with the hubby should go like this...

Me: I want this to be done that way!
Hubby: You are being unreasonable...
Me: But I gave birth to your son?! 22 hours you know?!
Hubby: Ok I'm sorry. Let's do it your way.

Yup. Something along those lines.

Preparing for HIS arrival

As the big day drew near, we had to make sure everything was in place for the prince's arrival. That involved..........

Mummy giving up her swanky and relatively new (like less than a year new) ride:

in exchange for a very stroller and baby seat friendly station wagon:

p.s. daddy got to keep his 2-door rocco.

It also involves getting another kind of ride:

Daddy had a thing for 3-wheeled strollers (ok maybe mummy did too) and so we ended up getting a Zapp and a Speedi. Vroom Vroom!

I must say, Quinny makes really handsome strollers. They are just such a pleasure to look at and the smooth ride which comes with it is a bonus (oops). Of course, we were not just after its sporty good looks. Its a nice stable ride really, only setback was that its size: weighs in at 12kg and is not a pretty sight navigating this monster (the Speedi) through the narrow aisles of the local malls. Plus, you get dirty looks shot at you when you attempt to enter a lift with it. And I mean REALLY dirty looks.

And of course, there's the nursery...

Took great pains to make sure the border stickers were aligned and nothing was out of place. Or at least looked out of place. The theme for Conrad's room was decidedly yellow. And Winnie the pooh. I swear to hubby then that he would love it. In retrospect, I was the one who loved it. But it no different really. He WAS in me. Most importantly... Its androgynous. Yes I'm still quite bent on that "102 shades of pink and hello kitty" friend.

How it started...

I've made several attempts to keep a blog previously, but was never successful in diligently updating the posts. My last 'good effort' happened sometime last year around this time when I found myself pregnant with my first child. I had wanted to keep some kinda cyber memory for my progeny but the fact you are reading this in past tense. It was a futile attempt.

Now that the stars have aligned and the skies are not shimmery, I have decided I shall give it another shot. So maybe one day, my baby darling, Conrad, shall have something to be embarrased proud of when he grows up and look at the diary mummy has been keeping for him =)

That's him, at 10weeks. Already such a sweetheart. Quite literally. Somehow his embryo sac turned up looking like this (in a heart-shape). Not long after, at about 16weeks, we found out it was a boy. If u asked my hubby, or actually know him personally, I'm 99.99995% positive you would have heard one of his "she was crestfallen when the gynae told her she was carrying a boy" story. Which is so NOT true. C'mon, which mother wouldn't want a little girl she can deck out in 102 shades of pink and gush about Hello Kitty with. Right?...

Having said that however, I did make it very clear I was gonna love him, as much as I would have loved HER. And I did just that.

Well the first trimester of my pregnancy was a nightmare. I vomited after almost every meal, less breakfast. I was vomiting at mid-day and mostly at night. There was a period I remember living in the toilet everyday, post-dinner. And then came second trimester, and that went by pretty much uneventfully. Then there was the big third.

I was huge! Like really huge. Felt pretty much like a beached whale. Had crazy bad water retention and was always out of breathe. My lack of vocabulary is hindering my desire to describe just how dreaded it feels to be so heavily pregnant. But I think anyone who has been there get it. Or you don't.

Somewhere along the way, we got down to choosing a name for HIM. We had initially came up with all sorts of weird permutations but we eventually settled for Wong Yik Fung, Conrad. Why Conrad. (This, I must have explained 200 times over) Well, you see, daddy and I first met during a work trip at Conrad Centennial Hotel, and then we had our anniversary celebrations there and daddy proposed to mummy there.  Most importantly, daddy and mummy wanted you to be a brave kid when you grow up (Conrad = Courage) and tadah! It was decided. I don't think we could have come up with a better, more meaningful name.