This one was written while I was pregnant...
A couple of months ago we went to a BBQ at a friend's place. As we left home, toting a bottle of champagne I joked to my helper that it was all for me, and that my husband would be driving home. When we got back at midnight my helper was surprised that I was the one behind the wheel and said "I thought you were going to drink tonight." And she was serious... Admittedly I did have a tiny glass of that sweet, delicious, sparkly goodness but the thought that someone else assumed I would be willing to drink enough to make myself unable to drive, at 6 months pregnant, shocked me into sobriety.
When I was pregnant with J I was a bit of a martyr. I didn't want to take anything that might potentially harm my little foetus and ruin his chances of becoming Australia's first president one day. I was also still feeling extremely guilty about our ski weekend, several doses of painkillers and one or two margaritas I may have inflicted upon him before I knew I was knocked up. I battled through morning sickness, headaches and hayfever with the stoicism of one who feels wholly responsible for another living being. I did take the occasional Panadol and ended up needing antihistamines to breathe while on holiday in Melbourne, but the thought of anything more hardcore literally turned my stomach.
This time round I've been a little bit more relaxed. My all-day morning sickness was worse, a lot worse, and with a toddler to chase after I needed to be able to function. I'd been pregnant about, oh, 5 minutes before I was at the doctor begging for something to make the constant, insufferable queasiness go away. I've popped Panadol for those pesky headaches and I have a constant supply of antihistamines on hand for the sneezes, and occasionally for those nights when I just can't sleep. I had to have a course of antibiotics recently when I was struck down by "teacher's flu" and I didn't hesitate to take whatever my doctor told me was safe to take. And yes, on that night out a while back I had a wee drop of Veuve with friends. Maybe it's because I've realised that babies are more resilient than we give them credit for, or simply that I know I need to look after my own health in order to ensure the health and wellbeing of my little BITO. With a second child to look after, and a full-time job I didn't have the luxury of laying around moaning about how ill I was, so I did what I had to to get on with it, but I made sure I knew what I was taking.
It seems opinion on this one ranges from one extreme to the other. Here the medical profession offer you many "safe" alternatives when it comes to managing your health and wellbeing during pregnancy, moreso than in Australia I think. At points I have questioned whether or not it really is "safe," but like so many others here I put my faith in the doctors I've chosen. When we were in Manila before Christmas I was struck down by incapacitating hayfever. I sneezed so violently, and so frequently, I was concerned my BITO would make a premature exit. I didn't have any antihistamines with me but I went along to the pharmacy, feeling pretty confident that I could buy just about anything I asked for without a prescription, and requested the drug that my doctor here had prescribed. I was met with a look of horror and told there was nothing "safe" for me to take. It took a good 10 minutes and much consultation amongst the staff before I walked out of there with just enough pills to get me through the weekend. The looks on the faces of the staff and their tone as they talked about me, in front of me, made it clear that, in their eyes, I was a terrible mother doing unthinkable harm to my unborn child. Why the attitude towards one course of treatment would be so different, I don't know, but it left me more than a little confused.
When it comes to drugs and pain relief during labour, opinions are equally divided. I chose to have an almost drug-free birth the first time round, and I have absolutely no regrets, and no plans to do anything any differently this time. Again, I find it interesting to learn where people stand on this issue. There are those who go their whole pregnancies without taking anything, watching what they eat and drink, taking their job as gatekeeper very seriously and not allowing anything in that might affect their babies. But when the pain of labour begins it all goes out the window, and they request an epidural after the first contraction. Then there are those who treat drugs during labour as a basic right - a standard part of the process. During a conversation around the staffroom table one morning I was shocked by one colleague's comments when I was pregnant with J. When I mentioned that I was having a natural birth she said I was crazy, "if drugs are available to take away the pain, why be a hero?" (her exact words!). I didn't see it that way, and wanting a drug-free birth was not something I felt I had to do to prove my worth as a woman, but simply something I was capable of doing.
For me, what it comes down to is whether or not you need something. I know I can have a baby without drugs, but if I have a pounding headache and I'm on my own with a two year old, I do need pain relief (and maybe half a glass of wine...). There's also a pretty big difference between paracetamol and pethidine.
Which side of the fence are you on when it comes to medicating yourself during pregnancy and labour?
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
On the Day You Were Born
To my darling Charlie,
Firstly my love, welcome to the world. We are so thrilled to finally meet you and to have you at home. Your birth certificate states that you were born at the A & E department at Princess Margaret hospital, which is a shame because the real story is far more exciting. You were actually born in the back of the car at the entrance to the Nam Wan tunnel, on the Tsing Sha highway, delivered by your amazing daddy. When news of your somewhat unconventional arrival got out, there were some who thought we were joking, and it certainly created a stir. As one friend put it - "she had the baby in the car" news travels faster than plain old "she had the baby." So today, I'm going to tell the story, for you, and for the record, of the day you were born.
After a rough night, with your big brother waking a few times, I noticed in my sleep that I was having contractions. They weren't strong enough to wake me, or lasting long enough to worry me - I'd been having them on and off all week. At 6.30 I decided to get up and time them, and they were about 10 minutes apart and lasting for 30 seconds, nothing to worry about. I told your dad I thought we might have a baby that day and he thought (hoped) I was kidding. We all got up and had breakfast together and as we did I noticed that the contractions were getting stronger, lasting longer and coming closer together. It was also getting more and more difficult to breathe through them. I still wasn't too concerned and concentrated on relaxing and spending time with J. I called the hospital just to let them know we'd probably be in later and they suggested I take some Panadol and call back in 2 hours, "you're probably in the early stages and may have a long way to go," said the midwife reassuringly. I thought we'd better get organised just in case and got in the shower. I had three contractions in the shower and the hot water helped me through them. I remember thinking that when we got to the hospital I would have to get in the shower. When I got out of the shower and timed my contractions again they were suddenly coming every 2-3 minutes. I told Daddy we had better get going and by the time we got down to the car I was feeling the urge to push. The pain was quite intense and it took all of my concentration to breathe and relax. I watched the clock, knowing that each contraction would only last a minute or so, focusing on getting through the peak and back down the other side. Daddy drove faster than he ever has, but calmly and carefully. When we got to the other side of the hill my waters broke. I still thought we might make it to the hospital and wondered if I would be able to stick to my "drug-free" birth plan. I had a moment of disappointment as I realised I had barely had time to think about all the techniques we had learned at our Calmbirth class, apart from the breathing, as things grew more and more intense and I couldn't focus on anything other than what was happening inside me.
As we crossed the Tsing Ma bridge I began to think we might not make it after all, and the only moment I truly lost control, and my temper, was when we found ourselves stuck behind an "Alphard" (a people-mover favoured by the Chinese and driven by notoriously bad drivers). Mummy said some words that I hope to never hear come out of your mouth young man, and Daddy got us out of there quick smart. Minutes later, knowing there was a tunnel and another bridge ahead, we agreed that it was probably time to pull over. Some of the best advice we had received while I was pregnant was, if we found ourselves in that exact situation, to stop the car and go with it - so we did. The men from the tunnel monitoring station came running out as soon as we pulled in and your dad shouted "my wife's having a baby!" which quickly sent them running in the opposite direction to call an ambulance. I was already in the back seat and got up on my knees while your dad pulled out J's car seat and grabbed the towels and blanket we had packed "just in case." Dad said he could see your little head crowning and with two more big contractions, and very little effort on my part, you were out. Daddy caught you, cried out "it's a boy!" cleared your nose and mouth, and you let out a tiny little cry - and that was the moment I realised that you were actually here. The relief I felt was instant and indescribable, and after Daddy placed you in my arms we looked at each other and laughed with tears in our eyes. We had just delivered our baby in the back of the car!
Just the day before we had read up on what to do if we had to deliver you ourselves, not for a minute imagining that it would actually happen, and we both had complete faith that the other one knew what they were doing. I trusted that my body knew what it was doing and in the moment, none of the things that could've gone wrong entered my mind. It sounds crazy, but it was as close to our ideal birth as it possibly could be - free from interference and away from the stark and sterile environment of a hospital. Just the 3 of us, getting on with it.
Unfortunately the rest of the day wasn't as smooth, and the most traumatic part of the whole experience began when we arrived, by ambulance, at the Princess Margaret Hospital. I will have to save that part of our story for another day little bear, as you are starting to fuss and Mummy can't type with one hand yet. I will say this though, we shared a moment in the ambulance you and I, when I was able to feed you for the first time and you reached up and grabbed onto my finger with your tiny hand. You stole my heart, utterly and completely, and have continued to do so every day since. Your birth may have been a very exciting part of the story, but it was only the beginning.
All my love,
Mummy xx
Firstly my love, welcome to the world. We are so thrilled to finally meet you and to have you at home. Your birth certificate states that you were born at the A & E department at Princess Margaret hospital, which is a shame because the real story is far more exciting. You were actually born in the back of the car at the entrance to the Nam Wan tunnel, on the Tsing Sha highway, delivered by your amazing daddy. When news of your somewhat unconventional arrival got out, there were some who thought we were joking, and it certainly created a stir. As one friend put it - "she had the baby in the car" news travels faster than plain old "she had the baby." So today, I'm going to tell the story, for you, and for the record, of the day you were born.
After a rough night, with your big brother waking a few times, I noticed in my sleep that I was having contractions. They weren't strong enough to wake me, or lasting long enough to worry me - I'd been having them on and off all week. At 6.30 I decided to get up and time them, and they were about 10 minutes apart and lasting for 30 seconds, nothing to worry about. I told your dad I thought we might have a baby that day and he thought (hoped) I was kidding. We all got up and had breakfast together and as we did I noticed that the contractions were getting stronger, lasting longer and coming closer together. It was also getting more and more difficult to breathe through them. I still wasn't too concerned and concentrated on relaxing and spending time with J. I called the hospital just to let them know we'd probably be in later and they suggested I take some Panadol and call back in 2 hours, "you're probably in the early stages and may have a long way to go," said the midwife reassuringly. I thought we'd better get organised just in case and got in the shower. I had three contractions in the shower and the hot water helped me through them. I remember thinking that when we got to the hospital I would have to get in the shower. When I got out of the shower and timed my contractions again they were suddenly coming every 2-3 minutes. I told Daddy we had better get going and by the time we got down to the car I was feeling the urge to push. The pain was quite intense and it took all of my concentration to breathe and relax. I watched the clock, knowing that each contraction would only last a minute or so, focusing on getting through the peak and back down the other side. Daddy drove faster than he ever has, but calmly and carefully. When we got to the other side of the hill my waters broke. I still thought we might make it to the hospital and wondered if I would be able to stick to my "drug-free" birth plan. I had a moment of disappointment as I realised I had barely had time to think about all the techniques we had learned at our Calmbirth class, apart from the breathing, as things grew more and more intense and I couldn't focus on anything other than what was happening inside me.
As we crossed the Tsing Ma bridge I began to think we might not make it after all, and the only moment I truly lost control, and my temper, was when we found ourselves stuck behind an "Alphard" (a people-mover favoured by the Chinese and driven by notoriously bad drivers). Mummy said some words that I hope to never hear come out of your mouth young man, and Daddy got us out of there quick smart. Minutes later, knowing there was a tunnel and another bridge ahead, we agreed that it was probably time to pull over. Some of the best advice we had received while I was pregnant was, if we found ourselves in that exact situation, to stop the car and go with it - so we did. The men from the tunnel monitoring station came running out as soon as we pulled in and your dad shouted "my wife's having a baby!" which quickly sent them running in the opposite direction to call an ambulance. I was already in the back seat and got up on my knees while your dad pulled out J's car seat and grabbed the towels and blanket we had packed "just in case." Dad said he could see your little head crowning and with two more big contractions, and very little effort on my part, you were out. Daddy caught you, cried out "it's a boy!" cleared your nose and mouth, and you let out a tiny little cry - and that was the moment I realised that you were actually here. The relief I felt was instant and indescribable, and after Daddy placed you in my arms we looked at each other and laughed with tears in our eyes. We had just delivered our baby in the back of the car!
Just the day before we had read up on what to do if we had to deliver you ourselves, not for a minute imagining that it would actually happen, and we both had complete faith that the other one knew what they were doing. I trusted that my body knew what it was doing and in the moment, none of the things that could've gone wrong entered my mind. It sounds crazy, but it was as close to our ideal birth as it possibly could be - free from interference and away from the stark and sterile environment of a hospital. Just the 3 of us, getting on with it.
Unfortunately the rest of the day wasn't as smooth, and the most traumatic part of the whole experience began when we arrived, by ambulance, at the Princess Margaret Hospital. I will have to save that part of our story for another day little bear, as you are starting to fuss and Mummy can't type with one hand yet. I will say this though, we shared a moment in the ambulance you and I, when I was able to feed you for the first time and you reached up and grabbed onto my finger with your tiny hand. You stole my heart, utterly and completely, and have continued to do so every day since. Your birth may have been a very exciting part of the story, but it was only the beginning.
All my love,
Mummy xx
Saturday, February 18, 2012
A Waiting Game
When close friends were expecting their second child, the husband complained that there was nowhere near the same amount of fuss made when they announced their pregnancy. He felt as if people somehow cared less. I haven't noticed that at all, and if anything I've appreciated the fact that there's been less unsolicited advice this time around. People assume, because you've done it all before, you know what you're doing and they let you get on with it. After J was born I looked at friends who were having their second or third babies with awe and admiration. The simple fact that they had been through it all and were willing to do it again seemed worthy of high praise (either that or they were completely mad - it varied depending on how much sleep I'd had). It's the thought of facing all of the feeding and crying and sleep deprivation again, and trying to manage a very loveable but headstrong toddler, that keeps me awake at night, praying that I'll get a few more days. I clench every muscle in my body and chant, "don't come out tonight, don't come out tonight," over and over. I'm physically feeling about as ready as I'll ever be, and can't imagine I could be more uncomfortable than I am right now, but despite 38 weeks of preparation, I am far from ready mentally and emotionally, and that's quite a crucial part of the process me thinks.
As much as you prepare and plan and talk to people about it all, you can never fully grasp just how amazing, exhausting, beautifully overwhelming and utterly all-consuming having your first child can be, until they're there in your arms, taking over your home, and so completely and effortlessly stealing your heart. I'm sure we have a few shocks in store for us, as we learn how amazing, exhausting, beautifully overwhelming and utterly all-consuming having a second child can be, and I simply cannot wait to see my J as a big brother, but we know what we're getting this time around, and to me that makes it even more special. I don't mean that we know we're getting a boy or a girl, and we have no way of knowing what kind of person this little one will be, but we know what it's like to create a child and we remember the joy of that first meeting, and how precious it is to watch them grow - with every day bringing something new and different. We don't know how we managed it, but our son is an awesome human being, and every day he does or says something that blows us away. The fact that I get to go through all of that again is what excites me the most, and if anything, it makes the anticipation of BITO's arrival even greater.
At this point in my first pregnancy I had put on 20kgs, I was 4cm dilated and I had been told by my obstetrician that our baby would arrive "any day." He was still defiantly 2 weeks away but we were so desperate to meet him that we did everything we could to get him out. This time it's me, defiantly hanging in there, not yet ready to surrender to what my body will inevitably do with or without my compliance. I want to give my son more time as my one and only, and I want one more chance to have dinner alone, out somewhere with my husband, I want to keep the appointments for a massage and a haircut that I have this week, and I want to sleep for 10 hours straight as many times as I possibly can before our world is changed forever once again (I'd also like to avoid having a baby on the 29th of February if I can...). Then, I'll be ready to take on everything wonderful, and not so wonderful, that lies ahead. So, dear baby, you will be welcomed with love whenever you arrive, but Mummy would like it if you would kindly wait a few more days.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Night Terrors
For the last four nights in a row we have been woken at least once by a small person demanding attention. The first night J woke up screaming, twice. It was so unusual that we were both awake instantly, and J did get our full attention. A few nights later and we're a little more relaxed, but no less perplexed about the cause of J's nighttime angst. D has better hearing than me, he sleeps closest to the door and he isn't attempting to grow another human being at the moment so he's usually the first out of bed, but on Saturday night I was on my own. At approximately 11.45pm I was woken by a shout - "Mummy!?" It wasn't frightened or frantic, and there were no tears, but it was persistent, as if he just needed to be sure I was there. Dragging my 36 + weeks pregnant body out of bed takes some serious effort at the best of times, but after being woken from a deep and dreamy sleep it's almost impossible. I lumbered my way into J's room and found him sitting up in bed as if it was first thing in the morning. He turned to me and said, "hop in Mummy's bed?" hopefully. "No," I replied, wearily. "Mummy hop in the cot?" Again, full of hope and optimism. "No," I replied, wearily and emphatically, "not even if I wanted to."
In his entire life J has only slept in our bed a handful of times, and only when he's been sick or we've been on holidays and had no other option. Anytime we've ever had to have him in our bed none of us have had what you might call "quality sleep" so it's been easy to not make a habit out of it. I figured he might want to get into bed with us in a few weeks time when he realises that the new baby is sleeping with Mummy and Daddy, but this recent and sudden departure from "sleeping through" has taken me completely by surprise.
On Saturday night I was determined not to give in. I pictured myself and my husband living separate lives for the next 5 years as we each took turns to sleep with one or more of the children, and I stayed resolutely outside of the cot, and kept J safely inside of it. I rubbed his back, tickled his face and tried not to nod off with my head resting on the side of the cot. Any time he sensed that I was about to leave, or fall asleep standing up, J would call out, "Mummy?" again and attempt to strike up a conversation. Eventually I realised that neither of us were getting any sleep anyway, and carried him into my bed, along with Dorothy the Dinosaur, and J's constant companion Bottomley Potts, a long-limbed stuffed dalmatian. After an hour of having him toss and turn beside me, bumping his head on the bedhead, chatting to Dorothy and attempting to sleep horizontally, I realised that he was actually, despite what he believed, going to be more comfortable in his own bed and I carried him back in there. He surrendered pretty easily and I didn't hear from him again, but I still woke up the next morning feeling like crap, and angry at the world in that way that only parents of small children can comprehend.
As I said, it's only been four nights but to add insult to injury my husband has recently started snoring... In our 8 years of living together he has never been a snorer and I have no idea why he's started now but it's making me think separate bedrooms for married couples aren't such a bad idea. It's not just the snoring that is the issue - It's the fact that I can't wake him to get him to stop snoring without sending him into cardiac arrest. Even in the deepest sleep he is poised and ready for D-Day. The slightest movement from my side of the bed has him reaching for the car keys and the hospital bag. It usually takes him a minute or two to absorb what I'm telling him when I say, "I'm not in labour, I just want you to shut the f**k up and sleep on your side, or I'm going to smother you with this pillow." Try getting back to sleep after that.
So J might only wake once or twice but when you add at least one episode of snoring, a few trips to the bathroom and one or two dog-related disturbances to the mix every night, there's not a lot of restful and restorative sleeping going on. I have to wonder just what it would take to sleep soundly for 10 hours, and I mean really soundly? And do you hand in your rights to a full night's sleep the minute you decide to start a family? I don't want to know the answer to this, but will I ever sleep well again? I started this blog all that time ago with a post about sleep deprivation. It was an obsession for such a long time, and no doubt will be again as we throw ourselves into life with a newborn. But we've had it pretty good for a while now and I had forgotten just how very bad it could be. I don't know if J is entering a new phase, if the universe is trying to prepare me for what lies ahead, or if I simply bragged one too many times that my child was a brilliant sleeper, but I am longing for the day when I will again wake up when my body has decided I have had enough sleep, and not when someone else does.
As I said, it's only been four nights but to add insult to injury my husband has recently started snoring... In our 8 years of living together he has never been a snorer and I have no idea why he's started now but it's making me think separate bedrooms for married couples aren't such a bad idea. It's not just the snoring that is the issue - It's the fact that I can't wake him to get him to stop snoring without sending him into cardiac arrest. Even in the deepest sleep he is poised and ready for D-Day. The slightest movement from my side of the bed has him reaching for the car keys and the hospital bag. It usually takes him a minute or two to absorb what I'm telling him when I say, "I'm not in labour, I just want you to shut the f**k up and sleep on your side, or I'm going to smother you with this pillow." Try getting back to sleep after that.
So J might only wake once or twice but when you add at least one episode of snoring, a few trips to the bathroom and one or two dog-related disturbances to the mix every night, there's not a lot of restful and restorative sleeping going on. I have to wonder just what it would take to sleep soundly for 10 hours, and I mean really soundly? And do you hand in your rights to a full night's sleep the minute you decide to start a family? I don't want to know the answer to this, but will I ever sleep well again? I started this blog all that time ago with a post about sleep deprivation. It was an obsession for such a long time, and no doubt will be again as we throw ourselves into life with a newborn. But we've had it pretty good for a while now and I had forgotten just how very bad it could be. I don't know if J is entering a new phase, if the universe is trying to prepare me for what lies ahead, or if I simply bragged one too many times that my child was a brilliant sleeper, but I am longing for the day when I will again wake up when my body has decided I have had enough sleep, and not when someone else does.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Enter the Dragon
It's January, it's below 10 degrees outside and there are 30 minute queues at the supermarket, which can only mean one thing: it must be Chinese New Year. Kung Hei Fat Choy everyone! I wrote about Chinese New Year last year and I can't believe all that has happened since then. I never imagined that we would be expecting a baby (and soon) the next time CNY rolled around, but given that it was the year of the rabbit, I really shouldn't have been so surprised! Our J was born in the the Year of the Ox, and at the time we read a little bit about what that meant, just for fun. But our little BITO is a different story - he/she will be a dragon, and I've learned that this is a very big deal around here.
Once again, just for fun, I started reading up on what kind of personality my little one would have, based on the Chinese zodiac. I learned that dragon babies are incredibly auspicious, and are destined to be intelligent, powerful, successful and wealthy (Bruce Lee was a famous dragon)- which inspires many parents to do some creative family planning. The dragon is the only mythical creature of the zodiac and that has a lot to do with its desirability apparently. It's considered to be a blessing to have a baby, especially a boy, in a dragon year. Reading about the lengths some people go to to have a dragon baby, I feel a teensy bit guilty that we did it with very little effort and no consideration whatsoever, but also strangely proud - whether we intended to or not, we've done our child a great favour, or so it would seem. We've been hearing a lot about how lucky we are, and then I read this article... I haven't really blogged yet about the insane competition for school places here, or fight for beds in maternity wards, but trust me when I say it's fierce at the best of times. It seems crazy to me that the quest for a baby with certain qualities would place such an extraordinary burden on an already overwhelmed system, but after 4 years here I'm not surprised, and I have my elbows out, ready to fight with all the other parents of dragon babies out there. I never imagined I would be that parent, but I have the application form for our desired school already printed out ready to be filled in as soon as BITO enters the world. I'm hoping that the fact that he/she will arrive fairly early in the year will work to our advantage but I'm still struggling to believe that this is something we even have to think about!
While I'm prepared to do battle with anyone standing between me and a private hospital bed, or between BITO and a place in a good school, I won't be forming too many preconceived ideas about the kind of child we're about to welcome. Whatever they will be when they grow up, they are still babies that eat, poop, throw food and deprive their parents of a great deal of sleep, and they will also bring us great joy, future world leader or not. At the end of the day I'm more concerned with the health and happiness of my kids, but if someone finds any evidence that dragon babies sleep more in their first year than others, I'd be very interested indeed. Whether or not my dragon is destined for greatness remains to be seen but I do find it quite funny when I picture a dragon arriving in a home that already houses a goat, a rabbit and an ox - if there's any truth to it all, life will certainly be interesting!
Despite my scepticism, one of the quotes from the BBC article that really resonated with me was, "When the dragon wants to do something, there will be no stopping him." Our little one has already proven that he/she is determined to be here, and I have no doubt that, regardless of how he/she turns out or how many dragon qualities we see, that determination is set to continue. Here's hoping for an auspicious year for all of us, it's already off to the best start imaginable.
Once again, just for fun, I started reading up on what kind of personality my little one would have, based on the Chinese zodiac. I learned that dragon babies are incredibly auspicious, and are destined to be intelligent, powerful, successful and wealthy (Bruce Lee was a famous dragon)- which inspires many parents to do some creative family planning. The dragon is the only mythical creature of the zodiac and that has a lot to do with its desirability apparently. It's considered to be a blessing to have a baby, especially a boy, in a dragon year. Reading about the lengths some people go to to have a dragon baby, I feel a teensy bit guilty that we did it with very little effort and no consideration whatsoever, but also strangely proud - whether we intended to or not, we've done our child a great favour, or so it would seem. We've been hearing a lot about how lucky we are, and then I read this article... I haven't really blogged yet about the insane competition for school places here, or fight for beds in maternity wards, but trust me when I say it's fierce at the best of times. It seems crazy to me that the quest for a baby with certain qualities would place such an extraordinary burden on an already overwhelmed system, but after 4 years here I'm not surprised, and I have my elbows out, ready to fight with all the other parents of dragon babies out there. I never imagined I would be that parent, but I have the application form for our desired school already printed out ready to be filled in as soon as BITO enters the world. I'm hoping that the fact that he/she will arrive fairly early in the year will work to our advantage but I'm still struggling to believe that this is something we even have to think about!
While I'm prepared to do battle with anyone standing between me and a private hospital bed, or between BITO and a place in a good school, I won't be forming too many preconceived ideas about the kind of child we're about to welcome. Whatever they will be when they grow up, they are still babies that eat, poop, throw food and deprive their parents of a great deal of sleep, and they will also bring us great joy, future world leader or not. At the end of the day I'm more concerned with the health and happiness of my kids, but if someone finds any evidence that dragon babies sleep more in their first year than others, I'd be very interested indeed. Whether or not my dragon is destined for greatness remains to be seen but I do find it quite funny when I picture a dragon arriving in a home that already houses a goat, a rabbit and an ox - if there's any truth to it all, life will certainly be interesting!
Despite my scepticism, one of the quotes from the BBC article that really resonated with me was, "When the dragon wants to do something, there will be no stopping him." Our little one has already proven that he/she is determined to be here, and I have no doubt that, regardless of how he/she turns out or how many dragon qualities we see, that determination is set to continue. Here's hoping for an auspicious year for all of us, it's already off to the best start imaginable.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Bump Bliss
I love being pregnant, and it appears that I'm quite good at it. If you leave out the first 13 weeks where I felt like crap and was a hormonal she-devil 24 hours a day that is. For the last 17 weeks I've been feeling great, my hair is thick and shiny, my skin is glowing and the extra weight on my top half beautifully disguises the fact that most of the time I resemble an anaemic pear. It's a complete mystery to me how this has happened, but I also feel more emotionally balanced and in control than when I'm not pregnant (again, ignoring the bad, bad behaviour of the first trimester). The first time around I was huge, and the fluid retention and carpal tunnel syndrome got a little tired towards the end, but apart from a mild case of narcolepsy and an inability to hold an intelligent conversation, I'm 7 weeks from the big day and not yet ready for the end.
Given the defective genetics we have unknowingly passed on to our beautiful boy, and potentially little BITO, we've made the call that this will (with 99% certainty...) be my last pregnancy. I'm trying to focus on the fact that we got off lightly, when you think about all the things that can go wrong when two sets of defective DNA hook up and make babies. But I am genuinely really sad that I won't ever be pregnant again, and today I want to take a moment to mourn. So here's my list of things I will miss about pregnancy, and a few of the things I won't...
I will miss (in no particular order)-
The anticipation of waiting for that little blue line after peeing on a stick, when 2 minutes in the quiet solitude of the bathroom feels like FOREVER.
The look on my husband's face, of pure joy mixed with pride, when I tell him I'm pregnant.
Having an excuse to eat cereal in the middle of the night. Hell, having an excuse to eat whatever I want, whenever I want.
Those first few days after finding out, before the nausea kicks in, when you keep it all to yourself and knowing it's the most precious secret of all.
Pants with elastic waistbands.
All the nice maternity clothes I treated myself to this time around because I was sure there'd be another baby one day.
Seeing and hearing that tiny heartbeat for the first time, and watching the little one go from something resembling a kidney bean, to a really tiny person.
Tiny baby gymnastics, especially those first little flutters, when it hits you that there's actually a person in there.
Baby name debates.
All the kindness and fuss that comes your way when it's apparent you're carrying very precious cargo.
Birth Days - I know it sounds crazy but the day I gave birth to my son was the most exhilarating day of my life, and you have to experience it for yourself to understand how amazing that moment is when you meet your baby for the first time. It's heaven.
Things I won't miss -
The first trimester.
Needing to pee all the time. Especially in the middle of Central, miles from any public toilets...
Suddenly finding myself absolutely starving, and almost fainting when I can't get food quick enough (again, generally happens in the middle of Central).
Compression stockings and varicose veins, eurgh...
Not being able to bend in the middle.
Comments about the size of my cankles.
Sleeping in 2 hour bursts because I need to pee 14 times a night, and the rest of the time I'm just really uncomfortable. I can't wait to sleep on my tummy again!
Clothes that resemble scaffolding, with tummy and boob support, will be happily discarded in a few months time.
Wanting to throw up every time someone washes the dishes or puts deodorant on in the house - everything in our house is now unscented and everyone thinks I'm mad.
Decaf everything.
Having to ask someone else to cut my toenails, again, eurgh...
Feeling like my body belongs to someone else (and someone with very little respect for it at that).
Despite our woes I wouldn't change a single thing. I've loved every minute of being pregnant and watching my baby boy grow, and we still have so much to look forward to with the next one. I just wish it wasn't going so fast. One day I might decide that 25% is a low risk and embrace the 75% chance we'll have a completely healthy, normal-sighted child, but for now we're done and it's farewell bump and all the joy you have brought - it's been bliss.
Given the defective genetics we have unknowingly passed on to our beautiful boy, and potentially little BITO, we've made the call that this will (with 99% certainty...) be my last pregnancy. I'm trying to focus on the fact that we got off lightly, when you think about all the things that can go wrong when two sets of defective DNA hook up and make babies. But I am genuinely really sad that I won't ever be pregnant again, and today I want to take a moment to mourn. So here's my list of things I will miss about pregnancy, and a few of the things I won't...
I will miss (in no particular order)-
The anticipation of waiting for that little blue line after peeing on a stick, when 2 minutes in the quiet solitude of the bathroom feels like FOREVER.
The look on my husband's face, of pure joy mixed with pride, when I tell him I'm pregnant.
Having an excuse to eat cereal in the middle of the night. Hell, having an excuse to eat whatever I want, whenever I want.
Those first few days after finding out, before the nausea kicks in, when you keep it all to yourself and knowing it's the most precious secret of all.
Pants with elastic waistbands.
All the nice maternity clothes I treated myself to this time around because I was sure there'd be another baby one day.
Seeing and hearing that tiny heartbeat for the first time, and watching the little one go from something resembling a kidney bean, to a really tiny person.
Tiny baby gymnastics, especially those first little flutters, when it hits you that there's actually a person in there.
Baby name debates.
All the kindness and fuss that comes your way when it's apparent you're carrying very precious cargo.
Birth Days - I know it sounds crazy but the day I gave birth to my son was the most exhilarating day of my life, and you have to experience it for yourself to understand how amazing that moment is when you meet your baby for the first time. It's heaven.
Things I won't miss -
The first trimester.
Needing to pee all the time. Especially in the middle of Central, miles from any public toilets...
Suddenly finding myself absolutely starving, and almost fainting when I can't get food quick enough (again, generally happens in the middle of Central).
Compression stockings and varicose veins, eurgh...
Not being able to bend in the middle.
Comments about the size of my cankles.
Sleeping in 2 hour bursts because I need to pee 14 times a night, and the rest of the time I'm just really uncomfortable. I can't wait to sleep on my tummy again!
Clothes that resemble scaffolding, with tummy and boob support, will be happily discarded in a few months time.
Wanting to throw up every time someone washes the dishes or puts deodorant on in the house - everything in our house is now unscented and everyone thinks I'm mad.
Decaf everything.
Having to ask someone else to cut my toenails, again, eurgh...
Feeling like my body belongs to someone else (and someone with very little respect for it at that).
Despite our woes I wouldn't change a single thing. I've loved every minute of being pregnant and watching my baby boy grow, and we still have so much to look forward to with the next one. I just wish it wasn't going so fast. One day I might decide that 25% is a low risk and embrace the 75% chance we'll have a completely healthy, normal-sighted child, but for now we're done and it's farewell bump and all the joy you have brought - it's been bliss.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
A Birth Day
I started this post a while ago for very different reasons to why I'm finally putting it out there now. I have been known to get on the natural birth bandwagon from time to time, and I get quite distressed when I encounter women who are absolutely terrified of giving birth naturally, to the point of choosing to have an elective caesarean instead. I was pretty terrified at one point (and I'm sure I will be again second time round), but if you go in with the right mindset and know everything you can know, it's really not that scary. Trust me, I had such a good experience I'm going to do it again! Before I go off on a tangent, let me explain that I'm telling you my story today because my amazing little man just turned 2. He went from being a helpless, floppy, completely dependent (but adorable) newborn, to a very independent, confident and talkative little boy in such a short time that I cannot believe two years have passed since the night we drove to the hospital in the pouring rain and came home with a baby. It was the most incredible night of my life, and I really feel blessed to have brought such a special little person into the world. I cannot wait to do it again (and maybe again after that :-) Here's how it all went down...
Three weeks before my son was born I got a fright in the middle of the night. Something shifted and I went into what they call "pre-labour." I was quietly dilating and contracting while going about my business, and was totally oblivious to the fact until my next doctor's appointment. I saw my obstetrician three times in those three weeks, and the first two times she examined me and swore that we would have a baby within the next 48 hours. My husband extended his leave to ensure he was by my side, ready to leap into action any time I so much as whimpered (crying out in pain one night from a leg cramp had him halfway to the car before I calmly informed him it was not "go time."), I packed my bag and together we anxiously awaited our fate. In the meantime we did everything the books tell you to do if you're trying to bring on labour, although not always at the same time; for the record, vindaloo is not conducive to romance. On the third and final visit Dr G threw her hands in the air and refused to make any promises, "he'll come when he's ready," she said. Now that I know my son better, I've accepted that as part of who he is, and I love him for it, but at the time I was so desperate to meet him that I grew increasingly frustrated. It wasn't until I gave up and realised he had to come out eventually, that he finally made an appearance.
While we waited that week, we watched a documentary on zoo animals (during a break from eating curry, doing yoga and drinking raspberry leaf tea and pineapple juice), where we learned the interesting little fact that wild animals often go into labour at night, in bad weather, when there are fewer predators around, and we joked that maybe that was what the little guy was waiting for. And so it was, on a wet, windy and cold December night, just after getting into bed, my waters broke. Since the hospital was an hour away we had been advised to leave home when my contractions were 10 minutes apart - they started at 5 minutes apart. By the time we got to the hospital at midnight I could barely walk. I was also one of those annoying women who wanted to give birth without pain relief. Trust me when I tell you that it had nothing to do with being a martyr, I just hated the idea of someone sticking a needle in my spine. So I endured three solid hours of almost back-to-back contractions, all the while dealing with a really unhelpful midwife who kept coming in and telling me that yet another "hypnobirther" in the ward had caved in and asked for an epidural. She'd follow this with "so you want drugs yet?" I had my brilliant husband and my amazing sister-in-law in the room with me and they kept me going.
I had done a lot of research before I went into labour because I wanted to be prepared for what I could expect to happen. I also had an awful lot of time on my hands while I waited. By far the most helpful thing I read was from a book called "Birth Skills" by Juju Sundin (find more info here). She talked about fear leading to tension, and tension leading to pain, or at least increasing it. She also reminds pregnant mums that the pain of childbirth is very different to the pain caused by disease or injury: it's a positive pain caused by your muscles working to help you deliver your baby. It's also a temporary pain. It all made perfect sense to me, and armed with the faith that my body knew what it was doing, I was able to relax and just go with it. You'll be pleased to know that throughout it all I stayed very calm, and only yelled at my husband once. I wasn't a complete hero I have to admit. At around 2.30am I had had just about as much as I could take. My labour had been mercifully short (if you don't count the first three weeks!) but really intense. I was ready to take whatever they could give me to make the pain go away but when the midwife had a little look-see downstairs she was surprised to find that I was ready to push. It was too late for the drugs. I made do with gas and air (a godsend, that made me feel a million bucks) and got ready to meet my son. The doctor arrived, wearing scrubs and gumboots, which I found a little alarming. She told me I'd have a baby by 5am, which seemed like an awfully long time away to me, but I didn't have to wait that long. JWC was born at 3.14 am weighing a very robust 4kgs. The relief was instant, and apart from the overwhelming love and adoration, I also felt kind of proud. I had done it, I had survived childbirth. The pain didn't kill me, I didn't give up, and my trust in my own ability proved worthwhile. Anytime after that when I was sleep deprived and miserable, days when I felt completely helpless because I had no idea what I was doing, I thought back on that night and it gave me the motivation I needed to keep going. It was such a boost - "I gave birth to an enormous (but adorable) baby without drugs, I can do anything."
Giving birth to a baby of that size, in that space of time, isn't without its drawbacks, and I have the scars to prove what I went through. But, without sounding blase or trite, I'd do it all again now that I know what I got in the end.
Those first 24 hours, in fact the first weeks and months have all been blurred in my mind, but the memory of holding my little guy for the first time will stay vividly in my memory forever. I felt like I already knew him, we'd waited so long to meet him, and he'd been with me all that time, but I knew there was still so much we had to learn about each other. We spent the first 12 months of his life focused on the basics that would keep him (and us) alive - food and sleep. Then we relaxed a little and got to know him for the person that he is, and it's been a blast. He's so much like me at times, then so much like his dad at others. Then there are the times when he's a completely unique individual and we look at each other and wonder where he came from. He loves cars, trucks, buses, planes and Thomas the Tank Engine. He adores his daddy, but only mummy's company will do last thing at night and first thing in the morning. He dances around the living room and sings us songs in Mandarin. He loves being outdoors and has been known to wear our shoes, and often looks like a very short version of my father. He eats like a sparrow, has the energy of 10 men, and likes to pretend he is a cat. And we think he is simply awesome. It's been fascinating and fantastic and very, very funny at times, and we can't wait to see what the next 12 months have in store. Happy Birthday my little J bird x
Three weeks before my son was born I got a fright in the middle of the night. Something shifted and I went into what they call "pre-labour." I was quietly dilating and contracting while going about my business, and was totally oblivious to the fact until my next doctor's appointment. I saw my obstetrician three times in those three weeks, and the first two times she examined me and swore that we would have a baby within the next 48 hours. My husband extended his leave to ensure he was by my side, ready to leap into action any time I so much as whimpered (crying out in pain one night from a leg cramp had him halfway to the car before I calmly informed him it was not "go time."), I packed my bag and together we anxiously awaited our fate. In the meantime we did everything the books tell you to do if you're trying to bring on labour, although not always at the same time; for the record, vindaloo is not conducive to romance. On the third and final visit Dr G threw her hands in the air and refused to make any promises, "he'll come when he's ready," she said. Now that I know my son better, I've accepted that as part of who he is, and I love him for it, but at the time I was so desperate to meet him that I grew increasingly frustrated. It wasn't until I gave up and realised he had to come out eventually, that he finally made an appearance.
While we waited that week, we watched a documentary on zoo animals (during a break from eating curry, doing yoga and drinking raspberry leaf tea and pineapple juice), where we learned the interesting little fact that wild animals often go into labour at night, in bad weather, when there are fewer predators around, and we joked that maybe that was what the little guy was waiting for. And so it was, on a wet, windy and cold December night, just after getting into bed, my waters broke. Since the hospital was an hour away we had been advised to leave home when my contractions were 10 minutes apart - they started at 5 minutes apart. By the time we got to the hospital at midnight I could barely walk. I was also one of those annoying women who wanted to give birth without pain relief. Trust me when I tell you that it had nothing to do with being a martyr, I just hated the idea of someone sticking a needle in my spine. So I endured three solid hours of almost back-to-back contractions, all the while dealing with a really unhelpful midwife who kept coming in and telling me that yet another "hypnobirther" in the ward had caved in and asked for an epidural. She'd follow this with "so you want drugs yet?" I had my brilliant husband and my amazing sister-in-law in the room with me and they kept me going.
I had done a lot of research before I went into labour because I wanted to be prepared for what I could expect to happen. I also had an awful lot of time on my hands while I waited. By far the most helpful thing I read was from a book called "Birth Skills" by Juju Sundin (find more info here). She talked about fear leading to tension, and tension leading to pain, or at least increasing it. She also reminds pregnant mums that the pain of childbirth is very different to the pain caused by disease or injury: it's a positive pain caused by your muscles working to help you deliver your baby. It's also a temporary pain. It all made perfect sense to me, and armed with the faith that my body knew what it was doing, I was able to relax and just go with it. You'll be pleased to know that throughout it all I stayed very calm, and only yelled at my husband once. I wasn't a complete hero I have to admit. At around 2.30am I had had just about as much as I could take. My labour had been mercifully short (if you don't count the first three weeks!) but really intense. I was ready to take whatever they could give me to make the pain go away but when the midwife had a little look-see downstairs she was surprised to find that I was ready to push. It was too late for the drugs. I made do with gas and air (a godsend, that made me feel a million bucks) and got ready to meet my son. The doctor arrived, wearing scrubs and gumboots, which I found a little alarming. She told me I'd have a baby by 5am, which seemed like an awfully long time away to me, but I didn't have to wait that long. JWC was born at 3.14 am weighing a very robust 4kgs. The relief was instant, and apart from the overwhelming love and adoration, I also felt kind of proud. I had done it, I had survived childbirth. The pain didn't kill me, I didn't give up, and my trust in my own ability proved worthwhile. Anytime after that when I was sleep deprived and miserable, days when I felt completely helpless because I had no idea what I was doing, I thought back on that night and it gave me the motivation I needed to keep going. It was such a boost - "I gave birth to an enormous (but adorable) baby without drugs, I can do anything."
Giving birth to a baby of that size, in that space of time, isn't without its drawbacks, and I have the scars to prove what I went through. But, without sounding blase or trite, I'd do it all again now that I know what I got in the end.
Those first 24 hours, in fact the first weeks and months have all been blurred in my mind, but the memory of holding my little guy for the first time will stay vividly in my memory forever. I felt like I already knew him, we'd waited so long to meet him, and he'd been with me all that time, but I knew there was still so much we had to learn about each other. We spent the first 12 months of his life focused on the basics that would keep him (and us) alive - food and sleep. Then we relaxed a little and got to know him for the person that he is, and it's been a blast. He's so much like me at times, then so much like his dad at others. Then there are the times when he's a completely unique individual and we look at each other and wonder where he came from. He loves cars, trucks, buses, planes and Thomas the Tank Engine. He adores his daddy, but only mummy's company will do last thing at night and first thing in the morning. He dances around the living room and sings us songs in Mandarin. He loves being outdoors and has been known to wear our shoes, and often looks like a very short version of my father. He eats like a sparrow, has the energy of 10 men, and likes to pretend he is a cat. And we think he is simply awesome. It's been fascinating and fantastic and very, very funny at times, and we can't wait to see what the next 12 months have in store. Happy Birthday my little J bird x
Thursday, December 1, 2011
A House or A Home?
Time is flying by at the moment. I cannot believe it's December already, and I haven't blogged for 2 weeks. I'm in the middle of writing another article for Playtimes magazine and it has been all consuming. So of course just days from my deadline we decided to take a little break and spent the weekend in Manila, and now I'm blogging, writing something that does nothing to get me closer to finishing the piece I'll actually be paid for. Anyhoo...
We're in a bit of turmoil at present. We bought a house just before J was born and moved in when he was 8 weeks old. It was smaller than the one we were in, didn't have a proper kitchen and, unlike our rental, was only partially furnished and had no outdoor space. I managed to convince my husband that we had to at least paint inside before we moved in and we've managed to re-do the bathroom, but we're still living with mostly second-hand furniture, a truly awful kitchen and a living area that gets smaller every day. I know, cry me a river, at least we own our home, something which isn't always easy or affordable in a place like Hong Kong. It just doesn't feel like home sometimes, and making it more homely will cost money we simply don't have. This is a big issue for me right now (and the cause of the aforementioned turmoil) as I've been bitten by the nesting bug pretty darn hard.
Friends and family who've been to visit recently have all politely enquired, when glancing around at all 800 square feet of our house, where we will put the baby when he/she arrives. We've laughed it off and said "we'll figure it out," secretly knowing that unless we empty a drawer in the wardrobe in our room for little BITO to sleep in, he/she won't fit anywhere. So, we recently made the tough (crazy) decision to try and sell our house before the baby is born. Moving house with a newborn sent me into a state of depression, and caused such unnecessary angst that I swore I would never do it again, so if it doesn't sell before the end of January we'll stay put. Even if we do sell we won't be able to afford to buy again so we'll be renters. But what we could afford to rent is palatial in comparison to what we currently own - a very appealing prospect indeed. We'd also have enough cash to finally be able to buy our own furniture and ditch the Ikea hand-me-downs, hooray!
The week we made this decision, despite all its pros, my blood pressure skyrocketed and I was lying awake at night feeling like I was about to lose something very special. There was such a sense of achievement when we bought this house, our first home, and despite its MANY imperfections, it is ours, and a huge asset. It has a lot of potential, and we had big dreams for the things we were going to do to it, to turn it from a house into a home, and we'd both be really sad if we had to give that up and start living in someone else's house. I keep veering wildly from one side to the other, wanting desperately to sell and move, then secretly hoping we have to stay. One day last week I stood in J's room (my favourite room in the house) and looked around, thinking maybe we could stay, feeling guilty that I was even considering taking my little man away from the only home he'd ever known right before we drop a sibling on him. Then I realised that it's what you do to a place that makes it a home, as long as we took our little bits and pieces with us, all the stuff that is familiar to J, the 4 of us could make a home anywhere. So I was back on the side of selling.
We had a couple come through, prospective buyers, within days of deciding to sell, and it all felt a bit too sudden. I didn't stay and left the inspection to my husband. The dog and child were also banished from the house to give the illusion of space - we didn't want them cluttering up the place! After a wicked woman came through a house we were renting several years ago and told me it was "cosy" with a nasty sneer, or the real estate agents who laughed and said our colour scheme was "so 90's," I've always been a bit defensive during inspections, even more so now that this is my own home and not a rental. So you can imagine my distress when I came home and found that my husband had put away and rearranged some of my objet d'art and trinkets (aka clutter) for the sake of making the place look bigger. I was on the verge of tears as I put it all back, and wanted to pull the pin on the whole business once again.
After spending the weekend in Manila, in a bazillion square foot apartment, with 3 massive bedrooms and a living area that is larger than our house and the one next door combined, I definitely feel like we need to live somewhere bigger. J is a light sleeper and hears me get up to pee in the middle of the night, so you can imagine how much a crying baby is going to affect his sleep. And what about poor BITO trying to catch a nap during the day while his/her big brother is creating a ruckus downstairs? Our marriage only survived the first few months of J's life because we had a spare room: a sanctuary for the sleep-deprived parent to hide away in while the other parent (although equally sleep-deprived) tended to the baby in the other room. What will we do when there's nowhere to escape to? We've had a few more couples come through this week, and while the comments have been mercifully positive ("we love it," "what a view," great bathroom!"), the big but has been the same each time..."it's too small." Which really is stating the bleeding obvious - it's why we're selling!!
Now, after two weeks on this real estate rollercoaster, my husband confessed that he doesn't think we'll be able to sell before my deadline/due date, and we're back to square one. I desperately want to feel settled, to feel like there will be a space for our new little one in a few months time. I want to paint some walls, rearrange some furniture and, when the time comes, buy some gorgeous gender appropriate linen, maybe even some bunting. I want an armchair in a quiet corner of the house that I can breastfeed in without having to watch Playschool or be leapt upon by a couch surfing toddler. I want my baby to be able to sleep peacefully upstairs while I watch Playschool and couch surf with his/her big brother. If we don't sell BITO will be sleeping in a gender-neutral moses basket, wedged into a corner of our bedroom until he/she graduates from high-school. Or maybe we could ditch the beds altogether and lay some tatami mats down on the floor, when in Rome, hey? I wish I was the kind of person who could rise above all that, not be too caught up in material things like houses and nice furniture. I should be happy that my family is happy and healthy, and I am, but these damn hormones (and too much time at home) have me itching to create a more comfortable space for my growing family, whether under this roof or someone else's, and it's deeply unsettling. There's nothing like not knowing where you're going to be living, and not being entirely happy where you are, at a time when the concept of home has never been more important.
We're in a bit of turmoil at present. We bought a house just before J was born and moved in when he was 8 weeks old. It was smaller than the one we were in, didn't have a proper kitchen and, unlike our rental, was only partially furnished and had no outdoor space. I managed to convince my husband that we had to at least paint inside before we moved in and we've managed to re-do the bathroom, but we're still living with mostly second-hand furniture, a truly awful kitchen and a living area that gets smaller every day. I know, cry me a river, at least we own our home, something which isn't always easy or affordable in a place like Hong Kong. It just doesn't feel like home sometimes, and making it more homely will cost money we simply don't have. This is a big issue for me right now (and the cause of the aforementioned turmoil) as I've been bitten by the nesting bug pretty darn hard.
Friends and family who've been to visit recently have all politely enquired, when glancing around at all 800 square feet of our house, where we will put the baby when he/she arrives. We've laughed it off and said "we'll figure it out," secretly knowing that unless we empty a drawer in the wardrobe in our room for little BITO to sleep in, he/she won't fit anywhere. So, we recently made the tough (crazy) decision to try and sell our house before the baby is born. Moving house with a newborn sent me into a state of depression, and caused such unnecessary angst that I swore I would never do it again, so if it doesn't sell before the end of January we'll stay put. Even if we do sell we won't be able to afford to buy again so we'll be renters. But what we could afford to rent is palatial in comparison to what we currently own - a very appealing prospect indeed. We'd also have enough cash to finally be able to buy our own furniture and ditch the Ikea hand-me-downs, hooray!
The week we made this decision, despite all its pros, my blood pressure skyrocketed and I was lying awake at night feeling like I was about to lose something very special. There was such a sense of achievement when we bought this house, our first home, and despite its MANY imperfections, it is ours, and a huge asset. It has a lot of potential, and we had big dreams for the things we were going to do to it, to turn it from a house into a home, and we'd both be really sad if we had to give that up and start living in someone else's house. I keep veering wildly from one side to the other, wanting desperately to sell and move, then secretly hoping we have to stay. One day last week I stood in J's room (my favourite room in the house) and looked around, thinking maybe we could stay, feeling guilty that I was even considering taking my little man away from the only home he'd ever known right before we drop a sibling on him. Then I realised that it's what you do to a place that makes it a home, as long as we took our little bits and pieces with us, all the stuff that is familiar to J, the 4 of us could make a home anywhere. So I was back on the side of selling.
We had a couple come through, prospective buyers, within days of deciding to sell, and it all felt a bit too sudden. I didn't stay and left the inspection to my husband. The dog and child were also banished from the house to give the illusion of space - we didn't want them cluttering up the place! After a wicked woman came through a house we were renting several years ago and told me it was "cosy" with a nasty sneer, or the real estate agents who laughed and said our colour scheme was "so 90's," I've always been a bit defensive during inspections, even more so now that this is my own home and not a rental. So you can imagine my distress when I came home and found that my husband had put away and rearranged some of my objet d'art and trinkets (aka clutter) for the sake of making the place look bigger. I was on the verge of tears as I put it all back, and wanted to pull the pin on the whole business once again.
After spending the weekend in Manila, in a bazillion square foot apartment, with 3 massive bedrooms and a living area that is larger than our house and the one next door combined, I definitely feel like we need to live somewhere bigger. J is a light sleeper and hears me get up to pee in the middle of the night, so you can imagine how much a crying baby is going to affect his sleep. And what about poor BITO trying to catch a nap during the day while his/her big brother is creating a ruckus downstairs? Our marriage only survived the first few months of J's life because we had a spare room: a sanctuary for the sleep-deprived parent to hide away in while the other parent (although equally sleep-deprived) tended to the baby in the other room. What will we do when there's nowhere to escape to? We've had a few more couples come through this week, and while the comments have been mercifully positive ("we love it," "what a view," great bathroom!"), the big but has been the same each time..."it's too small." Which really is stating the bleeding obvious - it's why we're selling!!
Now, after two weeks on this real estate rollercoaster, my husband confessed that he doesn't think we'll be able to sell before my deadline/due date, and we're back to square one. I desperately want to feel settled, to feel like there will be a space for our new little one in a few months time. I want to paint some walls, rearrange some furniture and, when the time comes, buy some gorgeous gender appropriate linen, maybe even some bunting. I want an armchair in a quiet corner of the house that I can breastfeed in without having to watch Playschool or be leapt upon by a couch surfing toddler. I want my baby to be able to sleep peacefully upstairs while I watch Playschool and couch surf with his/her big brother. If we don't sell BITO will be sleeping in a gender-neutral moses basket, wedged into a corner of our bedroom until he/she graduates from high-school. Or maybe we could ditch the beds altogether and lay some tatami mats down on the floor, when in Rome, hey? I wish I was the kind of person who could rise above all that, not be too caught up in material things like houses and nice furniture. I should be happy that my family is happy and healthy, and I am, but these damn hormones (and too much time at home) have me itching to create a more comfortable space for my growing family, whether under this roof or someone else's, and it's deeply unsettling. There's nothing like not knowing where you're going to be living, and not being entirely happy where you are, at a time when the concept of home has never been more important.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Baby Brain
Unlike Man Flu, baby brain is a genuine, debilitating infection, affectation, inflection, affliction. Some say it's the result of your brain gently marinating in a potent cocktail of baby-making hormones, or the slight rise in your body's temperature. While others believe that the thought of giving birth and adding a new human to your world is such a distraction that your brain can't possibly process anything else. Whatever it is, I don't know any mums-to-be who have escaped this particular pregnancy side-effect.
While you may be a gorgeous, glowing, baby-making goddess on the outside (or not), upstairs there is not a whole lot going on. In other words, the lights are on but no one's home. I noticed a big change when I was pregnant with J, I felt like my brain was turning into swiss cheese, and once he was born things didn't really get better. I must have lost a million brain cells over the last year and dropped a few IQ points just through the sheer effort of trying to keep my tiny human alive, running on very little sleep and desperate for some kind of instruction manual. Not to mention the effort required in putting myself back together physically and dealing with the hormonal "ups and downs" that come after having said baby. Then I fell pregnant again and realised I must've regained some of that previous brain power over the last two years, because once again I've noticed a significantly diminished mental capacity. I am the embodiment of the saying "I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on."
On the weekend I updated my Facebook status, joking that I should not be left in charge of small children or allowed to operate heavy machinery. But I was only half-joking. Just that morning I had been to the supermarket and wandered around aimlessly until I remembered what it was I actually needed. I had written a list but forgot to take it with me! I ran through a mental list of all the ingredients in the dish I was cooking (a basic beef stroganoff) but still drew a blank on what I was missing. In the end I remembered, mushrooms, aha! But later that day I walked out the door and left my keys behind. It wasn't until I got to the car that I realised. I forget what I'm saying mid-sentence and some days my son has a better vocabulary than I do. I often go upstairs to get something, get distracted by something else, and come back downstairs without what it was I went up there for in the first place. Just today I was filling in forms for J's playgroup enrolment and I had no idea what day it was, let alone what the date was. Don't get me started on how overwhelmed I was by the direct debit authorisation form...
The upside to all of it is that I am completely oblivious to everything else going on around me. I can sit back in my baby-induced haze and play with my little boy all day. Now that I've finished work (goodness knows what I taught those poor children) I don't need much thinking power. Which is just as well because I'm going to be relieved from grocery shopping duty pretty soon, and if I leave the oven on one more time, cooking might be out of the question too.
While you may be a gorgeous, glowing, baby-making goddess on the outside (or not), upstairs there is not a whole lot going on. In other words, the lights are on but no one's home. I noticed a big change when I was pregnant with J, I felt like my brain was turning into swiss cheese, and once he was born things didn't really get better. I must have lost a million brain cells over the last year and dropped a few IQ points just through the sheer effort of trying to keep my tiny human alive, running on very little sleep and desperate for some kind of instruction manual. Not to mention the effort required in putting myself back together physically and dealing with the hormonal "ups and downs" that come after having said baby. Then I fell pregnant again and realised I must've regained some of that previous brain power over the last two years, because once again I've noticed a significantly diminished mental capacity. I am the embodiment of the saying "I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on."
On the weekend I updated my Facebook status, joking that I should not be left in charge of small children or allowed to operate heavy machinery. But I was only half-joking. Just that morning I had been to the supermarket and wandered around aimlessly until I remembered what it was I actually needed. I had written a list but forgot to take it with me! I ran through a mental list of all the ingredients in the dish I was cooking (a basic beef stroganoff) but still drew a blank on what I was missing. In the end I remembered, mushrooms, aha! But later that day I walked out the door and left my keys behind. It wasn't until I got to the car that I realised. I forget what I'm saying mid-sentence and some days my son has a better vocabulary than I do. I often go upstairs to get something, get distracted by something else, and come back downstairs without what it was I went up there for in the first place. Just today I was filling in forms for J's playgroup enrolment and I had no idea what day it was, let alone what the date was. Don't get me started on how overwhelmed I was by the direct debit authorisation form...
The upside to all of it is that I am completely oblivious to everything else going on around me. I can sit back in my baby-induced haze and play with my little boy all day. Now that I've finished work (goodness knows what I taught those poor children) I don't need much thinking power. Which is just as well because I'm going to be relieved from grocery shopping duty pretty soon, and if I leave the oven on one more time, cooking might be out of the question too.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Pink or Blue?
We're finally at that crucial stage in our pregnancy where we can find out whether we're having a boy or a girl. But, we've spent the last 19 weeks debating about whether or not we actually want to. When we were expecting J we agreed that we didn't want to know: we both wanted that moment in the delivery room when someone would joyously shout "it's a....!" Unfortunately at my 20 week scan we had an obstetrician who had not met us before and despite being told that we didn't want to know, he hovered the scanner thing over something resembling a little acorn, and later referred to our baby as "he." My husband refused to believe that we had just found out our baby's gender completely unintentionally, but from that moment on I knew we'd be buying blue.
This time round I've really wanted to know ahead of time. I don't have a strong feeling either way, and I can't even look at the timing and work out from dates what this baby might possibly be as none of this was timed! It has been a completely different pregnancy from the first, and my husband gamely suggested that I must surely be having a girl, what with all the extra mood swings I've been subjecting him to... I will genuinely be surprised (and thrilled) whatever the outcome. It's a given here that you'll find out and a lot of people assume you want to know. With monthly scans in the private system, it's hard for people to understand why you wouldn't want to know when it's so easy to find out. I was determined that second time around I'd have control over when and how I found out, and we agreed that we should find out sooner rather than later, so we'd be prepared. But I was never comfortable with the idea of telling anyone else. I love trying to guess and waiting for that big announcement when my friends have babies, and I feel like some of the excitement is lost if you know months in advance that so-and-so is having a baby boy and they're naming him "X". At the same time I've battled with how I could possibly keep it a secret if I did know, as I've mentioned before, I'm not great with secrets. Lately D has been wavering too, veering towards not wanting to know. The decision has been mostly out of our hands as we've met with reluctant doctors and sonographers who refuse to tell us until they can tell us with absolute certainty. It didn't help that our little BITO (bun in the oven) had his/her legs crossed defiantly at my last scan...
I'm booked in for my 20 week scan on Tuesday and I had resolved that this would be the day I would find out for sure whether or not I could go out and buy lots of little pink things, or pull out all the little blue things I've been storing. I've heard people say that they feel more able to bond with the baby when they know what it is and can give it a name ahead of time. Others say that since it's going to be a surprise whenever you find out, why wait? I was convinced that finding out was the right thing for us until D came to the conclusion a few days ago that he definitely does not want to know. I felt like this left me with a really big decision to make. Do I find out myself and try my best not to give the game away for the next 4 months? Or do I simply sit back and wait until the big day? I was moaning about my dilemma to a good friend yesterday and she very wisely suggested that since I am so appalling with secrets, and have no valid reason other than my own impatience to find out, then perhaps I should wait. As frustrated as I was to be getting absolutely no sympathy here, I had to admit that she was right. Now I just have to hope we don't find out by accident so I get my big delivery room moment after all...
So, what did you do? Find out ahead of time, or keep it a surprise? Is it better to know and be prepared? Or is it ok if your baby girl wears blue for a few weeks? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
This time round I've really wanted to know ahead of time. I don't have a strong feeling either way, and I can't even look at the timing and work out from dates what this baby might possibly be as none of this was timed! It has been a completely different pregnancy from the first, and my husband gamely suggested that I must surely be having a girl, what with all the extra mood swings I've been subjecting him to... I will genuinely be surprised (and thrilled) whatever the outcome. It's a given here that you'll find out and a lot of people assume you want to know. With monthly scans in the private system, it's hard for people to understand why you wouldn't want to know when it's so easy to find out. I was determined that second time around I'd have control over when and how I found out, and we agreed that we should find out sooner rather than later, so we'd be prepared. But I was never comfortable with the idea of telling anyone else. I love trying to guess and waiting for that big announcement when my friends have babies, and I feel like some of the excitement is lost if you know months in advance that so-and-so is having a baby boy and they're naming him "X". At the same time I've battled with how I could possibly keep it a secret if I did know, as I've mentioned before, I'm not great with secrets. Lately D has been wavering too, veering towards not wanting to know. The decision has been mostly out of our hands as we've met with reluctant doctors and sonographers who refuse to tell us until they can tell us with absolute certainty. It didn't help that our little BITO (bun in the oven) had his/her legs crossed defiantly at my last scan...
I'm booked in for my 20 week scan on Tuesday and I had resolved that this would be the day I would find out for sure whether or not I could go out and buy lots of little pink things, or pull out all the little blue things I've been storing. I've heard people say that they feel more able to bond with the baby when they know what it is and can give it a name ahead of time. Others say that since it's going to be a surprise whenever you find out, why wait? I was convinced that finding out was the right thing for us until D came to the conclusion a few days ago that he definitely does not want to know. I felt like this left me with a really big decision to make. Do I find out myself and try my best not to give the game away for the next 4 months? Or do I simply sit back and wait until the big day? I was moaning about my dilemma to a good friend yesterday and she very wisely suggested that since I am so appalling with secrets, and have no valid reason other than my own impatience to find out, then perhaps I should wait. As frustrated as I was to be getting absolutely no sympathy here, I had to admit that she was right. Now I just have to hope we don't find out by accident so I get my big delivery room moment after all...
So, what did you do? Find out ahead of time, or keep it a surprise? Is it better to know and be prepared? Or is it ok if your baby girl wears blue for a few weeks? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Tea and Cake and The Art of Being Alone
I spent a lot of time on my own when I was young and single. Totally unaware of how lucky I was to have that kind of freedom, I spent many nights on the sofa with my cat, pining for a hand to hold. I lived alone for quite a few years and there were weekends when I could go a whole day without having a single conversation (with someone who actually talked back, as opposed to the cat...). I was far too young to be so alone, but rather than actually do anything about it I frittered away my early twenties, in a granny flat, cat on my lap, Bridget Jones style, lamenting over where I went wrong with Mr Oh-so-wrong. I was self-sufficient and independent and the whole lot of it was character building and I'm grateful for it, but deep down, until I met my husband, I was seriously quite lonely.
Since moving to HK I've had to get used to my own company again. Being married to a pilot you don't really have much of a choice! My husband can be away for long stretches of time and before J was born I had a lot more time on my hands that I had to try and fill. It sucked when we first moved here, especially in those very early days before we had TV or internet connected, but after a few nights of sleeping smack bang in the middle of the bed, I learned to adapt and capitalise on that time on my own. I still sit on the sofa, dog in my lap, but now I take the opportunity to watch trashy TV shows that my husband wouldn't approve of, or eat more than my share of chocolate ice cream when he's away. I've also been known to take advantage of his absence and rearrange the furniture on a solo night at home (sad, but true). It took me a while, but after all those years of buying meals for one, I learned to really like being alone. Then I buggered it up by having a baby and ensuring I would not be alone again (not often anyway) for a very long time.
Out of necessity, J and I were constant companions for most of the first year of his life, which was lovely at times, but quite a struggle at others. I longed for a bit of space and on the toughest days I took to spending a really long time in the shower, just to have a moment to myself. Of course, the whole parenting thing has been a lot easier for a while now, and our little man is at an age where he is genuinely great company. We can hang out, play, and have something resembling a conversation, and I miss him when I have to leave him behind for any length of time. I've chosen to forego time to myself, and my skills in the art of being alone have been all but forgotten due to lack of practice. On Sunday afternoon I found myself in Elements mall, sitting down with a cup of tea and cake all by myself, and for a moment I returned to that awkwardness I used to avoid so desperately. I used to hate eating alone, or even being anywhere in public alone, engaging in something that should be shared, like eating in a restaurant, movie watching or shopping for homewares. I sat there for a while, unsure of what to do with myself, wishing I had a book, or at least a magazine to hide behind so I'd look less alone, like I did once upon a time. But times have changed and as soon as I took that first bite of cake and realised no one was trying to climb into my lap, there was no Thomas the Tank Engine DVD blaring in the background, and best of all, no one to share the cake with, I was ecstatic! It was a short-lived, but blissful return to the days when I could be by myself and be ok with it.
Don't get me wrong, I never regret a minute spent with my son (and for the record, I do miss my husband when he's away!), but these days the only time I get to myself is very brief, and is usually spent doing something practical and boringly necessary, like having a shower or going to the doctor. On Sunday I had a moment, and I embraced it with open arms, relishing the opportunity to just sit and be still and eat cake, all by myself for a change.
Then about halfway through my afternoon tea I felt the pitter patter of baby feet from the inside, reminding me that I'm never truly alone anymore, and I won't be for quite some time. And that was even sweeter.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Secrets and Lies
I'm afraid, dear readers, that I have been keeping a pretty big secret for a while now, and it's been tough. I'm not good with secrets. I can keep other people's without hesitation, but my own, especially when there really aren't any consequences for blabbing, are a lot less likely to stay in the vault. It's even harder when your secret is good news. Once you've confided in one friend, it's easy to confide in a few more, and then suddenly you're announcing it to the other mums at playgroup. There were people we had to tell - a few key family members, and then of course there was the inevitable, "well, if they know, we really should tell..." I had to tell my boss, even before I told my parents, and then I felt bad that all my colleagues knew and so I shared it with a few more friends.
Like winning the lotto and not having the money in the bank yet, this unexpected piece of news didn't feel real until I told people. While I felt guilty telling virtual strangers, it was easier to tell people who weren't emotionally invested in it. If it had turned out that we'd had our numbers wrong, it would've been a lot easier to accept sympathy from the neighbours than having to deal with those closest to us, who also would've felt like they had lost something. The thing I struggled with the most was not being able to blog about it. I'm so honest here that it felt wrong, almost like I was lying by omission, to keep it off these pages. I promised my husband there would be no cyber announcement of any kind until we had told all of our family members. This of course led to a heated debate about who we each consider to be "family."
I did, despite having a very big mouth, feel quite protective about my little secret. I wanted to choose who I told and when I told them, and I hoped my close friends would hear it from me before it made its way around the grapevine. I had a few people ask me outright if I had recently had some good news. I have to admit I denied it a few times, and those closest to me here denied it on my behalf (thank you dear friends!). I did feel bad denying it and even lying about it, rolling my eyes melodramatically while exclaiming, "oh no! Definitely not!" It did get progressively harder to deny, and was made harder by the fact that I have been walking around looking like this for several weeks now...
So you see, despite my fairly recent protestations about not being ready for another baby, mother nature clearly had other plans and I am 13 weeks pregnant. We knew we'd have another one eventually, but we've got a lot going on this year, so it wasn't on the agenda at all. Once the initial shock wore off and the nausea set in, it all felt very real, and I had a serious case of deja vu - it really didn't feel like that long ago that we were in this position. The last time I fell pregnant without trying to, it didn't end well, so I really felt like this one wouldn't stick either, which is crazy I know. Until last week I felt like death, sicker than I've ever felt before. This time round it's like extreme pregnancy - I'm sicker, more tired, ferociously cranky one minute and desperately weepy the next (so, now you might understand why going back to work was so tough!). But despite all that I'm absolutely thrilled. Each week that has passed, every time I've seen my little button on an ultrasound or heard his or her heartbeat, I've done a little dance and I could not be happier. As you can imagine, 13 weeks of keeping this to myself has meant that I have a lot of things to say on the subject, but for now I just wanted to get it off my chest, finally! We're 6 months away from becoming a family of four, life is sweet, the secret's out.
Like winning the lotto and not having the money in the bank yet, this unexpected piece of news didn't feel real until I told people. While I felt guilty telling virtual strangers, it was easier to tell people who weren't emotionally invested in it. If it had turned out that we'd had our numbers wrong, it would've been a lot easier to accept sympathy from the neighbours than having to deal with those closest to us, who also would've felt like they had lost something. The thing I struggled with the most was not being able to blog about it. I'm so honest here that it felt wrong, almost like I was lying by omission, to keep it off these pages. I promised my husband there would be no cyber announcement of any kind until we had told all of our family members. This of course led to a heated debate about who we each consider to be "family."
I did, despite having a very big mouth, feel quite protective about my little secret. I wanted to choose who I told and when I told them, and I hoped my close friends would hear it from me before it made its way around the grapevine. I had a few people ask me outright if I had recently had some good news. I have to admit I denied it a few times, and those closest to me here denied it on my behalf (thank you dear friends!). I did feel bad denying it and even lying about it, rolling my eyes melodramatically while exclaiming, "oh no! Definitely not!" It did get progressively harder to deny, and was made harder by the fact that I have been walking around looking like this for several weeks now...
So you see, despite my fairly recent protestations about not being ready for another baby, mother nature clearly had other plans and I am 13 weeks pregnant. We knew we'd have another one eventually, but we've got a lot going on this year, so it wasn't on the agenda at all. Once the initial shock wore off and the nausea set in, it all felt very real, and I had a serious case of deja vu - it really didn't feel like that long ago that we were in this position. The last time I fell pregnant without trying to, it didn't end well, so I really felt like this one wouldn't stick either, which is crazy I know. Until last week I felt like death, sicker than I've ever felt before. This time round it's like extreme pregnancy - I'm sicker, more tired, ferociously cranky one minute and desperately weepy the next (so, now you might understand why going back to work was so tough!). But despite all that I'm absolutely thrilled. Each week that has passed, every time I've seen my little button on an ultrasound or heard his or her heartbeat, I've done a little dance and I could not be happier. As you can imagine, 13 weeks of keeping this to myself has meant that I have a lot of things to say on the subject, but for now I just wanted to get it off my chest, finally! We're 6 months away from becoming a family of four, life is sweet, the secret's out.
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