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.
Monday, January 23, 2012
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.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
The Eye of the Beholder
I honestly don't know where or how to start this post. It's been running through my head for a couple of weeks now, and I want to get it out there, as promised a few days ago, but it's going to take some time. I want to apologise to those of you who were worried about us after my last post, and assure all of you up front that we're ok. Here's the full story...
We've always suspected that our beautiful boy had some issues with his eye sight. Our GP advised us to wait until he was a bit older before we put him through the trauma of visiting an opthalmologist. So we did, glad for someone else to be making that call for us. I always thought it would be challenging to assess the eyesight of someone who couldn't yet tell you what they could or couldn't see, so it made perfect sense to me. On a whim, we decided to see if we could get him into a specialist while we were in Sydney recently. We thought, worst case scenario, he might have a lazy eye, or be short-sighted like me. So, on an idle Tuesday, days before Christmas and after D had flown back to Hong Kong for work, I drove us to a tiny paediatric opthalmology practice in Hurstville (a million miles out of my way, and a suburb I'd only ever been to once before) where we waited, and waited and waited. I almost pulled the pin a few times. I didn't want to be there, especially not on my own, and my little man was rapidly losing patience. I was convinced it was a waste of our time, and the time of the doctor who had squeezed us in as a favour to a friend who happened to work with J's grandfather. I was rude to the orthoptist who saw us first, and didn't allow her to put any drops into J's eyes. I just wanted someone to look at him, tell me if he looked normal or not, and be sent on my way.
The opthalmologist was more patient with me than I deserved and took a look at him like I had asked. She told me his eyes weren't "normal" and wanted to put drops in and take a closer look. Then I was scared. I did as she asked, waited for the drops to take effect and went back in with J half an hour later. By that stage we had been there over 2 hours and we were well past J's nap time. While we waited I had called D in tears just as he was about to board a 16 hour flight to New York. If I thought my half hour wait was long, his 16 hour one was excruciating. The opthalmologist looked at his eyes very carefully and talked me through everything she was doing. She diagnosed a very rare condition known as Ectopia Lentis et Pupillae (or ELeP), which basically means that his lenses and pupils have formed in the wrong place, in the opposite direction to each other. He's also really short-sighted, and one eye is worse than the other, so the bad eye is going to be a "lazy eye" sooner rather than later. So when my little man sits with his face pressed to the TV screen, it's not because he's a typical 2 year old, it's because he can't see it.
There's a lot about this condition that we don't know, but we do know that it can't be fixed, and it is progressive (meaning it will get worse), but there are things that we can do to help. We put in eye drops to dilate J's pupils and increase the area of his eye that he can see with. I cried the first time I had to do it, but it's getting less traumatic as J gets used to it, and his favourite stuffed toys now get eyedrops too. He also has to wear glasses. I've been wearing glasses for 20 years, and J's prescription is 5 times stronger than mine, so we're not off to a good start. Also, getting a toddler to wear glasses is like trying to walk a cat on a lead, but we're hoping he'll eventually realise they make life easier.
We had never heard of this condition before, and it's so rare that we haven't been able to find out a lot about it yet, there isn't even a Wikipedia page for it and our local GP had never heard of it. The doctor in Sydney suggested we also consult a neurosurgeon about J's wonky head, a terrifying prospect, even though there's a good chance the two things aren't related. Every time I sit down to research I get frightened sick by all the syndromes this condition is associated with and all the words I don't understand. There's no way of knowing how it will progress or affect his vision in the future. We do know he'll always need glasses, and he won't ever play contact sports, due to the high risk his retinas will detach. He'll probably develop cataracts or glaucoma at some point and may need surgery one day. What we do know about the condition isn't half as scary as what we don't know, and I am so grateful that we found a doctor who knew what she was looking at. I have been terribly busy freaking out about all the potential complications and issues this will raise for J in the future, but a lovely friend reminded me the other day that medical technology has come a long way in the last 30 years, so hopefully by the time J's eyes start to deteriorate, when he's in his 30's or 40's, more can be done for him.
The real blow came when we learned that this is a genetic condition, and a new term entered our vocabulary - autosomal recessive disorder. It means that D and I both carry the gene but we're not affected ourselves. When we first met we discovered we had a lot in common, who would've known that, along with a love of Coldplay and Cointreau, we also shared a defective gene... So, not only are we waiting to see how J will be affected by this condition, we're also waiting to see if our new little one also has it. There's a 25% chance baby will be affected, and a 50% chance he/she will carry the gene but have normal eyes, and another 25% chance there'll be no sign of the condition at all. I'm torn between feeling terribly guilty that we didn't find out sooner, and that we were so blase about falling pregnant again, potentially creating 2 little people with serious eye problems, and at the same time devastated that this has put an end to my dreams for a 3rd baby. We simply couldn't risk it knowing what we know now. We need to have genetic counselling, another nasty term, to find out if there are any other "surprises" lurking in our DNA but, for want of a better term, the horse has already bolted.
I've done a lot of crying and cursing since the diagnosis, and I feel sick with worry one minute, and relieved that it's not more serious the next. I'm angry that the joy of a new baby has been taken from me, and I will be anxious until I know for sure whether or not baby is affected too. Of all the awful things that could go wrong in the human body, this is fairly minor, and while we still have more tests to do, we know how lucky we are that it's not worse. Support from family and friends has been amazing, and has stopped me from heading to that dark, dark place I go to when I worry too much. A million thank you's aren't enough to cover that.
Whatever happens, J is still my bright, confident little man, and I'm reminding myself of that every day. I'm almost grateful that we didn't find out sooner because it has meant that we have always treated him as if he could see normally. He doesn't know any different, and whatever happens, he will always be my beautiful boy, even when he's a grown man who complains about his mother constantly calling to remind him to get his eyes checked. While I'm tempted to homeschool him for the rest of his life to spare him from incompetent teachers and cruel classmates, my hope is that we'll be able to surround him with people who know what they're doing, and who treat him like the great kid he is, and not the funny-looking one with the thick glasses. I'm determined to make sure he grows up knowing he can do anything, whether he can see or not. And as for the one on the way, he/she will be loved the same way - ferociously and completely.
Like I said, we were blindsided completely, and we're still struggling to come to grips with it all. We're on an unfamiliar path without a map, facing specialist appointments, battles over glasses, and big decisions to make about things like schools and treatments, all while getting on with the business of daily life with two kids. Stay tuned.
We've always suspected that our beautiful boy had some issues with his eye sight. Our GP advised us to wait until he was a bit older before we put him through the trauma of visiting an opthalmologist. So we did, glad for someone else to be making that call for us. I always thought it would be challenging to assess the eyesight of someone who couldn't yet tell you what they could or couldn't see, so it made perfect sense to me. On a whim, we decided to see if we could get him into a specialist while we were in Sydney recently. We thought, worst case scenario, he might have a lazy eye, or be short-sighted like me. So, on an idle Tuesday, days before Christmas and after D had flown back to Hong Kong for work, I drove us to a tiny paediatric opthalmology practice in Hurstville (a million miles out of my way, and a suburb I'd only ever been to once before) where we waited, and waited and waited. I almost pulled the pin a few times. I didn't want to be there, especially not on my own, and my little man was rapidly losing patience. I was convinced it was a waste of our time, and the time of the doctor who had squeezed us in as a favour to a friend who happened to work with J's grandfather. I was rude to the orthoptist who saw us first, and didn't allow her to put any drops into J's eyes. I just wanted someone to look at him, tell me if he looked normal or not, and be sent on my way.
The opthalmologist was more patient with me than I deserved and took a look at him like I had asked. She told me his eyes weren't "normal" and wanted to put drops in and take a closer look. Then I was scared. I did as she asked, waited for the drops to take effect and went back in with J half an hour later. By that stage we had been there over 2 hours and we were well past J's nap time. While we waited I had called D in tears just as he was about to board a 16 hour flight to New York. If I thought my half hour wait was long, his 16 hour one was excruciating. The opthalmologist looked at his eyes very carefully and talked me through everything she was doing. She diagnosed a very rare condition known as Ectopia Lentis et Pupillae (or ELeP), which basically means that his lenses and pupils have formed in the wrong place, in the opposite direction to each other. He's also really short-sighted, and one eye is worse than the other, so the bad eye is going to be a "lazy eye" sooner rather than later. So when my little man sits with his face pressed to the TV screen, it's not because he's a typical 2 year old, it's because he can't see it.
There's a lot about this condition that we don't know, but we do know that it can't be fixed, and it is progressive (meaning it will get worse), but there are things that we can do to help. We put in eye drops to dilate J's pupils and increase the area of his eye that he can see with. I cried the first time I had to do it, but it's getting less traumatic as J gets used to it, and his favourite stuffed toys now get eyedrops too. He also has to wear glasses. I've been wearing glasses for 20 years, and J's prescription is 5 times stronger than mine, so we're not off to a good start. Also, getting a toddler to wear glasses is like trying to walk a cat on a lead, but we're hoping he'll eventually realise they make life easier.
We had never heard of this condition before, and it's so rare that we haven't been able to find out a lot about it yet, there isn't even a Wikipedia page for it and our local GP had never heard of it. The doctor in Sydney suggested we also consult a neurosurgeon about J's wonky head, a terrifying prospect, even though there's a good chance the two things aren't related. Every time I sit down to research I get frightened sick by all the syndromes this condition is associated with and all the words I don't understand. There's no way of knowing how it will progress or affect his vision in the future. We do know he'll always need glasses, and he won't ever play contact sports, due to the high risk his retinas will detach. He'll probably develop cataracts or glaucoma at some point and may need surgery one day. What we do know about the condition isn't half as scary as what we don't know, and I am so grateful that we found a doctor who knew what she was looking at. I have been terribly busy freaking out about all the potential complications and issues this will raise for J in the future, but a lovely friend reminded me the other day that medical technology has come a long way in the last 30 years, so hopefully by the time J's eyes start to deteriorate, when he's in his 30's or 40's, more can be done for him.
The real blow came when we learned that this is a genetic condition, and a new term entered our vocabulary - autosomal recessive disorder. It means that D and I both carry the gene but we're not affected ourselves. When we first met we discovered we had a lot in common, who would've known that, along with a love of Coldplay and Cointreau, we also shared a defective gene... So, not only are we waiting to see how J will be affected by this condition, we're also waiting to see if our new little one also has it. There's a 25% chance baby will be affected, and a 50% chance he/she will carry the gene but have normal eyes, and another 25% chance there'll be no sign of the condition at all. I'm torn between feeling terribly guilty that we didn't find out sooner, and that we were so blase about falling pregnant again, potentially creating 2 little people with serious eye problems, and at the same time devastated that this has put an end to my dreams for a 3rd baby. We simply couldn't risk it knowing what we know now. We need to have genetic counselling, another nasty term, to find out if there are any other "surprises" lurking in our DNA but, for want of a better term, the horse has already bolted.
I've done a lot of crying and cursing since the diagnosis, and I feel sick with worry one minute, and relieved that it's not more serious the next. I'm angry that the joy of a new baby has been taken from me, and I will be anxious until I know for sure whether or not baby is affected too. Of all the awful things that could go wrong in the human body, this is fairly minor, and while we still have more tests to do, we know how lucky we are that it's not worse. Support from family and friends has been amazing, and has stopped me from heading to that dark, dark place I go to when I worry too much. A million thank you's aren't enough to cover that.
Whatever happens, J is still my bright, confident little man, and I'm reminding myself of that every day. I'm almost grateful that we didn't find out sooner because it has meant that we have always treated him as if he could see normally. He doesn't know any different, and whatever happens, he will always be my beautiful boy, even when he's a grown man who complains about his mother constantly calling to remind him to get his eyes checked. While I'm tempted to homeschool him for the rest of his life to spare him from incompetent teachers and cruel classmates, my hope is that we'll be able to surround him with people who know what they're doing, and who treat him like the great kid he is, and not the funny-looking one with the thick glasses. I'm determined to make sure he grows up knowing he can do anything, whether he can see or not. And as for the one on the way, he/she will be loved the same way - ferociously and completely.
Like I said, we were blindsided completely, and we're still struggling to come to grips with it all. We're on an unfamiliar path without a map, facing specialist appointments, battles over glasses, and big decisions to make about things like schools and treatments, all while getting on with the business of daily life with two kids. Stay tuned.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
A New Chapter
Happy New Year lovely readers! I hope that wherever you are in the world, and however you chose to celebrate it (or not) that 2012 will be kind to you all. We watched the Sydney fireworks on the Australia Network at 9pm and quietly slipped into bed while Hong Kong waited for midnight. It was the perfect start to the year.
2011 was hectic for us, but then again, aren't most years hectic these days? Last year took us to Bali, Manila, London, Edinburgh, Manila again and Sydney. I had 2 new jobs, D got an upgrade (promotion) and we watched J grow into a pretty cool little boy. There were a few surprises, not the least of which was finding ourselves in the family way again - a most unexpected but exciting turn of events. We decided to sell the house, and then we decided to stay, and now we're a few weeks away from renovating. We had visits from family, and time with old friends and new. It was a big, bold year and we feel like we've achieved a lot, but we've had to work really hard to do it. Sitting down with a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit felt like the most appropriate way of seeing in a new year; as if we wanted to show 2012 how we roll, before it thunders down upon us with more of the same chaos as last year.
In so many ways, this year will bring us new beginnings. An old home made new, a beautiful new baby, a few new adventures with any luck, and a set of brand new challenges. In the last few weeks we've found ourselves headed down a very different path to the one we thought we were on, and no GPS or sat-nav can help us navigate our way through this one. Do any of you remember the "Sunscreen Song" from the late 90's? I was reminded of one line from this song recently - "The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday." And so it was, on some idle Tuesday (at 12pm for the record), 5 days before Christmas, that we were blindsided. The song was right. Please don't worry, I'll fill you in on all that next time. For today I want to wish you all the very best for the year. And to 2012, and the road ahead, I say bring it on.
2011 was hectic for us, but then again, aren't most years hectic these days? Last year took us to Bali, Manila, London, Edinburgh, Manila again and Sydney. I had 2 new jobs, D got an upgrade (promotion) and we watched J grow into a pretty cool little boy. There were a few surprises, not the least of which was finding ourselves in the family way again - a most unexpected but exciting turn of events. We decided to sell the house, and then we decided to stay, and now we're a few weeks away from renovating. We had visits from family, and time with old friends and new. It was a big, bold year and we feel like we've achieved a lot, but we've had to work really hard to do it. Sitting down with a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit felt like the most appropriate way of seeing in a new year; as if we wanted to show 2012 how we roll, before it thunders down upon us with more of the same chaos as last year.
In so many ways, this year will bring us new beginnings. An old home made new, a beautiful new baby, a few new adventures with any luck, and a set of brand new challenges. In the last few weeks we've found ourselves headed down a very different path to the one we thought we were on, and no GPS or sat-nav can help us navigate our way through this one. Do any of you remember the "Sunscreen Song" from the late 90's? I was reminded of one line from this song recently - "The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday." And so it was, on some idle Tuesday (at 12pm for the record), 5 days before Christmas, that we were blindsided. The song was right. Please don't worry, I'll fill you in on all that next time. For today I want to wish you all the very best for the year. And to 2012, and the road ahead, I say bring it on.
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
Monday, December 5, 2011
The Wheels on the Bus
I'm not a fan of public transport here in Hong Kong, especially in winter. There are times, like when visiting Discovery Bay that I don't have a choice, and that's just where I was headed on Friday morning. Friday's bus ride reminded me why I have avoided public transport as often as possible. Firstly I have to state, for the record, I would take public transport in HK over public transport in Sydney any day. Sydney's buses and trains can often resemble some of the worst I've seen in 3rd world countries, and run on some kind of system that holds no resemblance to a schedule. My main issue with transport in HK is generally my fellow commuters and their bodily fluids full of airborne diseases, and their tendency to pick their noses, cut their nails and, I kid you not, floss their teeth. I'm all for multi-tasking but there are limits people!
As I creep into my 3rd trimester of pregnancy I am becoming ever more aware of something that frustrates many expats here - local tunnel vision, and it's never more obvious than when you're pregnant or somehow incapacitated and reliant on others to notice you and open doors/give up their seats/generally be helpful when needed. This tunnel vision, I believe has evolved in the local population after decades of living in a very small area with millions of others, in a dog-eat-dog society, where competition for everything is fierce and crowds are commonplace. It's purely a survival, self-preservation tactic but can also lead to an inability to recognise the needs of others. It's not a deliberate thing, I think it's just a result of living amongst so many others, this inward focus. In my experience there are many people here who are really friendly and really helpful, but there's no middle ground, and many others are really unfriendly and really unhelpful. So on Friday morning when I clambered onto the bus, at the last minute as always, and found myself having to stand, I did what I always do - I tried to catch the eye of someone who might, by the remotest chance, offer me their seat. All of the men appeared deeply engrossed in the day's papers, while the women guiltily looked away, pretended to be asleep or turned to their mobile phones as if just receiving an urgent message. If they can't see the pregnant lady, they can't feel bad for not getting up.
Now, I'm not hugely pregnant yet, but I am very obviously pregnant, it's kinda hard to miss. I could understand in the early days when I was just a little round in the middle and I could have been mistaken for being a tad overweight. Anyone offering me a seat in those days was taking a risk, as the chances of offending me were high and losing face over a fatal error in judgement such as that would be far worse than the guilt over not offering a pregnant lady a seat. But on a crowded bus, on a cold winter's morning, when a woman's belly is so close to your cheek you can practically hear her unborn baby's heartbeat, you've really got no excuse. I'm not saying at this point in my pregnancy I really need to sit down, I feel pretty good, and at that time of the morning I wasn't yet completely knackered - it's the principle of the thing, and the lack of common decency.
It reminded me of a time I caught a bus with a colleague after work one day. I was still sporting a mini-did-she-just-have-a-big-lunch kind of bump but K was heavily pregnant at 36 weeks. The bus was full of schoolkids, parents and helpers, all sitting down, while the 2 of us stood and blocked the aisle with our bumps. I definitely did not need a seat (although it would have been nice) but I could not believe no one got up for K. The number of mothers who sat there and let their kids clamber over the seats while a pregnant lady stood, wobbling in the aisle, bump dangerously close to sharp little elbows and errant schoolbags, was appalling. So, it's not a recent phenomenon and this particular gripe has been a long time in the making. When I was pregnant with J I was pushed, literally shoved out of the way by a man trying to board the MTR as I was getting off. No excuses for that kind of behaviour, none whatsoever.
I took the same trip this morning for my weekly physio appointment and the same thing happened. There was another passenger on the bus who caught my eye. She was also standing and looking at me with that "I can't believe no one is giving you a seat" look. She turned out to be a new nurse at the clinic I go to and as she was giving me my flu shot we talked about the bus ride. She was equally appalled, and being new to Hong Kong was quite surprised. It made me realise that being forced to stand on the bus has become so common now that it no longer surprises me. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not...
I'm a firm believer in karma and I keep hoping that if I always open doors for people with strollers or the elderly and infirm, or give up my seat on the bus, someday it'll pay off and I'll get the same treatment. But for the time being I'm going to stick with the Airport Express or the comfort of my own car, where I'm always guaranteed a seat (unless I have to go to DB again, in which case I'll just have to suck it up!).
Stay tuned next week for my rant on public toilets, titled "Seats are for bums not feet."
As I creep into my 3rd trimester of pregnancy I am becoming ever more aware of something that frustrates many expats here - local tunnel vision, and it's never more obvious than when you're pregnant or somehow incapacitated and reliant on others to notice you and open doors/give up their seats/generally be helpful when needed. This tunnel vision, I believe has evolved in the local population after decades of living in a very small area with millions of others, in a dog-eat-dog society, where competition for everything is fierce and crowds are commonplace. It's purely a survival, self-preservation tactic but can also lead to an inability to recognise the needs of others. It's not a deliberate thing, I think it's just a result of living amongst so many others, this inward focus. In my experience there are many people here who are really friendly and really helpful, but there's no middle ground, and many others are really unfriendly and really unhelpful. So on Friday morning when I clambered onto the bus, at the last minute as always, and found myself having to stand, I did what I always do - I tried to catch the eye of someone who might, by the remotest chance, offer me their seat. All of the men appeared deeply engrossed in the day's papers, while the women guiltily looked away, pretended to be asleep or turned to their mobile phones as if just receiving an urgent message. If they can't see the pregnant lady, they can't feel bad for not getting up.
Now, I'm not hugely pregnant yet, but I am very obviously pregnant, it's kinda hard to miss. I could understand in the early days when I was just a little round in the middle and I could have been mistaken for being a tad overweight. Anyone offering me a seat in those days was taking a risk, as the chances of offending me were high and losing face over a fatal error in judgement such as that would be far worse than the guilt over not offering a pregnant lady a seat. But on a crowded bus, on a cold winter's morning, when a woman's belly is so close to your cheek you can practically hear her unborn baby's heartbeat, you've really got no excuse. I'm not saying at this point in my pregnancy I really need to sit down, I feel pretty good, and at that time of the morning I wasn't yet completely knackered - it's the principle of the thing, and the lack of common decency.
It reminded me of a time I caught a bus with a colleague after work one day. I was still sporting a mini-did-she-just-have-a-big-lunch kind of bump but K was heavily pregnant at 36 weeks. The bus was full of schoolkids, parents and helpers, all sitting down, while the 2 of us stood and blocked the aisle with our bumps. I definitely did not need a seat (although it would have been nice) but I could not believe no one got up for K. The number of mothers who sat there and let their kids clamber over the seats while a pregnant lady stood, wobbling in the aisle, bump dangerously close to sharp little elbows and errant schoolbags, was appalling. So, it's not a recent phenomenon and this particular gripe has been a long time in the making. When I was pregnant with J I was pushed, literally shoved out of the way by a man trying to board the MTR as I was getting off. No excuses for that kind of behaviour, none whatsoever.
I took the same trip this morning for my weekly physio appointment and the same thing happened. There was another passenger on the bus who caught my eye. She was also standing and looking at me with that "I can't believe no one is giving you a seat" look. She turned out to be a new nurse at the clinic I go to and as she was giving me my flu shot we talked about the bus ride. She was equally appalled, and being new to Hong Kong was quite surprised. It made me realise that being forced to stand on the bus has become so common now that it no longer surprises me. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not...
I'm a firm believer in karma and I keep hoping that if I always open doors for people with strollers or the elderly and infirm, or give up my seat on the bus, someday it'll pay off and I'll get the same treatment. But for the time being I'm going to stick with the Airport Express or the comfort of my own car, where I'm always guaranteed a seat (unless I have to go to DB again, in which case I'll just have to suck it up!).
Stay tuned next week for my rant on public toilets, titled "Seats are for bums not feet."
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.
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