I am so lucky to have the support of the "hua ren mamas" group on the Chinese app, Weixin.
Since Oli has been confined for jaundice initially on the evening of the 24th of August, just 4 days old, and thereafter held by the doctors, conducting test after test on our poor fragile baby, we had been worried sick on his condition.
The public hospital where he was at allowed calls strictly only within the 2:00-4:00 pm window, and visits were only allowed at the same time; such that, if one were to find out that it is possible to visit our son for that afternoon, a mad rush to the hospital that is about an 45 minutes away from our home would ensue. We were always on call, like doctors, ironically though we were at the mercy of the very people we seemed to be involuntarily emulating, at least at that one aspect. Other rules are as below:
1. Family members can only visit within the 2:00-4:00 visiting hours, and may not enter or hold their baby. They can only stand behind a distance behind the viewing window. Concerned members will be informed the day itself if the baby can be discharged for the day.
2. Mothers or family members may not bring in their own breast milk for their babies. The hospital provides (an unmarked) formula.*
3. During confinement, the doctors will conduct several tests to rule out different possibilities, depending on the condition and situation of the baby.
4. A deposit of 5,000 RMB upon leaving your baby at the hospital's care is necessary.
What initially was simply a planned treatment for jaundice ended up being much more, and costing us more, The doctors conducted several tests including MRI, Ultrasound, electrocardiogram, echo doppler, and so on and so forth, most of which we were informed only very shortly before they were done. We could only trust the doctors that they know what they are doing, even though it hurts to think that they would allow our fragile baby to undergo so many exams. Were they really all that necessary, one cannot help but also doubt the intentions, if all these were merely to cash in on us?
We did not and could not know when our son could be released, it felt more and more as if he was being held there as a hostage, as each day passed and the promised release kept being moved over and over again, and the promised call never seemed to come.
I aired out my grievances and worries in my "hua ren mama" group and there was a verbal propaganda that ensued with suggestions coming from all corners of Shanghai and from moms from different countries who sided with me and were aghast at the deemed unjust holding of our son at the hospital.
Suggestions flew left and right, recommendations to transfer our son to other hospitals, names of recommendations for doctors in order to seek second opinion (the unanimous suggestion was to seek second opinion from other expat hospitals, unfortunately, as we do not own any insurance as of writing, these expat hospitals charge an arm and a leg)
Just feeling all the love, support and energy from women I have never even met has kept me going through these uncertain and difficult times, not knowing when we would ever see our son again (though I knew of course we would for certain get to see him sometime...), the bleak diagnoses, in which we were given spoonfuls of bad news every other day over the phone with the worst possible case scenarios, making us think about the unthinkable...sending us catapulting to the darkest place ever imaginable...
Over the course of several chats with several moms, I learned that doctors in China generally give the worst possible case scenarios in order to not be help liable for if and when these do happen. This is the total opposite approach to what we in other countries and culture are used to, in which doctors generally tend to not give the worst possible scenario unwarranted to family members, in order not to cause them unjust worries and stress! One mom was repeatedly told she had a cyst in her pancreas here in China, but every time she went for a check up in HK she was all clear! I was therefore told to consult expat hospital and find doctors who can explain our son's condition in English and end our worry streak once and for all.
In an answered prayer, we had our son back on my birthday on the 2nd of September, being able to see him, hold him and have him safely back to our home was the best ever birthday present a mom like me could ever have! Moreover, we had the feeling it was like the day we brought him home from our hospital of birth for the first time. I shared the news to the group and the whole group rejoiced at my news! It was the last regular day before a 3-day holiday, so it was especially crazzzyyy there with family members clamoring and rushing to get their little ones out of the hospital, as visiting was not allowed during the holidays... @_@ ?!
Shanghai is special that way... it's the people who make it special <3
* When asked what brand formula was being used, we were angrily told that this formula has been prepared by their nutritionists. We of course, never found out the brand, though I noticed a Nestle sign at the nursery ward reception center...
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Friday, August 28, 2015
Game of hearts
Since being told yesterday of the hole in Oli's heart, my own heart felt as if it were ripped out of my chest. Ventricular Septal Defect , it is called.
Having a mom who is adamant on the traditional practice of gelai she was thrilled to have "discovered" technology, or rather the practical use of it... having found a recipe for gelai rich foods, one of which is pigeon.
With news of the hole in Oli's heart still fresh, I accidentally uncover a small oval thing under the heap of bones and barely there meat... the pigeon's heart (game pigeons hence the title...) I normally don't get emotional over a dead pigeon, but this time around it was different. I started to think about the pigeon's mommy, and this being her baby, did she feel the same pain I felt when her baby was killed for food? I, being a carnivore predominantly, momentarily swore never to eat meat again... imagine getting emotional over my lunch. But luckily that moment was gone not soon after.
=============================================
Another blow. My brain feels like it wants to explode further.
Doctor Who updated us with the news today that our son might have porencephaly, a result of an MRI scan, my heart felt as if it were ripped out of my chest...again. and, heart still beating, squeezed out of its life.
oli we promise to protect you and raise you the best way we can but please be healthy and strong, all we wish and pray for is that you be able to live a healthy and normal life.
Still fresh from the fatigue and pain of childbirth and surgery, I didn't know how to go on anymore, each terrible news sucking what little life and energy and spirit there is in me...
Having a mom who is adamant on the traditional practice of gelai she was thrilled to have "discovered" technology, or rather the practical use of it... having found a recipe for gelai rich foods, one of which is pigeon.
With news of the hole in Oli's heart still fresh, I accidentally uncover a small oval thing under the heap of bones and barely there meat... the pigeon's heart (game pigeons hence the title...) I normally don't get emotional over a dead pigeon, but this time around it was different. I started to think about the pigeon's mommy, and this being her baby, did she feel the same pain I felt when her baby was killed for food? I, being a carnivore predominantly, momentarily swore never to eat meat again... imagine getting emotional over my lunch. But luckily that moment was gone not soon after.
=============================================
Another blow. My brain feels like it wants to explode further.
Doctor Who updated us with the news today that our son might have porencephaly, a result of an MRI scan, my heart felt as if it were ripped out of my chest...again. and, heart still beating, squeezed out of its life.
oli we promise to protect you and raise you the best way we can but please be healthy and strong, all we wish and pray for is that you be able to live a healthy and normal life.
Still fresh from the fatigue and pain of childbirth and surgery, I didn't know how to go on anymore, each terrible news sucking what little life and energy and spirit there is in me...
Saturday, August 22, 2015
The Breast Milk Gestapo
Saturday morning, my mom cooked up a thick creamy white soup from two live fishes, to help me recover and heal faster.
That same day, I take 2 capsules of Fenugreek seeds. Twice.
Our son refused to suck and instead chose to continue on with his favorite pastime these past 60 hours, perfecting the art of slumber.
That evening, my breasts turned to a couple of hard rocks.
It was the most excruciating pain I have felt since last Thursday's anesthesia shot. This must be what it feels like to be punched by Pacquiao, except even the slightest touch would send my pain sensors in full swing. I considered gravity my enemy at that time...sitting or standing up, as long as I was in a vertical position, would send me wincing in pain. But it was nothing compared to the late night (or early morning, however you look at it) 2 am surprise visit from the...
Clad in white, and dark rimmed glasses, she had a stern presence and commanded attention from everyone in the room (that being, myself, my husband, and my mom. The cat has checked out and the human calculator has not checked in yet). Or perhaps the fact that she came in unannounced at 2 am, while we were deep in our sleep, and turned on all the lights and started speaking loudly and angrily, was what gave her such a commanding presence.
Either way, she announced: " What are you doing sleeping throughout the night?!? Why aren't you pumping? And you dare get formula milk from the nurse station?!? Look at you, your breasts are hard as a rock!"
(Proceeds to prod and poke my breasts unannounced, without warning, and sends sharp, painful pangs throughout my whole body, the MOST painful feeling I've gone through). The closest analogy I can think of is being punched in the breasts by Mike Tyson, or Manny Pacquiao. Or let's just call in a fictitious boxer, Rocky Balboa (what, you didn't know he didn't really exist? big "blow", huh? Pun intended.)
My boobs became public property from that day forward.
She commanded (yes, demanded if you want another term), my husband and mom to get to work massaging and pounding and pumping my twin rocks until they became soft, which didn't happen in the next 3 hours, but massage and knead they did, alternately, as we only had one manual breast pump at the time. They worked tirelessly from 3 am until sunrise, allowing me to squeal in pain and take breaks in-between tears of pain, in order to take another attempt at hobbling to the bathroom, only 2 days from my double surgery C-section.
I can boldly compare the pain to the pain of giving birth, without anesthetics. Scoff if you will...
Ultimately, the next morning, my mom dutifully went to the local bakery shop to buy some soft dough and cabbage. The gestapo lady was still on duty at 7 am, and she proceeded to march to my room and slapped the dough onto both my rock-hard breasts, leaving the center to peek out (for what reason, I'm not entirely sure as no one, nor anything can penetrate that thick dough fortress) that made my breasts resemble being wrapped in plaster.
Strange as it felt and even stranger the way it looked, after about 3 hours, I was told to remove them by washing them with warm running water. A load of sticky mess and 10 minutes later, I felt my breasts no longer in pain from engorgement. Alleluia! Thank God! That is also the last time I will let a stranger touch my boobs.
As for the cabbage, we were instructed to keep it chilled in the fridge and put it inbetween my brassiere and boobs to cool down the next engorgement episode. But the best prevention is to keep pumping, she said. As of writing, I can proudly say that I am all pumped up and this has thankfully not recurred.
The gestapo nurse's home remedies for engorged breasts:
A. Soft bread dough method
1. Buy soft bread dough from the local bakery (ask them nicely and try not to tell them the real reason why you are getting it otherwise they might give you a strange look)
2. Divide into two (for obvious reasons), and pat around firmly around each side, leaving the center to peek out for whatever reason.
3. Cover each side with cling wrap or a thin plastic film to prevent the dough from sticking to your clothes.
4. Wait for the dough to harden and dry*, then peel off and wash off excess residue with warm running water.
(*In my case it took me almost 4 hours for it to harden, though even then it did not completely harden as the though was rather thick on me.)
B. Chilled cabbage method
1. Buy cabbage heads from the market or nearby vegetable store.
2. Chill in the fridge
3. Insert in-between brassiere and breasts
Use any of these two simple techniques whenever you feel pain or harness, and couple with non-stop pumping and massaging until you feel them become soft.
Good luck!
That same day, I take 2 capsules of Fenugreek seeds. Twice.
Our son refused to suck and instead chose to continue on with his favorite pastime these past 60 hours, perfecting the art of slumber.
That evening, my breasts turned to a couple of hard rocks.
It was the most excruciating pain I have felt since last Thursday's anesthesia shot. This must be what it feels like to be punched by Pacquiao, except even the slightest touch would send my pain sensors in full swing. I considered gravity my enemy at that time...sitting or standing up, as long as I was in a vertical position, would send me wincing in pain. But it was nothing compared to the late night (or early morning, however you look at it) 2 am surprise visit from the...
Enter the Breast Milk Gestapo
Clad in white, and dark rimmed glasses, she had a stern presence and commanded attention from everyone in the room (that being, myself, my husband, and my mom. The cat has checked out and the human calculator has not checked in yet). Or perhaps the fact that she came in unannounced at 2 am, while we were deep in our sleep, and turned on all the lights and started speaking loudly and angrily, was what gave her such a commanding presence.
Either way, she announced: " What are you doing sleeping throughout the night?!? Why aren't you pumping? And you dare get formula milk from the nurse station?!? Look at you, your breasts are hard as a rock!"
(Proceeds to prod and poke my breasts unannounced, without warning, and sends sharp, painful pangs throughout my whole body, the MOST painful feeling I've gone through). The closest analogy I can think of is being punched in the breasts by Mike Tyson, or Manny Pacquiao. Or let's just call in a fictitious boxer, Rocky Balboa (what, you didn't know he didn't really exist? big "blow", huh? Pun intended.)
My boobs became public property from that day forward.
She commanded (yes, demanded if you want another term), my husband and mom to get to work massaging and pounding and pumping my twin rocks until they became soft, which didn't happen in the next 3 hours, but massage and knead they did, alternately, as we only had one manual breast pump at the time. They worked tirelessly from 3 am until sunrise, allowing me to squeal in pain and take breaks in-between tears of pain, in order to take another attempt at hobbling to the bathroom, only 2 days from my double surgery C-section.
I can boldly compare the pain to the pain of giving birth, without anesthetics. Scoff if you will...
Ultimately, the next morning, my mom dutifully went to the local bakery shop to buy some soft dough and cabbage. The gestapo lady was still on duty at 7 am, and she proceeded to march to my room and slapped the dough onto both my rock-hard breasts, leaving the center to peek out (for what reason, I'm not entirely sure as no one, nor anything can penetrate that thick dough fortress) that made my breasts resemble being wrapped in plaster.
Strange as it felt and even stranger the way it looked, after about 3 hours, I was told to remove them by washing them with warm running water. A load of sticky mess and 10 minutes later, I felt my breasts no longer in pain from engorgement. Alleluia! Thank God! That is also the last time I will let a stranger touch my boobs.
As for the cabbage, we were instructed to keep it chilled in the fridge and put it inbetween my brassiere and boobs to cool down the next engorgement episode. But the best prevention is to keep pumping, she said. As of writing, I can proudly say that I am all pumped up and this has thankfully not recurred.
The gestapo nurse's home remedies for engorged breasts:
A. Soft bread dough method
1. Buy soft bread dough from the local bakery (ask them nicely and try not to tell them the real reason why you are getting it otherwise they might give you a strange look)
2. Divide into two (for obvious reasons), and pat around firmly around each side, leaving the center to peek out for whatever reason.
3. Cover each side with cling wrap or a thin plastic film to prevent the dough from sticking to your clothes.
4. Wait for the dough to harden and dry*, then peel off and wash off excess residue with warm running water.
(*In my case it took me almost 4 hours for it to harden, though even then it did not completely harden as the though was rather thick on me.)
B. Chilled cabbage method
1. Buy cabbage heads from the market or nearby vegetable store.
2. Chill in the fridge
3. Insert in-between brassiere and breasts
Use any of these two simple techniques whenever you feel pain or harness, and couple with non-stop pumping and massaging until you feel them become soft.
Good luck!
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Checking in with my next door neighbors
Checked in at the hospital on August 18, prepped for 2 days, prior to the scheduled C-section on August 20. They couldn't and wouldn't confirm with us until the actual day itself if we actually had a room... room booking was only allowed strictly a week before the planned check-in date, such that we went there 8 days before the check-in date, in the afternoon, but they turned us away and asked us to come back the next morning. When they mean a week before, they really mean 7 days. No wonder the Chinese are so good in Math. (8 is definitely not 7, stupid foreigners! I could almost hear their thoughts)
I requested for a shared room with 2 beds, as the private room was preposterously expensive. I would stay for at least a week. It turned out to be an interesting experience.
Worlds apart, while in the same room, in the same hospital, in the same city, and only actually separated by a thin curtain and nothing more. Two vastly different co-sleepers situated a few meters from my bed.
Neighbor A: The Whiny Cat
Curtains closed, with only the sound of intermittent whining and please for more attention from her obnoxiously loud family of 4 (note that only 2 visitors are allowed each time but they somehow escaped the Chinese hospital SS police), the whiny cat sounds sweet and pretty. Based on her voice she could be a sweet sexy thang (pre- pregnancy and surgery)
Curtains drawn, with the sunlight coming in through the only window in the room, which happens to be on the cat's side, the cat is revealed to be the complete physical opposite of her sweet sexy voice... I am reminded of the saying "Don't judge a woman by her voice" , or more popularly known as, "Don't judge a book by its cover", or something like that.
Decibel level of family members: equivalent to trying to speak up so as to hear the person right next to you at a noisy bar, especially active when neighbor (specifically, I), tries to sleep or rest, along with our newborn son.
Neighbor B: The Independent Supercomputer
5 days later, cat woman has checked out and this other woman checks in...
Curtains closed, the sound of a corporate woman hotshot, talking animatedly on her mobile phone, giving a blow by blow account of her ordeal. Barely 3 hours after her cesarean operation, she recites the exact time and details down to the second decimal place. " Yes, hi how are you? Yes, it went well, I went in at 6:08, the doctor administered anesthesia and it went effect after about 10- 15 minutes, then 20 minutes later I was done. Yes, a baby boy. Thank you! He was born at 6:28 am, weighing 2824.58 grams, that is about (barely pauses for more than 5 seconds) ... 6.23 pounds. Yes, everything is ok, thank you, just resting..." and so she went on for another 10 minutes or so on the phone, seemingly oblivious of the fact that she had just been butchered up on the cutting table an hour or two ago.
I am amazed at how vastly different these two women are.
Gosh, I think to myself. She is better at math under sedatives than I am sober. Sometimes, I wonder if I really have some Chinese blood in me, these math skills would have come handy to impress my next door neighbor anytime.
I requested for a shared room with 2 beds, as the private room was preposterously expensive. I would stay for at least a week. It turned out to be an interesting experience.
Worlds apart, while in the same room, in the same hospital, in the same city, and only actually separated by a thin curtain and nothing more. Two vastly different co-sleepers situated a few meters from my bed.
Neighbor A: The Whiny Cat
Curtains closed, with only the sound of intermittent whining and please for more attention from her obnoxiously loud family of 4 (note that only 2 visitors are allowed each time but they somehow escaped the Chinese hospital SS police), the whiny cat sounds sweet and pretty. Based on her voice she could be a sweet sexy thang (pre- pregnancy and surgery)
Curtains drawn, with the sunlight coming in through the only window in the room, which happens to be on the cat's side, the cat is revealed to be the complete physical opposite of her sweet sexy voice... I am reminded of the saying "Don't judge a woman by her voice" , or more popularly known as, "Don't judge a book by its cover", or something like that.
Decibel level of family members: equivalent to trying to speak up so as to hear the person right next to you at a noisy bar, especially active when neighbor (specifically, I), tries to sleep or rest, along with our newborn son.
Neighbor B: The Independent Supercomputer
5 days later, cat woman has checked out and this other woman checks in...
Curtains closed, the sound of a corporate woman hotshot, talking animatedly on her mobile phone, giving a blow by blow account of her ordeal. Barely 3 hours after her cesarean operation, she recites the exact time and details down to the second decimal place. " Yes, hi how are you? Yes, it went well, I went in at 6:08, the doctor administered anesthesia and it went effect after about 10- 15 minutes, then 20 minutes later I was done. Yes, a baby boy. Thank you! He was born at 6:28 am, weighing 2824.58 grams, that is about (barely pauses for more than 5 seconds) ... 6.23 pounds. Yes, everything is ok, thank you, just resting..." and so she went on for another 10 minutes or so on the phone, seemingly oblivious of the fact that she had just been butchered up on the cutting table an hour or two ago.
I am amazed at how vastly different these two women are.
Gosh, I think to myself. She is better at math under sedatives than I am sober. Sometimes, I wonder if I really have some Chinese blood in me, these math skills would have come handy to impress my next door neighbor anytime.
Saturday, August 15, 2015
Pre "D-Day" explosions and contractions
Only 5 more days to go before D-Day and I am forcing myself to relax by distracting myself with house chores. Not entirely sure whether this is a good idea or not, but sitting around just thinking about the Big Day isn't my idea of preparing for Oli's coming.
Men are probably the worst people to ask about signs and symptoms related to birthing.
A photographer friend of mine, also based in Shanghai, told me a very interesting story of how his French wife thought that she had contractions, so they rushed to the hospital late in the evening. Upon arrival at the hospital, the staff gave her a quick check-up, and determined that she was just having an active imagination (rather than being in active labor). She suffered throughout the entire evening having labor contractions, until she couldn't bear the pain any longer and they returned to their local hospital, at which they promptly reported that she has been dilated 10 cm , and within the next hour, was able to give birth naturally to their first son without any medication or further intervention. After this rather interesting story, I asked my (male) friend what the contractions were like, as he sounded like he knew the story and all its details like the back of his hand (as he well should, being the lucky father of their cute son).
Me: ( Looking worried): "What were the contractions like?"
Friend: (Having barely a moment to catch his breath after the marathon storytelling): "Contractions...well you know how they are like... Contractions!"
Me: (Trying to be polite and trying best to refocus on the emotions of the ordeal they have gone through a year ago): "Ohhh! Yes, of course! I get it! I see..."
I've been told that contractions feel like "you want to poo". Just the other evening, while watching old reruns of Harry Potter with my husband and mom, I felt this "urge to poo", and a slight wave of panic ensued, sending a ripple effect across the other 2 audience members of the now- not- so interesting HP rerun movie. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "OMG, I think I'm feeling contractions...!"
Husband: "What is it, how do you feel?" ( sounding as if he studied medicine for many years)
Mom: "It's supposed to feel like you want to poo, well do you??"
Me: " I think so... !"
A few moments later...
Ppprrrrrttttt.........! ( a naturally occurring biological gas explosion heard until the next room)
Me: "Oh, it's gone. It was just Oli's gas passing through me..."
Oli is such a convenient excuse :p
Men are probably the worst people to ask about signs and symptoms related to birthing.
A photographer friend of mine, also based in Shanghai, told me a very interesting story of how his French wife thought that she had contractions, so they rushed to the hospital late in the evening. Upon arrival at the hospital, the staff gave her a quick check-up, and determined that she was just having an active imagination (rather than being in active labor). She suffered throughout the entire evening having labor contractions, until she couldn't bear the pain any longer and they returned to their local hospital, at which they promptly reported that she has been dilated 10 cm , and within the next hour, was able to give birth naturally to their first son without any medication or further intervention. After this rather interesting story, I asked my (male) friend what the contractions were like, as he sounded like he knew the story and all its details like the back of his hand (as he well should, being the lucky father of their cute son).
Me: ( Looking worried): "What were the contractions like?"
Friend: (Having barely a moment to catch his breath after the marathon storytelling): "Contractions...well you know how they are like... Contractions!"
Me: (Trying to be polite and trying best to refocus on the emotions of the ordeal they have gone through a year ago): "Ohhh! Yes, of course! I get it! I see..."
(Awkward silence ensued)
I've been told that contractions feel like "you want to poo". Just the other evening, while watching old reruns of Harry Potter with my husband and mom, I felt this "urge to poo", and a slight wave of panic ensued, sending a ripple effect across the other 2 audience members of the now- not- so interesting HP rerun movie. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "OMG, I think I'm feeling contractions...!"
Husband: "What is it, how do you feel?" ( sounding as if he studied medicine for many years)
Mom: "It's supposed to feel like you want to poo, well do you??"
Me: " I think so... !"
A few moments later...
Ppprrrrrttttt.........! ( a naturally occurring biological gas explosion heard until the next room)
Me: "Oh, it's gone. It was just Oli's gas passing through me..."
Oli is such a convenient excuse :p
Friday, August 7, 2015
My multi-functional belly bump
"Hun, you gotta stop using your stomach as a table."
My husband's words woke me up to my habit of well, doing exactly that. I have been using my belly bump as my dining table, reading table, nail clippings' temporary repository, an arm rest ... you name it! I especially find it really convenient to place books and food on top. Might as well make my belly bump useful.
Recently, my belly makes for a rather rudimentary but functional entertainment center (changing sides while lying down and seeing how our baby shifts inside, then guessing which part of his body might be jutting out based on the changing protrusions). It mostly feels like there is an alien moving inside of me... sometimes I imagine it to be a baby dinosaur. (You know, like in the movie Jurassic Park. My belly looks exactly like the dinosaur eggs there now.) This kept me entertained for at least a minute before I looked for other, shall we say, modern entertainment options.
"The mysterious nether regions"
What used to be easily visible looks as if it has mysteriously disappeared... I'm referring to the entire area beyond my bump. Suddenly, I need help for even the most basic tasks..such as putting on socks, strapping on my sandals, washing my feet, clipping my toenails, the list goes on. Honestly, I don't even know what color of underwear I have on right now. I had a brief glimpse when I put them on this morning, but that's about it, and my short term memory isn't exactly stellar now with baby Oli eating my brain's battery cells. But no matter, I have a long dressing mirror to help me with that...mirrors are such an amazing invention.
"Three's a crowd"
Last year, we had the pleasure of visiting my aunt Isabel and uncle Alex in Cebu , Philippines. They are both doctors, my aunt is a pediatrician and uncle a renowned kidney and internal organs surgeon from Pennsylvania, currently gone back home to retire. They took us to see a crocodile farm/ zoo nearby, run by another one of my uncle's relatives in Cebu. We had an encounter with the biggest crocodile in the Philippines, said to be over 50 years old and measuring 15 feet in length, said to be the biggest croc in the Philippines and 2nd biggest in the world. More info can be found here: http://www.philstar.com/cebu-lifestyle/2015/02/21/1426064/crocolandia. Here's a photo of the amphibian celebrity:
All this talk about Lapu-lapu has a purpose. My husband has long joked since then that I have him living inside my tummy, as I am often hungry and have a voracious appetite. My stomach growls with a thunderous sound, one that reminds him of the giant croc's growl. Hence, whenever my stomach makes its usual loud sounds, or I eat heartily, we readily attest it to the imaginary croc's presence inside my belly.
Lately, the doctors have found a myoma (non-cancerous cyst) inside me, a phenomenon that affects 60% of women all over the world, nothing to be alarmed about, my doctors reassured me. We have come to accept that it is living side by side with Oli, and to make the situation more amusing we imagine he is using it for his soccer ball practices! Hence, the strong kicks around where it is located.
With Lapu-lapu, the soccer ball, and Oli co-existing in my belly, I wonder if three's a crowd? They certainly do seem to have become good friends during the long 9-month journey. When my husband told me one time, I got to use my abs and give it a work out every now and then, I replied, "What?! You don't think my belly is working hard enough???" Between housing three residents, nourishing and housing our little one, and adding extra functionalities as a table and entertainment center, you'd think my belly might be overworked, don't you?
My husband's words woke me up to my habit of well, doing exactly that. I have been using my belly bump as my dining table, reading table, nail clippings' temporary repository, an arm rest ... you name it! I especially find it really convenient to place books and food on top. Might as well make my belly bump useful.
Recently, my belly makes for a rather rudimentary but functional entertainment center (changing sides while lying down and seeing how our baby shifts inside, then guessing which part of his body might be jutting out based on the changing protrusions). It mostly feels like there is an alien moving inside of me... sometimes I imagine it to be a baby dinosaur. (You know, like in the movie Jurassic Park. My belly looks exactly like the dinosaur eggs there now.) This kept me entertained for at least a minute before I looked for other, shall we say, modern entertainment options.
"The mysterious nether regions"
What used to be easily visible looks as if it has mysteriously disappeared... I'm referring to the entire area beyond my bump. Suddenly, I need help for even the most basic tasks..such as putting on socks, strapping on my sandals, washing my feet, clipping my toenails, the list goes on. Honestly, I don't even know what color of underwear I have on right now. I had a brief glimpse when I put them on this morning, but that's about it, and my short term memory isn't exactly stellar now with baby Oli eating my brain's battery cells. But no matter, I have a long dressing mirror to help me with that...mirrors are such an amazing invention.
"Three's a crowd"
Last year, we had the pleasure of visiting my aunt Isabel and uncle Alex in Cebu , Philippines. They are both doctors, my aunt is a pediatrician and uncle a renowned kidney and internal organs surgeon from Pennsylvania, currently gone back home to retire. They took us to see a crocodile farm/ zoo nearby, run by another one of my uncle's relatives in Cebu. We had an encounter with the biggest crocodile in the Philippines, said to be over 50 years old and measuring 15 feet in length, said to be the biggest croc in the Philippines and 2nd biggest in the world. More info can be found here: http://www.philstar.com/cebu-lifestyle/2015/02/21/1426064/crocolandia. Here's a photo of the amphibian celebrity:
All this talk about Lapu-lapu has a purpose. My husband has long joked since then that I have him living inside my tummy, as I am often hungry and have a voracious appetite. My stomach growls with a thunderous sound, one that reminds him of the giant croc's growl. Hence, whenever my stomach makes its usual loud sounds, or I eat heartily, we readily attest it to the imaginary croc's presence inside my belly.
Lately, the doctors have found a myoma (non-cancerous cyst) inside me, a phenomenon that affects 60% of women all over the world, nothing to be alarmed about, my doctors reassured me. We have come to accept that it is living side by side with Oli, and to make the situation more amusing we imagine he is using it for his soccer ball practices! Hence, the strong kicks around where it is located.
With Lapu-lapu, the soccer ball, and Oli co-existing in my belly, I wonder if three's a crowd? They certainly do seem to have become good friends during the long 9-month journey. When my husband told me one time, I got to use my abs and give it a work out every now and then, I replied, "What?! You don't think my belly is working hard enough???" Between housing three residents, nourishing and housing our little one, and adding extra functionalities as a table and entertainment center, you'd think my belly might be overworked, don't you?
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
The New Hormone Excuse
Hormones have always been the most convenient excuse for me
for almost everything during my pregnancy. To cite but a few:
- A rabid attack of acne in unusual places? (If there was an acne painter he sure is having fun with my face and back as his canvas!)
- Roller coaster emotions?
- Feeling (and looking) like a bloated blubber whale?
- Wanting to sleep 20/7 (an hour each for 3 meals, and an hour to shower)?
Basically,
anything mysterious, or unexplainable, blame it on the hormones. However, recently, as our baby Oliver's growth becomes more obvious, and his movements more discernable, he has become the new "hormone" excuse for a host of things. These outbursts have prompted my husband to label me as becoming more and more "spoiled". I say, it's not me who's spoiled, it's Oli.
- Hungry just after 2 hours of a full meal (after which you swore you couldn't possibly eat another bite), and yet starving and (gently) demanding nourishment after we've unwound and gotten ready for bed? And no ordinary midnight snack will do--(some reheating, slicing, dicing, stacking, mixing required)?
- Brain farts. Blame it on Oli... he's munching on my brain's battery cells again.
- Farts. The kind that makes a sound and sometimes brings about olfactory side effects. Whoa! That wasn't me either! That was Oli releasing his tension through my body. Seriously, Oli, what DID you have for breakfast?!?
- Acting like a spoiled brat. Acting like a spoiled brat who's always about to run out of food to eat. Acting like a spoiled brat who's about to run out of food to eat, hence, wanting to demolish anything in the pathway that resembles food, and yet being selective of the best parts (true for fish fillets, lamb chops, chicken and pork cutlets, anything and everything MEAT). An insatiable desire for meat and yoghurt drinks and forbidden sweet drinks. It's not for me, it's for Oli! Save that piece for me, I want that piece, and that too! I don't always finish what my "eyes" order. Ever heard of the phrase, "Eyes bigger than the stomach"? Very true for me pre-pregnancy. Still true now, except not entirely, My stomach is WAY bigger than my eyes. Or any part of my body for that matter.
You must think I'm a terribly chomp monster. Call me chomp chomp, go ahead, I blame it on Oli. :)
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Backne and the sweetest (not) husband ever
Sometimes, my husband can be quite...blunt.
For example, one of the nasty side effects of my pregnancy is that I have a terrible case of "backne*". I have never had any backne pre-pregnancy, but now they have happily formed little communities and constellations spanning my entire upper back (you'd think that they would at least be considerate enough to grow around my lower back area so as to be more discreet on the occasion that I wear low -back outfits, right???)
I suppose I have to be thankful overall, though, as I never experienced the even nastier side effect of vomiting, nausea or other similar symptoms of pregnancy.
*Backne- My coined word, short for "back acne"
I expressed my gratitude over the fact that my backne was not growing on my face. I then asked,
I: "Hun, if my backne were growing on my face, would you still love me?"
He: "Well, I would perhaps take more time getting to know you better..."
I: "...And if this occurred before we got married, would you still marry me?"
He: "I would find it more difficult to look at your face, and instead focus on your other body parts (looks at my chest)"
He then helpfully added, " if your backne would converge in a much smaller area such as your face, your face would then be a big boil..." (winces)
In times like these, I really feel 100% sure that I married the right man...
For example, one of the nasty side effects of my pregnancy is that I have a terrible case of "backne*". I have never had any backne pre-pregnancy, but now they have happily formed little communities and constellations spanning my entire upper back (you'd think that they would at least be considerate enough to grow around my lower back area so as to be more discreet on the occasion that I wear low -back outfits, right???)
I suppose I have to be thankful overall, though, as I never experienced the even nastier side effect of vomiting, nausea or other similar symptoms of pregnancy.
*Backne- My coined word, short for "back acne"
I expressed my gratitude over the fact that my backne was not growing on my face. I then asked,
I: "Hun, if my backne were growing on my face, would you still love me?"
He: "Well, I would perhaps take more time getting to know you better..."
I: "...And if this occurred before we got married, would you still marry me?"
He: "I would find it more difficult to look at your face, and instead focus on your other body parts (looks at my chest)"
He then helpfully added, " if your backne would converge in a much smaller area such as your face, your face would then be a big boil..." (winces)
In times like these, I really feel 100% sure that I married the right man...
Monday, June 15, 2015
Getting creative when in pain and prior to sleeping
There are days when you are bursting with stories and feel especially eloquent. Then, there are those days when you just can't be bothered by something as irrelevant as proper words/ English.
After just the first year together as a married couple, we found a way to make our lives easier (and make speaking more efficient) through coining a few useful daily conversation terminology:
I. On the topic of pinpointing where to massage me, highlighting painful areas (an official medical chart of the back shoulder muscles has been provided below for reference):
Brad Pits: massage of the underarm (arm pit) muscles (or close to it anyway, with shirt on, of course or that would be gross)
Chicken wings: massage of Teres minor (see diagram below)
Ground zero*: pain central
* Oftentimes, there is not just one ground zero, so this is further subdivided into several subcategories, conveniently named in bullet points, such as ground 0.1, 0.2, 0.3, and so on and so forth...
Then there are a few more, honestly, I can get quite creative when in pain and duress, but as I usually don't have a notebook beside me at the same time, some crucial keywords have slipped out of my memory bank. I'm sure it will come back to me, it's just like riding a bike, as they all say.
II. On the topic of the bedding landscape:
"P.M. me": Contrary to popular culture, this does not mean "Private message" me (oh, please... how lame). Instead, it means, "Pillow Mountain" me. As in, (help me) build a mountain of pillows of varying firmness and terrain according to the shape of my body to prepare me for a better sleep.
Now, obviously, this is way too long to explain to my husband every night. So that is where "P.M. me" comes in quite handy.
"De-slut the rabbit"-
My husband bought me a pregnancy pillow during my second trimester (I didn't start using it until towards the end of this semester, but we thought buying early would somehow make more sense as we'd end up buying it eventually anyway).
I chose a cute light pink rabbit print pillow that has little drawings of a girl rabbit going about her daily routine (such as watering the plants, walking her...dog(?!), pushing her baby in a pram, holding a bunch of balloons, you know... usual things that rabbits enjoy doing.
It honestly did look like this at the start, as it was advertised on the shop's online site:
However, after a few weeks of usage, the two "legs", shall we say, refused to stay together, and the fillers moved about in all the wrong places, and thus had to be shaken upside down to get the fillers back to where they should be, and slapped silly to get the two "legs" to close...
Thus, the term, "de-slutting"...
Oh, the things I learned in a very strict all-girls Catholic school upbringing.
On a side note, this is on my wishlist:
You can probably guess where each part of the pregnant woman goes, the photo is quite self-explanatory... As almost every part of my body aches (even parts I didn't know even existed), I would really really love to get a professional massage. Not that my husband's aren't enough, but well... yeah I suppose they aren't...but he did give me an always replenishing, never dwindling supply of "100" free massage coupons from a "hunky" masseuse (Read: him) as one of his gifts last last Christmas...
I find it impossible for any massage therapist to take me on as a client here in Shanghai, even the TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine) doctors who specialize in special care (and who could need more special care than a pregnant woman?) gave me a look that was bordering on "Are you retarded?!?" when I asked to book a session with the TCM masseuse doctor. In fact, the only time I was able to soothe my aching muscles professionally was when I went to the blind massage parlor next door to our village. And that speaks loads that the only reason I was accepted as a client was because my masseuse was .... visually impaired.
With this bed, I can bypass their lame excuses of not being able to lie flat on my stomach, I mean, hello?!? Isn't this China, the world's factory? Aw come, on! They could make this at a snap of my fingers, for sure. Wouldn't it be awesome if it were available here? :)
After just the first year together as a married couple, we found a way to make our lives easier (and make speaking more efficient) through coining a few useful daily conversation terminology:
I. On the topic of pinpointing where to massage me, highlighting painful areas (an official medical chart of the back shoulder muscles has been provided below for reference):
Brad Pits: massage of the underarm (arm pit) muscles (or close to it anyway, with shirt on, of course or that would be gross)
Chicken wings: massage of Teres minor (see diagram below)
Ground zero*: pain central
* Oftentimes, there is not just one ground zero, so this is further subdivided into several subcategories, conveniently named in bullet points, such as ground 0.1, 0.2, 0.3, and so on and so forth...
Then there are a few more, honestly, I can get quite creative when in pain and duress, but as I usually don't have a notebook beside me at the same time, some crucial keywords have slipped out of my memory bank. I'm sure it will come back to me, it's just like riding a bike, as they all say.
"P.M. me": Contrary to popular culture, this does not mean "Private message" me (oh, please... how lame). Instead, it means, "Pillow Mountain" me. As in, (help me) build a mountain of pillows of varying firmness and terrain according to the shape of my body to prepare me for a better sleep.
Now, obviously, this is way too long to explain to my husband every night. So that is where "P.M. me" comes in quite handy.
"De-slut the rabbit"-
My husband bought me a pregnancy pillow during my second trimester (I didn't start using it until towards the end of this semester, but we thought buying early would somehow make more sense as we'd end up buying it eventually anyway).
I chose a cute light pink rabbit print pillow that has little drawings of a girl rabbit going about her daily routine (such as watering the plants, walking her...dog(?!), pushing her baby in a pram, holding a bunch of balloons, you know... usual things that rabbits enjoy doing.
It honestly did look like this at the start, as it was advertised on the shop's online site:
However, after a few weeks of usage, the two "legs", shall we say, refused to stay together, and the fillers moved about in all the wrong places, and thus had to be shaken upside down to get the fillers back to where they should be, and slapped silly to get the two "legs" to close...
Thus, the term, "de-slutting"...
Oh, the things I learned in a very strict all-girls Catholic school upbringing.
On a side note, this is on my wishlist:
You can probably guess where each part of the pregnant woman goes, the photo is quite self-explanatory... As almost every part of my body aches (even parts I didn't know even existed), I would really really love to get a professional massage. Not that my husband's aren't enough, but well... yeah I suppose they aren't...but he did give me an always replenishing, never dwindling supply of "100" free massage coupons from a "hunky" masseuse (Read: him) as one of his gifts last last Christmas...
I find it impossible for any massage therapist to take me on as a client here in Shanghai, even the TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine) doctors who specialize in special care (and who could need more special care than a pregnant woman?) gave me a look that was bordering on "Are you retarded?!?" when I asked to book a session with the TCM masseuse doctor. In fact, the only time I was able to soothe my aching muscles professionally was when I went to the blind massage parlor next door to our village. And that speaks loads that the only reason I was accepted as a client was because my masseuse was .... visually impaired.
With this bed, I can bypass their lame excuses of not being able to lie flat on my stomach, I mean, hello?!? Isn't this China, the world's factory? Aw come, on! They could make this at a snap of my fingers, for sure. Wouldn't it be awesome if it were available here? :)
Thursday, June 11, 2015
I get a kick out of you
That moment when...
Your baby starts kicking 10 kicks a minute continuously every minute for the next 5 minutes after you've just painstakingly counted his kicks for 2 hours (that just ended 5 minutes ago and yielded a mere 14 kicks/flutters/ wave/ some sports action)
I have been wanting to dedicate this song to baby O for awhile, you might have heard of it before...
I dedicate the song "I get a kick out of you" by Ol' blue eyes Frank Sinatra to you, baby O! Hope you like it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wSrHvNr8QQQ
Oh, yes, baby O, I get a kick out of you.
Your baby starts kicking 10 kicks a minute continuously every minute for the next 5 minutes after you've just painstakingly counted his kicks for 2 hours (that just ended 5 minutes ago and yielded a mere 14 kicks/flutters/ wave/ some sports action)
I have been wanting to dedicate this song to baby O for awhile, you might have heard of it before...
I dedicate the song "I get a kick out of you" by Ol' blue eyes Frank Sinatra to you, baby O! Hope you like it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wSrHvNr8QQQ
Oh, yes, baby O, I get a kick out of you.
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Becoming a Baby
My husband usually comes home after a hard day's work with the greeting, "Hey, hun...how did your day go?"
On a good (read: slightly less lethargic) day, my thoughts would usually simultaneously race to hundreds of possibilities to make my answer sound more interesting and exciting...
The (everyday) superhero/heroine:
"I saved a cat from bring run over."
The productive intellectual:
" I finally started on the novel I have been planning to write for years, it is showing great promise."
The multilingual expert:
" I have made great progress on my Spanish lessons, having progressed by 2 lessons today."
The perfect wife:
"I cooked 5 dishes for our dinner tonight, did the laundry and ironed your suits, cleaned our apartment, and repaired the living room's broken windows. I can give you a foot massage later."
However, in reality, my answers would revolve around something like this:
The realistic wife:
"It took me an hour to finish my breakfast cereal...but oh, (feeling slightly prouder) I boiled an egg and finished that much sooner!"
His reply: " Good job, hun! Then, what else did you do?"
I try my best to gather my pride and try to make my day sound as productive as I possibly can, with the clever use of punctuation marks and compound sentences:
I add, " I then felt sleepy and slept for an hour to an hour and a half, then had lunch, then slept again for another 2 hours in the afternoon, then had a snack, then watched a TV series online (Usually either the intellectual rampages of Sherlock Holmes or the satirical humor of Family Guy"), had dinner, then tried to start on my blog/ open a book (I got as far as looking at it and bringing it close by my bedside so as to remind me to actually read it) /
Lately, though because of the slowly rising temperature that has signaled the definite arrival of summer in Shanghai, the excitement would reach about this degree:
"I swatted 5 mosquitoes and sent them to meet their ancestors in mosquito heaven"
This is about as exciting as my day gets these days.
Occasionally, my husband and I would visit a flat or two, as we are planning to move and have our own place (or at least not have to share the bathroom), but as luck would have it, rental prices have gone up 35% this year alone... 35%...35! it is, in some places, at par with downtown New York's real estate prices.
After the visit would come the highlight of a hard morning/ afternoon's "work", which is, to replenish our tired bodies (or rather, my husband would correct me if he were beside me reading my entry, MY tired body), with a delightful lunch. It would be either Japanese, Italian, or Chinese. If we had some extra time, we would drop by the import shop to browse, and inevitably, purchase some snacks and milk (imported milk is a staple for expats and a growing number of Chinese people, mainly due to the horrific stories of tainted local milk).
This has led me to realize that, being pregnant allows me to live the same life as a baby, perhaps this is nature's way of preparing the mother-to-be to be in slightly similar shoes as her baby-to be.
Aside from sleeping and eating as often as humanly possible, I am often incapable of doing certain things without the help of my husband, such as, tying my sneakers, scrubbing my toes (basically anything to do with touching my feet), getting up from bed is a struggle--- I basically have to roll over and put a foot down one at a time, thus, at times my husband would help me up by asking me to put my arms around him while he lifts me gently with one hand at my lower back, then steadies himself as I gather my equilibrium back. My husband's coming home with food has never been as joyous an occasion as it is now, especially when I don't have the motivation to walk the 20 minutes it takes me to get to the nearest food place. This is SUCH a huge change from my gung-ho, independent woman attitude with a penchant for multitasking and filling my day's schedule to the brim pre-pregnancy life. These days, I am happy merely to get one thing off my list (if I remember to make one or remember where I have placed it). My memory and motivation to get things done have turned for the worse, it seems.
These two photos sum up how I feel most of these days:
That's right... and if I had a placard on my chest, it would read:
Before a mom gives birth to her baby, she is one herself.
Photo credits: http://www.babble.com/pregnancy/pregnancy-understanding-your-hormones/pinterest.com
On a good (read: slightly less lethargic) day, my thoughts would usually simultaneously race to hundreds of possibilities to make my answer sound more interesting and exciting...
The (everyday) superhero/heroine:
"I saved a cat from bring run over."
The productive intellectual:
" I finally started on the novel I have been planning to write for years, it is showing great promise."
The multilingual expert:
" I have made great progress on my Spanish lessons, having progressed by 2 lessons today."
The perfect wife:
"I cooked 5 dishes for our dinner tonight, did the laundry and ironed your suits, cleaned our apartment, and repaired the living room's broken windows. I can give you a foot massage later."
However, in reality, my answers would revolve around something like this:
The realistic wife:
"It took me an hour to finish my breakfast cereal...but oh, (feeling slightly prouder) I boiled an egg and finished that much sooner!"
His reply: " Good job, hun! Then, what else did you do?"
I try my best to gather my pride and try to make my day sound as productive as I possibly can, with the clever use of punctuation marks and compound sentences:
I add, " I then felt sleepy and slept for an hour to an hour and a half, then had lunch, then slept again for another 2 hours in the afternoon, then had a snack, then watched a TV series online (Usually either the intellectual rampages of Sherlock Holmes or the satirical humor of Family Guy"), had dinner, then tried to start on my blog/ open a book (I got as far as looking at it and bringing it close by my bedside so as to remind me to actually read it) /
Lately, though because of the slowly rising temperature that has signaled the definite arrival of summer in Shanghai, the excitement would reach about this degree:
"I swatted 5 mosquitoes and sent them to meet their ancestors in mosquito heaven"
This is about as exciting as my day gets these days.
Occasionally, my husband and I would visit a flat or two, as we are planning to move and have our own place (or at least not have to share the bathroom), but as luck would have it, rental prices have gone up 35% this year alone... 35%...35! it is, in some places, at par with downtown New York's real estate prices.
After the visit would come the highlight of a hard morning/ afternoon's "work", which is, to replenish our tired bodies (or rather, my husband would correct me if he were beside me reading my entry, MY tired body), with a delightful lunch. It would be either Japanese, Italian, or Chinese. If we had some extra time, we would drop by the import shop to browse, and inevitably, purchase some snacks and milk (imported milk is a staple for expats and a growing number of Chinese people, mainly due to the horrific stories of tainted local milk).
This has led me to realize that, being pregnant allows me to live the same life as a baby, perhaps this is nature's way of preparing the mother-to-be to be in slightly similar shoes as her baby-to be.
Aside from sleeping and eating as often as humanly possible, I am often incapable of doing certain things without the help of my husband, such as, tying my sneakers, scrubbing my toes (basically anything to do with touching my feet), getting up from bed is a struggle--- I basically have to roll over and put a foot down one at a time, thus, at times my husband would help me up by asking me to put my arms around him while he lifts me gently with one hand at my lower back, then steadies himself as I gather my equilibrium back. My husband's coming home with food has never been as joyous an occasion as it is now, especially when I don't have the motivation to walk the 20 minutes it takes me to get to the nearest food place. This is SUCH a huge change from my gung-ho, independent woman attitude with a penchant for multitasking and filling my day's schedule to the brim pre-pregnancy life. These days, I am happy merely to get one thing off my list (if I remember to make one or remember where I have placed it). My memory and motivation to get things done have turned for the worse, it seems.
These two photos sum up how I feel most of these days:
That's right... and if I had a placard on my chest, it would read:
Before a mom gives birth to her baby, she is one herself.
Photo credits: http://www.babble.com/pregnancy/pregnancy-understanding-your-hormones/pinterest.com
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Skin darkening, word taboos, and folic acid
In my previous post entitled A Woman's Body, I mentioned how a woman's body was practically biologically predispositioned for pregnancy, no surprise there. What I forgot to mention, was why.
Apparently, this thin brown line going down right smack in the middle of my tummy, also called linea nigra, serves a purpose...to guide the baby to my breasts so that he can breastfeed. The same goes for the darkening of the areolas... it is said that babies' eyesight is between 20/200- 20/400 at birth, so this serves as a natural way to guide them to where they should feed.
What I don't completely understand, however, is how the darkening of the armpits (our nickname for them is the "brad pit" so as not to sound so gross...well, you know how it is...armpits go right there in the bucket of words you giggle at together with words such as fart, poo, and all the other by-products that come out of the pits both under the arms and down there)
So, what exactly is the purpose for the darkening of the armpits? Is the baby supposed to be led toward them as well (as they are led to the areolas for breastfeeding), but this time, perhaps so that they can get accustomed and therefore, immune to their possibly sweaty mom's pheromones (assuming that the strongest source of this comes from the brad pits)? Such that, should they get lost in the crowd, they need only use their sense of smell to track their mom's scent down?
My husband offers one clear possible explanation (again, in a one-liner answer) for the darkening of the brad pits: " Perhaps you just didn't clean them properly enough".
Thankfully, I can save my reputation by a simple Google search (he didn't think this was necessary as in his mind there was no other plausible explanation for the darkening other than lack of scrubbing, though he did accept the explanations for the darkening of the other parts readily and without question...)
A quick online search has pinpointed the cause to be the all encompassing "hormonal changes" answer to what seemingly is the cause for almost everything pregnancy-related. Some experts (we don't have any idea who these are it wasn't mentioned) believe that discolorations are linked to folic acid deficiency, so make sure you're getting enough through your diet and/or through your prenatal supplements. I am currently taking Elevit, which provides 800 mcg of folic acid:
According to an article online at babycenter.com, "Folic acid helps prevent neural tube defects (NTDs)—serious birth defects of the spinal cord (such as spina bifida) and the brain (such as anencephaly). . Taking folic acid reduces this risk by 70-90%. Some research suggests that folic acid may help lower your baby's risk of other defects as well, such as cleft lip, cleft palate, and certain types of heart defects.
Apparently, this thin brown line going down right smack in the middle of my tummy, also called linea nigra, serves a purpose...to guide the baby to my breasts so that he can breastfeed. The same goes for the darkening of the areolas... it is said that babies' eyesight is between 20/200- 20/400 at birth, so this serves as a natural way to guide them to where they should feed.
What I don't completely understand, however, is how the darkening of the armpits (our nickname for them is the "brad pit" so as not to sound so gross...well, you know how it is...armpits go right there in the bucket of words you giggle at together with words such as fart, poo, and all the other by-products that come out of the pits both under the arms and down there)
So, what exactly is the purpose for the darkening of the armpits? Is the baby supposed to be led toward them as well (as they are led to the areolas for breastfeeding), but this time, perhaps so that they can get accustomed and therefore, immune to their possibly sweaty mom's pheromones (assuming that the strongest source of this comes from the brad pits)? Such that, should they get lost in the crowd, they need only use their sense of smell to track their mom's scent down?
My husband offers one clear possible explanation (again, in a one-liner answer) for the darkening of the brad pits: " Perhaps you just didn't clean them properly enough".
Thankfully, I can save my reputation by a simple Google search (he didn't think this was necessary as in his mind there was no other plausible explanation for the darkening other than lack of scrubbing, though he did accept the explanations for the darkening of the other parts readily and without question...)
A quick online search has pinpointed the cause to be the all encompassing "hormonal changes" answer to what seemingly is the cause for almost everything pregnancy-related. Some experts (we don't have any idea who these are it wasn't mentioned) believe that discolorations are linked to folic acid deficiency, so make sure you're getting enough through your diet and/or through your prenatal supplements. I am currently taking Elevit, which provides 800 mcg of folic acid:
According to an article online at babycenter.com, "Folic acid helps prevent neural tube defects (NTDs)—serious birth defects of the spinal cord (such as spina bifida) and the brain (such as anencephaly). . Taking folic acid reduces this risk by 70-90%. Some research suggests that folic acid may help lower your baby's risk of other defects as well, such as cleft lip, cleft palate, and certain types of heart defects.
Your body needs folic acid to make normal red blood cells and prevent a type of anemia. Folic acid is also essential for the production, repair, and functioning of DNA, our genetic map and a basic building block of cells. So getting enough folic acid is particularly important for the rapid cell growth of the placenta and your developing baby. "
The recommended dose of folic acid is 600 mcg daily once pregnant. Other natural occurring sources of folic acid is illustrated below:
Just thinking about how the initial discussion of skin darkening has led me to shed some light on folic acid's importance... I suppose when "dark turns to light", it is always a good thing. Have an enlightened week, everyone! :)
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
The Food Economics for the pregnant woman, and oh, our 1st anniversary!
A bit delayed by a few days, but here is a simple collage in celebration of our 1st year anniversary. I can't believe how time flies! Seems only yesterday when I poured my heart and soul into organizing and designing the most special day of my life. I will try to post some photos of our Big Day another time.
Notice how round I look and how rectangular and slim my husband looks? I couldn't really tell just by looking at my belly if I was full or not (which can be a dangerous thing for visually-focused people like me), as my belly is just always big nowadays, but my husband's tummy curled up into a small football sized storage bin after the dinner, and that helped him confirm the fact that he was in fact, full. Nothing like seeing something with your own eyes to believe it. Seeing is believing, after all.
I suppose one of the advantages of being pregnant is that I could technically eat more, and count on the fact that baby O will digest and munch up half of it. My Ob says it is quality, though, not quantity that counts. Thus, I have been munching every now and then like a squirrel instead of gorging down like a pig, save for special occasions like buffets when the Food Economics dictate otherwise (in that case more food brings about greater demand).
I realize that pregnancy presents a good system of supply and demand. I supply the food through my intake, and baby helps me consume whatever I supply. It helps maintain an overall equilibrium that can be compared to the aforementioned laws of supply and demand; in this way, baby helps when there is oversupply and I make sure there is no scarcity of resources. The whole process of this inner mother-and baby marketplace is quite an enjoyable experience, too. Much akin to shopping. I can eat and enjoy the taste of food while baby O's tiny body gets the food and nutrients he needs. The excess is stored for later delivery and consumption (warehouse and logistics). Method of "payment": C.O.D - Consumption On Delivery. Which, in my opinion, makes the pregnancy system, possibly the most overlooked secret in diet miracles.
Notice how round I look and how rectangular and slim my husband looks? I couldn't really tell just by looking at my belly if I was full or not (which can be a dangerous thing for visually-focused people like me), as my belly is just always big nowadays, but my husband's tummy curled up into a small football sized storage bin after the dinner, and that helped him confirm the fact that he was in fact, full. Nothing like seeing something with your own eyes to believe it. Seeing is believing, after all.
I suppose one of the advantages of being pregnant is that I could technically eat more, and count on the fact that baby O will digest and munch up half of it. My Ob says it is quality, though, not quantity that counts. Thus, I have been munching every now and then like a squirrel instead of gorging down like a pig, save for special occasions like buffets when the Food Economics dictate otherwise (in that case more food brings about greater demand).
I realize that pregnancy presents a good system of supply and demand. I supply the food through my intake, and baby helps me consume whatever I supply. It helps maintain an overall equilibrium that can be compared to the aforementioned laws of supply and demand; in this way, baby helps when there is oversupply and I make sure there is no scarcity of resources. The whole process of this inner mother-and baby marketplace is quite an enjoyable experience, too. Much akin to shopping. I can eat and enjoy the taste of food while baby O's tiny body gets the food and nutrients he needs. The excess is stored for later delivery and consumption (warehouse and logistics). Method of "payment": C.O.D - Consumption On Delivery. Which, in my opinion, makes the pregnancy system, possibly the most overlooked secret in diet miracles.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Shopping for this and that, and one-liners
My husband has always been supportive of me... my hobbies, interests, crazy impulses, even, and appreciative of my being a woman. But lately, I'm starting to get the feeling that my husband is not a fan of one of my major womanly skills... shopping.
Recently my mom and I went on a shopping spree (and I mean careless, free-wheeling, driven by cuteness spree) with my cousin and aunt at a nearby shopping mall. Here are but a quarter of our total loot that day:
3 packs of 5 onesies, 5 more jumpsuits, 3 sets of onesies matched with booties and beanie hats, and so on all the way until 8 months old, and a few more baby stuff here and there later, my luggage is bursting out of its seams with more than 20 kilos. I don't doubt for a moment that the frozen fish and meat longganisa contributed to the weight, but we have to know and hold on to the non-negotiable essentials.
In fact, I felt like the whole universe is conspiring to give me what I want (something I learned from reading The Alchemist by Paolo Coehlo). My friends, cousins, and relatives were all in the same conspiracy, giving me endless gifts and support of all kinds.
Having shopped for all these cute stuff made me really excited and as bad as this may sound, gave me some solid validation that we are indeed having a baby! (I know, kind of delayed reaction since I am on my 3rd trimester already) It feels SO REAL now! In fact, the more I bought, the more I got excited. And I could tell my mom was feeling the same way, too. So I told my husband, how shopping for baby O's clothes make me feel, and that logically, the more I shopped, the more real he would be to me. After a lengthy explanation of my thoughts , and emotions focusing on the sheer excitement of it all that lasted about 5 minutes over Skype, his reply was short, simple, and to the point, "That's good, hun, but let's not get carried away." And that was that.
My husband is a champion with one-liners. Here's another one: when I mentioned to him that my feet were really swollen, and reminded me of Big Foot, he replied, "I hope it's not hairy". And, again, that was that.
Recently my mom and I went on a shopping spree (and I mean careless, free-wheeling, driven by cuteness spree) with my cousin and aunt at a nearby shopping mall. Here are but a quarter of our total loot that day:
3 packs of 5 onesies, 5 more jumpsuits, 3 sets of onesies matched with booties and beanie hats, and so on all the way until 8 months old, and a few more baby stuff here and there later, my luggage is bursting out of its seams with more than 20 kilos. I don't doubt for a moment that the frozen fish and meat longganisa contributed to the weight, but we have to know and hold on to the non-negotiable essentials.
In fact, I felt like the whole universe is conspiring to give me what I want (something I learned from reading The Alchemist by Paolo Coehlo). My friends, cousins, and relatives were all in the same conspiracy, giving me endless gifts and support of all kinds.
Having shopped for all these cute stuff made me really excited and as bad as this may sound, gave me some solid validation that we are indeed having a baby! (I know, kind of delayed reaction since I am on my 3rd trimester already) It feels SO REAL now! In fact, the more I bought, the more I got excited. And I could tell my mom was feeling the same way, too. So I told my husband, how shopping for baby O's clothes make me feel, and that logically, the more I shopped, the more real he would be to me. After a lengthy explanation of my thoughts , and emotions focusing on the sheer excitement of it all that lasted about 5 minutes over Skype, his reply was short, simple, and to the point, "That's good, hun, but let's not get carried away." And that was that.
My husband is a champion with one-liners. Here's another one: when I mentioned to him that my feet were really swollen, and reminded me of Big Foot, he replied, "I hope it's not hairy". And, again, that was that.
Monday, May 25, 2015
First letter to Baby O: Your Hobbies
Letter to our future baby:
Dear Oliver,
As of writing, you are 26 weeks old, This will be the first of a series of letters I will write to you, my dearest future baby boy. You must know that your dad and I love you from the day you were a day old, and have been hoping and praying for your coming. You are such a blessing to us both, and to both our families, and we cannot wait to meet you someday soon.
Currently, all we know of you is that you have these hobbies that you particularly enjoy doing at certain times of the day:
Hobby #1
Swimming- I think this is your top sport, especially cool to see when we take a peek at you during ultrasounds. How does it feel to have that cold gel and some sound waves over you? I hope they don't hurt you.
Hobby #2
Tumbling - You love to do this in conjunction with kicking, enjoy your big swimming and wading pool while you can :) Lucky for your it is all yours to enjoy and no twin sister or brother to share the space (I am claustrophobic myself, so I understand if you are doing little tumbles of joy in there with all that freedom.
Hobby #3
Kicking- You love to do little kicks any time of the day, but especially when I drink milk, and eat apples. I suppose you love them? You will be happy to know then that because of you, I've gotten over my lactose intolerance. I've never eaten so many healthy foods ever in my life! You are like my personal nutritionist and health counselor. Your first ever career, what do you know! :)
You love to get my attention when I sit still and watch tv, or try to find my perfect sleeping position at night as I lie in bed. You seem to like classical and jazz music, and I don't know if I imagine you tapping to the beat, which would be really cool if you did! Though, I think I will listen to less rock and alternative music, your kicks are getting more violent! I even witnessed my tummy raise up with your strong kicks.
You will eventually very soon come to realize that your dad is an athlete and an avid sports fan. I put there sports, because he really is into all kinds of it, he watches basketball, football, soccer, tennis, swimming, and is quite good at swimming, too, just like you! But he is best at soccer and floorball, his two favorite sports :) So, he is quite happy to see you being quite a little athlete yourself inside there! Hopefully you retain your sports skills, especially kicking, which would be quite a useful skill for floorball and soccer. I know he is dying to train you, little man!
Hobbily yours,
Your artistic non-sports mom and sporty dad
P.S. Your dad just competed in the annual China Floorball Championship in Beijing last Saturday, they got to the finals undefeated (9 teams in total), that means they won every match before the finals.Your dad scored 2 goals, including the winning goals in one of the stage 2 matches! They then played against the Shanghai Sharks and your dad's team dominated the game but was unable to score and the opponents managed to get 1 point 5 minutes before the game, a very tight game indeed! And so in the end, the Sharks won.
Dear Oliver,
As of writing, you are 26 weeks old, This will be the first of a series of letters I will write to you, my dearest future baby boy. You must know that your dad and I love you from the day you were a day old, and have been hoping and praying for your coming. You are such a blessing to us both, and to both our families, and we cannot wait to meet you someday soon.
Currently, all we know of you is that you have these hobbies that you particularly enjoy doing at certain times of the day:
Hobby #1
Swimming- I think this is your top sport, especially cool to see when we take a peek at you during ultrasounds. How does it feel to have that cold gel and some sound waves over you? I hope they don't hurt you.
Hobby #2
Tumbling - You love to do this in conjunction with kicking, enjoy your big swimming and wading pool while you can :) Lucky for your it is all yours to enjoy and no twin sister or brother to share the space (I am claustrophobic myself, so I understand if you are doing little tumbles of joy in there with all that freedom.
Hobby #3
Kicking- You love to do little kicks any time of the day, but especially when I drink milk, and eat apples. I suppose you love them? You will be happy to know then that because of you, I've gotten over my lactose intolerance. I've never eaten so many healthy foods ever in my life! You are like my personal nutritionist and health counselor. Your first ever career, what do you know! :)
You love to get my attention when I sit still and watch tv, or try to find my perfect sleeping position at night as I lie in bed. You seem to like classical and jazz music, and I don't know if I imagine you tapping to the beat, which would be really cool if you did! Though, I think I will listen to less rock and alternative music, your kicks are getting more violent! I even witnessed my tummy raise up with your strong kicks.
You will eventually very soon come to realize that your dad is an athlete and an avid sports fan. I put there sports, because he really is into all kinds of it, he watches basketball, football, soccer, tennis, swimming, and is quite good at swimming, too, just like you! But he is best at soccer and floorball, his two favorite sports :) So, he is quite happy to see you being quite a little athlete yourself inside there! Hopefully you retain your sports skills, especially kicking, which would be quite a useful skill for floorball and soccer. I know he is dying to train you, little man!
Hobbily yours,
Your artistic non-sports mom and sporty dad
P.S. Your dad just competed in the annual China Floorball Championship in Beijing last Saturday, they got to the finals undefeated (9 teams in total), that means they won every match before the finals.Your dad scored 2 goals, including the winning goals in one of the stage 2 matches! They then played against the Shanghai Sharks and your dad's team dominated the game but was unable to score and the opponents managed to get 1 point 5 minutes before the game, a very tight game indeed! And so in the end, the Sharks won.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
"Over-nutritionised" myself, I think!
Today I believe I have "over-nutritionised" myself. True, there is no such word... but don't you think there should be one? After all, there is over-accessorize, overfeed, overkill, overdrive, over-study, and so on and so forth of words expressing how people go over the border/ limit. Though I did not go to any buffet spread today, it just so happens that I ate not just for myself and Oliver, but for both my parents as well... twice. The cook prepared a complete family meal of roast chicken, fried fish patties, spinach, and well... alright that's it. It doesn't sound much, but imagine eating 3.5 servings of that, for 2 meals straight, or else risk getting told off for wasting food.
My belly seems to have stretched to its utmost limit, small purple spider veins are showing on the side of my now rather roundish-sharp looking belly. You will probably read me say this a couple more times in my future posts, but I really feel like I cannot expand any further than this, and I am only starting on my 6th month.
My mom also made me drink a rather vile tasting Chinese medicinal herb soup mix with 2 chunks of kidney after my breakfast of pork asado meat buns and oatmeal. I had to throw a quarter of the meat bun away... I swear I tasted roach shit... gross!!! I did a quick search and found out that smelling roach shit is not one of the many symptoms of pregnancy (thank God, we already have more than enough!), as is the case with vomiting, nausea, fish burps from fish oil, etc. So this must mean that it's the real thing... eeww!!!
Add to this I am frantically trying to finish 1.89 L of fat-free milk in 2 days as we bought it on sale and it will go bad tomorrow. Let the food fest madness commensurate with my belly size! I think I will skip on the prenatal vitamins, fish oil, iron pills, and calcium supplements today.
My belly seems to have stretched to its utmost limit, small purple spider veins are showing on the side of my now rather roundish-sharp looking belly. You will probably read me say this a couple more times in my future posts, but I really feel like I cannot expand any further than this, and I am only starting on my 6th month.
My mom also made me drink a rather vile tasting Chinese medicinal herb soup mix with 2 chunks of kidney after my breakfast of pork asado meat buns and oatmeal. I had to throw a quarter of the meat bun away... I swear I tasted roach shit... gross!!! I did a quick search and found out that smelling roach shit is not one of the many symptoms of pregnancy (thank God, we already have more than enough!), as is the case with vomiting, nausea, fish burps from fish oil, etc. So this must mean that it's the real thing... eeww!!!
Add to this I am frantically trying to finish 1.89 L of fat-free milk in 2 days as we bought it on sale and it will go bad tomorrow. Let the food fest madness commensurate with my belly size! I think I will skip on the prenatal vitamins, fish oil, iron pills, and calcium supplements today.
Monday, May 18, 2015
Stealth bombs, moms' stress and effects on the unborn baby
It is possible to experience joy in varying levels with anyone, friends, colleagues, and such. But when it comes to the opposite end of the emotion spectrum, no one can, in my experience, hurt me so much as from someone from my family. I will first explain that of my experience with friends, then with family.
Over the course of many years since I was 7 years old, I have learned the hard way that friends can come and go, and words like "You will be my best friend forever and forever in my whole life", may not be carved in stone. In my case, forever was merely about 4 years wherein I was forgotten and replaced with a new group of friends. This happened exactly 3 times. I have never allowed myself to be emotionally close nor dependent on anyone since then, that is, until I got married last year and can honestly say that I have found my best friend for life.
But I have taken it now with a grain of salt, and have accepted that this has shaped me to become who I am now, and though I look with yearning at friends who gather together with ties that remain strong through the years, there is nothing I can do about it, in my mind, it is better to let things be rather than beg like a poor man.
In the case of blood relations, it can be different. To some extent the expectations you have from your siblings tend to be slightly higher, and yet it is assumed that while respect should always be there, of course, the casual courtesy and words need not be always spoken, needs don't necessarily have to be verbalized. It is assumed that this bond between you that is supposedly thicker than water, would be enough to keep you close no matter the time and distance. This is not always the case though, and when we cannot always depend on our siblings for support, there is a natural and inadvertent "cooling off", though needless to say, the love is still there, at least on my part. As such, words can act like arrows that can shoot straight at the heart, and often this takes a bit more toll on the emotions of the inflicted than that from say, friends.
Allowing oneself to love and be loved makes the heart vulnerable to getting hurt as it is exposed out in the open, with the often mistaken assumption that we will be well taken cared of in our home turf, yet it is often the case that things can turn around just as quickly without a warning and drop a bomb into an otherwise peaceful existence.
Any kind of stress, be it physical or emotional, is never good for the expectant mom and her baby, especially, and it is best to keep a zen-like attitude whenever possible in order to prevent stress on the baby, which may cause pre-term delivery and possibly a host of other health problems after birth. Below is an excerpt from the www.webmd.com on fetal stress:
"Stress is a silent disease," says Dr. Calvin Hobel, director of maternal-fetal medicine at Cedars Sinai and a professor of obstetrics/gynecology and pediatrics at University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA). Typically, one in 10 women delivers pre-term (before 37 weeks). According to studies by Dr. Pathik Wadhwa, assistant professor of behavioral science, obstetrics and gynecology at University of Kentucky College of Medicine: "When the mother is stressed, several biological changes occur, including elevation of stress hormones and increased likelihood of intrauterine infection," Dr. Wadhwa says. "The fetus builds itself permanently to deal with this kind of high-stress environment, and once it's born may be at greater risk for a whole bunch of stress-related pathologies."
Pre-term babies are susceptible to a range of complications later, including low birth weight, chronic lung disease, developmental delays, learning disorders and infant mortality. There is evidence from epidemiological studies and animal research that babies who experience stress in utero are more likely to develop chronic health problems as adults, such as heart disease, high blood pressure and diabetes. Recent studies have likewise suggested that stress in the womb can affect a baby's temperament and neurobehavioral development. Infants whose mothers experienced high levels of stress while pregnant, particularly in the first trimester, show signs of more depression and irritability. In the womb, they also are slower to "habituate" or tune out repeated stimuli -- a skill that, in infants, is an important predictor of IQ.
"Who you are and what you're like when you're pregnant will affect who that baby is," says Janet DiPietro, a developmental psychologist at Johns Hopkins University. "Women's psychological functioning during pregnancy -- their anxiety level, stress, personality -- ultimately affects the temperament of their babies. It has to ... the baby is awash in all the chemicals produced by the mom."
If our unborn baby could talk to stressed-out moms, they would say " Mom, you're stressing me out!" You wouldn't want that to be your baby's first words, would you? Mental note to myself and a message to all moms, relax, and keep a positive attitude for the sake of your unborn child.
Over the course of many years since I was 7 years old, I have learned the hard way that friends can come and go, and words like "You will be my best friend forever and forever in my whole life", may not be carved in stone. In my case, forever was merely about 4 years wherein I was forgotten and replaced with a new group of friends. This happened exactly 3 times. I have never allowed myself to be emotionally close nor dependent on anyone since then, that is, until I got married last year and can honestly say that I have found my best friend for life.
But I have taken it now with a grain of salt, and have accepted that this has shaped me to become who I am now, and though I look with yearning at friends who gather together with ties that remain strong through the years, there is nothing I can do about it, in my mind, it is better to let things be rather than beg like a poor man.
In the case of blood relations, it can be different. To some extent the expectations you have from your siblings tend to be slightly higher, and yet it is assumed that while respect should always be there, of course, the casual courtesy and words need not be always spoken, needs don't necessarily have to be verbalized. It is assumed that this bond between you that is supposedly thicker than water, would be enough to keep you close no matter the time and distance. This is not always the case though, and when we cannot always depend on our siblings for support, there is a natural and inadvertent "cooling off", though needless to say, the love is still there, at least on my part. As such, words can act like arrows that can shoot straight at the heart, and often this takes a bit more toll on the emotions of the inflicted than that from say, friends.
Allowing oneself to love and be loved makes the heart vulnerable to getting hurt as it is exposed out in the open, with the often mistaken assumption that we will be well taken cared of in our home turf, yet it is often the case that things can turn around just as quickly without a warning and drop a bomb into an otherwise peaceful existence.
Any kind of stress, be it physical or emotional, is never good for the expectant mom and her baby, especially, and it is best to keep a zen-like attitude whenever possible in order to prevent stress on the baby, which may cause pre-term delivery and possibly a host of other health problems after birth. Below is an excerpt from the www.webmd.com on fetal stress:
"Stress is a silent disease," says Dr. Calvin Hobel, director of maternal-fetal medicine at Cedars Sinai and a professor of obstetrics/gynecology and pediatrics at University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA). Typically, one in 10 women delivers pre-term (before 37 weeks). According to studies by Dr. Pathik Wadhwa, assistant professor of behavioral science, obstetrics and gynecology at University of Kentucky College of Medicine: "When the mother is stressed, several biological changes occur, including elevation of stress hormones and increased likelihood of intrauterine infection," Dr. Wadhwa says. "The fetus builds itself permanently to deal with this kind of high-stress environment, and once it's born may be at greater risk for a whole bunch of stress-related pathologies."
Pre-term babies are susceptible to a range of complications later, including low birth weight, chronic lung disease, developmental delays, learning disorders and infant mortality. There is evidence from epidemiological studies and animal research that babies who experience stress in utero are more likely to develop chronic health problems as adults, such as heart disease, high blood pressure and diabetes. Recent studies have likewise suggested that stress in the womb can affect a baby's temperament and neurobehavioral development. Infants whose mothers experienced high levels of stress while pregnant, particularly in the first trimester, show signs of more depression and irritability. In the womb, they also are slower to "habituate" or tune out repeated stimuli -- a skill that, in infants, is an important predictor of IQ.
"Who you are and what you're like when you're pregnant will affect who that baby is," says Janet DiPietro, a developmental psychologist at Johns Hopkins University. "Women's psychological functioning during pregnancy -- their anxiety level, stress, personality -- ultimately affects the temperament of their babies. It has to ... the baby is awash in all the chemicals produced by the mom."
If our unborn baby could talk to stressed-out moms, they would say " Mom, you're stressing me out!" You wouldn't want that to be your baby's first words, would you? Mental note to myself and a message to all moms, relax, and keep a positive attitude for the sake of your unborn child.
Hugs to all pregnant moms who are going through the same struggles. <3
Sunday, May 17, 2015
A woman's body
Our body* was created and designed for motherhood.
Note: You must biologically be a woman for
this to hold true.
My body has been changing drastically over the course of a few weeks... needless to say, my belly looks like it is about to burst, they have officially gone over and beyond my now (much) bigger boobs (I am not complaining, some good things do come out of pregnancy after all). My lower spine is shaped like a convex to allow my uterus to expand, I feel the urge to sit like a man most of the time, that is, with my legs spread out. Somehow it provides me a better sense of balance. I like to sit at the edge of the seat as well, if I know I am not intending to stay put for long, or way, way deep into the sofa and lean back with pillows supporting my butt and back, when I am reading or watching the telly. Crossing my legs is almost impossible. My legs, hands and feet look as if air has been pumped into them, though unfortunately I don't feel any lighter...
For the first time ever in my life, I am having a bad case of back-ne (my term for back acne), and my facial acne has been quite persistent as well with making their presence felt.
I am more calm, almost on an automatic zen autopilot most of the days, though my alter-ego, whom my husband calls, "Miss Justice", manifests herself in times of , well, potentially unjust situations, such as it has occurred twice yesterday (first with the Uber driver, and second while falling in line at the supermarket). My parents got so worried that my sense of making things right and fair (only to them they can only see the manifestation in the form of an "argument", which is really a pointed short spat in mature, sensible tones), yet they are most afraid this will possibly get me killed. They have suggested that I be banned from taking Uber and going out as a result of these recent incidents, almost as if I am a rabid huge bellied beast who can get out of control and wreak havoc with perfect strangers (not totally untrue if they are rude to me first), and bring about my own demise.
As I type down the above letters I feel a
few reassuring kicks of agreement in my belly, Oliver seems to agree with me.
Nice to know that someone is on my side...
Saturday, May 16, 2015
Birthday wishes
Today admittedly, was not the best of days... the Uber taxi driver took me and my mom for a spin, and was perhaps the rudest, most unprofessional taxi driver I have ever encountered in my entire life. Felt a bit better after shopping at my favorite American goods supermarket, S&R, though it isn't the most pregnant- friendly place with no chairs and seemingly endless rows and aisles of goods that beg the shopper to go deeper and deeper into its recesses....
However one good thing does happen every year on this day... my hun's birthday.
As we are apart from each other this year, I decided to surprise him with this greeting on social media:
Palju õnne minu üks ja ainus armastus, tänan teid teha mul saada isegi parem inimene, aitäh tuua rõõmu ja armastust oma ellu ... Ma tänan Jumalat iga päev tuua sind oma ellu. Võib te jätkuvalt leida rõõmu, edu, head tervist ja soojust armastus sõprade ja perega, sa väärid seda kõik! Soojem ja palju armastust heart emoticon
生日快乐，我唯一的爱，谢谢你让我成为一个更好的人，感谢你带来欢乐和爱到我的生活。我感谢上帝为每天有你在我的生活上。希望你继续得到快乐，成功，身体健康，热爱朋友和家人的温暖，你值得拥有这一切！拥抱，多爱♥
Happy birthday to my one and only love, thank you for making me become an even better person, thank you for bringing joy and love into my life... I thank God everyday for bringing you into my life. May you continue to find joy, success, good health, and the warmth of love from friends and family, you deserve it all! Hugs and much love heart emoticon
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Not-so-last minute superstitions
As I am made to realize that I am on the last month of my 2nd trimester, I feel a bit of a panic (I like to prepare in advance most of the times, hence though I am not on my last trimester, I feel the urge to prepare in advance and exhibit my slightly panicked state).
And no, I do not mean panic overall. Rather, I realize that this is almost my last chance to subscribe to some pregnancy superstitions, just for fun and with a bit of precaution as well. First is the belief that listening to music while pregnant will make your baby smarter. Hence, beginning tonight, I have:
1.) Attempted (as of writing have not succeeded yet) to download cute baby photos under the yet another cliche search phrase " cute baby boy". If what I have read is true, that babies take after their mothers' IQ, then ours will be smart in a very practical, obvious way.
2.) Downloaded at least 10, (or I could have omitted one "0" there) baby versions of classical masterpieces
3.) Downloaded two very blatantly labelled albums, the first being " Classical Music for Pregnant Mothers to Enhance a Smart Baby", and the second album aptly titled, "Baby Loves Chopin: Sleep for the Intelligent Baby".
Somehow, the album producer for the first aforementioned album thought that the songs "My Heart Will Go On (Made famous by Titanic), and "Crush" by David Archuleta will make our baby smarter. Also, I am quite sure that the true great musical geniuses of Strauss, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Debussy, Wagner, Vivaldi, Dvorak, Mendelssohn, etc. also included in the album and pitted side by side with the above-mentioned "popular" songs will turn in their graves and spit gutter oil*.
*Those who have read about the gutter oil scandal in China's street food will get what I am talking about.
Here are some photos I have narrowed down for my phone wallpaper. There is a superstition that moms need to keep looking at cute babies so that the baby will come out cute. I can't decide which is the cutest! Any thoughts?
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These are my top 3 choices. Well, top 2. As I was saving the first photo, the file name "cute baby girl.jpg" popped up, even though I clearly Googled "cute baby boys". I guess even Google is confused with these cute little ones , them starting out being predominantly bald and round face and all, irregardless of gender.
The third one, I feel, ranks pretty high on the reality/possibility scale of what Oliver may look like, as I am a big-almond-eyed Chinese gal, while my husband is blonde haired and blue eyed. And yes, needless to say, he is not chinky-eyed. The third baby does kind of look a bit mixed race, doesn't he? :)
Here are my other 2 pickings. You probably can understand now why it has been so difficult for me to choose the right...cellphone and laptop wallpaper, right? (P.S. I am also a Virgo)
By way of these photos, you might have already guessed the result of today's ultrasound test... you guessed it... I won the bet...it's a boy! :D
Here are his ultrasound photos from today's visit... baby Oliver Markus is 24 weeks, 3 days old today :D
Oops. Sorry this had to be the first photo here, as it was the first to have been transferred successfully to my drive. It is, though a bit too blunt...the most important determinant of our baby's gender after al! :D My Ob Gyne Dra. Lagman has made it a point to take a screenshot of our baby's package.
Here are the rest:
Our baby's head
Our baby's stomach and bladder (I didn't understand why this was hand-picked by our doctor to be photographed...for some reason she thought this was more important than the torso and face). I guess, it kind of figures when you really think about it... without the stomach holding the food, how can the body even afford to feed a face?
I have a slightly huge mass of myoma on my right uterus, but doctors in Shanghai and Manila told me not to worry. On the right of the photo is another emphasis on the all important determining factor for a male baby, and if that "thumbs up" wasn't clear enough, three bold letters "B-O-Y" are likewise spelled out clearly for the visually challenged.
This is what our doctor's office's waiting room looks like. You can tell she loves anything that portrays a mom and her child.
You can also pretty much guess her age by subtracting the dates of the newspaper features about her on her wall and the current year :) She still looks very beautiful and elegant though. One more thing, when my mom found out that it was a boy, she slapped my doctor silly several times, and litterally did small jumps of joy. It was quite funny :D
This is such good news to us, we are all looking forward to buying little Oliver some new clothes and stuff in shades of baby blue :) No more purple or yellow this time! (see previous post)
And no, I do not mean panic overall. Rather, I realize that this is almost my last chance to subscribe to some pregnancy superstitions, just for fun and with a bit of precaution as well. First is the belief that listening to music while pregnant will make your baby smarter. Hence, beginning tonight, I have:
1.) Attempted (as of writing have not succeeded yet) to download cute baby photos under the yet another cliche search phrase " cute baby boy". If what I have read is true, that babies take after their mothers' IQ, then ours will be smart in a very practical, obvious way.
2.) Downloaded at least 10, (or I could have omitted one "0" there) baby versions of classical masterpieces
3.) Downloaded two very blatantly labelled albums, the first being " Classical Music for Pregnant Mothers to Enhance a Smart Baby", and the second album aptly titled, "Baby Loves Chopin: Sleep for the Intelligent Baby".
Somehow, the album producer for the first aforementioned album thought that the songs "My Heart Will Go On (Made famous by Titanic), and "Crush" by David Archuleta will make our baby smarter. Also, I am quite sure that the true great musical geniuses of Strauss, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Debussy, Wagner, Vivaldi, Dvorak, Mendelssohn, etc. also included in the album and pitted side by side with the above-mentioned "popular" songs will turn in their graves and spit gutter oil*.
*Those who have read about the gutter oil scandal in China's street food will get what I am talking about.
Here are some photos I have narrowed down for my phone wallpaper. There is a superstition that moms need to keep looking at cute babies so that the baby will come out cute. I can't decide which is the cutest! Any thoughts?
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These are my top 3 choices. Well, top 2. As I was saving the first photo, the file name "cute baby girl.jpg" popped up, even though I clearly Googled "cute baby boys". I guess even Google is confused with these cute little ones , them starting out being predominantly bald and round face and all, irregardless of gender.
The third one, I feel, ranks pretty high on the reality/possibility scale of what Oliver may look like, as I am a big-almond-eyed Chinese gal, while my husband is blonde haired and blue eyed. And yes, needless to say, he is not chinky-eyed. The third baby does kind of look a bit mixed race, doesn't he? :)
Here are my other 2 pickings. You probably can understand now why it has been so difficult for me to choose the right...cellphone and laptop wallpaper, right? (P.S. I am also a Virgo)
By way of these photos, you might have already guessed the result of today's ultrasound test... you guessed it... I won the bet...it's a boy! :D
Here are his ultrasound photos from today's visit... baby Oliver Markus is 24 weeks, 3 days old today :D
Oops. Sorry this had to be the first photo here, as it was the first to have been transferred successfully to my drive. It is, though a bit too blunt...the most important determinant of our baby's gender after al! :D My Ob Gyne Dra. Lagman has made it a point to take a screenshot of our baby's package.
Here are the rest:
Our baby's head
Our baby's stomach and bladder (I didn't understand why this was hand-picked by our doctor to be photographed...for some reason she thought this was more important than the torso and face). I guess, it kind of figures when you really think about it... without the stomach holding the food, how can the body even afford to feed a face?
I have a slightly huge mass of myoma on my right uterus, but doctors in Shanghai and Manila told me not to worry. On the right of the photo is another emphasis on the all important determining factor for a male baby, and if that "thumbs up" wasn't clear enough, three bold letters "B-O-Y" are likewise spelled out clearly for the visually challenged.
This is what our doctor's office's waiting room looks like. You can tell she loves anything that portrays a mom and her child.
You can also pretty much guess her age by subtracting the dates of the newspaper features about her on her wall and the current year :) She still looks very beautiful and elegant though. One more thing, when my mom found out that it was a boy, she slapped my doctor silly several times, and litterally did small jumps of joy. It was quite funny :D
This is such good news to us, we are all looking forward to buying little Oliver some new clothes and stuff in shades of baby blue :) No more purple or yellow this time! (see previous post)
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
A job for a boy, a dinner for a girl
Today I am on my 24th week and 4th day, having just entered my 6th month of my 2nd trimester of pregnancy.
Perhaps one of the more exciting phases of pregnancy is coming up in just a few hours... our baby will finally reveal himself/herself as a boy or a girl, and we will finally be able to make the following choices:
- Finalize our baby name
- Decide on the appropriate color scheme for the nursery
- Begin to purchase baby clothes appropriate to his/her gender
- Do away with the oh-so-limited choices of either yellow or purple (Chinese moms automatically suggest these two colors as safe colors for both a boy and a girl---)
Note: It is forbidden to reveal an unborn baby's gender in China... I know...PREPOSTEROUS!
Also, purple and yellow reminds me of the traditional Filipino rice cake dessert "sapin-sapin" which though is not bad tasting, is cheap and nothing but a lot of food coloring covering mashed rice. And I certainly don't want to be reminded of this mashed rice disguised in a colorful masquerade party every time I see our baby's things. Plus, I just don't have a sweet tooth. I have quite a salty tooth actually, if that term exists at all..
Does this mean that if I were to be stuck with a purple and yellow scheme, that we would have to pair it with a green bed sheet as well??? (such as above) Oh, Lord help us...
If our baby turns out to be a girl, she might be named: Sophie* Anne
And if he turns out to be a boy, he will be named: Oliver Markus
*Our Parisian flatmate has contested the validity of this name pairing, as most French like to contest and argue about most things, and has stated matter of factly that "Sophie" is supposed to be a middle name, not a first name, as is the custom in France. Well, we are neither French nor will ever be one, so I suppose we could make our own rules... :)
...and my number one rule is, no ambiguous color schemes that resemble cheap artificial-color-laden rice desserts. :p It is just too much for my gestational diabetes (perhaps more on that later)
Lastly, my husband and I have made a bet. When he learned that I will be visiting my OB Gyne today in Manila (where, like the rest of the world, we are allowed to know our unborn baby's gender), he said "Oh you know what that means?" (No...what?) "That means it is our last chance to make a bet on whether our baby is a girl or a boy!" Right. How can I forget this crucial bit?
Since I have been getting a lot of kicks (the ones that remind me of David Beckham), I am betting that our baby will be a boy. I might have also seen a teeny something jutting out in-between our baby's legs that the Shanghainese sonographer hurriedly tried to glaze over, and which my husband may have missed. So a boy it is, for me. And because of this, obviously there wouldn't be a bet if my husband bet that our baby would be a boy, too, right?? He therefore bet on/ " was surreptitiously "assigned" to bet on our baby being a girl. The prize, if I win, is that he finds a good-paying job in the IT sector that can take advantage of his Big Data market research training with IBM. Should he win, I shall cook a lovely dinner for him (which of course I can partake in, as well, he was quick to add).
Sounds like a pretty fair deal to me. My journey to motherhood has indeed arrived.
Perhaps one of the more exciting phases of pregnancy is coming up in just a few hours... our baby will finally reveal himself/herself as a boy or a girl, and we will finally be able to make the following choices:
- Finalize our baby name
- Decide on the appropriate color scheme for the nursery
- Begin to purchase baby clothes appropriate to his/her gender
- Do away with the oh-so-limited choices of either yellow or purple (Chinese moms automatically suggest these two colors as safe colors for both a boy and a girl---)
Note: It is forbidden to reveal an unborn baby's gender in China... I know...PREPOSTEROUS!
Also, purple and yellow reminds me of the traditional Filipino rice cake dessert "sapin-sapin" which though is not bad tasting, is cheap and nothing but a lot of food coloring covering mashed rice. And I certainly don't want to be reminded of this mashed rice disguised in a colorful masquerade party every time I see our baby's things. Plus, I just don't have a sweet tooth. I have quite a salty tooth actually, if that term exists at all..
Does this mean that if I were to be stuck with a purple and yellow scheme, that we would have to pair it with a green bed sheet as well??? (such as above) Oh, Lord help us...
If our baby turns out to be a girl, she might be named: Sophie* Anne
And if he turns out to be a boy, he will be named: Oliver Markus
*Our Parisian flatmate has contested the validity of this name pairing, as most French like to contest and argue about most things, and has stated matter of factly that "Sophie" is supposed to be a middle name, not a first name, as is the custom in France. Well, we are neither French nor will ever be one, so I suppose we could make our own rules... :)
...and my number one rule is, no ambiguous color schemes that resemble cheap artificial-color-laden rice desserts. :p It is just too much for my gestational diabetes (perhaps more on that later)
Lastly, my husband and I have made a bet. When he learned that I will be visiting my OB Gyne today in Manila (where, like the rest of the world, we are allowed to know our unborn baby's gender), he said "Oh you know what that means?" (No...what?) "That means it is our last chance to make a bet on whether our baby is a girl or a boy!" Right. How can I forget this crucial bit?
Since I have been getting a lot of kicks (the ones that remind me of David Beckham), I am betting that our baby will be a boy. I might have also seen a teeny something jutting out in-between our baby's legs that the Shanghainese sonographer hurriedly tried to glaze over, and which my husband may have missed. So a boy it is, for me. And because of this, obviously there wouldn't be a bet if my husband bet that our baby would be a boy, too, right?? He therefore bet on/ " was surreptitiously "assigned" to bet on our baby being a girl. The prize, if I win, is that he finds a good-paying job in the IT sector that can take advantage of his Big Data market research training with IBM. Should he win, I shall cook a lovely dinner for him (which of course I can partake in, as well, he was quick to add).
Sounds like a pretty fair deal to me. My journey to motherhood has indeed arrived.
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