TV Mom I know when I've been watching far too much television when I start thinking in terms of TV world and characters. I spend all the time I am breastfeeding watching television, mostly watching re-runs of Gilmore Girls and Grey's Anatomy.Then, this morning, I see a trailer on television for a new medical drama called Mercy. And it prompts me to text Packrat."There's a new hospital show called Mercy with Michelle Trachtenberg in it. No wonder Mercy had to merge with Seattle Grace".and when the Private Practice trailers aired"Private Practice sucks. LA doesn't suit Addison Montgomery. Maybe it'll shut down and Addison Montgomery and her beautiful stilettos will move back to Seattle".Yes, they are now all real people in my life.How sad is my life!Technorati Tags: Breastfeeding, television shows, Grey's Anatomy Bad hair day Between the two children, Evan is easier to wake. Waking them up is a big thing because their school bus picks them up at the ridiculous time of 7.15 am and I live in the perpetual fear of the school bus going off without them. Anyway, between them, Evan is easier to rouse. Sometimes, he even gets up on his own accord before I wake him up. When he does, he is instantly alert. He'll strike a conversation on top of his voice, turn on the music and start dancing to it and is pretty much ready to do brain surgery. Of course, this annoys me a little bit because that half an hour before the whole house wakes and springs into action is my half an hour of quiet time, where I can surf and blog while I express.Jordan on the other hand, doesn't function well for a good hour after she is awake. Because she is used to being roused by me on a weekday, she moves through her sleep-induced sludge state at a slightly faster rate and is just about awake enough to get her shoes on and walk in the right direction to the lift. Most mornings, I dress her while she has her eyes pursed shut, desperately trying to squeeze another few moments of shut eye.On this particular morning, she was ever reluctant to get herself off the bed so we ended up tying her hair while she lay in bed. When she eventually did sit up, the results were hilarious. Her hair looked like something out of a Dr Seuss book. Add her dopey, bleary face to it and it was something worth laughing about even though the sun wasn't up yet.Of course, by the time the both of them get home from school, they are in bigger states of mess. Jordan's ponytails would be drooping sadly, Evan's shirt would be tucked out and would bear evidence of whatever medium of drawing they messed about with in school.Packrat looks at them and proudly announces that they look every bit the scruffy ACS boy he was when he was in school. My response is a loud 'tsk'.Technorati Tags: twins, school Earth Unfriendly I try very hard to be environmentally friendly. I try to remember to bring my shopping bags to the supermarkets. I try to buy refills rather than new bottles of soap/detergent etc even though they are more expensive. I try to take the bus rather than drive if I can help it. So, naturally when I had the twins, I thought of the best way to be environmentally friendly. With twins, it's even harder. Diapers as it is wreak havoc with global warming. Someone told me that soiled diapers were actually great fire retardents and that made me think about how much they must contribute to global warming.But as they grew older and it became more obvious that to fulfill their needs, I was going to destroy the environment even more. It wasn't just the diapers.I breastfed and I still breastfeed because I want to save on formula and because it's better for the baby. But in order to do so, I end up storing milk and I store milk in milk bags. These milk bags are plastic and are not reusuable and we have to dump them after one use.Then there are breastpads. These breastpads are individually wrapped in plastic and they themselves are lined with plastic. And once again, they get dumped at the end of the day.I'm sure there are ways to be an environmentally friendlier mom. But it's hard. I use washable diapers but they get the baby's clothes wet and we end up having to change him more and washing more clothes. I could use environmentally friendly, biodegradable diapers but those cost so much more. I could use washable breast pads but apparently, they don't work so well. And milk bags, I could use glass bottles but I have a happy problem of producing copious amounts of milk and glass bottles just take up too much space.I should try harder I guess. I just have to rally more energy to get going. That's the hard part.Technorati Tags: newborn baby, carbon footprint Art Club President? One of my worst memories of secondary school was of the first exam I ever failed. I'd never failed anything before that, at an exam level anyway. I failed many things after that but that's not the point here. I remember it very clearly. I was one of two people who failed and the other person who failed, is one of my best friends today and both of us remember staring forlornly round the class after receiving our dismal results. We bonded because of our misery. What exam was it? It was inconsequential but it was memorable. It was my first art exam and I failed at drawing a still life of a papaya.It was made even more memorable when I married Packrat. Sometime after we started going out, I found out to great mock horror that he was the former president of his school's art club. There is a certain amount of irony in it; me, the former track athlete getting married to the art club president. Talk about polar opposites. The jockette marrying the equivalent to the band geek. Anyway, I have recently found out that Baby J takes after her father, in terms of artistic abilities. We've known for a long time that she has quite good fine motor control and knows how to hold the pen or pencil like an adult. She gets very annoyed with jumbo sized crayons because she doesn't know how to hold those ones properly. Her little hand doesn't have the ability to grasp the crayon properly.Some days ago, I found her scrawling. I asked her what she was drawing and she said 'Mommy', 'Papa', ' Jordan', 'Evan' and 'Di-di'. When I looked, I was amazed that her drawings actually resembled faces. The smallest and darkest one three quarters way down the page is Muffin. The smiley face was my addition after I saw what she'd done. The one in the middle reminds me a little bit of John Lennon's Imagine album.Both Packrat and I were pleasantly surprised and it just adds up to yet another activity I wish I could afford to let her do more of, with better supplies and no fear of walls becoming fully vandalised!Technorati Tags: twins, drawing Starting early A friend complained that her newborn baby behaved the exact same way he did when he was in-utero. He'd sleep most of the day and would kick her black and blue from the inside through the night. I always thought things like that were coincidences.Then this morning, Muffin sucked his fist. He did it with gusto, fervor and lots of noise. I looked at him and thought that I'd seen him in that exact position and trust my porridge brain, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember where. I kept scrolling through the hundreds of photos we'd taken of him over the past month and I couldn't find the image I was seeing in my mind.It occurred to me then that the image I was thinking about was one that was taken before he was born. Towards the end of the pregnancy, Muffin had presented us with decent mug shots. And one of them was him sucking his fist, albeit the outer part of his fist but his fist nonetheless.And the look of contentment was similar too.Incidentally, today marks Muffin's first month. Happy One Month, Muffin and may you have many more yummy, fist-sucking months ahead.Technorati Tags: newborn, ultrasound Permanent Solution While discussing contraception with Packrat, he asks, if we could really afford it, as in have enough help, be able to send the kids to their choice school and even have enough to send them overseas, would I EVER consider having Number 4?I let it roll around my head for a little bit.I thought about how I love the smell of the baby. I thought about how I love their inate baby-ness and how sweet it was when the baby looked at you and grabbed your finger.I thought about the very superficial fact that I would miss my Ob-gyn. I thought about the long moments I have, staring in awe at my baby as he feeds from my breast and clings on to me as if I were a life-line. I thought about how I would love to have another baby girl and be able to shop for pretty clothes. I thought about all the funny things the twins say and wondered what it would be like to have another few years of that.Then I thought about going through childbirth again. The pregnancy and the throwing up. I thought about the uncertainty of a new infant's feeds. I thought about the nervousness I had, wondering if the baby was developing okay. I thought about the breastfeeding and sleepless nights. And the tantrums to come. And one more child to worry about, take to the Emergency department. Weather through fevers, coughs, runny noses and the assortment of medicine associated with that. I thought about myself and how I need to shed a whole ton of weight and how, unless I went for surgery, I'd never get my abdominal six-pack back and how I fall asleep every single chance I get.And the answer was, even if we could afford it (and that is already a very big IF), a very certain, very definite, over my dead body, NO.We're stopping at 3. Thank you very much.Technorati Tags: pregnancy, birth rate Sibling aggro Even though the twins generally get along and play together, half the time, they are bickering and irritating the heck out of each other and by extension, me. There is a scale. When it is full blown, I have to intervene and really take them to task. If it's just bickering, I leave them to sort it out among themselves.This morning in the car, they were imitating how I would scold them. And that escalated into Jordan smacking Evan and Evan telling her to "STOP IT" in Mommy tone.Jordan: Why stop it?Evan: Because the ambulance will come (We were turning out of the hospital after their dental appointment). Ambulance take Jordan go away.Mommy: Why would the ambulance do that?Evan: Ambulance take naughty Jordan go away!That stunned Jordan a little bit. While she processed it and a garbage truck passes us by, her imperious brother adds,Evan: Garbage truck come. Throw Jordan away. Jordan 'chou chou' (smelly)After a while, Jordan (in a small voice): No garbage truck. No ambulance. Sorry Di Di.Evan- 1, Jordan- 0.Technorati Tags: twins, siblings Avatar hands I decided it was time to repeat my coloured pasta collection for the twins. This time, I was a bit more adventurous and did all the primary colours as well as green and orange. The first batch I made were blue ones and they were a bit wet, hence staining my fingers pretty.Evan saw my hand from a far and demanded I wash my hands and that my hands were dirty. I acceded but showed him that the blue wouldn't come off. He then went around telling everyone in the house that Mommy had dirty hands. Then, while getting him to bed for his nap, I reached out to stroke his hand. He recoiled from my hand as I were going to slap him.Evan: Mommy, don't touch Evan!Me: Why?Evan: Mommy has dirty hands. Don't touch Evan. Evan become dirty.Me: Ok, can I touch you with my clean hand?Evan: Let Evan see hand. (Examines my other hand and thankfully misses the yellow stains on it). Ok, Mommy sayang Evan with clean hand.Right. Ungrateful child. I do however have prettily coloured elbow shaped pasta for the twins to play with. I'm going to give them some string and they can make colourful pasta bead necklaces.Incidentally, I dropped two blue pasta shells into my pail of steaming hot herbal bath water. I commented to the Nanny that if I came out Avatar blue after my bath, it was because of the dyed blue pasta shells. She laughed so hard she almost dropped Muffin. She also told Muffin that his Mommy was certifiably nuts.But we already knew that.Technorati Tags: twins, home made toys Where'd the moon go? Last night was the last day of the Lunar New Year and it was supposed to be the time to catch the fullest lunar moon in 54 years. This is hearsay from the only person who reads the papers in the house, our nanny. We can't corroborate it because we don't read enough Chinese words to be able to put 2 and 2 together. That is why I was extremely puzzled when Dylan's Godma, Olie, was hesitant to take up the role of Godma based on the fact that she could not read the Bible in Chinese. Anyway. I digress.We allowed the twins to stay up past their bed time as we went in search of the moon. Unfortunately, we found nothing. It had something to do with the fact that we live in an HDB flat and we are surrounded be other equally high blocks.Anyway, this marks the end of the first Chinese New Year that the twins were actually aware of, being able to greet their elders bilingually and offer oranges and clasped hands. It helps that they are in school and school has taught them the appropriate CNY greetings and songs.Of course, with all songs, they adulterate it. But it's worked for them because relatives are so amused by their two-person act that they are often given extra ang pows for the entertainment. This one that I managed to record,, they ramp it up and make it sound like they are singing it on speed. There are 2 versions. The relatively more sedate one and the one ramped up with Jordan interrupting it and exclaiming that something is "SOOOOO BIG".The mellower versionMy kids, on speed. Technorati Tags: twins, Chinese New Year Reality Bites When I'm up at 5 in the morning and the whole house is silent and I have only my own thoughts for company, my brain kicks into overdrive and mulls over all the problems that we are facing. Our need to figure out child-care arrangements. The nanny leaving. Our severe lack of funds. The fact that my helper seems to be a hindrance more than a help. And slowly my world spins. On a good morning, I get proactive and try and do something about any one of the above. On a bad morning, it sends me spiraling into despair and convinced that I won't be able to get through this. These are not problems that I can talk to easily with my friends. It sounds trivial, it sounds 'solvable' and it doesn't sound panic inducing. Plus I'm guessing I never tell it right. So much of the time, when panic grips, all I can do is either allow myself to cry or get myself some therapy. And the best and most easily available therapy now, thank goodness, is free and comes in the form of 3 children, one of whom has a wonderfully intoxicating baby smell and the other two have mega-watt grins and laughter that fills the house. It's a chicken and egg, vicious cycle thing. If not for the kids, I'd never have to worry about these things. But if not for the fact that I have to worry about these things, I'd never see how great it was to have kids. Beavis and Butthead The twins are at an age where when they are not annoying one another or annoying me, they are quite funny.Vignette 1:Evan has discovered that my belly no longer resembles that of a beach ball. After a few instances of my repeating that Baby 'Di Di' is no longer in my tummy but in the room next to his, he's finally caught on that there's nothing in my belly anymore. But he insists something is different.So today he says with authority "Mommy has new belly button"Mommy: What's happened to Mommy's old belly button?Evan: Lost.Mommy: How did Mommy lose it?Evan: Throw away. Get new one.Vignette 2:Jordan loves to read. Recently, it's become more coherent as in there are real words to it. Here she is, reading something to her brother. She's struck his funny bone and he cannot stop laughing. She's desperately trying not to but is tickled to the core as well.Transcript:Evan: Beavis and Butthead laughter.Jordan: Why you laugh?Evan: So funny!Jordan: This is the cow. And this is the tail. And the long legs.Evan: Chuckle chuckle, laugh laugh.Jordan: So funny! ... (the rest is incoherent, even to me)Someone told me I should be worried that my 2 years 7 months children cannot read. Well, some days I want to be worried but it's hard to be when faced with these earnest efforts.Technorati Tags: twins, reading Grounded for life There are very few things I like about confinement. So much so that I find myself breaking a lot of the confinement rules much to the displeasure of the older generation who 'tsk' their way through my bathing and washing my hair daily as well as finding excuses to nip out of the house. I don't do close quarters well. Never have. When I was expecting the twins and was put on 2 weeks bedrest, I used to order Packrat to take me out for drives at night just so that I could get out of the house. I will be one of those prisoners-of-war that will break the minute I am put into solitary confinement.Anyway, there are some things that I actually do like about confinement. I like the fact that I have a nanny who helps with Muffin although some would say I am just delaying the inevitable because come 28 days, I will have to fend for myself. But that's another story altogether.I do also like the fact that I get to be massaged everyday for 7 days. This is to get rid of the pregnancy belly and the older generation believes that it also tones the uterus, which prevents future prolapses. How it works is I get bound, with a piece of cloth 10m. I am bound within an inch of our life. My Facebook update for the first few days was "Ondine is bound so tight she could be in a Jane Austen novel" or Kiera Knightly in Pride and Prejudice and Pirates of the Caribbean or Kate Winslet in Titanic. And for the duration of my being wrapped up, I look like I have a beautifully svelte figure. Thankfully the suffering and the tolerating of strong lemongrass oil has worked and I don't look pregnant anymore.Once the nanny realised that fighting me on the bathing issue was a lost cause, she insisted that I had to bathe in an herbal concoction. That is my other favourite thing about confinement. The herbal bath water. It smells heavenly and makes your skin tingle after having poured it all over. Spa going women all over pay lots of money to have such baths drawn for them at the spa. The only thing different between my experience and a spa one is that my bath water is unceremoniously dumped into a large blue pail and I scoop it out with a container and pour it all over myself. But even that holds charm for me because it brings back memories of how I used to take baths in my grandmother's house before she had a shower head installed. A boiling kettle of water into the sink, mixed with cold water and a scoop to scoop it out with.So, for all the angst that I go through during confinement and even on a good day, there is some, there are little nuggets that keep me sane. Thank God for the little things.Technorati Tags: newborn, confinement A regular day Since Muffin's been born, I haven't blogged much about the twins. It's not so much that I don't want to but generally exhaustion and the lack of time I have on the computer with both hands free prevent me from being able to frame a post around the twins that isn't a narration of what they did or did not do that day.Anyway, most have asked how the twins are taking to Muffin's arrival. The short version is Jordan loves him to bits and wants to carry him all the time and shower him with kisses. Which in itself is extremely cute except for the fact that she's coughing and doesn't grasp the concept of NOT kissing his lips or his fingers.Evan is a little bit more reserved with him but he seems to love the little Muffin too. He also knows that every time he kisses Muffin or shows him affection, he gets a kiss from Mommy for being a great Kor Kor. He does however need me more these days and does act up a bit more. It's a combination of feeling usurped and the Terrible Twos.So, as far as possible I try to do things with them that make their day more regular than irregular. Most of the time, unless Muffin needs to be fed, I try to hang out with them or do stuff that isn't different from what I used to do when it was just them. That way, there is a sense of normality for them. Of course, there is still the ever-present guilt but at least these are the little things they enjoy.For Evan, it's been his Yakult. He wants it. All the time. At his old school, they had it every other day. At this new kindy, they don't have it at all so I buy it occasionally and give it to him. He tries his luck and will just open the fridge; something I am trying to stop him from doing, especially now that there is expressed milk in the fridge. Most of the time, there isn't anything that actually interests him in there but just as he's about to lose faith in the Yakult providing God, a packet of five appears and he is chuffed beyond words.He savours every last drop, drinking it from the tip of the straw, downing it from the bottle, sipping it slowly and sucking up grape vapours when the bottle is empty. Sticky and purple, he'll happily go off for his bath after he's done with it. I don't know what it is about Yakult or in his case Vitagen with Less Sugar (but interchangeable at this point in time to him) but it really makes his day.Jordan, on the other hand, is not so much the Yakult/ Vitagen girl. She'll have about half the bottle and tire of drinking it. Her pursuits are a bit more kinaesthetic and musical. Ever since their concert, where the twins learnt some choreographed dance steps, Jordan has discovered that she has limbs and can manipulate them in different ways. She's put two and two together and dances her way through a bevy of songs. These songs, mostly Chinese, never fail to get her on her toes and waltzing and galloping round the room. Some of her moves show the beginning of grace and it never fails to impress me. Packrat says ballet classes and I'm happy to oblige.I will however, keep the bleeding toenails and smooshed up looking feet a secret till when she is older. And perhaps that'll be when I will show her last pair of pointe shoes that are beat up and torn. And while I'm doing that, I think Packrat will be trying to introduce Evan to basketball which I suspect, he too will take to, like a duck to water. How to induce Mommy guilt #2395 The confinement nanny who is helping to look after Muffin went back for CNY. And this time, I decided that I would take on the sole responsibility of looking after Muffin. Packrat thought that the twins would be quite happy to enjoy the festivities of CNY at their grandparents so he arranged for them to stay there while I stayed home with Muffin. He, the able bodied-not vulnerable to Asian interpretations of "wind", would shuttle between the two camps.Looking after Muffin has been relatively easy. Perhaps it was the baptism of fire 2 years 7 months ago that makes this look like a stroll in the park.But emotionally, I'm a bit of a wreck. I miss my older children. I feel guilty that I haven't done much that is stimulating with them, mostly concentrating on getting them to not smother their little brother or kiss him on the lips. They bring home all sorts of germs from school and even their own bodies don't do the best job deflecting the bugs, what more the body of a 10 day old infant. We've been trying to get Jordan to do her alphabets but she is more interested in other things and I just haven't had the time or energy to be dogged with her about it. With Evan, I've been concentrating on filling up his love tank so all other pursuits are on the back burner.So because of that, I feel like I'm neglecting them and once again, choosing the easy way out; just looking after one child.It's awful that even when I know I'm not doing anything wrong, my conscience finds some way of pushing me off the edge into the ravine of weepiness.Technorati Tags: twins, newborn, siblings A supernatural tale Warning: Somewhat Christian post ahead so beware those who are atheistic, agnostic, non- Christian and possibly all the cynics out there. Hmm, that probably means all of 3 people will read this post. But nevertheless.With each birth, we are made so aware that we are so rarely in control of the entire situation. The list of others who are in control is endless. The doctors, the midwives, sometimes bosses even but the one who seems ultimately in control is God and there's no shaking Him off His track once He's decided what it's going to be, for the larger good. And sometimes, that larger good is so clouded by us struggling to wrest control.Muffin's birth was a true testament to this.It started with his conception. We had so much problems having the twins that the thought never crossed our mind that we'd be able to conceive again if we didn't seek help. When the second line appeared 10 months ago, we were stunned beyond words. And that God had a sense of humour. We also knew God heals hence Muffin's middle name Josiah which truly means "God heals".The minute I found out we were pregnant, I knew that I wanted a natural delivery. I knew that it was going to be a journey fraught with obstacles that we had to clear before we'd be allowed to even consider the VBAC. And truly it was. First, there was the placenta that was on the low side putting the first question mark in the way of the VBAC. But even that, there was some sort of divine intervention. The placenta was low but on the back of the uterine wall. That made it move out of the way slower than had it been on the front. But had it been on the front, there was a greater danger of the placenta attaching itself onto the previous c-section scar.There were lots of prayers and supplications and evidently God deigned fit to hear and grant. The day my doctor told me that and we were in the clear for a VBAC, we went out to celebrate. Of course, he set criteria.1. I had to go into labour naturally.2. The baby couldn't be too big.3. The baby couldn't be in a breech position.4. The scar must not even twitch.We thought the above criteria weren't going to be an issue at all, especially the going into labour naturally part.And that, as most would know was what was bugging us most the last few weeks as the due date grew closer with no signs of Muffin really wanting to get out.But underneath all the stress, angst and being angry with God, I also knew that I really wasn't in control of the situation and that Muffin would arrive and that timing would be perfect in the larger scheme of things. It might not be according to the Lunar New Year calendar or my doctor going on leave or whatever, but he would arrive it was right for him.The week leading up to the 40-week countdown, Jordan came down with a mysterious high fever that wouldn't break. The day she came down with it, I found myself praying that I didn't go into labour that night. I couldn't bear to leave her at that point even if it was to deliver Muffin. But those were also the most angst-filled, tear-filled days. The doctor was becoming more concerned that Muffin wasn't ready by any approximation to leave, we couldn't induce him to do so and there was the question of the doctor being away the following week, cutting short the time we had to wait. I started yelling at the God and wanted to throw bricks into the sky. I was angry for no other reason than the fact that it meant I had to birth Muffin in a way I wasn't intending to. On the one hand, I wanted to be around for Jordan as she fought her virus but on the other hand, I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that I was going to have to give up my idea of a VBAC. Of course, my better angels being Packrat and others who'd been praying for us felt that it just wasn't the right time and rather than feel that God was messing with me (which I truly felt He was), He was giving me what I needed. Peace of mind that Jordan was better and that she wasn't missing me or needing me while I was away.I felt extremely chastened when we found out on Friday morning that I was indeed in labour and well on the way, without even knowing it because it felt at that point that everything had fallen into place perfectly. It was the weekend so Packrat needn't spend his paternity leave with me in hospital, the twins could be at the grandparents' and we didn't have to worry about school arrangements and Jordan was finally well. And far be it for God to say "see, I told you I had it in control", I felt a great sense of peace (as much as woman in labour can be) descend upon me.To the more cynical out there, all this can also very easily be explained away as just coincidences since the baby was going to come out at some point and 39 weeks 6 days is as good a time as any other. But I choose to see the divine intervention in it.Where else I saw that was a little bit more spooky but in a good way. My sister-in-law had told me that during a morning of prayer, she had seen that Muffin's birth would be smooth and fast. Of course, part of me believed it while the other part of me poo-poohed it as something she was making up to make me feel better. But at the same time, Packrat and I had also decided that we were not only going to try to deliver Muffin naturally, we wanted to do it drug-free. Of course, that's been all the rage with hypnobirthing and doulas. We couldn't afford a doula and hypnobirthing was out for us because well, at the risk of sounding flippant, we didn't want to piss God off. We did, however, need to find out more about how we could do it drug free and we did end up speaking to someone who'd trained as a doula but wasn't working as one here. That in itself was a blessing because she was Christian too and knew where we were coming from, plus we hit it off immediately.Armed with all that she taught us, we wanted to make it work and we prayed about it. But at the same time, I was terrified that at some point I was going to cave because of the pain. But all through labour, no matter how painful it was and uncomfortable it was, I just breathed it away as I commanded Packrat to sing hymns to me while I writhed and rattled the rails of the bed or banged on the walls. Every time he did, I would cry but I would be crying from relief as well as the sense that the pain was being uplifted and someone else was taking it on for me. And what was eventually truly amazing was the speed of the delivery. Even though Muffin wasn't my first pregnancy, he was my first vaginal delivery and that often meant things were slightly slower. But because I had chosen not to be on any sort of drugs and I had walked out most of my contractions and labour, things progressed quickly. I am also convinced that God had a great part to play in how fast things progressed. To be honest, if my labour was long-drawn and the contractions and the pushing lasted for hours, I think I might have eventually caved to the allure of a drug-induced haze. But that was something I didn't have to contend with and for that, I am grateful.So, all in, it has been a supernatural experience. One where I had, once again, to learn to cede control because the Big Guy we believe is omnipotent and does indeed know better than us mere mortals. It is a lesson I keep having to learn because of my own disposition and because I am impatient. I am forever, trying to teach Evan to be patient and to wait and it is still a lesson I am having to humble myself to over and over again. And once again, it has also been proven that I haven't been failed. I know and I hesitated writing this post because there are a lot of people out there that seem to have been forgotten by God and have I have no answers as to why it seems that way and I don't want to make it seem like I'm gloating that I have been blessed. But a close friend who was one of my spiritual cheerleaders reminded me that I had to write about this because Muffin needed to know how God was intrinsically involved in his life from the get go.Technorati Tags: Supernatural Birth, birthing, religion Muffin's first day home No time to form an actual post in between feeding, expressing and placating older children so just some photos of Muffin's first full day home.Some comparisons.Unlike Jordan, he likes his baths. Although, like her, he screams bloody murder when he is mopped with a towel in the evening.Like Evan, they assume contemplative moments from the beginning. Muffin is much bigger though. But then again, he didn't have to share womb space with his sister.Note: Photo on the right is actually Evan when he was about a week old. The oven bell finally dinged For everyone who was checking in to see if Muffin finally decided to show up, the wait ended yesterday. At 39 weeks 6 days at 1426 hrs.So, how did we finally evict him? Well, he actually evicted himself. Perhaps because he knew the weekend was coming up. Perhaps he finally got clued in to the fact that his watery home was getting a bit too snug for him. Whatever it is, he chose yesterday to make an appearance.And we only realised it by chance.Early Friday morning, I woke up to pee. Naturally since Muffin was exerting a great amount of pressure on my bladder. When I climbed back into bed, I suddenly realised that the usually active Muffin was not moving at all. 30 minutes of prodding and shaking my belly didn't seem to do anything to rouse him, sending images of his umbilical cord strangling him and other horrors that I'd heard about. Massively panicking, I shook Packrat awake so that he could join me in the panicking.He being a guy, jumped into action and ordered me out of bed and changed to go to the hospital. It was the only way to know for sure. By then, I'd already felt some twitches from Muffin but I'd awaken a sleeping dragon who insisted he wasn't going to rest easy till we put on the trace and ascertained Muffin's well-being.Muffin, being Muffin was fine. Thank God! But incidentally, the trace picked up the fact that I was having regular contractions every 10 minutes. Although the midwife and doctor (whom I felt extremely bad for, having been rudely awaken at 3 am to consult on my case) told us we could go home, Packrat asked the midwife to check if I were dilated. This was a bit of an issue with us because without dilation, Muffin was not going to be able to get out of me naturally. And lo and behold, there was some dilation.To us, that was a good thing and it was met with great relief as well as trepidation. It did mean that while the wait would finally be over, there really would be another child in the house to add to the frenzy of our household.Anyway, despite being then counselled to stay on at the hospital, we decided to go home. For various reasons. One, we'd left suddenly in the middle of the night and our children would probably have been distraught to wake up to find us NOT in our beds. Two, I'd heard from other mums that the worst place to labour was the hospital as it tended to either halt or retard labour.In the ensuing hours, for the first time, the contractions got stronger and more intense rather than disappearing as they had tended to do in the past weeks. And because I was home, I basically had to distract myself from the mounting discomfort.By the time Packrat came back to get me, it was painful enough for me to stop what I was doing. Thankfully, they only lasted about a minute or so and that was the only reason I got through them, knowing that they would only last a minute. Packrat needed lunch and half jokingly suggested we eat at the food court we stopped at. I suspect my 'evil' look is even more intense when I am in pain and that idea was not pursued seriously.The staff in the labour ward were expecting me apparently, because when I showed up, they were like "Yes, you're Ondine. You're the one who requested to go home and you're the one who wants to be able to walk around". True, I had requested to be able to 'walk' my labour off and since the hospital only had one room with the wireless CTG machine, I had asked them to hold the room for me. And I guess they couldn't believe that I had opted to go home even when I was told NOT TO.My hospital, unlike some others in Singapore is still a little bit conservative in its approach to delivery so there are no water tubs and birth stools. And I guess to them, I was somewhat of a maverick because I had requested to walk and more incredulous stares followed when I told them I didn't want an epidural and rejected all offers of gas. All I used was my sock of rice that we constantly asked the nurses to nuke in the microwave.Anyway, with my sock of rice, I walked, swayed and banged table tops my way through the contractions that were getting more intense as I dilated at warp speed. From the point of entry into hospital where I was dilated at 4 cm, it went to 6 cm in half an hour. By that point, I just wanted to lie down and rattle the rails of the bed as the contractions sent spasmodic pain down my back into my ass. My very cool Ob-gyn waltzes in and congratulates me for finally going into labour. He asks if I want him to break my water bag and I tell him to give it a little bit more time since we're not in a hurry and Muffin seemed to be nonchalant about the fact that my every bit of my body was finally all working in cahoots to expel him from his watery hotel.After he left, I decided for the last time to get up and try and walk around, somewhat still trying to justify to the nurses why I wanted the wireless CTG monitors on me. But when I did, I felt that I had actually sat on a huge water balloon that went "SQUISH" under me. Yes, water bag that I'd told the doctor not to burst, burst quite dramatically on its own accord.I'd read somewhere that bursting the waterbag was a "committment to labour" because it really is the point of no return and it really was. I shrieked in pain when the next contraction came. I guess, the water bag cushioned much of the intensity of it and since the bag had burst, I no longer had a buffer. At the same time, that elusive urge to 'bear down' was upon me and Packrat wasn't sure if I was conscious of the fact that I kept telling him that I needed to poo. Apparently, the sensations are identical.The midwife chose that moment to plunge her fingers into me causing me to want to kick her in the face. Thankfully, the result also heralded the fact that it would be last time anyone unceremoniously did that to me. 10 cm and we were good to go. There was only one problem. The time that had lapsed between my Ob-gyn leaving and my severe need to take the biggest dump of my life was probably just enough time for him to have arrived at his clinic and start seeing patients again.So despite the fact that the midwife was telling me to push when I felt like it, I was screeching for the doctor and going mad with the idea that I had to bear with this pain because the doctor wasn't back yet. And it didn't occur to me to cross my legs either. When he finally returned, I was partially distracted by the fact that I was watching my doctor change out of his work shoes into the most unglamourous of boots.After that, the real fun began.He, in the calmest of voices, told me to push when I was ready. By that point, I was alternating between sobbing from the intensity of the discomfort and swearing like a banshee. Until I heard him very firmly tell me I was wasting my breath and should channel it toward pushing the baby out. He also warned me that I was going to feel some stinging because he remembered that not only was I anti pain relief, I was anti-episiotomy and the only way around it was to administer a perineal massage to muscle that was already going to be stretched beyond belief.My thoughts at that point I think bordered on "I don't care what is going on, I just want this extremely weird, burning sensation to STOP!" I'd clarify at this point that while it was painful in a way that being sliced is painful, there was the very real sensation of something very big and possibly alien like bursting forth from my very core. And despite that fact that I've run for so much of my life and pride myself in being physiologically aware of my body and its muscles, I really had no idea what I was doing or what muscles I needed to engage.But since millions of women have go through it before me and have survived, I figured I would too. 3 pushes and his head was out. And these 3 pushes came almost one on top of another. Because of that, despite the fact that I wanted to be free from an episiotomy, the doctor had no choice but to do it. He said that Muffin was coming too fast for him to stretch the muscles out in time. Anyway, another half push and the shoulders were released and then another half push for the rest of him to come tumbling out.And the minute they put my steaming hot baby on me, I declared very loudly that I wasn't ever going to do this again. I think that broke the tension in the room quite a bit.So that's how Muffin was born. Between my water bag bursting and him tumbling right out of me was the longest ten minutes of my life but in the grand scale of things, it was a mighty short labour and delivery.Incidentally, Muffin's name is Dylan Josiah Tan.And here are some souvenir shots from the birth that are totally inane.My trusty heat sock.The victim of my water bag bursting unexpectedly! My Mashimaru slippers. If you look very carefully, the right one, has a stain above the ear that Packrat, try as he may, could not get rid off.Presenting Baby Dylan, 30 minutes after delivery after his first feed.His very proud Big Sister who fawns over him like a doll. His Big brother however, is a bit worried about his position being usurped and is clinging on to Mommy for dear life.For all those totally freaked out by this post and are contemplating adoption and a hysterectomy, it really isn't as bad as I've made it out to be. It can't be all that bad since I really didn't have any drugs to do it. Maybe taking out the wisdom teeth are worse, since you can't do that without anaesthetic. So there, a means of comparison!Technorati Tags: pregnancy, VBAC, newborn Distractors One of the things the books tell you about being in labour is that we are supposed to try and distract ourselves away from the pain. The initial pain anyway. When we're still at home and when there's no pain relief in sight. I suppose I could try panadol but I think I can find more interesting ways to distract myself from the pain.What have I done since the contractions started and grew more intense?Get already born children ready for school at 6 in the morning. Have breakfast and read inane updates on Facebook.Put on Gilmore Girls and watch it for the gazillionth time.Rotate my hips as if I were a hula girl every time a contraction seized me.Deflect an elderly salesman who was trying to sell me a Rediffusion package. Rediffusion still exists?Decide that I needed to pluck my eyebrows and continue plucking them through a contraction.Get annoyed with my husband over IM because I want him home and he's still at work clearing stuff up and asking me inane questions.Decide that I should pack the Macbook into my hospital bag because I can't use the PC anymore eliciting a comment about me being 'spoilt' by my PC husband; causing Point 7 and making me want to throw something at him.Put up Dr Seuss wall decor for the twins to surprise them when they come home from school. Their favourite characters are the Barbaloots and the Lorax.Write this post, with lots of interruptions because I keep having to get up and walk around to mediate this dastardly contractions.This time, I think it's for real and we're off to see the wizard now and hopefully will return with a baby.Stay tuned.Technorati Tags: pregnancy, labour No end in sight For those keeping tabs, it hasn't happened yet.And for those who have been in this position before, you understand the impatience, the annoyance, the frustration and the anxiety.For those who haven't, consider yourselves lucky and take my word on it.Anyway, D-day is Saturday. Last check, even with all the damned false starts and even blood sightings, there really isn't much happening below. Zero dilation and contractions that had about as much sense of regularity as an adolescent menstrual cycle.So, because we're running out of time with Chinese New Year coming up (the doctor's away on leave) and how the irregular but ever present contractions batter the previous c-section scar, time is running out.Come hell or high water, the little Muffin will be out next week some time. I just hope that it would be the way least traumatic for all parties involved.On the bright side, Muffin apparently has a full head of hair!Technorati Tags: pregnancy, delivery Mr Men and Little Miss 7 Jordan stayed home from school yesterday. I know lots of moms would shoot me for saying this but when one has twins and I only have to look after and entertain one, everything seems easy and fun, even when said child has a blistering temperature and zero appetite.Anyway, she stayed home from school and it was nice to hang out with her and be even more in tuned with the shenanigans that she gets herself up to.The girl was a barrel of laughs from the moment she woke up, trying to teach me how to read, holding the books I'd brought to bed outward, the way the teachers do it in school and questioning me about the pictures on the page. Then she insisted on taking her bowl of cereal with her to the potty. Try as I might to wrest it away, she insisted. "Jordan eat, Jordan poo" she declared.One cannot fault her being Little Miss Efficient here.Trying to constructively entertain a 31 month old is a lot of effort. It's harder when I am full term and have a back ache from hell. It makes me want to kowtow to mothers who plan a slew of activities for their children and make all the activities from scratch.Anyway, I found some craft work that I'd ordered sometime ago and decided that we were going to make an aquarium. Thankfully, Jordan likes craft and she has an intense ability to concentrate. It kept Little Miss Arty busy for a good half hour and when she was done, she carried her masterpiece everywhere she went, showing off the fact that her sea horses were hiding behind the seaweed.I really like these little pockets of time I can spend with the children individually. Mommy needs to play mediator and disciplinarian a lot less and we have a lot more fun.Now, what to do with Evan today?Technorati Tags: twins, potty training, pre-school craft Out for blood Blood; something that seems to play a large part in pregnancy.You're told to eat iron rich food because there's a need for more blood running through the system.You're told it is not a good thing at the beginning of the pregnancy because it is often a sign that there's either been over-exertion, in the least or something not going so right and possibly a sign of a miscarriage.Through pregnancy, the Ob-gyn will remind you, time and again, that if there's any type of bleeding, call the clinic immediately. Blood is not a good thing.And then, at the end of the pregnancy, again, blood plays a big part. As long as it's not bright red (fresh) and hemorrhaging out of you, it's something you're supposed to be looking for. Especially if the baby you're carrying is full-term and due to see the world soon.A friend once commiserated that going to the bath room during pregnancy (and there were many of those visits), was always slightly harrowing. She always half expected to find blood when she wiped or looked down.True.And when I did find traces of blood, my heart sank, I panicked and the clinic always got a phone call from me. Thankfully they were all just incidents of over-exertion. A common malady of those who have more than one kid.30 odd weeks later and I'm singing a slightly different tune.I am out looking for blood. Blood, the bloody show as it is grossly referred to, is one of those things that heralds impending labour and delivery. It signals that things are in place and there will be pain soon. And now that I'm 39 weeks and counting, it's not a bad thing to have. Especially with all the false starts I've had.Well, for those who have been keeping track, there have been blood sightings but so far nothing else. Yes, labour and delivery is imminent. But anyone looking at me would know that. When? It's anyone's guess. We've stopped guessing because we've been wrong every single time.Thank God we're not betting people.Technorati Tags: pregnancy, full term, awaiting labour, the bloody show Mr Men and Little Miss 6 Aunt Jeanette and Uncle Shaun were nice enough to buy the twins gifts. Towel cloaks from Ikea with hoods on it. On their own, they look like harmless little bunnies. Put them on the twins and the twins morph into Mr and Little Miss Rubberface, taking on different personas from different angles.First, there's Evan who looks like a Young Padawan staring down his duck and going "Your Jedi mind tricks aren't going to work on me, you evil Duck Vadar!" or "The Duck side is strong in this one!" (Insert your own Star Wars pun here)Then, the two of them sitting together in identical robes make them look like they are in some period drama and either in mourning for the fact that Jordan peed on her elephant by mistake or they've been betrothed to be married and it's all been a huge mistake. It's all the more convincing with the pregnant mommy with the imperious belly sitting at the back, chaperoning them, keeping a close eye on them and also to watch any sign of them annoying each other surreptitiously.But my favourite is the two of them looking like Klansters, part of the junior wing of the Ku Klux Klan. Of course, we'd have to disown them for being Klansters although we might choose to overlook it on account of the two of them looking hysterically cute and the fact that when they say Ku Klux Klan, it sounds like they saying "Crew Cuts Can". Also, call us biased but we think Evan looks like the cutest Grand Master around and Jordan looks like the Lady Baby Dowager that she is.And if the KKK's rituals included hugging the way the twins do, they would really be much less hatred, racial or any other kind in the world today.Technorati Tags: twins, Ikea, Ku Klux Klan Mr Men and Little Miss 5 The crib's been set up for a while now and it resides in my wardrobe, the place where there's least traffic. By 'least traffic' I mean the place where the twins are in the least. Having said that, it doesn't mean that they don't occasionally wander into my wardrobe. They like playing hide and seek in the cupboards and raid my toiletries drawer. They come away with their favourite spoils, sanitary napkins and panty liners which they somewhat accurately refer to as "Mommy's diapers".Anyway, we got Jordan a baby doll sometime ago in a bid to try and get her interested and in the know about the Muffin on its way. She hasn't shown all that much interest in it, patting or giving it thumps on its back occasionally and then leaving it to suffocate in boxes or her toy basket.Then about 2 days ago, there was an about turn. She carried it everywhere she went, asked me to teach her how to 'sayang' baby, insisted on swaddling the baby in a dress of mine no less and feeding it from a baby bottle. When asked if baby doll needed to sleep, she put it into the crib and stood there and pat it for a good two minutes before spinning round and asking for a pillow. Before I could offer a suggestion, she zeroes in on my toiletries drawer and fashions a pillow and bolster of sorts. Quite the Little Miss Mommy there and I'm glad. Hopefully it'll carry on after Muffin arrives.Evan, being the typical boy who also, I suspect is trying to ignore the fact that there is competition coming his way, is quite indifferent about the baby doll. But on occasion, when he sees Baby J make a fuss with the doll and gets me involved, he'll try his hand at 'feeding' the 'baby' and stroking its forehead. He did ask though, why Baby Doll had no hair and why he and Jie Jie had so much hair.Hopefully Muffin has hair otherwise this elder brother might see it as a reason to discriminate against his newborn sibling. And I'm sure he's already lined up enough reasons from here to the Singapore Flyer.Technorati Tags: twins, toddler girls, siblings Mr Men and Little Miss 4 Because I used to run competitively and dance, people ask me if I will send the twins for dance lessons (more Jordan than Evan) and whether I'd put them into competitive sports. My answer is "only if they want to and can do it". What's the point of forcing the child to point his or her toes if he doesn't know his fingers from his toes? What's the point of putting the child through the rigours of competitive sport if the child is totally spazzed about it?The twins are both a reflection of my athletic abilities and deficiencies. Evan can run and jump and leap around quite surely and confidently. His father thinks basketball is in the works for him. I have no objection to that. He is however, spazzy in his fine motor abilities. He used to trip and fall a lot, bumping his head as he went along. He can't for the life of him position his fingers to do what he wants them to. If he becomes a Trekkie when he grows up, he's going to have problems with the Vulcan salute. And that's me. I have no problems if you put me on a straight path and told me to run. Ask me to do funny things with my fingers or fold my tongue or raise one eyebrow and my head starts to hurt.Jordan, on the other hand, ask her to run and she will but she looks like Phoebe in Friends running. She forgets that she has hands to help her and when she sees her brother use his arms quite effectively, she flails them around as she runs, causing her to run zig zag and occasionally, almost on the spot. But give the girl so music and show her movement and she's doing a fine job copying and shaking her booty. She's also great with finger manipulation and her hand-eye coordination puts me to shame.So if anything, Evan is a cross between Mr Bounce, Mr Strong and Mr Bump and Jordan, well, Jordan is Little Miss Somersault and Little Miss Spazz.The video doesn't do her dancing justice but it's funny to watch her try and watch Evan working the drums in the back because his feet hurt from all that prancing!Technorati Tags: twins, dancing Pop! Goes the Weasel. My Ob-gyn bet that we weren't going to make it to our next visit. But that visit was 2 days ago and we're still waiting. We know that every day that Muffin is not out, it's one additional day of peace for us. But there's also a little bit of anxiety because we're gunning for a VBAC and if Muffin is too comfortable for too long the doctor isn't going to leave us with many choices plus there is the issue of CNY coming up and the good doctor going away on vacation.So people have been offering us suggestions to bring on the labour naturally. They've included the age old 'get into bed and go at it like bunnies' (a little bit difficult when I have 31 month olds sailing in and out of our bedroom as and when they deem fit), shopping and walking, drinking raspberry tea, renting a newborn baby to 'pretend breastfeed' (i.e. stimulate the nipples and hence release hormones to trigger contractions), doing lots of squats (which in itself is a challenge for pregnant women), eat spicy food (can't do that because I already get heartburn without that), doing star jumps and swimming the breast stroke!My theory is I can do everything under the sun and if Muffin doesn't want to budge, it's not going to work.Unfortunately, my sub-conscience has been in on this backseat labouring as well. Two nights ago, it told me to induce labour by eating awful green seaweed jelly (I think that came from watching my mom eat green tea jelly in a shade of unnatural green) and in my dream I protested. And when I protested in my dream that I wasn't ready because I hadn't had that awful mucous plug thing ( if you don't know what it is, you don't want to know), a voice told me that I had received it in the mail and found an envelope in my hands that had to be opened. I had no idea that my reproductive system could send out mail.Then last night, I dreamt I was in the hospital trying to find the labour ward. I knew I was trying to find it because I was lugging my huge hospital bag around. I had to walk through a gym though. It wasn't a weights type gym but a gymnastics type gym with apparatus and there was a strange big contraption that looked like the Reverse Bungee by the river. And in order to get to the labour ward, I had to go on the frightening contraption. I think it was like a giant swing but I also recall wondering how it was supposed to get me into labour.All of which doesn't make sense and is five kinds of bizarre. I think rather than eating green goo and taking a roller coaster ride, I should just sit tight and wait.Technorati Tags: pregnancy, labour induction Mr Men and Little Miss 3 The Muffin is still apparently too comfortable and despite all the false alarms, this little baked good would rather be in than out. So while waiting, I have found enough time to do another installation of Mr Men and Little Miss.Evan is going through the phase where he loves copying us. He copies us in speech, I've had to issue specific instructions to our helpers because he'd picked up from one of them "Ohmygod!" and I wasn't going to have my 31 month old son using God's name in vain. His latest is a shrug on the shoulders and a cheeky "I dunno" which was also something he'd picked up along the way from his Grandma, the helpers and probably me when he asks questions that I cannot answer.This morning, he decided that he was going to copy me and read in bed. I've been doing that a lot lately. When I asked him to skooch off the bed and go have breakfast, he told me that I could come and lie down beside him on the bed which is often what I tell him when he comes looking for me when I'm lying down. So, Mr Copycat pats the bed beside him and invites me to lie down and it takes all of me not to laugh and take him seriously because he is saying this in all seriousness to me.From birth, Jordan has always been the fiesty one. She bullied all of us, she yelled when she didn't get what she wanted and she sent more than one of us cowering away from her. She's mellowed. She's gentler and more affectionate. But that fiesty, fearless streak still exists. She occasionally terrorises and imperiously commands her brother around. She snatches things from him with no thought that he is actually stronger than she is and will, with no qualms, shove her or hit her.The first few days in the school bus, she would apparently disturb him and smack him or pinch him. This is, of course, according to him. Yesterday she came home sporting a gash on her face. It's not deep but it's still heartbreaking for me to see. Of course, she has no ability to tell me what really happened and every time I question her or her brother about it, some strange tale involving Thomas the Train or Gordon or the Bus Driver or Teacher Helen (their class teacher) will be spun. The teacher has told me that she has no idea what happened either because there was no scuffle, no tears and no fighting.But I do suspect that her behaviour had something to do with it. Someone who is not as used to her bossy ways as her poor, long suffering brother is may have taken matters into her own hands. Of course, if I ever do find out who scratched her, I will have a word with his or her mother. And while I know that it may not necessarily make a difference, Little Miss Bossy must learn to share and give way or she's going to find herself getting into more of these little accidents. Squeeze out that puppy! I promised Plentyfish that I would commemorate the birth of his son Mikey by turning his blow-by-blow SMS updates into a blog post that we shall preserve for posterity. We've pretty much shared the pregnancy in every sense of the word since Mrs Plentyfish and I are a week a part in our pregnancies.But our babies couldn't be more different. While Muffin is on the small side, Baby Mikey was off the charts at every visit. Mikey is out and we're still wondering when the bell on Muffin will ding. Baby Mikey is the first grandchild of a wonderful family and Baby Muffin will have to vie for attention with four other grandchildren.Anyway, here it is, the story of Mikey's birth. His parents had decided that the 19th of January was the day he ought to see the world because the ultrasound put him at a whopping 3.8kg and their O&G giggling every time she had to measure his "apparent" big head.19 Jan 2010 14:11 hrs: In hospital now. In labour ward. Anaesthesist should be coming soon to administer the epidural.19 Jan 2010 15:22 hrs: Epidural is in. Stay tuned for more updates.19 Jan 2010 16:20hrs: Doctor has burst Mrs Plentyfish's water bag. Now we're just resting and waiting.19 Jan 2010 19:12 hrs: Contractions are stronger and closer together now. Nurse had to increase epidural dosage. She was in pain. Mikey is moving along.19 Jan 2010 20:13 hrs: Epidural's kicked in and she's sleeping.Note: Apparently, the epidural was maxed out at this point.19 Jan 2010 21:45 hrs: She is now on oxygen (I don't know what that is for). Epidural is still up. Doctor just came again to examine her and says Mikey is ok. Now about 5 to 6 cm. Doctor is resting in the next room. Akan Datang (Coming soon!) Should be about midnight or so but that's my guess.19 Jan 2010 22:51 hrs: (In answer to my question about what the oxygen was for) She was shaking uncontrollably. All ok. I'm ok. I had chicken rice and a double cheeseburger for dinner!19 Jan 2010 22:49 hrs: Doctor just came in. Got into position to do some pushing. But Mikey is facing up. Not good position for delivery. So she is resting again now. Doctor will be back later.19 Jan 2010 22:52 hrs: She's ok but shivering. Puked a few times. Mikey is upside down.19 Jan 2010 22:59 hrs: Doctor says she's dilated about 9 cm but Mikey's not descending. CY is strong and pushing well but if this goes on, we might need to do a C-section.19 Jan 2010 23:47 hrs: Ok, natural is a no-go. Doctor cannot reach Mikey at all. He is just out of reach.20 Jan 2010 00:28 hrs: Epidural doesn't work for her in the OT. She can feel all the pin pricks. Have to put her under. I just got kicked out of the OT.20 Jan 2010 0057 hrs: Mikey has joined us. 3.36 kg at 1233 hrs. He is a cutie. He has to be in ICU cos there's some water in his lungs. Mrs Plentyfish has a slight fever and is still under.20 Jan 2010 0203 hrs: Mrs Plentyfish is awake. A little dazed but talking and happy. She is talking about having a next one already!Well, this is Michael "Mikey" Tan. Milk machine and cries like a little kitten.Me? I'm still waiting. This little Muffin that I'm carrying shall be named "The One who Cried Wolf". Too many nights filled with pains and contractions that don't go anywhere. I swear, when the real thing comes, I'm just going to insist on sleeping through it till it is too late.Technorati Tags: birth story False starts The thing an athlete in competition hates the most is when there is a false start. When someone beats the gun and explodes out of the blocks before he is supposed to. That causes the field of athletes to have to re-calibrate their concentration and go back down, psych themselves and start all over again. It ruins the concentration, it also tends to make the athlete more cautious and therefore less willing react instinctively, possibly compromising his own outcome in the race.I hated false starts in my running career. It cost me a race once because my concentration was shot after the first false start and concentration is of utmost importance when the race involves crossing hurdles every 15m or so.I hate false starts now too. I'm near enough to my due date that anything could happen at any time. My doctor jokingly told us that he expected to see us before our next appointment date. That made the both of us gasp because I don't think one can be so mentally prepared that the baby coming is met with nonchalance. And there have been nights when there are contractions that seem to lead somewhere, hurt enough for me to wince, whine, shudder and breathe as if I were in pilates class only to have them taper off after a few hours.It is draining emotionally and psychologically because I'm always debating whether weathering the vise-like grip of the contraction or whether I should go to hospital. I decided not to the night before even though the contractions went on for a few hours and were painful enough for me to want to bang my head against the wall so that I had something else to do primarily because I had no other signs of an impending Muffin delivery and did not want to be sent home from hospital again.But it has led me to feel frustrated and for the want of a better analogy, constipated. All the discomfort with nothing much to show for it.A friend who has been supporting and encouraging me through all this has said that it is not nothing. It is in fact priming my body for the real thing and when the real thing comes along, at least I won't be shocked as to how much the damn thing can hurt.Another friend has just delivered and has scared the beejeezus out of me with tales of how much it hurt despite the epidural.Not a good thing to be listening to at this point I suspect.I write all this in the throes of pain and discomfort and am uncertain if it is once again another false start. Stay tuned for further updates.Technorati Tags: labour, delivery Mr Men and Little Miss 2 Evan is now Joe Cool or Mr Cool. Being closer to 3 than to 2 now, he has developed a sense of who he sees himself as. He loves the fact that he gets to wear underwear and imperiously demands that all his clothes do not sport tags on them.He is also better able to articulate his thoughts and emotions. He tells us when he is angry or upset and can conjure up facial expressions to match his emotions. When he is punished, he knows how to apologise to get out of the naughty corner and will obediently sit through the lecture that I will inadvertently dish out after his stint in the corner.At the same time, he has discovered pride and is at a phase where he thinks it is just not cool to apologise. He will not apologise to his sister. He will to me but I guess I hold more sway than his sister does.Whatever it is, he's slowly becoming a little man, totally enthralled by everything his father does and thinks it is the best treat in the world to go with Packrat to get the car from the carpark.He will also reject any signs of outward affection. If he is in a bad mood, hugging him, stroking his hair or touching him wrong will just set him off like a firecracker on speed. And the person who knows how to push his buttons best is his sister. My mother thinks he's just being very 'boy' about it.In his quiet moments, he'll let me cuddle him and snuggle up to me but once he's up and about, Mr Cool takes over and it's "I'm too cool for Mommy".Not yet three and the little boy is growing up.Technorati Tags: twins, Mr Men Mr Men and Little Miss 1 The twins' favourite characters now are Mr Men characters. In particular, Mr Messy because Mr Messy gets to tramp in mud and traipse it all over his house. He also gets to play with charcoal and smear it all over the walls. Because they know this is behaviour we don't condone, they live vicariously through Mr Messy.I shall try to complete a 7 part series (barring the delivery of the Muffin) of how they epitomise Little Miss and Mr Men characters.Today, I got some of Muffin's stuff washed. A whole array of face cloths, different thickness for different purposes. The thinnest ones as wash cloths, the slightly thicker ones as bibs. There is a bib hanging there but that is Evan's from when he used to have drool on tap.Anyway, they were attracted to it hanging out becuase of the multitude of colours. And it then occurred to me that I should get them to help. The initial plan was to just get them to help me put them away and perhaps teach them how to fold the face cloths into simple squares.In this situation, Evan was Mr Helpful. He went to get the laundry basket and he pulled off everything on the rack regardless of whether it was dry enough to go into the basket. Generally, the boy is helpful. He'll stand and watch me get ready in the morning and hand me different jars of lotion thinking I might need it. He will quite accurately fetch things I ask him to and is most pleased if I give him rubbish that he needs to toss into the bin.When everything had been quite joyfully tossed into the laundry basket, I had to sit down and sort through the ones that were fully dry and the ones that needed to be aired a little bit more. Because Jordan saw me put some back on the rack, she started taking everything back out of the basket and putting them on the rack. Rather than stop her, I let her put everything back and I sat there and watched Jordan and her Mr Helpful brother attack the task with single-minded determination.Just as Evan is Mr Helpful, Baby J is Little Miss Meticulous. Evan was quite happy putting back the wash cloths onto the rack but he did it quite haphazardly and they'd fall to the ground or he'd just drap it over another piece of cloth. It didn't matter if his laundry fell into either category and hung precariously on the rack, as long as he did it, he considered it a job done.Jordan however, not only made sure that what she was hanging up stayed up, she also made sure that all the pieces of cloth were evenly spaced out and hung from the middle. To make sure, she would fold down the middle and smooth out the sides. And she would repeat this with every new piece that she hung up. When she was done, she literally took a step back and went "WOW! Look at that", genuiely surprised that what she did looked so good.Their Grandma suggested I teach them how to use clothes pegs to hold the clothes and cloths in place. But I immediately I thought of all the dangers, including pinching themselves by accident, pinching each other on purpose, clothes pegs going rogue on them and the springs giving way causing plastic and bits of metal to boomerang round the room. Then I told their Grandma in terms she understood, one skill a day is quite enough.Technorati Tags: twins, Mr Men and Little Miss