We Found Love

Last week marked the halfway mark of my following the Train Like A Mother Half-Marathon Own It! training plan. It also marked the week I decided to stop following said training plan because I was finally able to be honest with myself, and my goals. I realised that I wasn't enjoying running anymore, and my body was feeling the strain from the lack of cross-training. The training plan itself wasn't terribly demanding, with two hard and two easy weekdays with the option to skip one easy day, and one long run on a Saturday, but I had to stop RPM and cut down on yoga to have enough time to fit all the mileage in, get strength training done, and get some rest days. Jon was right, as he always is about these things - the point, really, is to enjoy the movement. I will still be running the GEWR in mid November, but I'm not going to tire myself out trying to sub-2. There's always next year, when I will be better prepared. 

Consequently, tomorrow is a rest day. The kids are fast asleep, Jon is on a business trip, a washing machine cycle is ongoing, and I am going to catch up on two episodes of Hospital Ship before going to bed. I could, of course, just log on to Dramafever right now, but there are words that have been on my fingertips for over a month now, demanding an audience. So here I am, trying to get all that I want to write about down before I have to hang up clothes and before Hospital Ship starts at 12.10am.

***

It has taken about three years, but I am finally starting to feel normal again. Whatever that means. 

***

About two months ago, I was idly scrolling through Facebook (when is scrolling through Facebook ever not?) during an ugh-I-am-so-sick-of-this-document moment, and it just so happened that I was met with a deluge of posts about babies and small children (or maybe the algorithm is biased. Maybe). Some of them were celebrating a birthday, others were just giving whoever was holding the camera toothless, beatific grins or starting to toddle about on chubby legs. So sweet! So cute! So loving! Don't grow up too fast!

Now, I have nothing against these posts. It is nice to see pictures of other people's cute, sweet, and chubby children, and it is nice to know that people you grew up with (but don't talk to anymore in real life, haha) are settling down, and experiencing the joy of having a child. 

But then I got to thinking about Daniel's birthday, which was coming up in September, and idly wondering what I would want to say on social media about him.

I came up with nothing. I couldn't think of a single nice thing I wanted to say about him. All I could think about, in that instant, was how my skin crawled the night before as he tossed and turned and fussed and kicked me, as he reached out his arms and demanded that I bao bao him. The battle we had had before that over the simple act of brushing his teeth. How all I wanted, desperately, was to be alone somewhere, preferably in a hotel room with snowy white sheets and a firm bed. Alone, and left in peace to fall asleep on my own terms. Was that so much to ask for? 

***

I was obsessed, in the year after I had Daniel, with getting back to the gym and running as soon as possible (if that has not already become apparent to you). There was the issue of vanity and wanting to "get back in shape" and also have social media bragging rights (being completely honest here. Don't tell me you have never felt this way). I felt somewhat similar in the course of the year after I had Andrew (that year having just ended in July 2017), but it was after I did the Income Eco Run earlier this year that I started to realise something was wrong - I wasn't finding joy in working out anymore, and it didn't bring the peace and satisfaction it used to. This was due largely to the realisation that I may have been free, truly free, to be alone with myself for an hour, or three, or four - does it matter? - but when I got home, I had to deal with Real Life. I couldn't accept it. It felt terribly anti-climatic, after the anticipation of a good workout, a race, the wonderful feelings during the activity itself, to come home to Lego everywhere, books strewn all over the floor, cushions piled up in a dusty corner, and in the case of the CSC Run, a crushed piece of Styrofoam (i.e. there were small white balls all over the living room floor). It wasn't so bad in Daniel's first year because he wasn't as inquisitive and destructive, but now it's like he and Andrew solemnly swear that they will get up to as much no-good as they can before Mummy comes home. I felt like I was being punished, in a way, for not being around to deal with the morning whining and milk-making. Why do small children insist on waking up in a temper and making their mothers deal with it? 

(Jon said my discontent and lack of joy with working out was due to a lack of rest days and perpetually low blood sugar levels from not eating enough. Maybe.)

(Yes, okay, that too).

And then, last week, after I'd finally given myself a break from running and had time to think instead of just surviving from the start of the day to my lunch workout to fetching the boys after work and coming home to cook dinner then deal with dirty dishes and bedtime then repeat the whole routine again for days on end, I realised that what I had always been seeking, been yearning for these past three years, wasn't the races or workouts themselves, but the feeling that I had before we had kids, the feeling before I got pregnant perhaps. When I was truly free to do as I pleased: the luxury of recovery after a hard gym session, a good night's sleep, a movie in a movie theatre at a moment's notice, staying up all night to finish a book, an uninterrupted meal with Jon. When it was okay to be irresponsible and sleep at 3am after watching one too many episodes of The Big Bang Theory because there was no one to worry about but myself (Jon could more or less fend for himself, and anyway, he was working way too hard back then. Which meant more gym and reading time). It's a feeling I will never have again, as long as I live, because I now have children. Sure, there will come a day when the boys will be able to clean themselves up after they poo, have their own mobile phones without any restrictions or checks, buy alcohol if they want to, move out, get married. But they will always be my children, and to some extent, I will always be responsible for them. Even if it's just something as simple as keeping them in my prayers and checking up on them once in a while, though I do hope we will be closer than that. 

Jon pointed out that a lot of the above was due to my refusal to hire a helper, to which I responded that it had, after all, been worth it. I never thought about the type of mother I wanted to be before I had children, save that I knew I would probably let them eat french fries and chocolate ice cream for dinner sometimes. Now I know that in addition to that, I am the type of mother who doesn't really mind cooking and washing up, and would maybe even prefer to do it herself. Most of the time. The best part is that it gives you the moral authority to let your children watch TV, shove and snatch toys from each other and generally kick up a ruckus over the sounds of the Dinotrux building something to save the day while you blithely ignore it all because hey, you have stuff to do in the kitchen and that's the only way to keep them occupied while you make sure that your husband has a home-cooked meal and a shirt to wear to work the next day. 

***

I did think of something "nice" to say about Daniel on social media eventually, although it was more "neutral" than "nice", and I didn't post it because it felt trite when his birthday finally rolled around, exactly a month ago. It was this: I prayed that he would learn to be obedient to me and Jon not because it pleased us, but because such obedience pleases God. 

Happy Belated 3rd Birthday, my FBC. Jesus loves you and didi, and is always with the both of you. 

Bounce Attack

Before we had Andrew, I spent too much time thinking about how he would be “so poor thing” because I was already plotting my return to work when he was 2 months old (didn’t happen), and I wouldn’t be spending as much time with him as I did with Daniel in his first year, etc. Plus the parenting books (not that I read any, but I have heard this advice from various friends) all advocate putting your firstborn’s needs first whenever possible, because they are more likely to remember feeling slighted and left out. This I agree with, and have put into practice. I don’t think I’m alone in having these thoughts, but it struck me recently that being No. 2 is actually not that bad. So here is my list of reasons why being No. 2 is not “so poor thing” after all, or, “An Exposé on The Extent of Our Derelict Parenting Methods”

1. You are read to from a young age

Before Daniel turned one-and-a-half or so, I was forever worrying (amongst 1001 other things) about whether I was reading to him enough. My mother would go on about “instilling good reading habits from young”; various articles posted by friends on Facebook advocated the same thing. I grew up reading lots of books (I wish I had time to read as much I used to), and I’m all for Daniel and Andrew growing up to enjoy the pleasures of literature.

But have you ever tried reading to an infant who is more interested in squirming around, doesn’t pay attention to you, is more interested in trying to eat the pages of the book you are reading, and generally doesn’t appear to GAF about the effort you are putting in to do the voices for the different characters?

Thankfully, despite my lack of motivation to read to him before he started showing a genuine interest in books, Daniel now enjoys listening to stories and keeps asking us to read to him*, which means that Andrew benefits from this. When he is listening and looking at the pictures in the books, that is. Which lasts maybe 5 minutes max, before he starts cruising around in his cot and whining to be let out so he can eat the pages of the book we are reading.

*We recently discovered the Usborne Farmyard Tales series of books, which is sold at NTUC. Something possessed me to purchase The Old Steam Train for Daniel during a recent trip to the supermarket, and he’s now obsessed with collecting the ones featuring trains and tractors (there are a few, and there are thumbnail images of the front covers of all the books on the inside of the back cover). The books are apparently tailored specially for small children in terms of language, and to make things more interesting, there are small yellow ducks “hiding” on every page.

They must also be the most deathly boring series of books known to Parentkind. Sometimes, to amuse ourselves, Husband and I will translate the text to Chinese on the spot as we are reading. So “Apple Tree Farm”, where the farmer, Mrs Boot (鞋太太, because we don’t know what “boot” is in Chinese) and her two children Poppy (波比) and Sam (沙母) live is “苹果树农场”. Yesterday, we decided that Rusty, their dog, should be referred to as “生锈狗狗”. There is a Mr Boot (鞋先生) as well, but he seems to be working very hard in the fields or driving the old steam train (the story is about how it and the village’s station were refurbished, presumably to promote tourism). Or whatever it is he does for a living.

2. You get to watch TV way earlier than No. 1

Yay, lucky Andrew. That being said, I am all for no screen time. Daniel rarely watches anything on our mobile phones (the only exception being when he had to be nebbed for about 10 days last year), and I have forbidden Husband from purchasing a tablet. All shows are watched on TV, which is why we only ever seem to be watching Dinotrux and have to wait for Paw Patrol to come on (but from the few episodes we have managed to catch, Dinotrux FTW). When I’m cooking or doing other miscellaneous household chores, I usually stick Andrew in his cot in the living room (Daniel sits on the sofa) and turn on Dinotrux.

But what I realised from my experience with Daniel is that up to a certain age, maybe two plus plus, they don’t really bother about what’s going on on TV either. Daniel only started properly paying attention to Dinotrux maybe a month or two ago (he’s about 2 years and 8 months old), and even then, he sometimes loses interest about halfway through an episode (maybe because we’ve watched them all at least 5 times?) and starts playing with his wooden blocks and Duplo, or comes to the kitchen demanding to eat “bingcuits” (饼干 + biscuits. My child is clearly a genius, and putting the bilingual education much vaunted by his childcare to good use). Andrew just looks at the TV screen for 5 minutes max, then goes back to cruising around his cot and whining to be let out so he can get at Daniel’s toys and the remote controls to chew them (does anyone else sense a theme around here?).

I’m not saying we should just throw the AAP’s recommendations regarding children and screen time out the window, but it hasn’t been all that bad for us so far. Daniel sometimes has minor tantrums when I say we cannot watch anymore Dinotrux (usually after 3-4 episodes, each is around 20 minutes) or I tell him I want to watch another show (he really has no interest at all in the cooking shows or Korean dramas) but like all other children, is easily distracted and believes in the power of “Tomowwoe?”

3. The composition of your gut flora gets more complex much sooner

I used to make feeble efforts at wiping down high chairs in restaurants before Daniel sat in them. With Andrew, I don’t even try. He is also finally teething and regularly puts toys and the remote controls (see point above) in his mouth. I washed all the toys with Dettol after we had HFMD, but not since then, and definitely not on a regular basis (you may not want to touch the toys in our house when you come over).

While this has led to a bit of diarrhea – though less often and in much less quantities than before – I console myself with S’s observation that the bacterial composition in his intestines is improving, and he is building immunity. This seems to be somewhat true, or it could be due to the Intestinal Quality (I.Q.) of Similac*.

*I only realised some months after Daniel started Stage 3 formula (one year plus) that I.Q. stood for “Intestinal Quality”. I blame the teddy bear in a graduation cap and gown.

But frankly speaking, do the research (the Internet may generally be anti-formula feeding but there are some good resources if you can get through all the vitriol of the first few hits), read and compare the ingredients list, and make a choice! Advertising, schadvertising.

4. There is more “equal parenting” (i.e. time with Daddy)

Faced with the prospect of a toddler yelling for Mummy and banging on his bedroom door at bedtime, or sitting in a darkened room letting a 9-month-old crawl around your bed tiring himself out, most fathers would wisely choose the latter option and allow their wives to get on with putting the toddler to bed. Same principles apply to just about any other family activity, which means No. 2 gets to spend a more balanced amount of time with both parents.

I don’t expect this to last that much longer because Andrew is already showing signs of wanting me to put him to bed as well, and is at times unhappy when I hand him over to Husband, but I think Husband has spent a lot more time with him than he did with Daniel at the same age. Granted, I was a SAHM for a year with Daniel, but overall, Andrew seems much happier to be with Husband than Daniel was at the same age.

5. Milking your cute fatness for what it’s worth

Lastly, there will be a period of time where you can just sit around looking cute and fat, and all you have to do is break out in random smiles at opportune moments, to elicit looks of love and copious hugs from your parents. You will observe, in comparison, that your parents seem to be perpetually telling your older sibling off for some misdemeanour or other, and bask smugly in your cute fatness. This actually brings about its own set of problems for your parents, who must make an extra effort to affirm your older sibling and make sure they don’t feel like they are always being scolded whilst you get all the cuddles, but you should enjoy it while it lasts, because your turn will come one day, someday soon.

 

Like A Laserlight (Training for Half-Marathon, Part 5 of 5)

Week 5 & Race Day (24 April 2017- 30 April 2017)

It is, as always, late, and I am tired, as usual; but I feel today that I need to write, so here it is - Part 5 of 5 of my Training for Half-Marathon series. I don't think I will ever enter a similar giveaway again, and even if I do, I'm not likely to blog about the process because it's actually not a very me thing to write about, and veers too much into haolian territory for my liking. That being said, I think there has been value in documenting my life regularly for the past five weeks, and if you've followed along and encouraged me in real life, thank you. Training for and running this half-marathon meant a lot, especially since we had to deal with HFMD, then food poisoning, in those five weeks. Chunks of toughened dead skin are still coming off the soles of my feet, and I can just about make out the outline of the rashes on the palms of my hands. 

I didn't achieve my (slightly unrealistic) goal of running a sub-2, and I don't think I have recovered from my mummy burnout (see Part 1, perhaps I will remain just ever so slightly burnt out from being a parent for the rest of my life), but crossing the finish line on Sunday in 2:07:09 brought me great joy, and a quiet kind of satisfaction and contentment. For the first time since giving birth to Daniel almost three years ago, I finally understood why there were all these articles and blog and Instagram posts on the Internet about how amazing women's bodies are, to have borne and given birth to another human being and still be able to do X Y Z (etc., to be honest, I still find this sort of thing eye-roll-inducing). Given my past history of obsessing over my body image, I had a particularly hard time accepting, after giving birth, that my body would never be the same again - so while other women seemed to be embracing all the changes motherhood brought on - curves, fuller breasts and the like (I have the ability to feed my baby with my body!, and I'm all, What the f**k, I am failing at this) all I could think of was how much more difficult it was to put on a sports bra (I refused to buy a bigger size), and how I couldn't just slide in and out of my shorts anymore, never mind that I was at least able to get them on and button them somewhat comfortably.  

But it is amazing, when you stop and think about it: when your almost threenager holds a proper conversation with you, when your nine-month old stands, unassisted, for just a few seconds; and then you recall the glimpse you caught of the saggy, wrinkly skin around your waist in the mirror as you were changing, and realise that you don't really care anymore. You gave birth to two persons!!!*

*I haven't gone round the bend yet, so I will not say that "I am proud of my tummy because it is a mark of what my body has been through." SRSLY. And hopefully I haven't unleashed two terrors on the rest of society. 

***

Taper week workouts aren't much to shout about - I made a considered decision to forego RPM and instead went for a swim on Tuesday (25th), and did a short run of about 4km + 8 strides (20 seconds) at the park connector during lunch on Wednesday (26th) because I just couldn't face doing more distance on the treadmill after last week's epic 14km. It was quite cool although the sun was out, thankfully. On Friday I decided to work from home in a bid to get some rest because I felt a little under the weather, and managed to get in a quick run at the Ngee Ann Poly track before picking up the boys, doing some timed kilometre splits to gauge the effort level for the pace I wanted to maintain for most of the run (about 5:40/km. Which I think happened for a good part of the second half, but I wasn't keeping track). All the spare time and energy I suddenly had during lunch went towards worrying about whether it would rain on race day and whether I was eating enough and in the right proportions, amongst other things, but quite by chance, I came across this blog post by Amelia Boone, an obstacle course runner (racer?) in the US. She wrote it after being out of action for a while due to injury, and the essence of it was this:

And these past few months have been a process of realizing, and accepting, that I’m not going to “get back.” And I shouldn’t want to. Because we change – we grow. Our goal should never be to return to the athletes that we once were. It should be to chart a new course. To build a new identity. To define our own terms.

She went on to say that the same thing about accepting that we would never be the same person again applies in other aspects of life; for me, I  would add that it is one of the fundamental tenets of Christianity:

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. - 2 Corinthians 5:17

With these thoughts came gratitude, last Sunday morning, for the ability to enjoy something as simple as a good, long run; free, if only for those precious fleeting moments, from the demands of motherhood and real life. As I told R over Telegram as I ate breakfast alone at Da Paolo Paragon after the race, I've learnt that maybe we shouldn't be looking out for "big" signs from God. Perhaps He shows Himself to us through blessings that may seem trivial and very #firstworldproblems, but are no less an indication that He cares about every intimate detail of our lives, sees our frustrations and unmet desires, shares in our joy, and delights in our contentment. For instance, Daniel responded well to the Physiogel AI Cream*, which was recommended to me by a random pharmacy in Bukit Batok which I had gone to at the advice of Andrew's teacher at childcare, and slept through the night on Friday - the most important sleep is 2 days before a race, because you'll have pre-race jitters the night before - which made up for the terrible night's sleep the night before the race.

*At S$53.90 for 100ml, he'd better.

***

Post-race, Daniel's eczema sores didn't magically disappear, and the house was in greater disarray than usual when we got home from church, thanks to my not being around that morning. This was my eighth half-marathon, and unlike the previous seven, I didn't have the luxury of putting my feet up, taking a good nap, then waking up and doing nothing more strenuous than watch some TV and have sashimi. I was snappy, my blood sugar was low but my appetite hadn't kicked in yet, and I wanted the kids to shut up and leave me alone. I especially wanted Daniel to just be a big boy already and stop all the scratching so his poor skin would have a chance to heal. I thought longingly of the days when I didn't have children and was free to do whatever I pleased, and didn't have them to worry about... And then I remembered what I had thought about accepting that I would never be the same person again, and resolved to try to live that way. There are many things I have said to Daniel in anger that I am not proud of, and when I reflect on my reaction, I figure it's due largely to my inability to accept that he is only human, and therefore flawed and imperfect (like his reluctance to pee in the potty, and his inability to control the urge to scratch the eczema). Being a parent, being able to care for a child in sickness and in health, going through the process of learning to love them unconditionally and putting their needs above yours, is as great a privilege as it is a responsibility, and is something I think I am only just beginning to grasp.

***

Wah, all that just from one half-marathon training cycle, and not even a "major" one like SCMS (SCSM?) or Sundown.  I assure you I was not like this about running before I had children. I'll see you back here when I am next struck by something to write about, but till then, see you on Facebook and Instagram. 

Training for Half-Marathon: Part 4 of 5 (finally!!!!)

Week 4 (17 April 2017 – 23 April 2017)

TL;DR: This update (if you’re still following along!) is coming a day late because I was really tired out by last week, which was probably due to Husband having a legal retreat and leaving early and coming home late almost every day and still having to work (poor Husband). It’s different from when he’s actually on work travel, because he doesn’t come back at odd hours, and we are not suddenly awoken by the light being on in the living room or the study, which is all quite not conducive for sleep.

It’s probably also thanks in no small part to Daniel’s eczema flaring up – there is nothing more galling, I can assure you, than a 2.5 year old coming to your bed whining, scratching, and refusing to speak coherently at 3am in the morning.  At least he stopped vomiting after Wednesday, but there are patches of dried blood on all the bedsheets in the house which I have accepted are not coming out.

Having decided to blog every week about this nonsense has made me realise that I’m much better off being an employee and having a stable income, instead of working from home and finding some freelance writing to do (which was something I seriously considered after I had Daniel). I don’t have enough confidence in my non-legal writing anyway, so I think I’ll stick to assessing sticky situations and drafting contracts. Am also coming closer to deciding to close shop because how to have a third child and no live-in helper and still have a full-time office job?

I was also informed by someone close to me that my writing is neither amusing, nor irritating – it’s boring, because it’s more or less always about the same thing. I mean, seriously, how exciting were you expecting parenthood and long-distance running to be?!

Because I’m tired, my confidence is at an all-time low despite my having gotten in some good work-outs the past week. I’m praying for a good taper week and some good nights of sleep, although Husband is in the Philippines again from Monday to Wednesday. But what to do? Nobody said it was easy… And nobody said it would be this hard.  Will I be there at the start?

Monday, 17 April
5 minute warm-up, 8km in 45minutes

Tuesday, 18 April
30 minute swim

Wednesday, 19 April
Last big work-out for this training cycle, and I hope I didn’t over-exhaust myself doing it. I posted about this on Instagram already, but here it is again:

5min warm-up at 6:15/km
6km x 2, average 5:42/km with 5min rest in between sets at 6:30/km
3min+++ cool down, for a total of 14km in about 1h 22min.

As mentioned, this was done on a treadmill so I’m not sure how this translates when running outdoors. But really no choice, and it was a good last effort I think. It will have to do.

This was one of those days where you’re mentally drained and so ready for the day to be over even before you leave the house, so I’m not sure, on retrospect, that it was a good idea to push through with this last work-out because I definitely wasn’t in the right frame of mind for it. From the time we woke up to the time we left the house, there were poos from each of the boys, a vomit and a tantrum from Daniel (the tantrum being more exhausting than cleaning up the poos and the vomit combined). I can’t remember what it was about anymore, but I think it had something to do with wanting to wear a t-shirt underneath his school uniform and/ or wanting to take Duplo into the shower when I washed his bum. Or putting plasters over his eczema sores (I know it’s best to let them air-dry but that is unfortunately where we’re at now). Or something. As you can see, I have already blocked out the awfulness of it all from my memory.

The workout did leave me in a better mood for the rest of the day, so I suppose if I crash and burn on the 30th, this run would not have been in vain.

Thursday, 20 April

Easy running drills and lots of stretching and rolling thereafter with my PT.

Friday, 21 April

Yoga with G, who was covering Joyce. This was fun, because he doesn’t take yoga too seriously (setting intentions, being kind to your body and all that “spiritual” mumbo-jumbo blah, blah – okay I know for lots of people that’s the point but I just want to burst out laughing whenever the instructor says things like that).

Saturday, 22 April

It would have been nice if I could have spent the whole day sleeping, but Husband had IPPT in the morning (Silver, so sad – if we didn’t get food poisoning last week we’re quite sure he could have pushed for Gold, he was only a couple of seconds off in the 2.4) and Daniel kept asking to “Take the bus train with Mummy”, so after Husband came back we braved going to JEM on a weekend because I wanted to get my watch strap fixed. It wasn’t too bad, and thankfully we had the foresight to plan it such that Husband drove there with Andrew whilst I took Daniel there on the bus and train. And we took a long detour on our drive home and caught a glimpse of the port and the cranes, another of Daniel’s favourite things to do.

Sunday, 23 April

Easy run, about 7km. I read somewhere that people find it difficult to slow down during their easy runs, so I consciously made myself do so (honestly, running slowly may actually be harder than running hard) and walked and stopped for a bit whenever I felt tired. It was really humid, which helped in the slowing down process, but also created lots of room for self-doubt. Paced random dude at the end, when it had cooled down considerably and was a lot less humid, so ended the run feeling a bit better about things.

***

And that’s a wrap. There will be some easy runs and RPM in race week, but no more hard workouts (thank God. Can’t wait to go for more yoga again, slack in one corner, and look forward to falling asleep in shavasana… Until it’s time to train for the next race). Given my current physical and emotional state, despite the work I’ve put in, I think I’d be really lucky (is blessed a more correct word?) to hit the timing I want on Sunday, so I’m preparing myself to let it go and enjoy being out in the cold morning air. Running in Singapore at unearthly hours is quite pleasant, if you can get over the mental barriers and out of bed.  And if you aren’t woken up 2 hours before you were due to wake up for the run by your children.

See you at the finish line (unless I am forced to DNS or DNF).

Training for Half-Marathon: Part 3 of 5

Week 3 (Monday, 10 April 2017-Sunday, 16 April 2017)

Are you bored yet? When I was doing intervals this week, as much as I enjoyed them, the truth of something Husband said about running (and track and field, and sports events in general I guess) struck me - a lot of it is just doing the same thing over and over and over again. This week's interval workout consisted of 16x400m, which I did on Tuesday, i.e. two days after I was certified properly free of HFMD. Sustained a 5:13-5:20/km pace for each 400m interval, with a one minute rest at 6:00-6:15/km between each, for a total distance of about 12km in 1:09:40. Could have pushed it, but decided not to. 

Monday's workout was a short 20 minute run followed by strength training with my PT, and to ease myself back into cardio workouts, I went for RPM on Wednesday and Thursday at lunchtime. 

Friday, 14 April

This was Good Friday. Normally we'd have gone to church, but there was only one service at 8pm, so we didn't go this year. I took Daniel with me to collect my race pack (if you follow me on Instagram you would have seen the update), and was reminded of why I don't particularly enjoy races in Singapore anymore. They're just too crowded, there are too many freebies in the race pack and at the bazaars accompanying the race pack collection which nobody really uses (which pains me - all that plastic, all those resources which could have been put to better use) and there is this lingering scent of muscle rub in the air. I wonder why I was so onz about entering this giveaway in the first place. I can hear Husband's voice in my head: I told you so!

Daniel is really happy that we took the bus and the train together, though. If only his needs would remain this simple.

Saturday, 15 April 

H was in town for the weekend, so we took her to our favourite cafe near our house for brunch. We ate our usual chicken curry and kaya toast, I had ice lemon tea siu dai and Jon had kopi-c siu dai. All was fine and dandy until after our afternoon naps. 

I woke up to go for a run - it was the perfect evening for it, chilly and cloudy after the afternoon rain, the type of evening where you could really kill a workout. But I woke up feeling extremely nauseous, like first trimester nauseous, and I could feel the brunch churning around in my stomach. I made myself throw up (no, I do not have an eating disorder nor am I pregnant again - Aunt Flo just visited, thank God) and forced myself out to the PCN. Managed 12km or so (wasn't tracking) at a disappointing pace. It was a really discouraging run, given all the training I had put in thus far (and after you have children, do you know how hard it is to come by days with perfect running conditions? In fact, both children were fast asleep when I left the house), but on hindsight, I think the fact that I managed to complete it although I felt like throwing up every single minute of that one and a half hours is commendable. 

I got home, Daniel came bounding to the front door to greet me, and promptly threw up the contents of his brunch at my feet. Soon after, Husband started feeling sick and started throwing up too. He commented that he now knew what vomiting in the first trimester must feel like. (Seriously. As if a MAN would ever understand.)

Husband and Daniel spend the next 2-3 hours throwing up intermittently. Husband makes it to the toilet each time, Daniel doesn't. Andrew, bless his dear little heart (thankfully he is still mostly on formula and not on table food), goes to bed without much fuss. The pile of laundry grows, and there are still Andrew's bottles to be washed. Thankfully, after I spend about an hour wrapped up in a blanket on my bed and shivering, God hears my prayers and I feel well enough to do some laundry and wash the bottles.

We are unable to isolate the cause of our food poisoning, but I think we will have to (sadly) lay off going to our favourite cafe for a while. I won't post its name here, because we really like the place and the owners, and we can't be certain it was their food, but it's easy enough to find out if you Google (also if you know where I stay. Haha). In any event, if it was really their food, it was probably a one-off. We've been eating there for months with no incident. H was fine as well, so it may have been the Dairyworks Edam Cheese Sticks which I got for Daniel as a reward for being so well-behaved at NTUC, but it seems unlikely given that they're vacuum packed. 

Sunday, 16 April

Husband and I wake up feeling a bit weak, but generally okay and looking forward to finally going to church and celebrating Easter Sunday. 

About halfway to church, Daniel does a massive vomit, like the kind you HAVE to go home to clean up. So that is exactly what we do, and throughout the day, he has about three more vomits and I do three loads of laundry and I am so tired and I wonder if I'm going to post a DNS in two weeks' time.

Oh, woe is me, whine whine whine. I am rolling my eyes at myself as I type this, because Welcome To Parenthood, right? And who am I to whine, when I was the one who stubbornly refused to get live-in help???  

***

If you can't already tell, I'm feeling pretty exhausted and disappointed in the week.  It got off to a pretty good start, and I was optimistic about hitting some good running times this long weekend. I managed to get a nice crackly skin on my baked twee bah on Monday quite by accident, and we were all feeling upbeat about our impending release from the scourge of HFMD. It was also a short week, which would end in time of reflection and celebration of our faith... Well, I still had that time of reflection, just that I was lying in my bed at 1.30am feeling too cold and wondering if these things (HFMD, the food poisoning just as Husband's quarantine ended) were perhaps God's way of telling me to trust in Him to provide the strength, patience and grace to get through and still run this (literal) race at the end of these five weeks. I can't help but keep thinking back to the GEWR 2015 and how the haze was literally washed away just in time for it.

It's not like it's a big deal, really. There will be other races when the kids are older, hopefully overseas (better weather, more sane start times). But it would be nice to post a good timing. Husband is right though, as he usually is about these things - I should just enjoy it, as I have before, and as I hope to do so for many more years to come. 

***

Daniel insisted that I be the one to clean him up every single time he vomited or pooed this weekend. Drained as I was, I actually found this rather touching. Andrew, too, insisted that I carry him whenever I had my hands free. I also found this rather touching.

I just checked, and no, I am not running a fever. It is, however, quite late. Here's to Week 4, and if you've made it thus far without thinking Why do I still bother reading this auntie's rambly blog, thank you.

Training for Half-Marathon: Part 2B of 5

Week 2 (3 April 2017 - 9 April 2017)

TL;DR: Spent most of this week recovering from HFMD. It was one of the worst weeks of my life with two children thus far, beating even those weeks Andrew had unexplained diarrhoea which just wouldn't abate, even with Hidrasec and Isomil. For someone used to doing almost everything around the house, often multi-tasking, it was painful both physically and mentally to have to accept the limitations brought on by whatever strain of the Coxsackie virus this was (and there are so many more, woe is us).

But I was thankful for the fact that I didn't have much of a sore throat and that Andrew's symptoms were really mild - maybe one spot on each hand and one on his left big toe, probably a sore throat for about a day and a half - and cleared up within 4 days or so. Daniel seems to have escaped it completely. Husband is now on Day 5 and his sores are drying up nicely. His symptoms started the night before he was to fly to Jakarta for business, so he was in time to cancel his trip and not spread HFMD to a plane full of unsuspecting people.

As before, if you can't be arsed to read this in totality, scroll down and look out for what is in bold and underlined.

Monday, 3 April - Thursday, 6 April

See "TL;DR" section above. A notable highlight of this period is Daniel being quarantined at my parents' for two days - the two most painful days for me, Day 3 and Day 4 (Monday and Tuesday) - and not pooing, then arriving home on Wednesday and doing a huge poo within 10 minutes of his arrival. My mother messaged me around the same time he accomplished this feat, telling me she was worried he was constipated. I told her, after I cleaned him up, that his poo-dar was just very advanced i.e. poos are to take place only when Mummy is around.

These four days were the sort of days which made me seriously question if I was cut out to be a mother - I was mostly short-tempered and yell-ey, unable to keep my frustration at not being my usual overachieving self (sniggers) in check, and picking on Daniel when I knew I should have shown more patience and grace. The gnawing hunger I generally experienced was compounded by a lack of appetite and inability to eat very much, and ironically, although I am at my lightest since that awful first trimester with Andrew, it's not a good time to be losing weight and muscle and I have been trying to make up for it as best I can.

It wasn't all bad, though. Some things we had fun doing included playing the game Let's Make Didi Laugh! (I beat Daniel by a mile), watching Dinotrux, and having Husband finally explain its basic premise to me.

Despite all that, I had way too much time to think about Things. Sleep didn't come easily due to the itch in my hands, my general irritation at being stuck at home, and my worrying about how much fitness I would potentially lose. Something which nagged at me in particular was what I have to prove by doing this and blogging about it and sharing my thoughts with everyone. Instagram is filled (okay, the algorithm is biased) with #motherrunners posting daily and weekly mileage, new personal records and the like; the "gold standard" seems to be having 3 kids and/ or a sub-4 hour marathon timing at the very least, and the sooner you achieve a personal best after having your last child, the better. Kudos to you, too, for having a full-time job, making breakfast, packing lunches, making dinner, and following your usually very demanding training schedule. 

Running apps have made it too easy to obsess over yours and others' training progress. Even though I make an effort not to Runkeeper my runs and do not own a GPS watch (shocking, I know), it's come to a point where I am perhaps just a bit too mindful of the distance markings on the PCN, and monitoring the time elapsed whenever I'm out running. And tracking improvements or lack thereof and haolianning about them or berating yourself (respectively) is what this kind of irritating blog and social media posts are about, RIGHT? Last weekend, Husband acceded to my request to drive down my running route so we could track the distance I covered on my long run (the one before I succumbed to HFMD. It turned out to be more than 16km). 

But to what end? What is it I have to prove? Why do I force myself to wake up after too little sleep, give up lunches and human interaction, sometimes go the entire day without saying anything to anyone else other than my family members despite having a full-time job and colleagues? I really don't think bragging rights can be the main motivating factor, and if you want to be skinny and fairly fit, you don't actually have to put yourself through such punishment. (The key is to eat less, drink mostly water and maybe one or two teas a day with less or no sugar, and a moderate amount of exercise about three to four times a week. Some running, some yoga, maybe a spin class or two if that's your thing, and you're set.)

I concluded, during a night where sleep eluded me, that there is value in having personal goals which are my own, and not tied to my identity as a mother and a wife, and a lawyer. Some days, I feel like I'm losing myself because of what's expected of me (self-imposed expectations or otherwise), and the knowledge that I am working towards running faster, running better, keeps me plodding away through life; the runs and workouts themselves are precious minutes and hours which ground me, and help me to remember that I am at once more, and less than that - I am just another human being God created, a speck in the universe, as anonymous to whoever I pass on the road and running track as they are to me.

There is value in being so alone, if only for a while.

The less emo, less moody, and more rational explanation is that I just like running. In addition to how I feel during the runs themselves, there is something very shiok about drinking ice cold ice lemon tea siu dai and eating siu yoke rice from my favourite coffeeshop after a long run, and that ever so slight feeling of smugness that comes with the pleasant soreness in my muscles.*

*There is nothing shiok, however, about having to rock my fat baby to sleep and having to give in to Daniel's demands to be carried when we're out walking and he's tired.

Friday, 7 April

My hands have more or less stopped itching. The fog and frustration lifts, and there is a palpable shift in my mood. I stop being so emo and moody and over-thinking this stupid running thing, because this is Day 7 and I am technically sort of not-contagious anymore (okay, I probably still am, but I am going to head out to the doctor's to try and get myself certified fit for work come Monday!)!

The doctor says I am probably still a public health hazard, and finds one spot at the back of Daniel's mouth. I try to convince her that it's toothbrush trauma, but she doesn't certify us fit for work and school. Andrew, however, is. She tells me to come back on Sunday. (It's covered by Husband's company insurance anyway, so why not?)

At 6.40pm, I make it out for a run. Just under 6km at a comfortable pace, with some strides. Pushed it a little because I'm irritating that way.

Saturday, 8 April 

Husband's condition is somewhat improved, and he grudgingly allows me to go out for another run. Because I don't know how to take things easy, I decide to do a tempo run, but maintain a slower pace for the tempo part. This run consisted of:

• Warm-up of about 5.6km in just under 33 minutes 
• Tempo run of about 4.2km in just under 22 minutes, so about 5:15/km (but it may be slower. I don't know, and am trying not to care (see above))

for a total of 55 minutes ++ of running. The tempo part was really painful, but as Husband pointed out, what was I expecting?

Sunday, 9 April 

Daniel and I are certified fit for work and school. I sacrifice a nap to write this update.

***

As promised, I now leave you with tips for training for a long-distance race (probably not applicable if you are already at some very high level of fitness, or were at a very high level of fitness before having children, or are a male, or don't have children, so you can ignore me if you fall into any one of those categories):

1. Do it before you have children. I was actually going to say "Don't have children", but I figured that would have been insensitive - and anyway, EVERYONE wants children, right? Those cute, charming, lovely little bundles of joy. And germs. Who occasionally exhibit sociopathic behaviour, and need EVERYTHING to be done for them. Even after they start walking and talking.
2. If you have children, wait until they're older, i.e. when their sleep is more predictable. Or maybe you have a magic baby who, from birth, put him or herself to sleep and slept 12 hours every single night despite the occasional sniffles and scourge known as Teething! If so, lucky you! If not, and if you, like me, for some reason decide that you want to do something like this when you are less than a year post-partum (which is usually when their sleep becomes a bit more predictable), see the next tip.
3. Farm the child/ children out as much as possible. To your live-in domestic help, grandparents, husband, anyone who is a capable caregiver. Unless you, like me, have decided to go at parenthood without the first, have an overactive conscience and sense of duty which prevents you from imposing too much on the second, and have a husband who also needs time alone to do his own workouts - all the best. It can be done, because women and mothers are a tough species, but I have absolutely no idea what to expect from race day itself and neither will you.

For actual, helpful tips, please ask Google. And if you're here because you Googled "Can I exercise when I have HFMD?", the answer is "Yes, I tried and got decent workouts in on Days 2, 7 and 8". I caveat that your HFMD timeline and symptoms may differ from mine, and if your fever persists or you feel like absolute crap, give it a while more. 

Training for Half-Marathon: Part 2A of 5 (brought to you by the letters H, F, M and D)

Day 4 of HFMD and I am bored. Husband took leave today and is out with Daniel (my mum kindly let him stay over last night, and the three of them are still showing no symptoms, thankfully). Andrew probably watched too much TV yesterday, and my hands hurt still (though my sore throat is more or less gone) so I am going to try and make this quick. 

I got a call from the boys' childcare yesterday afternoon, it was the manager checking in. There's been a mini-outbreak (about 6 kids?) at the infant care, but the kids have done well. She ended off her call by saying perhaps this was a good time for a break from everything for me - I wryly replied that I didn't think so, but after she hung up, I had a think about what she said and I realised she was right. This is the first time since going back to work that I have truly had a break, where I am not doing anything at all but sitting at home watching TV and lazing around in bed (vs heading out for a run or to the gym or NTUC). Although I forced myself to cook some porridge and do laundry yesterday despite the pain in my hands - you can give a mum HFMD but you can't take the mum out of her, huh. And there's still Andrew to look after but he can still be confined to his cot, no matter how unhappy he is about it.

I suppose it was inevitable, given the extent to which I was pushing myself in general, that I would succumb to this or some other horrible virus at some point. Husband says it could stand for HufFy Mummy Disease, or High-Functioning Mummy Disease. Not an inaccurate description, I think; I was super sian upon hearing that I was quarantined, and I'm probably down with it because of a lack of rest and doing too many things.

In any event: although this has derailed this week's training plan, I am thankful for the enforced break. I actually went for a short run, just over 5km, on Sunday evening - so that was a solid Week 1 of this training cycle, and I believe it has helped in the recovery (I usually go for a light workout when I'm at the beginning stages of fighting off a virus anyway). Also, and this isn't something I have wanted to share, I have been feeling the beginnings of plantar fasciitis in my right foot for a while, and although it's gotten better due to the yoga and stretching I've been making myself  do, I think it's good that I've been forced to lay off running. 

I don't actually doubt, despite the discomfort I am experiencing now, that I will be at the starting line come 30 April. Back in 2015 - if you remember, the haze went on and on and people were complaining left right centre about all the cancelled runs - I prayed that God would clear the haze for the Great Eastern Women's Run, which I had trained for through my year at home with Daniel. Up until the day before the run, the PSI was still in the 100s - but on the day of the run itself, it was 66, and the run went on. That experience showed me how much He cares about all the small details of our lives, even the trivial and vain ones. 

My current plan is to do a short run on Friday or Saturday, depending on how my hands and feet - my feet aren't that painful, but a bit tender - are doing. If you see me around, I look like I have had a really bad breakout on my face. But as I keep telling myself, things could be worse, so keep calm and give thanks. And watch Man Fire Food. 

Training for Half-Marathon: Part 1 of 5

TL;DR: I won a giveaway for a race entry to the NTUC Income Eco Run (NTUC must be my favourite local entity) on 30 April 2017, and to amuse myself*, I have decided to keep a training log for the five weeks leading up to the race  (I signed up for the half-marathon, not sure why).

*With reference to my previous post, I may find my work meaningful in general but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel weary from some of the more tedious and uninteresting matters, especially where I feel Legal is just being made use of.

Because I belong to the generation that overshares and generally enjoys kaypohing in other peoples’ business, here is Part 1 of 5, which covers almost all of Week 1 (Monday to part of Sunday).  You don’t need to read it, or even any of the subsequent parts, but if you’re bored and spend too much time on Facebook reading random stuff anyway, you can just skim this and look out for what I have underlined and made bold in the text. And of course, I will be sure to #haolian about this achievement which will take place #9monthspostpartum, regardless of how I perform.

P/S I am not very fast, sorry to disappoint.

Some more background: The week beginning 20 March, i.e. the week I entered the giveaway, started off really painfully. I figured I was burnt out from being a mum – when all you want is just 20 quiet minutes for a power nap and your toddler insists on marching around you as you lie on his bed, lustily singing THE ANTS GO MARCHING ONE BY ONE HURRAH! HURRAH!, then refuses to sleep unless he is curled into the crook of your back just so and you no longer find it endearing but have to resist the urge to shake him then give him a good spanking, something’s up. Plus I was a bit sick, and generally feeling that I wanted to get away from both Husband and the kids even though we had just had a wonderful family staycation together, to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary! **

**Sarcastic tone.

So these five weeks of training, come what may, are my gift to myself. I’d already been training with a Ministry 10k in May in mind, maybe doing a half-marathon towards the end of the year, but since this came up – why not?

“Them” collectively refers to Daniel and Andrew.  

Week 1 (27 March 2017 – 2 April 2017)

27 March, Monday

Rest day. This is also the day I am informed that I won one of three race entries from @mokyingren’s giveaway for the Income Eco Run (so shiok that training starts on a rest day, hor?). I usually go for RPM on Mondays at lunch, but had to take a break today (see next paragraph). Also, I went for a stroller run the day before. Was, however, all haolianned-out from all the Instagram action and couldn’t bring myself to post about it. I think it was a good ~5k run at a good pace, considering that it was really humid and the stroller fan battery gave out about half-way through (it had already been used earlier in the day during the very long journey to and from church). Did 5x slope repeats at a not very steep slope (I hesitate to call it a “hill”) near my block after, and some small boys kicking a ball around peered curiously at my thankfully asleep baby in the stroller. Daniel also slept whilst we were out for the run, lucky Husband. 

I take half a day’s leave because my mum, our beloved PP, who is on Monday Them Duty, had a terrible bout of stomach flu over the weekend and although she was recovered, felt she might have needed some help. I contemplate doing an easy shake-out run, because how rare is it for my mum AND me to both be around with Them on a weekday evening?!  But I decide instead to have a nap, take my time making dinner, and iron Husband’s formal pants (he’s able to be mostly in polo shirts and jeans at work, thank God) because he is flying to the Philippines for business tomorrow night.

During my bedtime prayer with Daniel, we give thanks for my winning the giveaway. I finally acknowledge the thought that has been nagging at me the entire day, namely that I have absolutely no idea how training for this is going to go, because the quality of the training depends a lot on the boys’ health and sleep, but I know that this is entirely in God’s hands so I try to stop worrying about it.

I go to sleep at around 11pm, excited to do some intervals tomorrow (as I have been doing on Tuesdays since mid-January) with a goal in mind.

Note: The late hour was due to the fact that I spent some time drafting a snarky email to HPB highlighting to them Regulation 11(2) of the Infectious Diseases (Diptheria and Measles Vaccinations) Regulations, and undertaking to take Daniel for his second MMRV booster shot before he turns three, as he had his first MMRV shot after he turned a year old (our PD recommended delaying the second jab so as not to exacerbate his asthmatic tendencies whilst they were being treated. It has been about 9 months of Singulair so far. It is cheaper, and available OTC in Malaysia. FYIP).

My drafting of said email was hampered to some extent by Husband, who kept coming up to me in 10- minute intervals to tell me that I was abusing my legal training, and reminding me that I was responding to a computer-generated letter which I told him I felt insulted by because I felt it insinuated that I: (i) did not want to vaccinate my child against measles because it causes autism; and (ii) had broken the law by not doing so. He disagreed with my reading of it, pointing out that it was computer-generated and that we had in any event complied with the law. I ignored him, but because he distracted me, I later found two errors in my email, which annoyed me further. Want to be snarky and take moral high ground must be grammatically and factually correct, correct?  

28 March, Tuesday

2am: Daniel wakes up because he wet the bed (despite the fact that he was wearing a diaper). After cleaning him up, we give him some milk and cajole him back to sleep.

4am: Daniel wakes up and comes to our bed. He nudges into Andrew whilst he is worming his way up the bed to lie down next to me, waking him, and they both ask for milk. Or rather, Daniel asks for milk in the Most Whiny Way Possible, and Andrew just makes a heckuva lot of noise so we make him a milk to keep him quiet.  It works. They both go back to sleep.

6am: Andrew wakes up, and to get him to go back to sleep, we make him another milk. After finishing the milk, because we are derelict parents and it’s like 6am and I can wake up earlier than that for a run but not to burp my baby, we do not make him sit up so he can burp. He tries unsuccessfully to sit up but Daniel and Husband are blocking his way. He coughs a few times, and regurgitates most of his milk onto the k’Tan carrier I decided to leave on our bed for convenience. A good part of it lands on our bed anyway.

I get a towel and wet wipes, we wipe Andrew’s face, place the towel over the wet patch, calm an excited Daniel down (“Didi votited!”), and go back to sleep. To avoid getting kicked in the ribs, I shift myself to the foot of the bed, where my head is at Husband’s feet and I have to curl up, but in a not uncomfortable position.

8am: Everyone except Andrew wakes up. After I do last night’s dishes, I clean Daniel up because he has pooed, and hustle Husband out of the bathroom so I can take a shower. Whilst I am showering, I hear a thud, followed by a cry. I hope against hope, but it turns out that Andrew has rolled off our bed (again) (I told you we were derelict parents).

8.40am: Jon has carted Daniel off to his parents’ place, and although I am already late for work, my mum has not yet arrived, so I take the time to play with Andrew. He is pleased. After a while I smell poo, so I take him to the bathroom to wash him up. I take off his diaper, and note that there isn’t very much poo.

As I am preparing to wash his bum, he poos in the shower.

There is a lot of poo.

I manage, through sheer force of will and what I think is laudable acrobatic ability, to get the roll of toilet paper off the top of the cistern whilst holding on to my squirming baby. I manage to tear off a length of toilet paper, and proceed to pick up the poo. I pick most of it up, but when I try to toss the poo-filled toilet paper package into the toilet bowl, I miss. It lands on the toilet seat, and due to the semi-liquid nature of the poo, some spatters on the wall. The next bit of poo I scoop up and try to toss into the toilet bowl also misses and lands on the floor next to the toilet.

I momentarily lose my grip on Andrew and he slides onto his back in the shower. Some poo gets on the sleeve of his romper. He cries unhappily.

I take off his romper, give him a bath, douse the affected areas of the bathroom floor and toilet with Dettol (neat), and hope for the best in terms of the spreading of poo germs.

Haolian of the day: I manage not to get any poo, and only a minimal amount of water, on my work clothes.

12.30pm: After a painful morning of reading some very long comments (why does Microsoft Word keep collapsing them?!) and drafting, I finally head off with some excitement to the gym for the first interval workout of this admittedly very short training cycle. Today’s workout consisted of:

• 20 minute warm-up at 6:00/km (~3+km)
• 8x800m at 5:15-5:21/km, for an average speed of 5:19/km in effort. Took 1 minute breaks in between, at 6:00-6:19/km, and after each interval from 5-7 I had to hit pause for about 40 seconds each time. But who cares, I managed to finish all 8 intervals.
• 1 minute rest at 9km/h

-          Total distance – 10.98km (let’s call it 11), in 1:02:24.

After I am done, I feel a little like vomiting, and I remember why I set myself a measly sub-55 10k goal 1 year post Andrew. But what to do, won race entry and signed up for half-marathon already.

3.43pm: I am typing this at my desk and trying not to fall asleep.

4.08pm: I decide to get an overpriced ice lemon tea from FunToast at Star Vista. It’s not bad, at least it tastes like they bothered to extract the juice from the lemon instead of just sticking some slices of lemon into a cup of teh-o-bing siu dai.

6.40pm: I arrive home, buzzing from my second caffeine high of the day, and find that Andrew is slightly feverish. I give thanks for the extra caffeine boost, because I know I’ll be needing it.

29 March, Wednesday

Last night’s sleep could have been better – but sleep with two little kids, especially one fighting a mild fever, can always be better. It was as good as it gets in the circumstances.

I went for RPM at lunchtime with my favourite instructor, G. I have a soft spot for this class because I attended it religiously throughout the year off I had after Daniel was born. It played no small part in helping to keep me sane, and I formed friendships (well, acquaintance-ships may be a more accurate description) with people I would otherwise never have gotten to know.

7.36pm: I heat up leftover chicken macaroni soup, and sit down with the boys in front of yet another episode of Dinotrux (we’re repeating them already) to eat.  By 9.30pm, we’re ready for bed. Except that sleep is for the weak, and for those who are not teething. Or fighting off another virus. Or teething, I’m sure it’s teething this time. I hope those dratted two lower front teeth make an appearance ASAP.

30 March, Thursday

I suppose last night could have gone a lot worse in that I could have not gotten any sleep AT ALL, but what transpired (as I posted on Facebook: many times extended puppy pose, rolling around my bed whining and refusing to be carried, me praying that the boys wouldn’t wake each other up) was enough to make me remember why I decided that my 1-year goal post Andrew was simply to do a faster 10k, then work towards a solid sub-2 half marathon the year after (current best time – 1:57:13). You just can’t predict how the nights are going to go. I still intend to go for a long run tomorrow, but it may have to be shortened somewhat if tonight is like last night. Husband is back from the Philippines tonight, so he will need to get some rest too.

There’s been a Buddhist (Taoist?) wake at our void deck for the past 3 nights, and while I am all for religious harmony and really proud of Singapore for its stance on racial and religious tolerance, last night I really wondered whether the authority issuing the permits thinks about how many young children there may be in an HDB block who would be affected by the noise at night. I was so annoyed that I brought the boys downstairs and stood some distance away looking balefully at the entire proceedings. But what to do? Like that lor. I am not proud of how I reacted; I was very irritated and shouted a bit in our house (no one could have heard me over the din, and anyway the windows were closed), and I thought I was a very bad example to Daniel, who first “sang along” with the funeral band and went “dong dong chiang” whilst hitting an imaginary drum, then kept an uncertain quiet after I shouted and after asking me “Mummy, who shout?!”

This morning, when the funeral band played 世上只有妈妈好 – a surprisingly pleasant rendition, given the instruments used – I took the chance to tell Daniel that I had been “naughty” last night because didi wasn’t doing too good, and he had to always show respect to other religions. I hope I haven’t turned my child into a Christian snob.

Haolian of the day: Managing to leave the house not looking like a total train wreck (thank you, Love Bonito) after marinating some minced pork for tonight’s dinner, and turning into the office carpark just before 9.45am, despite having only left the house at 9.09am to drop Them off at childcare (“Mummy! I don’t want to go to school! I want to SLEEP!” You and me both, Daniel, but unfortunately, you can’t always have your way.)

 I usually do strength training on Thursdays with a PT (a relic of my second pregnancy), but I have an offsite meeting (which just means I will be away from my car) that’s expected to extend over lunch, so I plan to come back to the office and take a nap with whatever time there is left remaining of the lunch hour(s).

11.25am: Just before my meeting is supposed to start, I receive a call from childcare telling me that some spots have developed near Andrew’s mouth (and over the rest of his body), and I need to come and take him to the doctor to be certified HFMD-free***. Since the car is not with me, and I think my boss needs support at the meeting, I ask if I can come in about one and a half hours or so, and the teachers thankfully agree.

***ZOMG

1.15pm: With some effort, I make it to the end of the meeting. I have asked my parents to go over to the childcare first… And after I make it back to my car and fly over to the childcare, I end up meeting them carrying Andrew to the car – and he doesn’t look particularly spotty to me. Because I am not convinced it’s HFMD, I take him to the cheap and lousy GP instead of our usual nice and expensive PD, which turns out to be a mistake because the cheap and lousy GP is cursory in his examination (though he finds no spots IN Andrew’s mouth nor are there any on his hands and feet), and he also decides to swab Andrew’s mouth, just in case. That’s fine, but the swab will go to the National Swab Lab (or whatever it’s called, haha) which is FREE so it will take some time for the results to come. In the meantime, Andrew can’t go to childcare. If I’d gone to my usual PD I suppose the results would have come back more quickly. But it’s too late, I’m too tired to bring him for another doctor’s appointment, and anyway they are closed.

This may reinforce the idea that I am a derelict parent, but one of my foremost thoughts is whether I will be able to make it out of the house for a run tomorrow morning at 5.30am.

Andrew is very pleased to be at home alone with me on a weekday, and proceeds to try to get me to play with him once we get home.

8.40pm: I get home from dinner at my parents’, hurriedly clean everyone up (there are 2x poos), and hustle us all to bed. Andrew, surprisingly, falls asleep pretty easily after drinking a good 240ml of milk (leading to more doubts about whether he has HFMD). I fall asleep around 10.30pm. Part of my bedtime prayer today is that I will be able to go for my long run tomorrow morning.

31 March, Friday

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning: Husband is home!

1.30am: Andrew wakes up, and falls asleep after guzzling a bottle of milk.

4.45am: Just before my alarm goes off, Daniel stirs and I wake up with him. After making him a milk, I surreptitiously change into my running gear. Andrew stirs and gives a small cry, so I carry him and successfully get him back to sleep.

5.45am: I actually leave the house!

I contemplated Runkeepering the run, but I’ve been thinking a lot about why I run and eventually decided not to. When I took the picture for the giveaway, Husband kept asking me why it meant so much to me. Being competitive and obsessed with my body image is one thing (and I don’t deny that I am both), but I don’t think that alone can be sufficient motivation to spend practically all my weekday lunches more or less isolated (except for when I’m at a class or working with my PT) and committing to training despite not being guaranteed a good night’s sleep. I thought back to when I did my first sub-2hr half-marathon in 2013 (at the postponed 2XU one, an AGC colleague gave me her slot!), and I remembered that I didn’t care about achieving a good time or anything – I just wanted to enjoy racing. Of late, being overly concerned about distances and times has started to kill the enjoyment for me, especially with all the stuff I see on Instagram. So I left my phone at home and headed out with only a standard army-issue black Casio watch (Jon’s).

This is my first long distance early morning run in a while; my favourite part of it is the stretch past Dempsey to the Botanic Gardens. Just for that less than one kilometer, waking up at such a horribly early hour is worth it. Mist hangs from the trees, and there’s barely anyone else out running. There’s something about being up and about in these hours, racing down roads which are usually teeming with people, enjoying the sound of your own breath in the morning quiet before the sun rises, feeling your perspiration flick off your skin. When I was still at AGC, running to work in the morning was one of my favourite things to do.

Distance covered: At least 15-16km, but I’m not sure. I went down one side of the Ulu Pandan PCN from my house, down Holland Road, past Holland Village and down past Dempsey. Turned left at the Gleneagles junction, ran down past CCAB to Dunearn Road, ran down Dunearn Road, turned to go past Ngee Ann Polytechnic and Maju Camp, and back to my house.

Time: 1:43:17. I don’t think I ran THAT slowly either, hence my estimate of the distance covered.

Husband and I finally have a date night sans children (thank you, beloved PP!), and we join our friends to celebrate DMC’s birthday. I have a Mojito, a tequila shot, and about half a glass of frozen Margarita. I am buzzing pleasantly.

Update on Andrew’s health: He has a grand total of one pimple-like spot on each of his hands, but has been steadily guzzling milk. HFMD? What gives, man?

1 April, Saturday

There are only two things I have to say about Saturday:

1.  I had a hangover. Going for a quick swim didn’t help.
2.  It is irresponsible to overestimate your alcohol tolerance when you have young children to look after.

I hope I don’t have HFMD. The hangover is not helped by the slight fever I have.

2 April 2017, Sunday

I wake up with a slight sore throat and a grand total of three small pimple like spots on my left hand and one on my right, so whatever Andrew has, he passed to me. (HFMD??) I feel much better, though I think I’m going to call it a rest day instead of going for a short run. We’ll see.

Someone remind me again why I am doing this?

On Work

Last Friday, whilst my team was out for our Staff Bonding Day, news came that our PB* letters (emails, rather) had been disseminated. I reached an entirely new level of IDGAF-ery, even for me (pardon my French and the many parentheses), when I was given a lift back to office where I'd parked my car, but immediately hotfooted it to the same and raced home to get in a nap before picking the boys up from childcare. 

*For the avoidance of doubt, that's Personal Bonus, not Personal Best (though I hope to hit some running ones later this year) or Peanut Butter.

***

I've done a search of my archives, and although I've shared it on Facebook, I don't think I've actually mentioned this in a blog post before. So for what it's worth, I am setting it out here although you all probably know this already. 

When I left practice in 2012 and finally got called for the Legal Service interview, one of the first few questions I was asked was, of course, why I left practice. I'd thought about my answer to this long and hard before the interview, and against the advice of friends who had taken this path before me, I decided to be honest and say that one of the main reasons was that I wanted to have more time to cook and clean for my husband. Because it was the truth, and I knew that if I gave the "stock answer" about wanting to make a difference, serve Singapore, blah blah blah, it would definitely show that I was just saying what I thought the interviewers wanted to hear. I had barely graduated three years ago, what would I truly know about the public service? (I did eventually get appointed as a prosecutor, so I must have answered the other questions "correctly".)

Before I applied, I told myself that whatever it was, I would, as much as possible, let go of the competitiveness and pride which fuelled me in practice, and not care about others' pay, bonuses, and promotion. Especially members of the opposite sex whom I didn't feel were particularly worthy*. 

*That's not to say I don't agree with the Government's stance on treating NS as two years' working experience - on the contrary, I think it's laudable, but it is rather galling in some instances, though these have been remarkably few. Okay just one instance lah. You want to know who, you can PM me. (It would be apt to insert a LOL here, so, LOL.) 

Also, I'd taken more than a third of a pay cut when I left practice and joined the Legal Service (yes, lawyers earn an obscene amount of money, and I am not kvetching, just stating a fact).

In a bid to live up to this goal I set for myself (amongst other goals, such as always maintaining a good standard of English and being kind to and patient with my subordinates), all emails and manuals which set out in long, painful detail things like our bonus structure, promotion criteria, etc., were cursorily glanced through and deleted or shredded, depending on whether they were in electronic or paper form. Horrific, I know, especially since I am in the business of telling people to read the d*mned documents, but the upside of it was that I was always pleasantly surprised by "random" bonus payments or merit increments, because I never expected them or knew that they were coming.

***

I think the true test of my resolve, however, has been the fact that in my four or so years in the Legal Service (discounting the year off I took when Daniel was born), I've never been assigned a case that has been particularly worth bragging about, so to speak. Now, getting assigned to "big" and "important" (read: billable hour generating) cases was what it was all about in practice. In fact, I used to feel a tad upset when the partner-in-charge assigned cases to others whom I felt wouldn't do as good a job as me*. So to not mind about this wasn't exactly an easy thing to do.  

*Don't bluff, I know you also felt that way when you were young and starting out. 

Granted, my name was in the papers a few times (cheap thrill! And then there was the time I referred to an offender in a statutory rape case as a "bread maker" - because he made bread dough which was then sent out to bakeries and baked there, so he technically wasn't a baker, right? - and it was reported as such and Hardwarezoners had a field day for some reason which was truly awful), but they were run of the mill cases that didn't get me much, if any, face time with the Powers That Be. In fact, there was one matter which one of my previous directors tried very kindly to get me to follow through on to "increase my visibility", but that was quietly transferred away to someone else at some point by another director*. 

*I was very bitter then, and it definitely stung, but only for a while. It's not like it was my matter to begin with, you know? Ah, how much it mattered back then, how little it matters now. 

I must now digress to the time just after I started work following my maternity leave with Andrew. 

Before I went off to get induced, Jon told me that he was Very Sure some of my matters would still be there when I was back from maternity leave, so I should stop pushing myself so hard to hand over everything (I still did). Sure enough, he was right, and I spent my first week or so back in the office re-acquainting myself with a ring binder (okay, one only, not like in practice where there are 12328437876871 ring binders to go through during Discovery - you win!) full of documents pertaining to a particularly tedious matter involving irate parents (wow, what's new?). It took every ounce of concentration I had, fuelled by the rush of FINALLY being back at work, to go through everything again, take into consideration the new information which had come in, do further legal research, and draft an updated piece of advice. 

That was when it struck me that not everything you do at work needs to be "glamorous" and "exciting"- or even newsworthy. After all these years, it came to me then, as I trawled through a very long SGCA judgment (they are all quite long nowadays hor?), that the run of the mill work needs to be done by someone, and done well at that, and even if it's not stuff that will get you a higher bonus or a faster promotion - does it really matter? Especially in the public service? After all, whatever I do is for Singapore's greater good, right? 

I'd be lying if I said it didn't matter, but I don't think I'm wrong in saying that we can choose how much we want it to matter, or if we want it to matter at all. 

All that navel-gazing led me to look back on my time as prosecutor, and realise that the two matters I found truly meaningful and memorable were run of the mill ones (I had never given much thought to my time as a prosecutor before, about a year after I joined Jon had his tumour and then we had Daniel and off I went to my current Ministry). 

The first involved two streetwalkers who had been charged for gang robbery. Their defence counsel was the esteemed Mr Gregory Vijayendran, assisted by Mr Jason Gabriel Chiang (some years my junior in law school I think) who had taken up the case pro bono. It was just another PG mention I was assigned, and other members of the "gang" had already been convicted on that charge, but the judge directed that the prosecution give consideration to Mr Vijayendran's impassioned mitigation plea and the facts at hand, and decide if a lesser charge was perhaps warranted, because their role in the robberies had been so minor. 

We ended up (rightly) reducing the charge for these two women, who were at the time not much older than me, and I'd like to think that made a significant enough difference to their lives because they didn't have to serve such long sentences. I was also touched by the effort Mr Vijayendran and Jason had put into preparing the mitigation plea; having been in practice, I could tell it was a solid effort which must have taken them some time to put together, including travelling to Changi Prison to interview their clients. 

The second involved an uncle who had climbed into a series of hawker stalls via the opening at the top of the stalls - you know the kind, the sheltered, high-roofed hawker centres where walls which are not connected to the ceiling separate the stalls - and managed to steal S$400 from one of the stalls, the tau huay one, if I remember correctly. He'd been caught on a CCTV at the neighbouring Tiong Bahru Pao stall, but still insisted that it wasn't him. That case was memorable because it was so interesting interacting with all the hawker stall aunties who had to come and give evidence, and they all came dressed in their "formal" attire of polo shirt, jeans, and sports shoes. I remember the tau huay stall auntie in particular, she had to put on her reading glasses to look at my map of the hawker centre, and she peered over the top of them when she was done, in true auntie fashion. The judge who heard the case was the current State Coroner, Mr Marvin Bay, and he was very kind and gentlemanly to all the aunties, thanking them all warmly at the end of the half-day hearing for taking the time to give evidence. 

And at my current Ministry? Last year, at a lateish stage in my pregnancy with Andrew, I spent some nights at home (one night is one night too many. Haha.) mulling over a case I felt strongly about, reading cases and discussing the current state of the law with Jon, just to try and justify a position I wanted to take, knowing in my heart that it might all be for naught because my director would disagree with me - which he eventually did. One of my most memorable cases which I can mention in a public forum, albeit obliquely, involved a fridge which a vendor had left behind in a school canteen - I was introduced to the legal concept of an involuntary bailee, and had a good time reading the accompanying case law (legislation has been enacted to deal with this in the UK, so the cases were rather dated but all the more interesting for that). The tedious matter I started working on again when I came back from maternity leave is still there; I hope my recommendations pass muster, and will help someone find closure. 

***

A wise friend said, when I was contemplating finding a part-time in-house role during my one year break with Daniel, that I had better make sure I found my job worthwhile and meaningful because I was going to be spending so much time away from my children. I ended up staying in the Legal Service, and I'm glad I stuck it out. I may never have realised the meaningfulness of my job otherwise, nor learnt to see and be grateful for all the mercies great and small, that God has given me in this regard.