Stronger

Since we are 30+ weeks in and I'm not sure if I will be able to work up the courage to have another child after we have SBC, I thought it would be nice, for posterity's sake, to write about how it's been, being pregnant  with SBC, whilst I am still pregnant with him.  

***

Many people have asked what we are going to name SBC, and my standard response is "Andy Lau lor". These "many people" then assume that I am joking, and when I tell them "Okay, no, we're going to name him Andrew - so I can shorten it to Andy," they usually try to hide their looks of horror; but too late, being pregnant means my senses are in overdrive, and I also catch the words they have bitten back just in time: why would you be so cruel to your child?! 

For the record, I've always liked the name Andrew. It's also biblical, has a nice meaning (manly, according to Google), and I don't know any Andrews whom I dislike. It just so happens that Jon's surname is Lau. In fact, even before we conceived FBC, I'd broached the idea of naming him Andrew - but given the circumstances surrounding his conception, I eventually gave in to Jon's wish to name him Daniel. 

*** 

Now that the end to this constant need to pee and being forced to sleep on my left side is in sight, I'm actually looking forward to SBC's arrival. I don't think it's that I didn't look forward to FBC's birth - having gone through this pregnancy with one or two friends who are expecting their first, I've looked back on my own first pregnancy and realised that it was just a rather emotionally trying time, and whatever anticipation or excitement I felt was clouded by a whole lot of other emotions. I think I was mostly concerned with getting through the days after Jon's second operation, and the nights he was working despite undergoing RT. It's not like each of his RT sessions was particularly long, or that they took place over a particularly long period of time - he didn't expect me to accompany him when he went for them either - but medical treatment, and being there for someone whilst they're undergoing it, isn't the most fun thing in the world, you know? Especially when it's your spouse. In sickness and in health. 

And it being my first pregnancy, I was always thinking and worrying about whether FBC would be born happy and healthy. It did seem particularly important in the circumstances though; as I (morbidly) told friends, if anything happened to Jon, at least there would be a baby 来做纪念, to be a remembrance. 

Which is why, before we embarked on having our second child, I told myself that I would be as chill as possible during my second pregnancy and enjoy it. Also, since #YOLO, why not just go for it and be the mother of Andy Lau?

***

So of course, in my first trimester, I had to have some spotting the day before we went on holiday to Penang in early December. I wasn't particularly worried, but given that we would be flying somewhere, I thought it would be best to get it checked out - and of course, I had to choose the worst possible gynaecologist (henceforth, "random gynae", and all references to "gynae" are simply for ease of typing and should not be taken to refer to him) available to see me at the end of the working day at short notice. He informed me that I had a polyp, which he removed without truly seeking my consent (when you are lying on a doctor's table with your legs open it is difficult to say anything when said doctor tells you he is going to remove the polyp which he thinks is causing the spotting, AND THEN PROCEEDS TO DO IT), then told me I should prepare to miscarry because he was unable to see anything via the vaginal ultrasound, although I already tried to explain to him that I was quite sure I had ovulated later than usual that month and was hence probably earlier on in the pregnancy than I was, based on my last period.

I went to Penang, carried Daniel everywhere, and ordered laksa without hum. We went to Penang on a Friday, and before we came back to Singapore two days later, on a Sunday, there was no more spotting. Suffice to say, I never went back to random gynae again, although he suggested that I schedule a further appointment with him to monitor my hCG levels.

In retrospect, I'm not sure why I initially insisted on waiting to see my previous gynae from NUH. The appointment NUH gave me was for a date almost two months after I called (after seeing random gynae), and it was only after I spent most of the week after Christmas in bed or in the toilet throwing up and subsisting primarily on fishball noodles with no fishballs, only fishcake please, and my mother pointing out to me that I was getting very gaunt and was I sure I wanted to wait so long? that I finally agreed to find another gynae. Jon accused me of forum shopping after my first real scan (I was already 11 weeks by then), when I gleefully told him that I had been given the green light to continue running, amongst other things which had been taboo with my previous gynae (she was wonderful, and I felt dreadfully disloyal to her when I switched).

It has been good, though. Being pregnant with a toddler and a full-time job is not the most fun thing in the world either, but I think my current gynae and his cheerful, if slightly FOS outlook has been instrumental in helping me fulfill my promise to myself.

#YOLO, yo.

***

With that, I wish to inform you that it is way past my bedtime and I am now more emo than I was before I started typing this post. In keeping with the #YOLO theme of this pregnancy, I actually kept a record of all the food it was worth throwing up during my first trimester and all the food which wasn't. I promise to share it another time when I am less emo and it is not so late. 

Only If I

It is quite likely that some time in the not-so-far-off future, I will come to rue the moments I wished that FBC would hurry and grow up already. I don't think I've indulged much in motherhood sentimentality, but I do know that he will only be small and cute and defenceless all at once at this point in his life, and I have no idea when the day will come where we will wake up in the morning and find that he has transformed into a gangly, awkward stranger. Treasure each day with your child! There is nothing more worthwhile! Enjoy all the overwhelming love! Did you ever, EVER think you could ever love anybody SO much? 

Guilt-inducing platitudes abound on social media, and when I'm not dismissing them as absolute tosh, I am holding back tears at my desk and telling myself not to succumb to this crap*.

*I am aware that not everyone who may read this thinks it is crap. No offence intended. I have weird coping mechanisms. 

For the record - even though FBC is almost two and we are expecting our Second Born Child ("SBC") pretty soon, I still don't feel that having children is worth it. Somewhere in my mind, of course, my rational self is aware and believes that it is (after all, we are having another), but when I was in the throes of nausea and a terrible cold* during my second first trimester, I looked at FBC sleeping peacefully next to me, and wondered what on earth I had gotten, and was getting myself into.

*I thought I would never, EVER, be able to eat again. Have YOU ever felt like you would never, EVER be able to eat again?

***

Before we had FBC, I was quite certain that I only wanted to try for a second one after he could communicate properly with us, i.e. tell us what he wanted or was feeling in words. It's not that he can't do so now, but he's nowhere near the fantastic ideal I had in mind when we were "family planning". 

That being said, it dawned on me a few days ago that it's probably just as well we decided to try for another one sooner rather than later, because I would in all likelihood have lost my nerve to have more than one child if we'd waited longer.   

Some days, I sit in the car after FBC gets on the school bus (yowling as he's strapped in, but the overly cheerful (for 8.30am) teacher who accompanies the children to school informs me that he usually stops once I'm out of sight), and feel horribly alone and a bit like I'm drowning (yes, Christians are humans too). I then spend part of those days looking at pictures of FBC on my phone and missing him, but when six o'clock comes and I have to leave the office so I can get to childcare before 7pm and avoid a fine, a sense of doom descends slowly but surely on my heart as I navigate through the little (thankfully) road angst I have to face at my area. I'm convinced FBC has a special whine reserved especially for me*, that he starts on the moment I strap him into his car seat. It's absolutely lovely seeing him run towards me on his short little legs in his too long school bermudas, arms outstretched, one of his best smiles breaking out on his chubby face as he gets closer, repeating "Mama mama mama"; I feel proud at how nicely he says bye to all the teachers and sits down without being told to have his sandals put on. But once we're alone in the car, all hell seems to break loose, and FBC doesn't let up until we're home and I've given him a bottle of milk.

*It is not usually turned on when there is someone else in the car, for example, Jon or my mother.

Moral of that story? Always make sure you have enough warm water and formula on hand to shake up a bottle of milk. Even if your house is, at most, a 15 minute drive from childcare. Evidently, toddlers are unaware of the concepts of patience and reasonableness.         

***

Now is when I tell you that I have found, after seven months or so as a Full Time Working Mother ("FTWM"), that having eschewed live-in help, I get through every day fully believing in the intrinsic worth of, and find great joy in serving my family even after a long and mentally draining day at work (so you can judge me for being indirectly judgmental of FTWMs who have live-in help).

Sarcasm aside, I think it comes down to my stubbornness and refusal to have to give up some of our privacy. And I also have reasons other than the usual How Can I Trust Someone Else With My Child?, What If Having a Helper Just Creates More Problems? and What If My Husband or Sons Molest My Helper? which you can ask me about in real life. We'll see how things go after SBC, I guess - though I am really not keen on the idea.

***

I have discovered that making a pot of chicken stock during the weekend can provide the base for two or three healthy and tasty dinners during the week. I usually put about six to eight Sakura chicken thighs and 6.5 to 7 cups of water in my 3.5l thermal pot. After the chicken thighs have cooked for 30-45 minutes, I remove the meat from the thighs, return the bones to the pot, top up with more water, and leave it in my thermal pot overnight (bringing the stock to a boil from time to time, if I have the time to do so (I usually don't)). And there you have the base for chicken soup, chicken pho, chicken porridge, [insert vegetable of choice] soup, etc. for the week. 

Saturday

I last wore the combination of my pink Reebok singlet, grey FBT shorts and blue Nike sports bra  at the Angkor Wat International Half-Marathon 2013, which was also the last long-distance race I ran before becoming pregnant with FBC. Jon had pushed back the operation to remove his tumour by a couple of days so we could go to Siem Reap as planned; after all, we had been told that it was probably benign and leaving it there for another couple of days wouldn't do much harm.

It was about two weeks after we returned from Siem Reap that we were told the tumour was actually malignant. I couldn't wear my pink Reebok singlet and grey FBT shorts again after that, because they served as a reminder of what life had been like before it All Went Downhill. So they remained folded in my drawer for over a year and a half, and after I signed up for the Great Eastern Women's Run (GEWR) this year, I decided that I would wear them again, together with my blue Nike sports bra, because, well there is no reason other than that I decided, why not? and it was significant because it was my first half-marathon post FBC. It may also well be my last long-distance race for some time (we are not expecting again, yet (haha), but committing to training was really painful, especially because I had absolutely no control over the quality or quantity of my sleep).

***

During the run, at the 16km mark, when I knew that if I forced myself to continue running all the way I may have vomited or even fainted, I decided that I would take things easy and walk a little, even if it meant that I wouldn't hit my desired timing. Because making myself sick just for the sake of hitting a timing, meaning I couldn't see to the laundry and cooking and miscellaneous household matters for about a week thereafter, just wasn't worth it. I was a little disappointed despite the fact that I had objectively clocked a decent time, but I realised that as I made my way painfully to the finish line, I had come to accept that life as a parent means Being Responsible, and sometimes (often, actually) that means making choices where you put your spouse and child(ren) before yourself. And then you realise that putting others first isn't such a bad thing after all, in fact, it is a good thing and brings them and you much joy. (In case I sound like Pollyanna-Does-Motherhood, do note that I came to this realisation whilst in a state of severe blood sugar deprivation. I doubt I will ever attain that level of selflessness where I will joyfully and willingly always put their needs before my own. In fact, I spent most of this afternoon simultaneously reading Elizabeth George's latest Inspector Lynley mystery and "playing" with FBC.)

***

I am thankful that the haze miraculously cleared up for the GEWR, and even more thankful that Jon has been cancer-free for the past year or so. Long may this be the case. I thank God for all that He has blessed us with these two years, for the growth we have experienced as people and in our walk with Him. 

Oh Cecilia, You're Breaking My Heart

That song has absolutely no relevance to anything in my life right now (I don't know any Cecilias, therefore my heart cannot be broken by anyone named Cecilia), but it is 10.56pm on a work night (GASP!) and it was also the very last track to RPM 67, so - nope, still irrelevant, but I'm trying to keep with a theme here.

***

I decided that I had to blog about my first week of work because I managed to cook dinner on my first day of work (1 October, Thursday) and from the Sunday which followed that (4 October) to the Thursday after (8 October). Yes, I wanted (needed!) to hao lian, but I must also give credit to our new family member, whom I purchased with some Robinsons' vouchers I found lying around on the study table.

A cousin of our new family member, who looks exactly like him

Credit to random website which came up on Google

This was what I cooked. The menu for the work week starting on 5 October was inspired by The Kitchn's roast chicken meal plan.  

1 October: Slow-Cooker Vietnamese Roast Chicken from A Year of Slow Cooking. The night before, which was also my last night of no-pay leave (when I should have been vegetating in front of the TV for the last time), I stuck a layer of sliced onions in the bottom of the slow cooker insert, put about 8 or 9 small to medium sized Sakura skinless chicken thighs on top of those in a single layer, then poured the marinade over them. I stuck the entire insert into the fridge, and at 3pm that afternoon I sent my mother a message and told her to stick the insert into the slow cooker on "Low". When I got back around 6.45pm the chicken was lovely and tender and had that nice caramelised fish sauce aftertaste.

We went out for dinner on 2 October. One of the things I missed the most about working was anticipating going out to town on Friday night. Since we didn't have cell group, we went to Vivo City where we proceeded to eat a bit too much, but we HAD to get llao llao to celebrate my return to work. 

On 4 October, I roasted a chicken (seasoned it with just salt and pepper). Now, the NTUC fish counter aunties who can cut up the chicken for you and discard all the yucky bits like the head and feet never seem to understand me when I say "butterfly" (I have to pronounce it with a distinctly auntie accent, viz., bah-terh-fly). After having the chicken cut open at the breast bone and the chicken cut in two with the backbone still attached, I took to asking for the feet and head to be cut off and thrown away, and only the backbone removed but returned with the beheaded and de-feeted chicken... which came back to me with the backbone removed and cut in half. 

It actually does make a difference when roasting the chicken, to have it intact and not in two halves - the breast meat doesn't get as dry when the chicken is whole, but since the butcher service saves me from spraying my sink with chicken germs, I can't complain. Anyhow, so I roasted my two chicken halves, and we ate most of one half for dinner along with some roasted broccoli and cous cous. I saved the chicken bones.

On 5 October, I took the drumstick and thigh and chicken wing off the half chicken, shredded the breast meat, cooked some 2.5 minute soba (I threw in some thinly sliced kailan when the water first came to a boil and let that cook for a bit), and added the shredded chicken towards the end to warm it through. The soba cooking water was really tasty so we drank it after dinner, but dinner was essentially soba with chicken and kailan, and I stirred in some ginger scallion sauce (plenty of recipes out there, it got trendy after David Chang included a recipe for it in his Momofuku cookbook). All chicken bones were saved, together with the drumstick, thigh and chicken wing. 

On 6 October I made Niku Miso don with an almost hard-boiled egg (each). There are also plenty of recipes on the Internet which you can adapt to your liking, I just fried up some minced onion, garlic and ginger (you can grate it so you don't really see it after it's cooked), then added a tray of minced pork. After the pork was cooked through (you may need to add a touch of water), I set aside some for FBC before adding a sauce comprising soy sauce, miso paste, mirin and cooking sake in a 2:3:1.5:2ish ratio. Err, just taste as you go, miso pastes come in different levels of saltiness. After the sauce thickened I drizzled some sesame oil over it all, placed thinly sliced kailan on top, lowered the heat and covered the pot so the kailan would wilt in the residual heat. We ate this with rice. 

On 7 October I finally got round to making slow-cooker chicken stock! Again there are plenty of iterations of this out there (I think it started trending after Smitten Kitchen published a recipe for it). I just stuck all the chicken bones from my 4 October roast chicken and some chicken bones from another roast chicken which I had frozen into my slow cooker along with a sliced onion, about 3 small cloves of garlic, two bay leaves and half a carrot, roughly chopped. I used around 8 cups of water, which I think was too much. I cooked it on Low for about 12 hours, and it tasted a bit diluted to me when I got home so I took the lid off the slow cooker and turned it to High for a while. The evaporation did help to give it a more concentrated flavour, but I ended up adding about a tablespoon of tomato paste along with salt and pepper to give the stock more body. I also added in the remaining chicken parts I had saved, skin and all, so that helped the flavour as well. We ate this with mini fusilli and the remaining chicken parts, and some blanched broccoli.

On 8 October I Googled recipes for baked salmon, found this recipe from Natasha's Kitchen, decided parsley was too expensive - one box would cost almost the same as a coffeeshop meal - and so headed out to the mini-mart opposite our place when I got home, bought some stalks of coriander to use in lieu of the parsley, and some potatoes, and had dinner ready by 8.20pm. I was quite pleased with this achievement, and clean-up was minimal. Alright, I know not everyone will agree with that but there was just the bowl I used to mix the vinaigrette-like marinade in, the pot for the mashed potatoes, the potato masher, and my plate and utensils. Jon came back late so he had to eat from the mashed potato pot. 

***

Let's see how long this cooking thing lasts. Next week is pork week; tomorrow's dinner sits in the slow cooker insert in the fridge, waiting to be put into the slow cooker tomorrow morning. 

It also helps that my new workplace is about a 15-20 minute bus ride from my house, and we are going to buy a bicycle so I can cycle to work via the park connector. I am thankful to God for this posting, which literally materialised out of thin air when I was bopping up and down outside Kim's Family Restaurant at Lorong Kilat during an early Mother's Day celebration with Jon's family, trying to get a sick FBC to sleep.

***

Having finished haolian-ing, I have a thought that I want to share, which is the primary reason I have stayed up so late writing this (really!) although FBC is running a slight temperature and I really should go to bed because I forsook a nap in the afternoon to continue rereading American Gods.

Now and then, although FBC is already over a year old, I feel bad that I stopped breastfeeding so early. The bad feelings are mostly a combination of guilt and fear that I have disadvantaged him in some way; I was relieved when he started walking around the same time as other babies of the same age, and he also doesn't show any signs of obesity or being developmentally slow. It's all in my head, I know, but it's hard not to compare, to worry. 

But whenever I start working myself up about this, I remember the circumstances leading up to FBC's conception and birth; after everything Jon and I had gone through the year before, what was the point in continuing if our relationship was deteriorating because of someone who was meant to (and did, and still does) bring us so much joy, who was a clear sign of God's faithfulness in our lives? What did it matter, so long as he was well-fed, happy and healthy? 

***

Going back to work has been S. H. I. O. K. I know why I didn't go back earlier, but I'm still going to say it anyway: WHY DIDN'T I GO BACK EARLIER?