I have never had to talk so much until I had a baby.
As long as the people around me understood me, I have always spent a lot of time in my head, only talking and expressing my thoughts verbally when absolutely necessary. Which isn't that much anyway, according to my husband. It is much easier to express myself in written words, texts, or music. I did plenty of those. I enjoy listening to others talk though, and I love being with my friends. So as you can imagine, my closest friends are rather talkative in a good sense. Lovable extroverts.
When Sophie came, I had to turn into a talking machine. At least, whenever she's around. I started making the effort to talk to her while she was still inside my tummy. It was hard and exhausting, and I am sure that she heard more music, singing, and preaching than her mother speaking personally to her, but by the time she was born, I had kinda gotten the knack of it. Conditioned to talk.
It is all for the sake of her language acquisition.
Talk to your baby, the experts said.
Two-way communication.
Limit baby-talk. Talk about real, meaningful things. Use complicated words once in a while.
Narrate your way through the day. Give a running commentary.
Expand the concepts she knows. Say "Ball? Yes, this is a ball. See, the ball can bounce. Boing, boing, boing! Should I throw it over to you?"
Read books. Tell stories. Sing songs.
Don't correct too much.
Model the right pronunciation and words in the context of your conversations and...
don't swear. Don't curse. Not that I do these, but just saying.
More than 15 months has passed by.
My 15-month-old toddler demonstrates clear understanding of what we say - questions, sentences, and instructions. She signs some. She makes ducky and doggy sounds whenever she plays with Duckie or our friend's dog. She also points to the right objects, alphabets, body parts, shapes, and etc. whenever we refer to them. However, she doesn't really think that it is necessary to talk. Despite my encouraging her to speak words (and she does speak her version of some words at times), she still prefers to just grunt and point or sign.
She gets frustrated when I pretend not to understand, so I don't do that too much. Because I myself understand how frustrating it is.
I hope that this is a phase.
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Friday, 21 August 2015
Wednesday, 17 June 2015
The end of my breastfeeding journey
Yups, this is it.
Bittersweet.
I guess I should look forward to the brighter side of things...
No more ratty, lumpy, spineless nursing bras... and perhaps, I would be able to sleep bra-less again. Woohoo! (Sorry, if it's TMI.)
No more bringing the pump on family vacations and scheduling our activites around my pumping times. No more figuring out how to store expressed breastmilk whenever we are away from home and our trusty refrigerator.
No more pumping. Period. No more pump parts and storage bottles to wash. No more midnight pumps. Hopefully, this also means that we will be able to arrive in church on time on Sundays because I will no longer be too tired to wake up in the mornings and there will be no pumping on Sunday mornings. I will finally be able to eat breakfast on Sundays.
With smaller boobs (again TMI), I will be able to fit better into my clothes, assuming that I haven't expanded in other places. I've gotta get me some new dresses too.
No more having to watch what I eat, just in case Sophie gets wind/allergies from what goes into the milk... or lest my milk supply dips. Wine? No problem. Beer? No problem. Cabbage? No problem. Pseudoephedrine? No problem. Junkfood? Here I come. Mangoes? I will eat all the mangoes I want.
No more cracked and bleeding nipples. No more blood stains on bras. No more painful blocked ducts that necessitate consuming those abominable-tasting lecithin granules. No more painful boobs, unless it's due to menstrual hormones. (TMI)
I can finally stop having weird food cravings in the middle of the night and go to sleep instead of eating away guiltily. (But wait, I will have no more excuse to splurge on my favourite desserts!)
Looks like it's goodbye to my pumping journey too.
Well then, it has been a wonderful journey, despite all the blood and sweat (literally). I thank God for the grace and pleasure of having been able to provide breastmilk for Sophie for 13+ months, especially when I am an EP mom. I never thought that I would be able to come this far. Never thought that I would have the strength to persevere either.
To the dear friend(s) who suggested that I pump instead of giving up on breastfeeding entirely when I was having so many problems directly latching Sophie in those early days, thank you. To my community of pumping and DL-ing mummies, thank you for your encouragement. To my husband, who helped out all he could so that I could do my EP-ing duties well, thank you. To those who helped me with Sophie whenever I needed to pump, thank you.
Hello, life-after-breastfeeding. Here I come.
Bittersweet.
I guess I should look forward to the brighter side of things...
No more ratty, lumpy, spineless nursing bras... and perhaps, I would be able to sleep bra-less again. Woohoo! (Sorry, if it's TMI.)
No more bringing the pump on family vacations and scheduling our activites around my pumping times. No more figuring out how to store expressed breastmilk whenever we are away from home and our trusty refrigerator.
No more pumping. Period. No more pump parts and storage bottles to wash. No more midnight pumps. Hopefully, this also means that we will be able to arrive in church on time on Sundays because I will no longer be too tired to wake up in the mornings and there will be no pumping on Sunday mornings. I will finally be able to eat breakfast on Sundays.
With smaller boobs (again TMI), I will be able to fit better into my clothes, assuming that I haven't expanded in other places. I've gotta get me some new dresses too.
No more having to watch what I eat, just in case Sophie gets wind/allergies from what goes into the milk... or lest my milk supply dips. Wine? No problem. Beer? No problem. Cabbage? No problem. Pseudoephedrine? No problem. Junkfood? Here I come. Mangoes? I will eat all the mangoes I want.
No more cracked and bleeding nipples. No more blood stains on bras. No more painful blocked ducts that necessitate consuming those abominable-tasting lecithin granules. No more painful boobs, unless it's due to menstrual hormones. (TMI)
I can finally stop having weird food cravings in the middle of the night and go to sleep instead of eating away guiltily. (But wait, I will have no more excuse to splurge on my favourite desserts!)
Looks like it's goodbye to my pumping journey too.
Well then, it has been a wonderful journey, despite all the blood and sweat (literally). I thank God for the grace and pleasure of having been able to provide breastmilk for Sophie for 13+ months, especially when I am an EP mom. I never thought that I would be able to come this far. Never thought that I would have the strength to persevere either.
To the dear friend(s) who suggested that I pump instead of giving up on breastfeeding entirely when I was having so many problems directly latching Sophie in those early days, thank you. To my community of pumping and DL-ing mummies, thank you for your encouragement. To my husband, who helped out all he could so that I could do my EP-ing duties well, thank you. To those who helped me with Sophie whenever I needed to pump, thank you.
Hello, life-after-breastfeeding. Here I come.
Thursday, 16 April 2015
C-section
Reading an article on Caesarean surgeries today brought me to reminisce the one I went through last May to bring our daughter into the world.
We weren't expecting one. I had been trained, by virtue of my education and peer influence, to think highly of natural births....so much so that I vowed that I would deliver all my kids via natural births and unmedicated ones too, regardless of how much pain they would cause. And so, when one particular (rather cynical) friend of mine, being aware of how low my pain-tolerance really is (if any), suggested that I should perhaps consider delivering via the "unnatural" method, I was more than reluctant and scornful of the idea. Of course, one can never imagine the amount of pain a woman's body was made to bear - and so, when I finally came to experience labour for myself, my first reaction to it was.... "GIVE ME AN @#$%$#@ EPIDURAL!!!!!"
Past that embarrassing "revelation" of how pain-intolerant I am, I received the epidural I demanded for the minute I was 4cm dilated. By that time, I was already in so much distress that I supposed that I would die in the process of giving birth. If it wasn't Murphy's Law that night, I don't know what it was. My epidural catheter dispenser system was faulty - and much of the drug I was supposed to receive drained into the mattress I was dying on. We only discovered it later, while I complained about the escalating pain. It took our anaesthetist a long time (felt like eternity to me) to return to the labour room in order to rectify the problem, so I suffered quite a bit. Breathing in nitrous oxide did nothing to help. Epidural problem rectified, I was faced with yet another problem later when my cervix, being as strong-willed as I usually am, refused to dilate any further at 8cm. As Sophie's fetal heart rate pattern was non-reassuring, my obstetrician advised an emergency C-section to rescue her. In the midst of all the drama, the very thought that crossed my mind was this: "I should have opted for a C-section in the first place." *facepalm*
C-section was performed - and thankfully, the recovery took much shorter than I had expected. By day 3 post-op, I walked out of the hospital with no assistance, cradling Sophie in my arms. When the first month came to an end, I had pretty much recovered from the surgery.
Except for the scar, etched permanently into my bikini-line like a historical monument of some sort. I never thought that I would appreciate its presence; I used to feel sorry for my mom whenever I saw her scar (because she delivered us via Caesarean surgeries too). However, I have grown to like it there. I am proud of it, in fact.
Today, the scar serves as a reminder of that beautiful morning when Sophie passed from the only world she had known for 9 blissful months into our world. It was through the wound, light entered my womb, the world received her arrival and God, her Maker, was glorified by her life. A life according to His purpose, no doubt. The scar reminds me of how blessed I was to have carried Sophie in me and how beautiful she made me feel. It shows me where I have been, proves that I can be strong when I need to be, and tells me to persevere when I struggle through the rough patches. An imperfection it is, but a perfect scar no less.
I know I'm supposed to advocate natural birth ~ but if you ask me, I think C-section is the way to go, at least for me. Haha.
We weren't expecting one. I had been trained, by virtue of my education and peer influence, to think highly of natural births....so much so that I vowed that I would deliver all my kids via natural births and unmedicated ones too, regardless of how much pain they would cause. And so, when one particular (rather cynical) friend of mine, being aware of how low my pain-tolerance really is (if any), suggested that I should perhaps consider delivering via the "unnatural" method, I was more than reluctant and scornful of the idea. Of course, one can never imagine the amount of pain a woman's body was made to bear - and so, when I finally came to experience labour for myself, my first reaction to it was.... "GIVE ME AN @#$%$#@ EPIDURAL!!!!!"
Past that embarrassing "revelation" of how pain-intolerant I am, I received the epidural I demanded for the minute I was 4cm dilated. By that time, I was already in so much distress that I supposed that I would die in the process of giving birth. If it wasn't Murphy's Law that night, I don't know what it was. My epidural catheter dispenser system was faulty - and much of the drug I was supposed to receive drained into the mattress I was dying on. We only discovered it later, while I complained about the escalating pain. It took our anaesthetist a long time (felt like eternity to me) to return to the labour room in order to rectify the problem, so I suffered quite a bit. Breathing in nitrous oxide did nothing to help. Epidural problem rectified, I was faced with yet another problem later when my cervix, being as strong-willed as I usually am, refused to dilate any further at 8cm. As Sophie's fetal heart rate pattern was non-reassuring, my obstetrician advised an emergency C-section to rescue her. In the midst of all the drama, the very thought that crossed my mind was this: "I should have opted for a C-section in the first place." *facepalm*
C-section was performed - and thankfully, the recovery took much shorter than I had expected. By day 3 post-op, I walked out of the hospital with no assistance, cradling Sophie in my arms. When the first month came to an end, I had pretty much recovered from the surgery.
Except for the scar, etched permanently into my bikini-line like a historical monument of some sort. I never thought that I would appreciate its presence; I used to feel sorry for my mom whenever I saw her scar (because she delivered us via Caesarean surgeries too). However, I have grown to like it there. I am proud of it, in fact.
Today, the scar serves as a reminder of that beautiful morning when Sophie passed from the only world she had known for 9 blissful months into our world. It was through the wound, light entered my womb, the world received her arrival and God, her Maker, was glorified by her life. A life according to His purpose, no doubt. The scar reminds me of how blessed I was to have carried Sophie in me and how beautiful she made me feel. It shows me where I have been, proves that I can be strong when I need to be, and tells me to persevere when I struggle through the rough patches. An imperfection it is, but a perfect scar no less.
I know I'm supposed to advocate natural birth ~ but if you ask me, I think C-section is the way to go, at least for me. Haha.
Thursday, 8 January 2015
I can only imagine
Pondering over a Facebook status that a friend shared last night brought tears to my eyes today.
Well, here is an excerpt from her status:
I was reminded of the miscarriage I had two years back. Our child would be approaching 3 years old this summer if he/she had been born. Sophie would have a doting older sibling (if not an envious one).
Until today, I still cannot bring myself to dwell on his/her existence (Ben and I had a feeling that he was a boy) simply because it hurts. And yet traumatises.
People say that miscarriages are common things; but it is never easy for those who go through it. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, etc. I know it might be silly (and faithless) of me - but I dread having another child after Sophie, partially because it would mean going through all that anxiety all over again. While I was pregnant with Sophie, we were always anxious. Ben and I feared that we would lose her like we lost the previous baby. Antenatal appointments were scary even while they brought much joy. Every random bleed and unusual sensation I experienced sent the alarm bells clanging. While I was in labour, waiting for my cervix to dilate (and of course, I had to have an emergency C-section because it did not dilate fully and Sophie was going into distress), I was afraid. I trembled violently throughout the surgery not only because of the anesthetics and cold. but also because my soul was troubled. I only stopped trembling when I heard Sophie bellowing her lungs out across the theatre upon her exit from me - fully alive.
Most of all, I cannot bear to remember the sight of that tiny heart beating upon the ultrasound image - only to stop some weeks later.
Something my friend said reminded me of the hope I have in Christ:
" [The movie is] a token of comfort to all mothers who had this traumatising experience before.. Because God is love.. and heaven is real...our little one once lost is not lost at all but waiting for us above...."
I can only imagine what it would be like when I finally meet our child in heaven. All well and happy.
I would take him/her in my arms and perhaps flood heaven with happy tears. He/she would perhaps hug me tight and ask, "Mama, why are you crying?"
And I would reply, "It's because I have missed you so. God knows."
Well, here is an excerpt from her status:
"Watched Heaven is For Real - true story on a 4-year-old boy, who miraculously survived an emergency surgery, and had a beautiful experience in heaven.
One particular scene that touched me: The boy met his 'miscarried' sister.. When he recounted that to his mother, the parents were shocked as they had never talked about the miscarriage to anyone as it was traumatising. The boy went on to say that the sister hugged him tight in heaven..."
I was reminded of the miscarriage I had two years back. Our child would be approaching 3 years old this summer if he/she had been born. Sophie would have a doting older sibling (if not an envious one).
Until today, I still cannot bring myself to dwell on his/her existence (Ben and I had a feeling that he was a boy) simply because it hurts. And yet traumatises.
People say that miscarriages are common things; but it is never easy for those who go through it. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, etc. I know it might be silly (and faithless) of me - but I dread having another child after Sophie, partially because it would mean going through all that anxiety all over again. While I was pregnant with Sophie, we were always anxious. Ben and I feared that we would lose her like we lost the previous baby. Antenatal appointments were scary even while they brought much joy. Every random bleed and unusual sensation I experienced sent the alarm bells clanging. While I was in labour, waiting for my cervix to dilate (and of course, I had to have an emergency C-section because it did not dilate fully and Sophie was going into distress), I was afraid. I trembled violently throughout the surgery not only because of the anesthetics and cold. but also because my soul was troubled. I only stopped trembling when I heard Sophie bellowing her lungs out across the theatre upon her exit from me - fully alive.
Most of all, I cannot bear to remember the sight of that tiny heart beating upon the ultrasound image - only to stop some weeks later.
Something my friend said reminded me of the hope I have in Christ:
" [The movie is] a token of comfort to all mothers who had this traumatising experience before.. Because God is love.. and heaven is real...our little one once lost is not lost at all but waiting for us above...."
I can only imagine what it would be like when I finally meet our child in heaven. All well and happy.
I would take him/her in my arms and perhaps flood heaven with happy tears. He/she would perhaps hug me tight and ask, "Mama, why are you crying?"
And I would reply, "It's because I have missed you so. God knows."
Wednesday, 24 December 2014
A New Year resolution
Me?
Never before, but perhaps this time.
Just one - I would really like to get fit again.
I have not been exercising properly since our baby was born, and my diet is uber haywire at the moment. The exercise part is excusable, I suppose; there is only so much one can do in a day when housework, expressing breast-milk and baby-sitting take up a major bulk of one's precious time, to make no mention of sitting down with a cuppa and book. I have run out of excuses for the diet part, though. While I try to eat three square meals a day (for the sake of keeping my job of being the sole cow in the house), what goes into my gastrointestinal tract in between can be hair-raising, and I would rather not elaborate, just so that I won't ruin Christmas for the health and fitness gurus/enthusiasts who read my blog. (Well, maybe, I exaggerated just a tiny bit.) Yes, lactating does make you irrationally (and dangerously) ravenous at times - but this mama is lacking discipline more and more as time goes by. I am being too easy on myself when it comes to cakes, chocolate, cookies and fried carbs. (Nothing beats a good, creamy cheesecake in the afternoon - and there must always be coffee/tea to go with it.) Consequently, I am putting on weight in places where the bulges might render my blood circulation impeded (already and more so soon) if I continued wearing the same dress size.
I stepped on the scale last week and nearly fainted.
Hubby took a look at the numbers, tried to be nice, and said tentatively, "It's the milk, I am sure!" ~ Yeah, right. Har har.
"You still look sexy to me."
Still, I'd like to be fit sexy, thank you very much.
So yes. I have decided that enough is enough. While year end is the time for many meet ups and thus, many cakes and coffees, I shall try my best to do away with them beginning 2015. (Not the meet-ups. Just the cakes.) Maybe not stop cold turkey, but limit them to just once a week or something. And eat healthier. I'd like to get my weight down to my normal range again. Maybe I might not be skinny (gotta leave some squishy in me to hug Sophie with) - but at least, I'd be as healthy as can be.
Wish me luck, folks.
Blessed Christmas, everyone!
Never before, but perhaps this time.
Just one - I would really like to get fit again.
I have not been exercising properly since our baby was born, and my diet is uber haywire at the moment. The exercise part is excusable, I suppose; there is only so much one can do in a day when housework, expressing breast-milk and baby-sitting take up a major bulk of one's precious time, to make no mention of sitting down with a cuppa and book. I have run out of excuses for the diet part, though. While I try to eat three square meals a day (for the sake of keeping my job of being the sole cow in the house), what goes into my gastrointestinal tract in between can be hair-raising, and I would rather not elaborate, just so that I won't ruin Christmas for the health and fitness gurus/enthusiasts who read my blog. (Well, maybe, I exaggerated just a tiny bit.) Yes, lactating does make you irrationally (and dangerously) ravenous at times - but this mama is lacking discipline more and more as time goes by. I am being too easy on myself when it comes to cakes, chocolate, cookies and fried carbs. (Nothing beats a good, creamy cheesecake in the afternoon - and there must always be coffee/tea to go with it.) Consequently, I am putting on weight in places where the bulges might render my blood circulation impeded (already and more so soon) if I continued wearing the same dress size.
I stepped on the scale last week and nearly fainted.
Hubby took a look at the numbers, tried to be nice, and said tentatively, "It's the milk, I am sure!" ~ Yeah, right. Har har.
"You still look sexy to me."
Still, I'd like to be fit sexy, thank you very much.
So yes. I have decided that enough is enough. While year end is the time for many meet ups and thus, many cakes and coffees, I shall try my best to do away with them beginning 2015. (Not the meet-ups. Just the cakes.) Maybe not stop cold turkey, but limit them to just once a week or something. And eat healthier. I'd like to get my weight down to my normal range again. Maybe I might not be skinny (gotta leave some squishy in me to hug Sophie with) - but at least, I'd be as healthy as can be.
Wish me luck, folks.
Blessed Christmas, everyone!
Monday, 13 October 2014
Post-pregnancy and EDs
I haven't blogged about body issues for a while now - but I believe that those of you who have been following my blog (even since the Xanga or Grace Points days) know that I have a history of eating disorders which plagued me throughout my teenage and young adult years. I went to school, college and university with them. They tinged my happiest moments with shadows, my relationships with distrust and my readiness to live life to the fullest with fear. But they were who I was - or at least I thought so. You see, my eating disorders, tormenting as they were, gave me a sense of false security; They made me feel special, exceptional - like I was in full control of life when I was, in fact, never in control. I feared that losing them would mean losing my identity.
Lies. I believed in them. But thank God, my pursuit of Christ exposed them. As I encountered Him, I got to know the me I never knew. The me that could be so much more alive in Him. The me that was worth so much more than I thought - not because of anything I had done (or the way I looked), but because God, Creator of Heaven and Earth, had fashioned me as a masterpiece and provided for my reconciliation with Himself. The me that Jesus loves and died for. The me who had been slave to a master so much weaker than Christ and yet, one who had me in his chains because I was so deceived to think that they were the most beautiful things in the world. And the lies lost their appeal.
Having said that, it would be naive for any eating disorder sufferer to think that enlightenment, with regards to those lies, guaranteed an immediate return to life as it was before EDs. It does not. (And life post-ED will never be anything like life pre-ED. It is rather like losing your virginity - pardon the crude comparison, if it is.) Enlightenment is only the first step of a long journey - the evocative path of which meanders through a sort of wilderness, uprooting, testing and excavating. I don't know how any sufferer can finish the journey well without the rod and staff of the Shepherd (cf. Psalm 23) - I certainly couldn't have, myself.
Those lies may have lost their appeal. However, they do return in crafty ways and at one's most vulnerable moments - in attempt to seduce and catch a recovering sufferer off-guard. To paralyse and enslave again.
For me, they were around throughout my pregnancy. Thankfully, I was expecting them - and hence, by God's help (and the encouragement and prayers of the most important people in my life), they were stopped in their tracks. Besides, being pregnant with Sophie made me feel beautiful and pretty. I couldn't have given a damn.
Now that I am no longer pregnant, they lurk again in the air. They mock the flabbiness, the stubborn fat that has lodged itself in the most unflattering places, my inability to fit into my pre-pregnancy wardrobe and etc. They point me to the advertisements of slimming centers and "miracle" slimming pills - and they advocate the fad diets that celebrities subscribe to. While subtle, they also criticise the decisions I make as a mother - for example, to breastfeed my daughter (can't go on low carb diets or skip meals - what have you - when you want to breastfeed) and to be a stay-at-home-mom rather than pursue my ambitions (I do have quite a few which do not go with being a SAHM).
While I struggle, I do realise how important it is for me to stay close to the Lord so that I can have things in the right perspective.
While it would be nice, I do not need to be a size 8 (what I was before) to prove myself to the world.
I do not need a PhD to prove myself to the world. Neither do I need to be called "Doctor".
I do not need to be "out there", performing and being applauded, in order to be worthy of acceptance. God's acceptance in Christ is enough. Sophie's smile and excited cry when I pick her up are enough. My husband's tolerance of my quirks and admiration despite my eccentricities are enough. The enthusiasm of my closest friends over my new mama priorities is enough.
I do not need to be ill (with EDs) to be loved. God has blessed me with friends and family who love me even when I am unlovable.
I do not need to have EDs to be a somebody. I am a child of God.
Lies. I believed in them. But thank God, my pursuit of Christ exposed them. As I encountered Him, I got to know the me I never knew. The me that could be so much more alive in Him. The me that was worth so much more than I thought - not because of anything I had done (or the way I looked), but because God, Creator of Heaven and Earth, had fashioned me as a masterpiece and provided for my reconciliation with Himself. The me that Jesus loves and died for. The me who had been slave to a master so much weaker than Christ and yet, one who had me in his chains because I was so deceived to think that they were the most beautiful things in the world. And the lies lost their appeal.
Having said that, it would be naive for any eating disorder sufferer to think that enlightenment, with regards to those lies, guaranteed an immediate return to life as it was before EDs. It does not. (And life post-ED will never be anything like life pre-ED. It is rather like losing your virginity - pardon the crude comparison, if it is.) Enlightenment is only the first step of a long journey - the evocative path of which meanders through a sort of wilderness, uprooting, testing and excavating. I don't know how any sufferer can finish the journey well without the rod and staff of the Shepherd (cf. Psalm 23) - I certainly couldn't have, myself.
Those lies may have lost their appeal. However, they do return in crafty ways and at one's most vulnerable moments - in attempt to seduce and catch a recovering sufferer off-guard. To paralyse and enslave again.
For me, they were around throughout my pregnancy. Thankfully, I was expecting them - and hence, by God's help (and the encouragement and prayers of the most important people in my life), they were stopped in their tracks. Besides, being pregnant with Sophie made me feel beautiful and pretty. I couldn't have given a damn.
Now that I am no longer pregnant, they lurk again in the air. They mock the flabbiness, the stubborn fat that has lodged itself in the most unflattering places, my inability to fit into my pre-pregnancy wardrobe and etc. They point me to the advertisements of slimming centers and "miracle" slimming pills - and they advocate the fad diets that celebrities subscribe to. While subtle, they also criticise the decisions I make as a mother - for example, to breastfeed my daughter (can't go on low carb diets or skip meals - what have you - when you want to breastfeed) and to be a stay-at-home-mom rather than pursue my ambitions (I do have quite a few which do not go with being a SAHM).
While I struggle, I do realise how important it is for me to stay close to the Lord so that I can have things in the right perspective.
While it would be nice, I do not need to be a size 8 (what I was before) to prove myself to the world.
I do not need a PhD to prove myself to the world. Neither do I need to be called "Doctor".
I do not need to be "out there", performing and being applauded, in order to be worthy of acceptance. God's acceptance in Christ is enough. Sophie's smile and excited cry when I pick her up are enough. My husband's tolerance of my quirks and admiration despite my eccentricities are enough. The enthusiasm of my closest friends over my new mama priorities is enough.
I do not need to be ill (with EDs) to be loved. God has blessed me with friends and family who love me even when I am unlovable.
I do not need to have EDs to be a somebody. I am a child of God.
Thursday, 7 August 2014
Muse: A picture's worth
Media often makes motherhood seem so glamorous.
The glossy pages of magazines, for example, feature celebrity (and non-celebrity) mothers nursing their babies with such poise. Elegant, sexy, strong, graceful and smiling like they haven't got a care in the world.
Well, perhaps they don't.
A picture of me nursing my baby at home wouldn't be quite so glamorous. Or airbrushed.
There would be sweat upon my browand perhaps sweat running down my cleavage. I would be wincing and struggling to latch my impatient baby onto her food source - pacifying her when she tries to drink and poop at the same time and finds that hard to manage. And my clothes - dear me - don't even start me describing them - old, shapeless and ratty things, for comfort's sake. (I am so going to burn those lumpy nursing brassieres when I stop milking for good!) Uncombed and tangled up hair - if it is the first feed of the day - or a few feeds more...
Now that I am pumping exclusively and feeding my baby bottled breast-milk, my picture would feature an Avent bottle, supposedly the most innovative and advanced in its design compared to other brands of bottles - and an inquisitive baby trying to grab my thumb, the one nearest to her nose... or twisting her head to peer across the room while sucking at the teat... or crying for reasons unknown.
Inevitably, there would be unwashed bottles in the background waiting to be washed whenever I find the time; loads of laundry to do; challenges in my marriage and the same ratty clothes and uncombed hair. Sweat and stuff, what have you.
There might even be poo stains down a leg. Like this morning. And some other mornings past, when Sophie's diapers were volcanic. And erupted.
Of course, there are easier days. Much easier ones. But not all are easy days.
I'd like to think that I am not the only mother in the world who looks like this in her picture.
Unglamorous and tiring as motherhood (and fatherhood) can be, it offers the most sacramental moments when we keep ourselves aware that God meets us, mothers (and fathers)... and reveals Himself to us even in the most humbling of circumstances, times and places. For me personally, I have not known before, God's love and grace, as much as I have ever since Sophie made me a mother.
I am not going to lie to you. While I'd love to paint you a rosy picture of my experience as a mother and give you the idea that I always have everything in order, I can't. I admire those mothers who can. It isn't all nice and easy for me being a mother - and although people say that it only gets better, I am not quite inclined to think so (call me a pessimist if you like), because every stage has its unique challenges to overcome. I might miss the poo stains when the time comes for me to face the demanding, moody and rebellious teenager that I was. The last three months have also certainly given me a taste of how lonely motherhood can be.
But I do love being a mother.
I do love being Sophie's mom.
Not just because there are so many joys worth celebrating as our little princess grows from strength to strength... and the sweet, treasured little things that I hope I would never grow to take for granted. Not just because I love to feel wanted, needed and oh so important to that baby human being. But because motherhood convinces me more than ever that Jesus Christ who died for the sins of the world is risen and alive.
As the Holy Spirit empowered Jesus on Earth to "...soar on wings like that of an eagle, run and not grow weary, walk and not faint" - all the way to the cross - He empowers me to do the same as I commit myself to broken nights, pump routines, poopy diapers and countless other demands of loving our daughter. He brings me to appreciate the Father's unfailing love for me and Christ's irrevocable work on the cross.... as well as to know God.
Perhaps, by realising that motherhood could offer such beautiful, sacramental moments, our pictures may feel different. Sublime in fact. With Christ, motherhood might still be unglamorous - but upon that unglamorous backdrop, an irresistible, tangible light shines and draws its beholder nearer to the invisible God present in each picture. With Christ, a mother may be lonely, but yet be most fulfilled, identifying with His sufferings, and comforted by His company, word and promises.
After all, it is a picture of Heaven meeting Earth. One which captures the overlap between the present on linear time and eternity. Simply because Jesus Christ has come, died, is risen and will come again.
A picture worth one's constant delighting over.
And so, if you, dear reader, happen to be contemplating motherhood... why not? :)
Note: this is my second week of taking care of Sophie on my own - and I am beginning to savour it despite the daily trials.
The glossy pages of magazines, for example, feature celebrity (and non-celebrity) mothers nursing their babies with such poise. Elegant, sexy, strong, graceful and smiling like they haven't got a care in the world.
Well, perhaps they don't.
A picture of me nursing my baby at home wouldn't be quite so glamorous. Or airbrushed.
There would be sweat upon my brow
Now that I am pumping exclusively and feeding my baby bottled breast-milk, my picture would feature an Avent bottle, supposedly the most innovative and advanced in its design compared to other brands of bottles - and an inquisitive baby trying to grab my thumb, the one nearest to her nose... or twisting her head to peer across the room while sucking at the teat... or crying for reasons unknown.
Inevitably, there would be unwashed bottles in the background waiting to be washed whenever I find the time; loads of laundry to do; challenges in my marriage and the same ratty clothes and uncombed hair. Sweat and stuff, what have you.
There might even be poo stains down a leg. Like this morning. And some other mornings past, when Sophie's diapers were volcanic. And erupted.
Of course, there are easier days. Much easier ones. But not all are easy days.
I'd like to think that I am not the only mother in the world who looks like this in her picture.
Unglamorous and tiring as motherhood (and fatherhood) can be, it offers the most sacramental moments when we keep ourselves aware that God meets us, mothers (and fathers)... and reveals Himself to us even in the most humbling of circumstances, times and places. For me personally, I have not known before, God's love and grace, as much as I have ever since Sophie made me a mother.
I am not going to lie to you. While I'd love to paint you a rosy picture of my experience as a mother and give you the idea that I always have everything in order, I can't. I admire those mothers who can. It isn't all nice and easy for me being a mother - and although people say that it only gets better, I am not quite inclined to think so (call me a pessimist if you like), because every stage has its unique challenges to overcome. I might miss the poo stains when the time comes for me to face the demanding, moody and rebellious teenager that I was. The last three months have also certainly given me a taste of how lonely motherhood can be.
But I do love being a mother.
I do love being Sophie's mom.
Not just because there are so many joys worth celebrating as our little princess grows from strength to strength... and the sweet, treasured little things that I hope I would never grow to take for granted. Not just because I love to feel wanted, needed and oh so important to that baby human being. But because motherhood convinces me more than ever that Jesus Christ who died for the sins of the world is risen and alive.
As the Holy Spirit empowered Jesus on Earth to "...soar on wings like that of an eagle, run and not grow weary, walk and not faint" - all the way to the cross - He empowers me to do the same as I commit myself to broken nights, pump routines, poopy diapers and countless other demands of loving our daughter. He brings me to appreciate the Father's unfailing love for me and Christ's irrevocable work on the cross.... as well as to know God.
Perhaps, by realising that motherhood could offer such beautiful, sacramental moments, our pictures may feel different. Sublime in fact. With Christ, motherhood might still be unglamorous - but upon that unglamorous backdrop, an irresistible, tangible light shines and draws its beholder nearer to the invisible God present in each picture. With Christ, a mother may be lonely, but yet be most fulfilled, identifying with His sufferings, and comforted by His company, word and promises.
After all, it is a picture of Heaven meeting Earth. One which captures the overlap between the present on linear time and eternity. Simply because Jesus Christ has come, died, is risen and will come again.
A picture worth one's constant delighting over.
And so, if you, dear reader, happen to be contemplating motherhood... why not? :)
Note: this is my second week of taking care of Sophie on my own - and I am beginning to savour it despite the daily trials.
Friday, 11 July 2014
It is finished
Collected my official graduation papers from the seminary earlier this week.
Sophie Karin, whose presence in my belly was constant encouragement during my final year of seminary, turned two months old on the same day.
She's probably heard my graduation sermon (the different versions of it too) being preached more times than any other human being on planet Earth - including her long-suffering dad.
Awww...
Also, I wonder what she thought of my academic papers. I used to read out loud while I worded and re-worded them.
Sophie's second month birthday also marks the end of my maternity leave. (I could have extended it if I wanted - but I was getting a little restless.) I got roped back into the missions project of which I was a team member during my third trimester of pregnancy. It has been a good break from illustrating Bible stories - and I look forward to completing my work in the upcoming few months, even as I take things easy and prioritise spending time with Sophie.
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| Cert and academic transcripts |
Sophie Karin, whose presence in my belly was constant encouragement during my final year of seminary, turned two months old on the same day.
She's probably heard my graduation sermon (the different versions of it too) being preached more times than any other human being on planet Earth - including her long-suffering dad.
Awww...
Also, I wonder what she thought of my academic papers. I used to read out loud while I worded and re-worded them.
Sophie's second month birthday also marks the end of my maternity leave. (I could have extended it if I wanted - but I was getting a little restless.) I got roped back into the missions project of which I was a team member during my third trimester of pregnancy. It has been a good break from illustrating Bible stories - and I look forward to completing my work in the upcoming few months, even as I take things easy and prioritise spending time with Sophie.
Wednesday, 11 June 2014
A new season
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| First month over ~ say hi to Sophie Karin, folks! |
First and foremost, our precious little girl arrived on the 9th of May, 2014 - thanks to the prayers of many uncles and aunties, as well as the wisdom and skillful hands of my obstetrician, Dr. Ng. She was delivered via emergency C-section, because of some complications that came up when I was 8cm dilated. Thank God, she emerged unscathed! It was such relief to hear her fierce, protesting cries the minute they dug (literally) her out from the depths of me and cut the cord. A beautiful and rare moment it was... I wept a little before conking out (due to the anaesthetics and the exhaustion from a whole night of drama).
Sophie. She is so beautiful. We are very blessed.
Well then, a long month has gone past. I have finally decided to resume blogging after I bade farewell to some of the darkest and most depressing days of my life. Post-partum blues were as real as they could be - I am quite sorry that I under-estimated my susceptibility to them and thus, was not very prepared when they descended upon me. I spent the days (and the sleepless nights) in my darkened room - angry, moody, tearful, fickle-minded, detached from everybody including the hubby and baby, avoiding guests (not all though).... and reluctant to get out of bed and do the things I used to love doing - blogging and showering included. I was even, at times, angry with God. On my mind was a constant longing and ache to pack up a bag and run away when everybody was asleep! (But when the hubby asked me "to where", I couldn't decide.) The reason behind this? Hormones, post-surgery, the great (and painful) challenges of breastfeeding, befuddlement from the broken nights and Sophie's undecipherable cries, routines new and strange, my body also new and strange, constant reminders of how my life would never be the same again (seen in a negative light, haha)... what have you. I am thankful, nevertheless, for the dear people who constantly checked on me via texts, prayed, encouraged and cracked those silly, lovable jokes. Kept me from insanity, they did - I am sure. :) <3
Oh... also, the hubby made sure that he took me out during the weekends for coffee dates, movies and such (we left Sophie to Ben's parents). I love him for that. He also bathes Sophie in the evenings, gives her many cuddles and kisses, soothes her to sleep at night... and handles her night diaper changes despite having to go to work early the next day. Even if I don't make a good mother, I am certain that Ben would make an amazing father.
I realised that I was much better when I could step out of my room, sit on the couch in the living room, and watch TV.
I miss Sophie when I am not with her, physically. That's an even better sign.
My appetite is back too. Hurray.
Anyway, we celebrated Sophie's first month over by attending the church family camp as a family. Tiring... but very fun and refreshing nevertheless.
I pray that God would enable me to embrace this new season with passion.
Thursday, 8 May 2014
Finale
Ten months of sowing, nurturing and waiting will culminate in a grand event tomorrow - as a baby makes her way into our world, to behold the sweaty brows of those who have loved her whom they have not met - and have awaited her arrival for so long. Or rather, we, her father and mother, will behold the gift that God has given us - a helpless bundle of cries, a milk-tank and a diaper-soiling womb graduate - who nevertheless will, we pray, grow up into a gracious and wise woman who loves God with all her heart, mind, soul and strength.
I was supposed to be induced at midnight - being overdue, symptomless and possessing a cervix that is seemingly as stubborn as I am - but the curtain may have risen a little earlier than we've expected, by God's grace (and thanks to all the prayers). Mild contractions began this afternoon - and are now getting a little more regular (every 10 minutes or so) and intense. We will see what happens later this evening - but definitely, a hospital visit is on our itinerary. My bag is packed and my work completed for now (until I decide to resume drawing after my maternity leave) - so I am quite ready for anything at this rate.
I guess this would be my last post - until things are a little more settled down with the baby. I look forward to updating again when I do. :)
Farewell, dear friends.
I was supposed to be induced at midnight - being overdue, symptomless and possessing a cervix that is seemingly as stubborn as I am - but the curtain may have risen a little earlier than we've expected, by God's grace (and thanks to all the prayers). Mild contractions began this afternoon - and are now getting a little more regular (every 10 minutes or so) and intense. We will see what happens later this evening - but definitely, a hospital visit is on our itinerary. My bag is packed and my work completed for now (until I decide to resume drawing after my maternity leave) - so I am quite ready for anything at this rate.
I guess this would be my last post - until things are a little more settled down with the baby. I look forward to updating again when I do. :)
Farewell, dear friends.
Monday, 5 May 2014
40 weeks and counting...
Wow, I haven't been blogging for a week. I don't know where time has flown.
My Korean student attends her job interview today, finally, after a few months of working very hard on her English. We know that her life and calling is in God's hands - and so, whether or not she gets the job, we will still celebrate when she's done. I thank God for the blessings of her friendship and generosity that have doused my life with rainbows in the past few months... and more than anything, I am grateful for the delights of hearing God speak through her - yes, even when she struggled to make herself understood. I am not sure if my work with her is done yet - but I hope that we would always stay friends, at least. :)
My EDD arrived on Saturday, 3rd of May. However, my body isn't quite ready to go into labour yet - so we are doing all we can to avoid an induced labour (hopefully, labour comes naturally), while waiting for divine intervention from above. Please keep us in prayer - especially baby S, as she would probably need to spend another week (and hopefully less) confined to my tightening belly. Her daddy has been such a dear - cleaning up the whole house, rearranging the furniture and making home look like home, despite his yet-to-be-completed work project, filing taxes and other engagements - while her mummy takes more naps than usual, complains of the heat and waddles around looking very sorry for herself. :P Oh dear...
May God bless his soul!
On a lighter note, it is 9 days to my wedding anniversary.
My Korean student attends her job interview today, finally, after a few months of working very hard on her English. We know that her life and calling is in God's hands - and so, whether or not she gets the job, we will still celebrate when she's done. I thank God for the blessings of her friendship and generosity that have doused my life with rainbows in the past few months... and more than anything, I am grateful for the delights of hearing God speak through her - yes, even when she struggled to make herself understood. I am not sure if my work with her is done yet - but I hope that we would always stay friends, at least. :)
My EDD arrived on Saturday, 3rd of May. However, my body isn't quite ready to go into labour yet - so we are doing all we can to avoid an induced labour (hopefully, labour comes naturally), while waiting for divine intervention from above. Please keep us in prayer - especially baby S, as she would probably need to spend another week (and hopefully less) confined to my tightening belly. Her daddy has been such a dear - cleaning up the whole house, rearranging the furniture and making home look like home, despite his yet-to-be-completed work project, filing taxes and other engagements - while her mummy takes more naps than usual, complains of the heat and waddles around looking very sorry for herself. :P Oh dear...
May God bless his soul!
On a lighter note, it is 9 days to my wedding anniversary.
Tuesday, 29 April 2014
39 weeks ~ Counting down... and I am looking as glamorous as....
*tosses hair*
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| Shrek's Princess Fiona |
Gaining 1-2 pounds every week is no joke! I am swollen and puffy with all that water retention, looking very unlike the girl whom Ben married 3 years ago, and I think the stretch-marks are waiting for me in glee (thankful that I haven't seen any yet - I've still got some time for mental preparation). I am missing out on a Bible Symposium at MBTS this week - just because I don't think that I would be able to sit through the sessions without much bodily discomfort and exhaustion. Of course, looking like Princess Fiona plays a big role in my absence too. Haha! (I agree that I am being very vain.) I have run out of pretty things to wear.
In fact, I have moved into my hubby's t-shirts and pyjamas. They look nice on him... and not very nice on me - but are extremely comfortable (and airy) in my current state. Can't do without them.
Oh well. Our little champion, S, is still growing and moving well - an encouragement for me, despite my frustrations. She is still not engaged - and my cervix hasn't quite softened yet (according to today's examination at the obstetrician's) so she might meet the world out here a little later than her estimated due date (3.5.14) - closer to her parents' marriage anniversary then.
To those who are praying for us - thank you. We covet your prayers - each and everyone of them.
Finally, don't get me wrong. I like Princess Fiona - quirks, green, puff and all. :D
Monday, 21 April 2014
38 weeks: Waiting to get engaged
No, I don't mean the kind of engagement that often comes with a diamond ring and the ring-bearer kneeling chivalrously - and dramatically - on one knee to pop the ultimate question.
(That has already happened 4 years back, btw. It was a nice, quiet and private affair - while I was tucking into a plate of spaghetti back home, unsuspecting.)
Rather, we are waiting for the baby's head to move down into my pelvic cavity - and thus, get into an optimal position for birth. Apparently, a first baby usually engages by 38 weeks gestation.
Come on, S! You can do it! :)
(That has already happened 4 years back, btw. It was a nice, quiet and private affair - while I was tucking into a plate of spaghetti back home, unsuspecting.)
Rather, we are waiting for the baby's head to move down into my pelvic cavity - and thus, get into an optimal position for birth. Apparently, a first baby usually engages by 38 weeks gestation.
Come on, S! You can do it! :)
Thursday, 17 April 2014
16.4.2014 ~ God's way of cheering me up
Boss and colleagues threw me a surprise mini baby shower at the office this afternoon. It really made my day. *Super-duper grateful and blessed*
Dr. S and Pastor S. Khoo came over to join our fruits-and-keropok session. Since Dr. S has been a spiritual father/mentor to me in many ways, it was truly my honour and privilege to have him pray over Baby S and speak blessings into her life. Precious moments indeed.
(Wow, I just realised that all the names in the above paragraph begin with the letter "S"!)
Team HCD 2014 gave Baby S presents which I thought were just too adorable for words. Thank you, Grand Aunty R, Uncle CB and Aunty WW! :D
Baby shower aside, I am thankful for amazing friends who do not forsake me when I am feeling puffy and blue. <3
Tuesday, 15 April 2014
37 weeks: the BLUES
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| Pic source |
I am so overwhelmed and insecure.
I feel like the whole world is against me. Or rather, I feel like a huge burden to everybody - whether at work, at home or anywhere outside. Friends and family members alike. I don't even feel like blogging much nowadays. The sight of those washed diapers and newborn baby clothes hanging out to dry petrifies me. I am suddenly unprepared for anything that the baby's arrival calls for. It doesn't help that I know many mothers (even the first-timers) who have done this successfully. Labour, breast-feeding, parenting, braving the battle scars and stretchmarks, etc, etc. I just feel like I am part of that small percent of the population that won't make it - and therefore, any encouragement (from others) not to worry makes me even more worried. Perhaps, try, humour me instead. But be nice, or I might cry. And you might have to face the wrath of my hubby. Or my best friend might beat you up. Kidding.
It's a little like getting cold feet towards your wedding day, maybe. I am on the verge of running away - although there is nowhere to run to. So messed up, huh...
Even retail therapy is not helping.
They say, blame it on the hormones.
God, help me! :(
Monday, 7 April 2014
36 weeks: my funny, pudgy, squishy feet
They could have taken on their new appearance earlier... but you see, I can barely see past my bump when I stand up, I wear expandable flats and I am not a person who pays much attention to my feet (not a pedicure kind of girl either ~ please don't stone me).... and thus, I didn't notice them till my sister asked me about them over the weekend.
"Are your feet swollen?" she said.
I looked down. My feet grinned up at me, all smooth and unnaturally wrinkle-less. As for my toes, there they were... looking as charming as cocktail sausages, doughy to touch. It was as if I had botox-ed them.
I had so much fun denting my feet and ankles with my thumb!
The joys of pregnancy hormones and water retention... Well, as long as my face doesn't puff up like my feet, I shall stay contented.
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| In KL for the weekend! |
Saturday, 29 March 2014
35 weeks: An Open Letter
Dearest S,
You may not know this... but while you may have come as a surprise to us, you are in fact, an answered prayer.
Daddy and mummy lost your older brother/sister two Christmases ago.
Kind words, much-needed and gracious, came to comfort and help us through the uncountable sad and difficult days that followed. Such days were made of tears, often hidden behind facades that veiled the world to the mind-numbing pain (and guilt) we felt.
Of course, there were also the well-meaning urges of some who thought that it would do us good to move on quicker and have another baby soon. We did not intend to think of the next baby as a substitute - to salve and heal our wounds by taking the place of the departed - and we would certainly never want him/her to think of himself/herself that way. We did not want the next baby to come until grief had passed us by.
And so, we waited.
Honestly, it was hard to tell when grief had truly passed us by. For mummy... denial, anger, bargaining and depression (per Kübler-Ross) eventually culminated in acceptance - albeit a strange kind. The kind, in which your heart is left feeling cold, numb and hard. I doubted if I would ever be a mum. I doubted if I should be a mum. I doubted if I even wanted to be a mum. Most of all, I feared that I would lose yet another baby - so I was terrified of getting pregnant again.
Attempting to make plans for post-graduation (from the seminary) was doubly troublesome, not to mention depressing. I couldn't bear to make plans that did not include you (and your sibling(s) after you) in the picture. But somehow, I resisted making plans that had you and your siblings in the picture too.
Wouldn't it be easier if I had just trusted God?
Forgive mummy. You see, I have never been particularly optimistic my whole life. Craving some sort of control over the unforeseen and the uncertain is a tendency that I am not proud of.
And so, I resented it whenever people asked us when we were going to have another baby. Stressful question. But I spared their ears from sarcasm, inappropriate remarks and other comebacks that were uncharacteristic of a supposedly faith-filled seminary student.
God must have been very patient with me!
(I am also thankful for those who have been more sensitive and discerning not to push me too hard.)
Anyway, it was mummy's final year in the seminary last year. I was contemplating going on a little further in my theological education... when daddy asked me gently if I was ready for you.
I cried because I didn't know.
And then you came.
You see, S, someday you might hear a voice. It might tell you that you were an unwelcome surprise to mummy - or that you had ruined her plans and crashed her dreams. It might tell you that you existed only to fill a gaping hole in our hearts from the loss of your older brother/sister. It might tell you that if you had come first, daddy and mummy would have loved you more. It might say mean and hurtful things that make you feel rejected, unwanted and unloved.
If you hear that voice, I want you to silence it.
Because I remember too well, that one night, when I confessed to God (finally)... that I didn't know if I was ready or not... but then I prayed that you would come if it was time. Somehow, I had come to a point whereby I could un-harden my heart if I wanted to, and realise that I could and did want to move on from the past. I did want to give God a chance, so to speak, trust Him and have a baby - regardless of how unpredictable my life would become.
And then you came.
Many a time, we were afraid that you would suddenly leave us. We could hardly believe that you were here to stay... but here we are, just two weeks to full term. God be praised.
Fearfully and wonderfully made, you are God's miracle that unpacks to us joys that are far greater than those the pursuits of any worldly achievement or possession could ever give.
Thank you for blessing us with your presence.
Love,
Mummy (and Daddy)
You may not know this... but while you may have come as a surprise to us, you are in fact, an answered prayer.
Daddy and mummy lost your older brother/sister two Christmases ago.
Kind words, much-needed and gracious, came to comfort and help us through the uncountable sad and difficult days that followed. Such days were made of tears, often hidden behind facades that veiled the world to the mind-numbing pain (and guilt) we felt.
Of course, there were also the well-meaning urges of some who thought that it would do us good to move on quicker and have another baby soon. We did not intend to think of the next baby as a substitute - to salve and heal our wounds by taking the place of the departed - and we would certainly never want him/her to think of himself/herself that way. We did not want the next baby to come until grief had passed us by.
And so, we waited.
Honestly, it was hard to tell when grief had truly passed us by. For mummy... denial, anger, bargaining and depression (per Kübler-Ross) eventually culminated in acceptance - albeit a strange kind. The kind, in which your heart is left feeling cold, numb and hard. I doubted if I would ever be a mum. I doubted if I should be a mum. I doubted if I even wanted to be a mum. Most of all, I feared that I would lose yet another baby - so I was terrified of getting pregnant again.
Attempting to make plans for post-graduation (from the seminary) was doubly troublesome, not to mention depressing. I couldn't bear to make plans that did not include you (and your sibling(s) after you) in the picture. But somehow, I resisted making plans that had you and your siblings in the picture too.
Wouldn't it be easier if I had just trusted God?
Forgive mummy. You see, I have never been particularly optimistic my whole life. Craving some sort of control over the unforeseen and the uncertain is a tendency that I am not proud of.
And so, I resented it whenever people asked us when we were going to have another baby. Stressful question. But I spared their ears from sarcasm, inappropriate remarks and other comebacks that were uncharacteristic of a supposedly faith-filled seminary student.
God must have been very patient with me!
(I am also thankful for those who have been more sensitive and discerning not to push me too hard.)
Anyway, it was mummy's final year in the seminary last year. I was contemplating going on a little further in my theological education... when daddy asked me gently if I was ready for you.
I cried because I didn't know.
And then you came.
You see, S, someday you might hear a voice. It might tell you that you were an unwelcome surprise to mummy - or that you had ruined her plans and crashed her dreams. It might tell you that you existed only to fill a gaping hole in our hearts from the loss of your older brother/sister. It might tell you that if you had come first, daddy and mummy would have loved you more. It might say mean and hurtful things that make you feel rejected, unwanted and unloved.
If you hear that voice, I want you to silence it.
Because I remember too well, that one night, when I confessed to God (finally)... that I didn't know if I was ready or not... but then I prayed that you would come if it was time. Somehow, I had come to a point whereby I could un-harden my heart if I wanted to, and realise that I could and did want to move on from the past. I did want to give God a chance, so to speak, trust Him and have a baby - regardless of how unpredictable my life would become.
And then you came.
Many a time, we were afraid that you would suddenly leave us. We could hardly believe that you were here to stay... but here we are, just two weeks to full term. God be praised.
Fearfully and wonderfully made, you are God's miracle that unpacks to us joys that are far greater than those the pursuits of any worldly achievement or possession could ever give.
Thank you for blessing us with your presence.
Love,
Mummy (and Daddy)
Wednesday, 26 March 2014
34 weeks
The scripture reader at our matrimony, Aunty G, was called Home to the Lord on Sunday.
We were at her Wake last night... a solemn and tearful (even while joyful) affair for many of us, who knew her and her battle against the savage jaws of cancer in the recent few years. Her passion for life and fervent pursuit of God's Kingdom will be fondly remembered. Till we meet again, Aunty G... please do remember us.
From womb to tomb, how few our years... how fragile the vapours of our existence are.
The litmus test of a life well lived is not all the prestige, riches and recognition that the impressive oyster of our world offers. Rather, it is whether or not one lives up to the main purpose of his/her existence, i.e. knowing God.
Knowing God is the essence of our salvation in Christ (Jn 17:3).
Bringing a child into the world is often accompanied by parental dreams and ambitions of all sizes and shapes. Perhaps, we even hope that our children might fulfill the dreams that we ourselves never managed to reach or live. While some parents take it to the extreme, such hopes are not necessarily wrong. For example (and maybe this isn't the best of examples), if my grandparents did not aspire to send my dad to the UK so that he could have good tertiary education (rather than follow in his parents' footsteps) and maximise the potential of his intellectual gifts, he would have been severely limited in his contribution to the society in the contemporary.
I dream that my daughter would grow up into a confident woman with healthy self-esteem (unlike my erratic one - a thorn in the flesh). I dream that she would never have issues with depression or eating disorders, nasty things.
I think dreaming is fine... as long as we surrender our dreams to God, knowing that His dreams for us, our children and His Kingdom surpass anything we could dream up... and as long as we are prepared to let go of our dreams if and whenever God gives us the indication to let go - and trust Him.
My ultimate dream for S is that she would be one who knows and loves Him with all her heart, mind, soul and strength.
Dearest S, in knowing Him... may every part of your life fall into its rightful place.
May every one of your dreams be beautiful, pure, sound and wise (like your name). However, I also pray that your heart would be filled with hope, excitement, joy and contentment at all times, even when any of such dreams have to be given up for the sake of obeying and desiring God - the Giver of Life.
Loving you,
Mummy
We were at her Wake last night... a solemn and tearful (even while joyful) affair for many of us, who knew her and her battle against the savage jaws of cancer in the recent few years. Her passion for life and fervent pursuit of God's Kingdom will be fondly remembered. Till we meet again, Aunty G... please do remember us.
From womb to tomb, how few our years... how fragile the vapours of our existence are.
The litmus test of a life well lived is not all the prestige, riches and recognition that the impressive oyster of our world offers. Rather, it is whether or not one lives up to the main purpose of his/her existence, i.e. knowing God.
Knowing God is the essence of our salvation in Christ (Jn 17:3).
Bringing a child into the world is often accompanied by parental dreams and ambitions of all sizes and shapes. Perhaps, we even hope that our children might fulfill the dreams that we ourselves never managed to reach or live. While some parents take it to the extreme, such hopes are not necessarily wrong. For example (and maybe this isn't the best of examples), if my grandparents did not aspire to send my dad to the UK so that he could have good tertiary education (rather than follow in his parents' footsteps) and maximise the potential of his intellectual gifts, he would have been severely limited in his contribution to the society in the contemporary.
I dream that my daughter would grow up into a confident woman with healthy self-esteem (unlike my erratic one - a thorn in the flesh). I dream that she would never have issues with depression or eating disorders, nasty things.
I think dreaming is fine... as long as we surrender our dreams to God, knowing that His dreams for us, our children and His Kingdom surpass anything we could dream up... and as long as we are prepared to let go of our dreams if and whenever God gives us the indication to let go - and trust Him.
My ultimate dream for S is that she would be one who knows and loves Him with all her heart, mind, soul and strength.
Dearest S, in knowing Him... may every part of your life fall into its rightful place.
May every one of your dreams be beautiful, pure, sound and wise (like your name). However, I also pray that your heart would be filled with hope, excitement, joy and contentment at all times, even when any of such dreams have to be given up for the sake of obeying and desiring God - the Giver of Life.
Loving you,
Mummy
Tuesday, 18 March 2014
33 weeks
Honestly, I feel like a beached whale.
Aside from the loaded belly that I am lugging to places (and some say that it isn't that big), water retention as well as other causes of weight-gain are endowing me with pudginess (not exactly the cherubic kind)... and I've turned from swan-graceful (ehem) into a clumsy clod. I bump into the most random objects and trip over my feet (or the cracks in the ground) once in a while. I don't think that I've started waddling yet (or maybe I have and am in denial) - but I might very soon.
Thanks to the hormones, I am tired, moody and melancholic-weepy every day (and I am actually feeling a little ill and achey while typing this - hopefully, it's not a flu bug I caught). However, I appreciate the dear clowns who trouble themselves to make me laugh (and laugh at myself) from time to time. Thank God that I actually have job(s) (temporary or not), which make my days more purposeful, put me in talking terms with people and keep me productive. Otherwise, I'd be even more depressed.
But just in case this post becomes too much of a rant, I thought I'd mention some other blessings that I've received too:
1. Baby is doing well. We are very happy with her, even though she often decides to practise her kicks, lunges, punches, rib-pokes (my ribs) in the wee hours of the morning. Can't snooze even if I wanted to. It's funny how daddy's hand can still her better than mummy's hand can. Since she grown much bigger now, I can sort of trace the outline of her little body within mine when she draws her knees to her tummy or does full body stretches/ semi star jumps (I'm using a lot of my imagination nowadays). It feels me with wonder to see how my body is accommodating her growth and yet, I haven't burst open at the seams or popped! So, a woman was fashioned out of Adam's rib, the Bible says. Amazing rib. Awesome God!
2. Giving English tuition has been a blast. I will admit that money is one of the incentives, yes ($___$)... but there is also much satisfaction in having my Korean student warm up to me and attempt to share her heart in English, difficult as it is. I let her get away with speaking Korean whenever she has absolutely no idea how to express herself in English - but most of the time, she tries her best to stick to English. Good student. On a side-note, I wondered today if I had managed to surprise my baby in the past week by conversing in a different tongue - I haven't spoken much Korean since we conceived her.
3. I am looking forward to watching an orchestra in town with the hubby this Saturday. Thank you, hubs for getting the tickets!
Aside from the loaded belly that I am lugging to places (and some say that it isn't that big), water retention as well as other causes of weight-gain are endowing me with pudginess (not exactly the cherubic kind)... and I've turned from swan-graceful (ehem) into a clumsy clod. I bump into the most random objects and trip over my feet (or the cracks in the ground) once in a while. I don't think that I've started waddling yet (or maybe I have and am in denial) - but I might very soon.
Thanks to the hormones, I am tired, moody and melancholic-weepy every day (and I am actually feeling a little ill and achey while typing this - hopefully, it's not a flu bug I caught). However, I appreciate the dear clowns who trouble themselves to make me laugh (and laugh at myself) from time to time. Thank God that I actually have job(s) (temporary or not), which make my days more purposeful, put me in talking terms with people and keep me productive. Otherwise, I'd be even more depressed.
But just in case this post becomes too much of a rant, I thought I'd mention some other blessings that I've received too:
1. Baby is doing well. We are very happy with her, even though she often decides to practise her kicks, lunges, punches, rib-pokes (my ribs) in the wee hours of the morning. Can't snooze even if I wanted to. It's funny how daddy's hand can still her better than mummy's hand can. Since she grown much bigger now, I can sort of trace the outline of her little body within mine when she draws her knees to her tummy or does full body stretches/ semi star jumps (I'm using a lot of my imagination nowadays). It feels me with wonder to see how my body is accommodating her growth and yet, I haven't burst open at the seams or popped! So, a woman was fashioned out of Adam's rib, the Bible says. Amazing rib. Awesome God!
2. Giving English tuition has been a blast. I will admit that money is one of the incentives, yes ($___$)... but there is also much satisfaction in having my Korean student warm up to me and attempt to share her heart in English, difficult as it is. I let her get away with speaking Korean whenever she has absolutely no idea how to express herself in English - but most of the time, she tries her best to stick to English. Good student. On a side-note, I wondered today if I had managed to surprise my baby in the past week by conversing in a different tongue - I haven't spoken much Korean since we conceived her.
3. I am looking forward to watching an orchestra in town with the hubby this Saturday. Thank you, hubs for getting the tickets!
Wednesday, 12 March 2014
32 weeks
To the dearest and darling-est S... who yet warms our hearts with your presence, and cheers us up with the daily anticipation of having you in our arms...
Daddy is looking forward to kiss your face. He wonders if you will be cheeky like him - or serious like mummy. Or if you will groan and moan when it is time to wake up in the morning (again, like mummy). I'm truly sorry if I haven't been setting you the best example...
Mummy is hoping that this lovely Irish hymn that she picked up while she was a pilgrim in Dublin (translated to English and modified over the years) would be your life's theme and prayer:
"Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art;
Thou my best thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.
Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, and I Thy true son,
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise;
Thou mine inheritance, now and always;
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of heaven, my treasure Thou art.
High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heaven's Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all."
May the peace and joy of our Lord Jesus Christ fill you - and keep you contented.
Loving you,
Daddy and Mummy
Daddy is looking forward to kiss your face. He wonders if you will be cheeky like him - or serious like mummy. Or if you will groan and moan when it is time to wake up in the morning (again, like mummy). I'm truly sorry if I haven't been setting you the best example...
Mummy is hoping that this lovely Irish hymn that she picked up while she was a pilgrim in Dublin (translated to English and modified over the years) would be your life's theme and prayer:
"Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art;
Thou my best thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.
Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, and I Thy true son,
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise;
Thou mine inheritance, now and always;
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of heaven, my treasure Thou art.
High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heaven's Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all."
May the peace and joy of our Lord Jesus Christ fill you - and keep you contented.
Loving you,
Daddy and Mummy
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