Finding The Happy

Looking for joy in all the right places


February 2011

Momma’s comatose. No, really.

Had pre-natal yoga today, and got minorly empowered-yet-creeped-out when the Calmbirth instructor was talking about how natural and instinctive childbirth should be – and pointed to the example of the woman in the US who gave birth to her baby naturally while still in a coma.


Dug around on the interwebs and found a couple of examples of babies born while the mother was in a coma:

There are probably many, many other bad-news stories that don’t make the news – but these are the few good ones that do, and made me understand just how frightfully well-engineered our bodies are.

And then I read the one about the Swine Flu victim who got induced into a coma because of suspected Swine Flu barely a few hours after she found out she was 33 weeks pregnant.

Yes. 33 weeks pregnant. And she didn’t know. Talk about a state of unconsciousness.

How do you NOT know you’re pregnant? An extremely cruisy pregnancy, I guess. Perhaps a slight self-delusion that all the bumps and kicks from Week 22 was Just A Lotta Gas. Some women spot through their pregnancies, which might explain the Where Did My Period Go? mystery. But then I got to reading about women who get the shock of their lives when they deliver another human being after “a massive tummy ache”, and yeah. It’s not just the big-boned who hide the pregnancy so well, even they can’t see it. Skinny ones can have absolutely no idea either.

I don’t get it, but it seems to happen often enough… so who am I to judge?

Cramps, Champs, and Junior Gymnastics

Pregnancy, like any good project, should be given milestones to celebrate because let’s face it – there are rather boring bits in between. Once an avid reader of Up The Duff (the book which inspired the domain name of this blog, BTW), I now find myself reading older chapters to play catch up. Methinks perhaps this pregnancy is rather cruisy thus far. Awesome.

But anyhoo – Week 22! Lovely mini-milestone after The One About The Sex (gender, not nookie). Like textbook, Blobette did away with the fluttering and got into some serious thumping. Or head-butting. I’m not quite sure. But since Week 21 day 4, she’s been charging around the Velly Belly, and this momma is pleased.

She’s still a skooncher – occasionally I’d find her trying to burrow her way into my left thigh or something – but she’s definitely bigger now. We have a growth spurt. For the first time, I’m feeling the stretch and getting rather rotund in the middle. I walked into the lift at work this week, and everyone in it took a mental (or not so mental) half-step back. Might have also been the work of my new white maternity shirt that made me look like I was wearing a marquee. Note to self – shirts look great for work, but they also tend to hang off the edge of your belly so now you have a gentle draft every time you run for the bus. SO did not know that till Week 22.

Speaking of buses – breakthrough! Kindly older Chinese businessman gave up his seat for me in the bus, and I sank gratefully into it and was sure to give him a pretty smile. My whinge about Bus Men and the Seat that’s now Rightfully Mine had sparked quite a few offline conversations about chivalry, feminism, and how men feel that they’re damned if they do and don’t. And then I learnt about this strange new breed of pregnant women who glare at gentlemen when the latter gallantly offer their seats. They then go on to hiss at the poor men, something about “being able to take care of themselves, thankyouverymuch”.

Talk about being terribly ungracious. No wonder the men are bumfuzzled and decide never to make eye contact with spawning women in public transport. Look ladies – get over yourselves. Feminism is all well and good, but it takes courage for a man to approach any strange pregnant woman – unless you’re in IT. (More on that very soon.) Don’t get your granny panties in a knot over such a kind gesture. It’s not about I-Tarzan-You-Jane, it’s just human decency. Also, you’re bloody ruining it for the rest of us.

Had another belly-grab yesterday, but this one was a milestone because it was a HE. Think he completely forgot himself in all his excitement about bumping into me after we hadn’t seen each other for ages, only to realise that I was getting rather portly in the mid-section. It was rather bemusing, but I got over it once he started telling me all about girls being more expensive than boys “because of all the pleats and sequins”.  

“Don’t know about the sequins…” I replied, wrinkling my nose at the thought a girly-girl bedroom strewn with ridiculously fairy-princessy garments in 27 shades of pink.

“Oh, it’ll happen,” he nodded sagely. “You’ll see.”

Had a killer cramp last night that lasted from the time Voldemort got away and the Ministry arrived, till after the credits. Just wave after wave of excruciating agony. I had tears forming at the corner of my eyes, and if I hadn’t been writhing on the couch, I would have done a Homer:

In a sense, it was a good test bed for Tony and his partner support skills (pretty good, once I could find the breath in between yowling to give instructions). It was also an opportunity to practise some Yoga breathing and pain management – which accomplished diddly-squat last night, but I’m still learning. I hear from many preggers that it goes downhill from here – the cramps really become a part of your day. God’s way of raising the threshold for pain, I suppose.

Ideas wanted: gifts for mommy

Let’s face it – baby gifts are really more for the mother than anyone else. The baby just wants a constant supply of milk and nappy changes between long stretches of comfy zzzzz, the daddy just wants his wife and baby not to be cranky.

But the mommy… she wants it all. Even if she’s practical, and knows it’s all gone commercial and ridiculous, and should really not covet that $325 cot linen set with the gormless giraffes.

If you’re stuck for ideas and want to give the perfect kick-ass present for that Special Mommy-friend in your life, consider these. I’m trying to grow my Mummy Guides so if you’ve got some gems that’d make this list, I’d love to hear about them. You’ll get an honourable mention – of course!

P.S.: This isn’t a gigantuan hint for myself, BTW. But if you – like me – are hunting around for something spesh for someone growing a someone, this might be useful.

Schizophrenia on bus 200

I’ve been travelling to work on the bus this week, and am starting to learn that 8.00am is the Witching Hour on ACT roads. 15 minutes before and after, I can get a seat on the bus easy. But today, I found myself standing.

For about 40 minutes.

It started out innocent enough. Until making my life in Australia, I’ve been a public transport bunny for most of my commuting life. Suffice to say, standing on buses and trains in Singapore is about standard when you’re the 3rd most densely populated country in the world. And with enough government-funded Courtesy Campaigns for the last 30+ years, we’ve been conditioned to try and give up our comfy bus/train seat for those who need it more.

It didn’t dawn on me until about 20 minutes into the journey that I’ve finally arrived. I’m one of them. I’m the Expecting Mother, for whom seat nearest to the door should be abdicated. Phwoar.

(The fact that my feet were starting to kill me softly had a little to do with that shiny piece of enlightenment. But I digress.)

While I revelled in my newfound sense of entitlement, clearly the passengers of bus 200 did not get the memo. And so the brain chatter went something like this.

“Relax. You’ve stood in buses plenty of times. It’s not all about you.”

“But I’m pregnant! And there’s a sticker! On the window! That says I get a chair!”

“You’re not going to turn into One Of Those Women, are you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The kind that carries on like the world owes her a living because she’s now knocked up.”

“Well, maybe they owe me a little..?”

“Stop being such a baby, and suck it up. You’re pregnant. You’re not a bloody invalid.”

“But… look at all these men! Sitting down! In their fancy suits! And the women are standing! Most of the people standing are women! CHIVALRY IS DEAD!”

“Stop glaring… you’re embarrassing me…”


“Stop it…”


“Okay, now you’re just being unreasonable…”


“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that…”


and so on. 

Thankfully, someone deigned to get off the bus right then, and this beautiful teenage girl with lioness hair flowing down her back and beautiful big breasts that still point to the sky promptly floated over to the newly-vacated seat, and waved me over.

And I sank into the seat, ever so thankful. And feeling, for the very first time, like a hormonal pregnant woman with fat feet.

I drive to work tomorrow.

Talk to me, cutie

Milestone: went clothes shopping! Which is harder than you think, when your primary criterion for your child’s new wardrobe is Not Too Much Fairy-Floss Pink, Please.

Baby Girls, as it turns out, are only allowed to wear clothes with

  • pink
  • frills
  • bunnies and butterflies.

FertilityFriend had handed me her back copies of Cosmo Pregnancy, which are a godsend because they all come with baby shopping checklists. Turns out the consensus is that you start out with 6 rompers/onesies, and so I went and got some that made me giggle.


Already putting words in her tiny little mouth.

Mumnesia is…

leaving your ultrasound films in the post office not 5 minutes after you’ve collected them. Ninny.

The Well-Heeled Baby

No, I’m not talking Young Suri well-heeled. But until I started placing all of Blobette’s things in one basket, I hadn’t realised the mini footwear collection I’d started since circa late 2007. Ahem… these are just the baby girl shoes. There are boy ones, too.

Baby shoe collection
Clockwise from top left: 6 pairs of Mary-Janesque baby socks, a ridiculously expensive pair of handmade Japanese-style baby shoes, Pumpkin Patch pale yellow baby shoes with flowers (on sale)

I haven’t bought her a stitch of clothing yet, but it’s safe to say her feet are covered.

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