New, but not necessarily better

Gillian's school is going single-session next year. She comes home with a long letter from the school, excited about the change. After several years in the holding campus, the new school building is finally ready and with the larger size and enhanced facilities, the school is able to go single session. Normally, I am pretty non-committal about this. I think a single-session school is not a bad idea. But the more I read of the letter, the more I frowned.

With the single session in place, the girls will now start school at 7.30am (a mere 10-minute 'improvement' from the current 7.20am). The teachers will then engage the girls in various activities ranging from PE to USSR (yes that got me too until I realised it meant: Uninterrupted Sustained Silent Reading. The lengths people go to just to create 'cute' or quirky acronyms never fails to annoy me. Call a spade a spade and forget the cheesy acronyms already!) So from 7.30am to 8am, the girls either have PE or reading. Class proper starts at 8am. School follows as per normal with staggered recess times.

The P5/6 girls have lunch around 1230pm and then all this followed by CCA, remedial, supplementary etc until 4pm.

For someone like Gillian, who has to get up at 5.45am to take the school bus at 6.20am, the new SS timetable will mean very long school days. And on those days when she has no remedial or CCA, she still has to stay on in school because the bus only picks the girls up at4pm. So what should she do on those days? Presumably the girls would keep busy somehow - finishing off their homework etc. But for someone like Gillian, this is very hard because she requires supervision and mentoring to get the work done.

Seems like this SS idea is just a compulsory extension of the normal school hours. I don't see any evidence where the school is making more productive use of the time, there are no details of any enrichment or after-school activities offered. To me, it just spells a longer (more tiring!) day for the girls and a more expensive one for parents because they now have to pay for lunch at school, as opposed to lunch at home. I thought we were in a culture where schools should 'teach less, learn more' but hours like these seem to imply the opposite!

I have other beefs. With the new school building, the entrances and exits have been re-arranged so much so that parents now have to take a longer route to reach the school because of the one-way streets. And parking is no longer allowed in the school so parents just have to park in the residential areas. I don't know about you, but I imagine the residents of Jalan Pacheli, Li Hwan Drive and the other streets nearby will be none too happy about the inevitable congestion! I know I wouldn't! I am not sure if this was ever factored in when the school drew up its plans for redevelopment. Nor, I think, were the residents ever consulted in this exercise.

Secondly, the school decided to close a side gate. Where previously girls taking the public bus can now stop, cut across a park and a small residential lane and be in school in under 5minutes, they now have to make a significantly longer detour. Why do this? For almost 30 years or so, the side gate at Cooling Close has remained open and presumably, with no complaints from the Sisters across whose compound the girls have to cut in order to get to school. I can't see the sisters complaining about this now. So why the change? Come rain or shine, the girls and parents who take public transport now have to walk much farther to get to school.

So how exactly have all these changes benefitted the girls? A new school building with spanking new facilities is an exciting thing but these policy changes seem to have been made without much thought for the girls or with much consultation with parents. This kind of top-heavy approach really makes me think twice about whether the school is the right one for my other girls. To me, its not about the building and the facilities or even the curricula, but whether the school is managed sensibly and with heart. Right now, I fail to see either of these qualities in this school.

So next year, its back to the drawing board for Caitlin when it comes to P1 registration.

Mamamamamama....

So says Trinity Rose in what I think is her first word - mama. She goes mamamamamama... when she looks at me, calls out to me, nuzzles at the breast. We noticed this yesterday. 8 Nov 2006.

Happy birthday Trinity Rose!

Babe turned 1 on Mon.

Imagine, just a year ago, Trin slid out of me! Clever girl did it all by herself - no yanking or pulling or catching, she just glided out smoothly right in front of the midwives who didn't believe my blow-by-blow account of my progress: the baby is coming. the water bag is going to burst. lift my leg. ah, here she is!

In the year she's been with us, she's been everyone's darling. Even kor-kor Owain goes, fingering her face in his funny deep baby voice: Treeeee-nnnnyyyyy! Baaaayyy-by! Gu-gu-go-wa-aa! And when I left her downstairs as I went up to do my work, he would stomp up and demand of me rather indignantly: why you leave your baby downstairs!

She's the little darling of all her sibs - for now at least. And she's showing loads of personality and will already. She's not walking, nor really saying anything recognisable but I am in no hurry. I just want to enjoy every moment of her babyhood. Its been an amazing year that just flew by all too soon.

We were up to our gills in cake already - cake from the birthday party a week ago, cake from mom's birthday last monday, cake on isaac's actual birthday on sat and now cake again! So we got 4 slices of strawberry cheesecake, stuck a candle in it and let Ms Trin blow it out. When all the cake was cut into tinier pieces and all of us munching away, we realised that the birthday girl had no cake and was in fact, munching on the candle!

Happy birthday baby - we all love you, my little Tweenity Wosebud...

So You Want An AMD...

Sitting in the playground with mom at 10pm last night after watching The Amazing Race 10 and she suddenly said: I want to do an AMD.

AMD, for those who don't know, is Advanced Medical Directive (the colder definition of a living will) - basically a form which one fills in and signs, witnessed by a doctor and neutral party to say something like: let me die in peace and dignity without tubes and needles hanging out of me.

Mom and I are no stranger to discussions like this - which is something else I love about her. Unlike other senior citizens (hah! she'd whack me if she read me calling her this!) she is not averse to discussing death issues. We've spoken about cremation, what to do with the ashes etc. In any case, as she continued last night, you already know what I want even without an AMD right?

I say yes mom, I do, but I don't want to fight my sibs in case things go very emotional. I don't want to have to fight them off over the switch, know what i mean? So maybe an AMD is not a bad idea.

But people still struggle with this and for us Catholics, there are other issues to consider. Better get the theology of this right, I say. We argue rather amiably on the right and wrong of it. Very interesting - where do we get off saying when we want to time? When is time really time? Is all intervention to extend life wrong then? What about kidney dialysis? Even meds for hypertension? The continuum to better life and better health and hence longer life is a long one and ranges, at one end from the simple vitamin to, at the other end, money-intensive stem cell research and treatment. We humans look for any way to extend and improve our mortality. At what cost?

The AMD sits on this continuum. At very micro levels, we have our personal decisions to make. But on the macro level, what we do affects and vice versa. And at those macro levels, the politics of money and big business pollute the picture even further.

My discussion with mom came full circle when KH and the kids arrived. They greeted their grandma boisterously and hit the playground - yes past 10pm at night. Sitting there with mom, our conversation turned to other stuff - plans for Italy etc.

But taking a bird's eye view as we sit there, surrounded by the children, I don't want to think of the day when mom would no longer be around - that is a painful thought. But I know it will come and I dread the day when it does.

AMD or not, if I have to be the one to flick the switch and sit with her as she goes, I guess I will because she counts on me to do this and I'll just have to do my best not to let her down. That's the way it has been all our lives so why should it be different at the very end?

False measles. Dang.

Trinity Rose passed her first birthday on Monday covered in spots. The spots came as the fever broke on Sunday. While I knew that in all likelihood it was going to false measles, the way the spots erupted (behind the ears, on the head, then spead downwards as the days passed - to the trunk, arms and legs) gave me hope that it was measles. Even Lolita took one look and said it was measles. But Trin didn't have any other symptoms and I knew the risk of it being measles was tiny with obedient singaporeans queuing up to jab their babies. If I wanted her to catch measles naturally, I would stand a better chance of it in England than in Singapore!

Those who know me know why I am so eager to put my kids through a natural course of what has been marketed as a 'killer disease', 'full of suffering' etc.

The bullseye I am aiming for is natural immunity - lifelong immunity. My Get Out of MMR Free card from the Chance pile of life.

But unfortunately, the dr took one look at Trin this morning and said, nope - false measles.

Dang. Maybe I ought to buy them all plane tickets to England.

Breast cancer

Met a woman today who suspected she has breast cancer. She is in her 30s, with a 3yo son and a year old baby girl. She had had a persistent lump that was initially chalked down to a plugged duct. She massaged and massaged under the advice of an LC but the lump did not go away. Finally, she had a mammogram and recently, a biopsy. She would get her results only a couple of days from now, but the doctors have apparently hinted that the prognosis was not good. Worrying, was how they termed it.

She said her lymph nodes were swollen and suspected that it was not only malignant but in stage three. She had no other symptoms.

Surgery was definitely on the cards whether or not the lump was malignant but she clearly had her mind on the worst. Her words came quick, fast and tight, etched in fear, tinged by bitterness. She didn't mind losing a breast she said, but she had two babies and she wanted to see them grow up. My children need me, she said simply.

I felt she was jumping the gun and expecting the worst because the results were not out. But in her shoes, who was to say I would not do the same? As she said, brace herself for the worst. Her husband was distraught, the pastor, himself a cancer survivor had spoken to both.

I didn't know what to say. So I mainly listened. The fact that she was spilling her guts on something so wrenchingly personal to a virtual stranger like me spoke volumes. A combination of shock and fear. Maybe by telling someone all this, it would be more real. Yet she didn't want it to be real - who would?

She accused breastfeeding of being misleading. "We've all been told. We think by breastfeeding we won't get it. This is not true! In fact, why are we not told there is a risk of calcification? If I had known this, I would have stopped breastfeeding earlier!"

I agreed with her that breastfeeding is not the bullet-proof vest people think it is. But the risk of breast cancer is far higher if one does NOT breastfeed. It was not the time for the Breastvocate to go into action. So I just listened. She needed to talk and I could only help by listening.

We agreed - everyone needs a good baseline mammo. She urged me to go for one when I stopped breastfeeding. I agree. And it should not only be recommended for women above 40. She said the breast surgeon told her he was seeing more women in their 30s. I would not be surprised - combine stress, diet and lifestyle - trouble looms like the iceberg for the Titanic. We t alked about stress, about taking it easy even if the diagnosis came out benign - maybe taking long leave or switching jobs to a lower stress one. We talked about genetic markers etc. Her mother had cancer. My aunt died of breast cancer, so I have been touched remotely by this. We all are, in one way or another.

It could be you, it could be me. I hope it's not her. I hope she'll be ok. I wanted to ask for her number or an email to check in on her, but was afraid of being too presumptuous. But I was afraid of my own limitation - what could I say? What did I know? I was not going through it...

Right at the end of our visit to the doctor (we met chatting in the waiting room while waiting for our turn), we left together. In the lift, I looked at her bright-eyed little boy and I looked at her and wished her luck, saying I hope it turns out ok. I mean it. That little boy needs his mama.

Small world

Been taking Cait to KK for follow-ups on her eye, which is getting better very nicely now! We can see more of those lovely peepers. Contusion still there but doc thinks it will go. Or they can aspirate, which he is reluctant to do - firstly because it is invasive and secondly, because it will risk infection. So we've decided to let it be and do nothing for now. If it does not get smaller, we go back and see him again in 3 weeks. Or I could email him.

As it turns out, the good doctor and I have met before. He looked a couple of times at me and then asked: have we met before? maybe you've come in to a&e... and i was about to say i don't think so, but i go in to a&e pretty often - check out my kids! then it struck me... or rather, he said it - SGH a&e and dengue fever. jackpot.

About 3 yrs ago, when Owain was 8 wks old, I contracted dengue with very high fever. (Yes those woozy days of nursing Owain and alternately freezing and sweating in front of Beep the Bus with thermometer in hand) At the SGH a&e, the good doc wanted to ward me because my platelet count was alarmingly low and I refused because they didn't want to let Owain in. This very doctor consulted with sr doctors who concurred that Owain was at risk of contracting the virus (hah!) and suggested putting him on formula (oh the very idea! Not a good one to suggest to a breastvocate like me). But all's well that ends well - they bent policy and allowed Owain to room in with me (a first for the hospital in a non-maternity ward) and I didn't bite his head off too much for suggesting this nonsense. Maybe too woozy to do so. Heh.

That aside I did think the doc was cute, had a wife pg with twins. And I remember telling him to go natural etc for the birth - the funniest thing! We had good vibes. Then months later, I met him and his wife at One North, the now defunct makansutra food place. We said hi of course. And now, years later, we meet again! Small world indeed.

The good doc now has another baby 18months old. But both births were sections. I asked him why. Said first birth had to be section because one twin was breech. Hmm... as far as I know now, breech presentation would not be a problem with twins. Second birth was also a section. So you know I had a lot to say about that. He marvelled that I now had 5 kids - and proud of 'em! And was intrigued that I had not vaccinated my 3 babes. We would be happy to chat but he had a long line of patients, so he gave his email addy. To be continued!

Snapshots of Mandalay Road

Mom's birthday was on Monday and she turned 63 - which I still consider very young, especially for someone with her joie de vivre. Family celebrated with a steamboat dinner at Golden Mile (very yum!) and a cake at home. Mom and I have always said we'd go to Italy together - she because she wants to see Rome and Venice and I because I think its cool to travel with mom. I've been thinking of this for years and I think its time. If I wait for all my kids to grow up, we might never have the chance to do this - mom is not getting any younger. So I think I'd like to fix it for next year - May/June in the spring or late Sept/Oct in the autumn. But the planning starts now.

Yesterday in the car coming home from Ikea, mom was reminiscing about the Mandalay Road days. I love to listen to her - love to imagine my mom as this young girl, in the spring of her life, training to be a teacher, her friends, her romances, my dad as this gangly young man courting her. I've always liked that time in the past - the 60s, 50s etc.

"Mother Angela, Mother Campion... Sister Holy Child..." those were the names of the FMDM nuns who trained mom and her gang to be nurses. Mom was only about 17 then and back then, training meant living in the hostel at Mandalay Road. There were 15 of them in the hostel, training to be nurses. The bungalow was an old colonial with wide verandas running round the upper floor. The girls' bedrooms were on the upper floor. The 15 girls were split into three rooms - 6 in one, then 3, then 6. Mom was one of the 3 in the middle room. There was a classroom on the same floor and another classroom on the ground floor - and that one held all the bones - real human bones - which the girls studied for anatomy class. There was also a full skeleton which the girls affectionately called Jimmy. And in the classroom upstairs, a mannequin the girls called Deborah.

The bungalow was terribly spooky and was in fact, haunted. "We would hear footsteps but there would be no one there. Then the phone would ring downstairs in the middle of the night but when we answered, it would be dead. We could hear a voice calling... and Margaret actually saw a woman combing her long hair right next to her one night! We were so scared that we would push our beds together to sleep! But the nuns didn't like that of course and we would be scolded terribly if they found out. So we always had to push the beds back in the morning!"

The kids were all agog and for once, the car was silent as they listened to mom. "Apparently," mom went on, "the house was haunted by the ghost of a doctor's wife who hanged herself in the main stairwell."

But it wasn't all about ghosts. It was fun too. "The nuns were strict. We would be scolded and scolded for little things. When it was lights out, they meant it. We could not read or talk. So if we wanted to read the comics or talk to each other in other rooms, we'd sneak off to the toilets in a group. The lights from the toilet could not be seen from the nuns' quarters! And one night, when we were really scared and pushing the beds together, we accidentally broke a wall! And the nuns were furious!"

Then there was The Scratcher - a man who rode around on motorbikes with a razor, slashing women's faces. Mom was not clear if this was real, because they never caught him, or if it was an urban legend. But she remembers the nuns contemptuously scolding the girls, "All of you are so vain! You think people really want to scratch you?? Who would want to?" And then there was the Orang Minyak or Oily Man, who would slick himself with oil and molest women and because he was so slippery with oil, no one would ever be able to catch him. Another urban legend?

Then there were the boys. Who drove up to the nurses' quarters and flashed their headlights at the girls' rooms. And then there was my dad, tall and thin, who called himself Sinoran - and I only first heard of this a couple of days ago and it just floored me! - which meant, according to mom, an amalgamation of two words - sino which refered to Chinese and 'ren' which was man. So I guess it meant something like 'chinaman'. Everyone called him that. Mom's friends still refer to him with that today. Martin Christopher was just his baptism name which he took on in order to be baptised, in order to marry mom. (It was that or no wedding, my grandma threatened. See the things we do for love?)

Why I am writing this? I think these are snapshots of an era gone by. Its a form of oral history. If I don't record this, it will be gone with mom when she passes on. And I think memories are a great way of reliving the past and remembering the life of a person. So when I think of mom, its not just in the context of her role as a mother or a grandmother, but as a woman, a girl, a daughter.

I hope with this blog, maybe my kids will see a different side to me one day as well.

Blur Breast

Fissures have healed. And for one and a half days (Monday and Tuesday), the nipples looked nice and smooth without any redness or soreness. But yesterday, despite all the moisturising and the calendula cream, the red rash was back, the flaking was back. Its been like this ding-donging to and fro for months - healed for a day and then back again to square one.

As for the plugged duct, massaged and expressed like mad on Monday and the fever went away. The milk was yellowish and salty at first (definitely signs of a plugged duct and borderline infection) but the more I got the flow going, it changed to whitish and became sweeter. And because the nipples seemed better, I allowed the milk monster to have his nen-nen in the early morning and sporadically on Tuesday - so I guess he also helped clear it. But there is still residual redness on the upper quadrant and some soreness. The milk expressed from the affected pore today looks clear and normal, tastes normal.

Also, seem to have discovered a galactocele beneath the areola - shifting form like a bunch of tiny grapes - when the breast is full, it swells up (probably with milk) and when gently pressed, milk slowly balloons from one of the pores. The milk from there is cool, clear like water and incredibly sweet. Yum.

Record number

9 fissures. Yes, count 'em. Two of them at least 1cm long. Several of them less than 0.5cm but all over the nipple, the sides, the base etc. Add to that, a blocked duct.

Last night/this morning, as usual, Owain asked for nen-nen which I gave. But the pain was so gut-wrenchingly bad, I had to pull him off after just a few sucks, less than five minutes. It was so unusually excruciating that it throbbed and stung even after he had gone off the breast. I lay there and cried in the dark. Then got out of bed to see what or why it was so bad.

So at 4.31am in the morning, I sat in the landing outside the bedroom, and counted the cuts - all bleeding and watery, and with a breast that is rock-hard from all the accumulated milk. Ended up grabbing a sterile bottle and handexpressing. Then Owain came out to look for me, sniffling and asking for nen-nen and I could not give it to him. It was just too painful. Poor boy.

Now in the office, expressed the affected breast by hand and feeling feverish. With all the cuts, I am afraid of infection getting in and complicating the picture. Last thing I need is mastitis joining the happy party here.

Loyalty and friendship

Interesting dinner incident. Gillian and Isaac throwing daggers at each other across the dinner table. Gillian threatening to spill Isaac's secrets like "I'm gonna tell mum about that time when you told me not to tell..."

I stopped her and said I didn't want to hear it.

To me, loyalty is the issue here. If you've been honoured with a secret or entrusted with a dear friend's thoughts, dreams, failures, fears - be honoured and keep those close to your heart. And should the good times end, its important to still keep these close to your heart. To do otherwise would be disloyal and indicative of a shallow character - a fair-weather friend. I don't know if I over-reacted (probably I did - I tend to get very emotional over issues like these) but I told her I didn't think it was good to treat her brother like this. It was just plain wrong. How to expect people to trust you?

I've been on the receiving end before - of disloyalty in a friendship. It cut so deep that I can never forget this. When you trust someone so much, and when you genuinely like that person, you believe in her and are loyal to the core, the last thing you ever imagine that person would do is to cut you loose and set the sharks on you.

So I've learnt the painful way and this means a great deal to me. I certainly hope that my kids won't act like this. Maybe loyalty is old-fashioned in today's world. But that's just me.

Swelling up and saints

The major swelling on Ning's left eye is tracking down, as we were warned it would. But it is also tracking across the bridge of the nose to the other unaffected eye! So the bridge is swelling up, the lower lid of the right eye is also swelling up and looking a bit purply. The right eye's upper lid is also a bit puffy so Ning's right eye looks rather reduced amid the swelling.

Not sure if this is normal. Poor girl.

Eczemic nipple update. Right side (Owain's side) is flaking away and has two open slits near the base of the nipple. Excruciating to nurse. I've fobbed him off but he is very insistent and cried and cried. Poor boy. I feel like a real ass for denying him the nen-nen. Pictures of saints come to mind and I wonder: did they ever complain, and if they did, would this make them less of a saint? Like when saint something-or-other was tortured by - I'm just imagining this here - being made to walk on burning coals or something like that, did they bitch about it mentally? Or did they smile beatifically, nobly and had nothing but good thoughts as they tred across those red hot coals? Did the word 'ouch' even cross their mind? Did they think murderous bad $#@*& thoughts about the cause of their misery?

You can tell: I'm not cut out for sainthood.

The flip side of cord blood banking

Wrote to ST Forum on cord blood banking. Yesterday a Mr Kong from ST Forum called me while I was at KKWCH attending to Ning. He wanted to clarify the point about cord blood being 'waste'. I was a bit distracted by Ning's situation and my battery level was low so I tried to explain as best I could. Mr Kong was very nice about it. He said he would need to make some changes but would try to be faithful to my message and try his best to do justice to it.

So the letter was published in today's straits times. Reading it, I can't find any portion that is significantly changed. Here it is:

"I REFER to the article, 'Parents pin hopes on cord blood banks' (ST, Oct 12), on the rising number of parents who harvest their babies' cord blood.

As a mother and a childbirth educator, I feel that it is important that parents weigh carefully the risks and benefits of harvesting their baby's cord blood.

Cord blood should not be considered as 'waste', something to be thrown away if not harvested for storage in a cord-blood bank.

While it may be standard practice today for the umbilical cord to be clamped and cut immediately after birth, not many parents know that there are valid physiological reasons for leaving the cord alone until it has stopped pulsating and the baby's pulmonary and respiratory systems are working well.

However, clamping and cutting the cord immediately after birth is necessary for cord-blood harvesting. This action takes away 60-150ml of blood, about one third to half the total blood volume in a normal baby.

There are studies that show that babies whose cords were not cut immediately at birth show higher blood pressure, better oxygen levels and higher haemoglobin levels than their counterparts whose cords were clamped and cut immediately.

Delayed clamping, even for only two minutes, has been shown to boost iron stores in babies as late as six months after birth.

This is information that parents should be told if they are considering cord-blood banking. In the interest of allowing parents to make an informed choice, doctors should give them a complete picture of what it means to harvest cord blood.

Parents should consider not only the merits of each facility for cord-blood banking but also if it is even necessary or in their baby's best interests to clamp and cut the cord early just to harvest cord blood."

It's something which I have been saying for the longest time and I'm glad it's finally out. I hope more parents will now be aware that there are alternatives and will start asking questions. Hopefully doctors will also read it and re-think active management policies for managing third stage labour.... Fat hope huh?? sigh.

Not again!

"Tell her lah!" mom prompted dad eagerly and when he was slow to reply, she went on, "You know your dad has been picking up Ning from school these past few days and yesterday, he told me that Ning was the prettiest, the most beautiful girl there! I told your father he should tell you, it would make you so proud!"

And so it did. I beamed with pride. My babe is beautiful. But just minutes after mom said that, Caitlin had a bad accident. Afterwards, mom blamed herself for saying that. Of course it was not her fault. This incident could have happened at any time at the rate the girl kept jumping on the sofa and leaping from one to another.

We had gone out for a drive around the estate to calm Ms Trinity Rose down because she cried so inconsolably when I merely took away a dirty shoe and told her sternly "No!". As we were driving off, we saw Ning standing at the gate looking unhappy that she was included in the car. Dad offered to pick her up and bring her along for the ride. But as we cruised past, we saw her already back in the house, jumping on the sofa, so we left. Dad later said we should have taken her for the car ride, then it wouldn't have happened. But such is life eh?

Minutes later, we got a frantic call from home asking us to drive home - Ning had had a bad fall and bleeding. Dad drove home quickly and I rushed back to the house. I saw globs of blood on the floor, the coffee table, her uniform stained with patches of red. She was sobbing in Lolita's arms.

There was an open gash on her left eyebrow. But what alarmed me was the eye itself. The eyelid had swollen shut; the size of a shiny, purple hen's egg. Luckily dad and mom were there. They drove us to Mt Alvernia hospital. Ning cried all the way there and kept repeating: "I don't want them to laugh at me! My friends will laugh at me!"

She definitely required stitches. The eye itself looked ok when the dr pried up the eyelid (which caused Ning some pain) to look. But the x-ray showed a possible fracture of the upper edge of the left eye socket. The hospital wanted an opthalmologist to confirm. So they tried calling. While waiting, Ning fell asleep.

Now this is the part that left me fuming. We waited for more than an hour while the hospital tried, without success, to get a consultant specialist down to the emergency room to have a look. Ning was insured under KH's company's group hospitalisation and medical insurance scheme, Aviva. So the specialist had to come from Aviva's panel of doctors. The nurses tried to call and page. No fault of theirs. But not ONE of the six opthalmologists from the panel came. Some had no response to the paging. Others were not contactable, no answering service, and some refused to come. One said he does not treat at Mt Alvernia. The hospital then tried their own specialists but one was on leave and the covering doctor said he did not treat children! So in frustration and anger, I discharged Ning and took her over to KKWCH. KH had arrived by then, so all of us including mom and dad, drove over to KH, mom sitting in our backseat with Ning's head on her lap. I have a lot to say on this and will speak my piece in a letter to Aviva, MAH, MOH and the press. But first, I had to get Ning treated.

At the hospital, she was seen immediately. The eye looked ok - they tested her vision by asking me to pry up her swollen lid. It was painful for Ning and painful for me to be the cause of it! Then the doctor looked at the x-rays and tried to prod the area. Ning said it hurt. The doctor kept asking her which part was painful - the eyelid or the upper part and watching her, I honestly don't think Ning could even differentiate the area. In any case there was too much swelling there to tell, so the doctor said the x-rays will be shown to the x-ray specialist the next day for an opinion.

As for the gash, they recommended stitching but not under GA as they did not know the extent of the damage and did not want to risk masking of symptoms of a head injury as both the after-effects of GA and a head injury were similar. So they applied a gel and we waited for half an hour. Then Ning was bundled onto a restraining board, velcroed and rolled into a blanket. The doctor stitched away while we talked to her to distract her from the stitching. She was a trooper and never cried at all, tearing and wincing only at the last stitch. I was so proud of her.

We - KH, Ning, baby Trinity and I - ended our evening with dinner at KKWCH's McDonalds before going home, drained and tired from the stress of the events.

Hit the books and hit the ground running...

After months of dilly-dallying and going into a nice stupor, my graddip studies have suddenly roared back to life. I am reminded that I have only 2 months to go and loads of work to do. D-Day Dec 31 2006 - graduation.

But first, to get there, I've got to complete my supervised series, write reams of papers - lesson plans etc, borrow a videocam to record my sessions, write my observations of various maternal-child health services here in Singapore, complete a video presentation unit... God help me!! I've written to KKWCH to ask permission to sit in on one of their classes, study the lactation unit, the hospital practices etc. But no reply yet... yikes! I've already completed three birth observations, and the birth centre in Bangkok (but lost my notes! See how klutz I am!!)... but there's loads more to be done.

I am really seriously thinking of throwing it in. But the thought of chucking 5k down the grinder with nothing to show really makes me feel kinda ill.

I can see the BP rising and late nights looming. So much for a peaceful year end! I'd be busy racing to the finish line with all the work that is left.

On top of that, work in the office is also piling up and I am sitting on at least 5 different committees in the poly. There's at least one audit, two major publications, three major events coming up and I am in serious danger of losing at least one of the balls I am desperately juggling now.

The good thing about all this is: my coursemates from Down Under and I are back in touch and we are keeping each other's spirits up as much as possible. Helen, Gill, Vina and me - the last of the Grad Dippers. Everyone is facing some level of stress and work in the Grad Dip, but I reckon mine is worse. I promise never, never, never to do this to myself again. Make this the one and only paper qualification I will ever have. Will remind KH to please, please kick me in the butt if I ever even think about doing another course like this!

Why oh why didn't I take up mom's advice to just learn driving instead of this monster-load Grad Dip CBE???

No, no... must look ahead, think positive, not negative! This time next year I can put alphabets next to my name! (if I ever get through the next 3 months and finish the course lah)

What cheap thrills I live for...

A rural life?

This morning while having our brekkie of wanton mee, KH and I indulged in our usual fantasy of life-after-retirement. We were talking about the haze-stricken areas of Kalimantan and the tiny hidden villages in the forests which are now smothered under all that bad air. KH was reminiscing over one business trip which saw him taking a small commuter plane that landed in a tiny airstrip in the middle of nowhere, to meet a business associate in a small town by a river. It was, according to him, a sleepy town, not unpicturesque with the brown lazy river meandering past, slicing through dark green jungle on either bank. On Friday night, the town came to life with tribal people making their way to the town. The people pitched in to erect a huge tent, like a circus tent. It was their weekend market where trading between the town and the tribes took place.

We discussed staying in place like this, whereupon KH commented that I would go mad from boredom after the first week. I objected. What did he mean? I huffed. I kinda liked the idea - going far away from another life, to set up a new life in a different place. We'd plant organic veg, have our own livestock, fish in the nearby river. I could see myself living in a single-storey bungalow atop a hill some distance from town and if ever I needed to head to town, I'd do so in my ancient Vespa. But this, I know, is just romantic rubbish. KH is right - not that I would die of boredom, but I would find the going hard as a city girl.

The harsh reality is probably more like me chasing a chicken round the back yard, desperately trying to summon up enough courage to dispatch it neatly for dinner. Now how on earth does one pluck feathers from a dead chicken??? (See what comes from sanitising everything in Singapore? Once upon a time we could see chickens being slaughtered in dirty wet markets. Today, they come to us already dead, frozen and nakedly featherless in supermarket freezers!)

And did I mention that animals have no respect for me? They smell my fear a mile off. So they would probably end up ruling the roost! And for all the organic veg talk, we all know I don't have a single green digit among my fingers and I'd probably get blisters just trying to break the earth with a hoe! As a matter of fact, I DO break out in blisters when I wield the shears and do a bit of weeding in the garden. And as for the Vespa, well, KH does not even trust me on a bicycle!

Nice fantasy though - with a bit of a bizarre undertone of Marie Antoinette and her perfumed sheep in her hamlet at Versailles! Yes the ill-fated queen played at village living before her head rolled in the revolution.

This fantasy though, ranks second - after my all-time favourite of KH and me jaunting off on a land rover on the overland route from Singapore to Europe. Believe it or not, we even talked about what would happen if one of us kicked the bucket on the overland route! The answer: cremate and carry on!

What is life without dreaming right?

And notice the kids do not figure in all these plans... ah, one day!!

Reading...

A Civil Contract - Georgette Heyer
Raising Boys - Steve Biddulph
A Wrinkle in Time - Madeline L'Engle
the latest edition of National Geographic...

Georgette Heyer is comfort reading. Think a more accessible entry into Jane Austen's time. Authentic language, styling, lots of dry good wit, restrained regency romance. Been reading Heyer since sec sch days and I have a decent collection of her books. So once in a while, I'd go back to her just for comfort. The series has been recently re-issued and the new Bishan Lib has loads of those. So I've been borrowing the ones I don't have. Still good after all these years. The heroines are all sensible and intelligent - none of the bosom-heaving, ripped cleavage sort! And the men - definitely not of the Fabio make but elegant, polite and noble.

Raising Boys - not a book I read at one sitting so this is read in snatches, paras, slowly digested. Read it before but still a good book to re-read.

Wrinkle in Time - my new fave. A children's classic which I have only just discovered. Love it so much I want to get the whole Time trilogy.

And NG... always a good flip and browse - also read in snatches. Fascinating read in this month's issue on the 3million year old baby skull which was recently found. Always looking for new insights into how humans evolved and how this impacted birth, babyhood and childhood.

So you know my reading habits - just like my life - too many balls/books in the air.

"But I like nen-nen!"

Poor Owain! He's been getting lots of negativity from everyone lately - the helper, his mama, his grandad, his dad. And me.

"So big boy already still nen-nen!!" "Owain, only little babies drink nen-nen!" and others along the same line.

I hear it all in silence and sometimes I say similar lines. But I wince everytime I say those. Because I am not convinced 100% - not even 50% - that what I am doing is right. Nor am I comfortable with the negativity that is going around. So if I don't like it, why say it?

I usually enjoy our nursing sessions. But lately, nursing has been very very painful. My nipples are so severely eczemic and the skin so dry, that fissures form, tear open and bleed and weep. Can you imagine, everytime I even undo the cup to nurse it hurts - because the raw bits have dried onto the cotton so it gets pulled apart afresh everytime I undo the cup.

Everytime he latches on and draws the nipple in, it feels like the whole bit is on fire, sliced up finely. I usually grit, grimace, sometimes yell when its particularly bad. He is aware of this because he looks up at me and says: mummy your nen-nen pain?

So I have been putting him off nursing. And he has been screaming blue murder everytime I try to fob him off. I offer to hold him instead of nurse him, cuddle him to sleep instead, but he would have none of it and usually ends up screaming/crying so miserably that I just give in. Then I end up feeling angry with him and with myself, my body tensed up in anticipation of pain during nursing. Far from lovey-dovey, cosy, comforting and serene - all the happy elements it used to have!

Our nursing conversations go like this:

"Mummy I want nen-nen!"

"Later Owain."

"Nooooo!! Pleeeease mummy please! Just a lil bit, short while only!"

"I just gave you nen-nen! Less than five minutes ago!!"

"Pleeease mummy! But I like nen-nen!"

"No. Let me eat/read/write/work in peace for a while. I'll give you nen-nen later."

"Noooooo!" he wails. Then, "I drink, you eat (insert whatever activity I was in the midst of)!"

This goes on for a while, to and fro. And when I finally give in, it goes like this:

"Remember, Owain, SHORT while only ah!!"

"Okay mummy..." and he grins eagerly as I undo the necessary, practically jumping in glee.

"And when I say STOP..."

"STOP!" he repeats by rote.

"And when I say let go, Owain..."

"Let go!" he repeats again.

"You're sure you remember... not bluffing me are you? Cos everytime I tell you to stop you don't stop..."

And he protests: "Not bluffing you mummy, not bluffing you!!" And of course he will never keep to his promise.

As he takes the first suck, I too suck in my breath in a deep breath and blow out.

KH commented that it looks like I'm in labour. Har har.

What does he know? It is bl**dy painful! At least contractions DO end and there is a pause before the next one comes. This kind of pain is non-stop. And this guy nurses (I kid you not!) every half an hour... at least every hour... and through the night!

I feel bad about fobbing him off, guilty about entertaining thoughts of weaning him. Knowing that I will almost certainly regret weaning when it does become permanent. KH has said, looking at my reactions everytime I get a request to nurse, and looking at Owain's frequency, that it is time to wean. But look at him - still pretty much a baby isn't he? The reasons for nursing him past 1 year still hold true. He is still exploring, and learning and the breast is still a haven. All that has not changed. His needs are still valid. Why should all this change just because my breasts have become eczemic?

Am I being selfish? I certainly feel this way. But the pain is incredible. The nipples look red, raw and rough. And the silly nipples are not healing either. I have tried steroidal creams - nada. So I have come to the conclusion that it is really not going to heal but I'll just have to fire-fight and make sure the dryness and itch does not (a) spread and get larger and (b) split open into fissures. Between the California Baby Calendula Cream (which seems to work better than the steroidal creams) and Palmer's Cocoa Butter, I think we can manage for the time being - although I do feel like the little boy with his finger in the dyke! Its all pretty much stop-gap, I know...

Today, I read this article and it touched me. I have always been a proponent of letting the child signal its readiness - in birth, breastfeeding etc. Its hard to do this and I do feel unsure at times if I am doing the right thing or if I am on the right track. But reading this article helped remind me just WHY I wanted to nurse my babies until they self-weaned and why I believe so much in a child's natural rhythms.

http://www.mothering.com/articles/new_baby/breastfeeding/difficult-promise.html

So Owain gets a reprieve from weaning for now. I'll grit and bear it for as long as I can. Not a matyr but I don't want to do something that will be traumatic emotionally for him and for me. Far easier to take deep breaths as if I am in labour than to wean and regret. And in a way, perservering through this is a kind of labour of love isn't it?

Jennifer Love Hewitt... where are you when I need you?

Looks like it's time to call the ghost whisperer again. 6 years ago, Fr Vincent Chee blessed the house after a spate of disturbances. Since then, all was calm and peaceful on the Riang front.

Now it looks like another unwanted guest is disturbing the peace again.

Odd little incidents have been happening over the past few months.

The television switching off itself in broad daylight as Owain watched Sesame Street. The television switching on by itself in front of me and Isaac as we sat there in the living room talking. Each thought it was the other who pressed the start button on the remote - until we realised that the remote was on the sofa behind us and with no one else in the immediate vicinity. Those were one-off incidents that never happened again. Then there were Trinity's unexplainable hysterical crying bouts. Happened once or twice when she was really little - 2 to 3 months old? And again, yesterday. Then there were the times when I'd get the flesh-creeping feeling as if someone was watching me - usually at night when I was the last one up to bed.

They say babies can see things. You'd know if a house was 'clean' or 'dirty' if you brought a baby in to it and she reacted. I know this is true. At various times, Trinity has screamed for no reason and each time, I could guess what it was. Even Owain has, when he was a baby, but not as often as Trinity.

Yesterday's crying bout was bad. Lolita said that for no reason, Trinity started screaming at 11+ in the morning. Nothing would calm her. A bottle of ebm was finished and she still sobbed. At the time, only Lolita, Trinity and Owain were at home and they were in the living room. Lolita said, and I knew exactly what she meant, that Trinity "cried differently". Normally, she would be sleepy and grumpy and given the ebm, would settle down and sleep. That day, she howled non-stop until exhausted, she slept. In the afternoon, around 3+ the same thing happened. Gillian, carrying her, said Trinity kept looking at the side garden. Nothing would pacify her. Lolita called me at work and I heard the screams. Was on the verge of packing it in and cabbing home but had to see my boss, so I couldn't. Asked Lolita to take Trin out for a walk - out of the house. Lolita said she did. And the minute they left, Trin was alright. They went for a walk round the neighbourhood. But the minute she stepped back in the house, Trin screamed again. So off they went. The second time they returned, it was better - Trin was calm.

And yesterday, Lolita commented that our house was full of ghosts. She knew because her hair kept standing on end at certain times, particularly in certain places. So where were the hotspots? She identified the backyard, her bedroom and the dining room.

I knew she was not lying because I knew these to be the troubled spots too. Years ago at a barbecue held in the garden, my sister had taken me aside whispered that she had seen a faceless shadowed form in a blurred white gown/robe hovering (she used the word because whatever she saw had no feet) near the water pot. The side garden where the waterpot was was also responsible for crying jags by the babies (Owain and Trinity) - the babies would cry/literally scream non-stop and inconsolably when they were out there once in a while - usually at twilight/dusk. So eventually I made it a rule that the babies were not to be carried out there after 7+ at night.

The previous maid who also slept in the back room had reported instances where she too felt spooked for no reason, and on one memorable stormy rainy night, had glimpsed a long-haired form peering in from the outside.

Lolita also told me that when she sometimes ate outside near the backyard, food would inexplicably slip from her grasp. I challenged her and said her hands must have been oily. She said no, no matter how tightly she grasped the spoon or the piece of meat, it would go. Then she would know and she would take a bit of food/rice and throw it on the ground. She said it was Filipine custom to do so - the ghosts wanted to eat.

The girl was unfazed by all this though. She said that this was very common in the Philippines. Practically every house had a resident spook or two. No matter how many times the priest was called in, these things stayed. She had never seen one but had felt the presence of many - so much so that while she was discomfited by it, she was not afraid - this being an almost familiar feeling. She was surprised that Singapore had ghosts though and had asked her recruiter about it. Her recruiter confirmed it of course. Singapore, while looking like a glossy metropolitan, is still full of spooks.

So what to do?

Last night after dinner, in the waning light, I went out back and stood there in the semi-darkness. I didn't speak out loud, but I think the ghosts do hear what I am saying in my mind. I asked them to leave us alone. To not disturb us, particularly Trinity. But if it or they, frightened Trinity again, I would come after them. Ghost or no ghost.

Am I scared? Yep. But I am also quite fed up. Its one thing playing with the TV remote and giving us the heeby-jeebies but to scare my babes? That's really outside of enough!

My mom offered us her place as a refuge since KH was still out of town. But I'm not going to be driven out from MY home. If anyone should go, it's not going to be me.

So I guess it's time to call in the reinforcements. I need a sensitive priest. Fr Chee, at 70+ is getting on in age. Moreover, he's moved to Woodlands and no longer at IHM which is down the road.

I know these things will escalate. It starts off with the creepy feelings and slowly get worse. Yesterday was the first time that Trinity was affected in broad daylight, not once, but twice. So better start getting help before the infestation gets worse.

Listening to...

Sandy Lam
Phoebe Snow

Two great songstresses - beautiful voices that can convey heartbreak and yearning.

36 candles...

The cake shop knew better.

It sliced two years off my age and gave KH 36 candles instead of 38. So there were 36 candles blazing away on the cake as my kids sang happy birthday to me. Not KH's fault, but I felt kinda shortchanged. I am not the sort of woman who is coy about her age. I rather enjoy my years and I'm proud of every strand of grey I have on my head, preferring to fob off my hairdresser's pleas to please colour/highlight my hair to hide the grey. What's the point? I prefer to wear the grey as a badge of honour - marking the years of my life. And these have been blessed happy ones. We are going to grow old, like it or not, and no amount of botox, lipo or tact, will deny that passage. The smiles will show how young we are.

Yesterday started with a phonecall from my mom. "Happy returns of the day!" she chorused.

"Thanks mom!" I say, pleased to hear her voice. "Wouldn't be here without you!"

"It was right about now, right?" she said. It was 9.45am then.

"Yes mom, almost there. Born at 10.19am!" I said. "You would have been in second stage now, pushing already!" And we both laugh.

Birthdays are happy days for mothers too as we remember how we birth our children. 38 years down the road, and my mom has not forgotten any detail.

She remembers that of all 3 of her children, I was the only one that came 'naturally' without being induced. I was her 'midnight run' to the hospital. And I was breech until almost the very end, turned by the estimable W.C. Cheng himself. That, of course, was before the discovery that ECVs didn't make as much money as C-sections - hence TMC now having the dubious honour of being the private hospital with the highest C-sec rate in the nation!

But that aside, it was my birthday and one that both my mother and I celebrate. And as it is every year, I thank her for giving birth to me.

After that, it was a flurry of SMS birthday greetings from dear friends old and new, and one prized one from my gal pal Gayle in Bangkok who reminded me "not to pig out!" Thanks pal.

But pig out, unfortunately, I did. On caviar, oysters on the rocks, foie gras, slipper lobsters, sushi, sashimi and other delectable yummies at Equinox with a good girlfriend of mine who took leave to spend the afternoon with me. We had a gorgeous lunch 70 storeys high up in the air, marvelling at the landscape far below us, lunching on good food and conversation. How nice it was to kick back in lovely surroundings and talk about anything under the sun - men, babies, children, our worries, our hopes, work, Singapore Idol and so on...

We spent the afternoon drifting among the racks at HMV, That CD Shop and Borders - our favourite places - in search of good books and good music. I couldn't find Phoebe Snow and the song 'Something Real' in all these places. Would you believe they didn't carry stock! And Snow is a critically acclaimed musician who known for her folksy-blues, jazzy renditions. Before the likes of Jewel, there was Phoebe Snow and even HMV didn't carry her! But when I went home after parting ways with my friend, I received a call - she had gone on to Gramaphone at Paragon and tracked down a copy for me, bless her!

Back home, my work-laden KH came home early despite bad deadlines (though I know he stayed up later till 1am to finish his work while the house slept), with cake in tow. The man kept going out to the gate watching for something it wasn't until 10pm that I finally knew why. A van pulled up and KH called gleefully, "Something for you dear! Come and see!" It was a lovely big bouquet of lilies and roses. The children were in awe and hopping with excitement.

I was touched - it has been years since I received flowers from him. A rare moment of romance! He deserved a kiss and as I gave him a peck on the lips, the girls watched giggling and fascinatedly while the boys went: "Ewww!!"

Its been a good day. One of the nicest birthdays. I'm glad I am 38. Two years before the big 4-0. I'll be ready.

And looking forward to it.

Out of the mouth of babes

We were at Labrador Park at sunset yesterday.

Kids had a great time scampering among the rocky shore, walking (good thing we had crocs - fake or otherwise) in the sea mud, scanning for fishes and other marine life. Among the families, couples, dogs and kids there, there were at least two wedding couples taking their wedding shots.

I've always wondered, when I see these wedding couples - how come the guy gets off so easy - he just has to take off his jacket, undo a couple a buttons, yank off tie etc to achieve the bare-chested romantic hero look while the poor bride has to slave away with the heavy gown, veil, make-up etc.

Frankly I can't imagine traipsing over mud, sand and rocks, holding up my gown, dabbing away at the face to keep the shine at bay - just to take 'romantic' shots for the wedding album. So hot and uncomfortable! And knowing me, I would have great difficulty looking 'romantic' or anything remotely like a blushing bride if I were wilting under the heat and obsessing about the perspiration, the dress, my heels all self-consciously posing before an interested, unwanted audience.

KH related the following incident to me because I had separated from the group - I was walking on the jetty and they were down on the sand and rocks. A wedding party had come to take pictures near them. The bride wore a flouncy gown and she was, truth be told, rather on the plump side, fleshy arms and extra flesh folding out above the tube neckline.

Caitlin, ever interested in brides and princesses, ventured closer to check things out, then turned and yelled loudly to the rest, clearly within earshot of the bride, "Hey everyone, come and see the fat wedding girl!"

To which, KH later told me, both he and Isaac had made mortified but strangled sounds of protest. And when they told Caitlin later that she should not have called the bride 'fat', my girl retorted, "But daddy, she WAS fat!"

Children - they call a spade a spade and just tell it like it is. No worries about social niceties, formalities, ego, sensitivity etc.

But back to Labrador Park and the jetty - look hard enough and you can spot schools of jellyfish floating translucently in the dark green waters. Very pretty they looked. I also saw this strange-looking fish - very narrow body (looking from the top down), sharp pointed mouth. It was about one and a half feet long and just floated there near the surface. I asked a man fishing nearby what fish that was and he couldn't tell me. It was pretty though and I stood watching it for quite a while until, with a flick of the tail, which flashed blue in the sunlight, it disappeared into the depths. KH later said it was a barracuda when I described it.

We spent a nice evening there - the children enjoyed the search for crabs, sea slugs, shells among the rocks and the sand, they loved the playground. And I enjoyed this kind of quiet time with the family and with KH.

We closed the evening with a sushi dinner in celebration of my birthday on Wednesday (since KH has been working very late over the past week and it would be unlikely that he would get home early on Wednesday to celebrate). The children were blissed out - nothing they like better than a good romp in the park followed by sushi - where they polished off plate after plate of maguro and sake sushi, ikura (expensive tastebuds!). Even baby Trinity got in on it and had her share of chawanmushi and pearls of ikura! I'm only disappointed they didn't have toro - and at the only time in the year that I dare treat myself to the outrageously expensive toro!

All the more I am eagerly waiting for Wednesday where I am booked for lunch at Equinox with a good girlfriend of mine - ready to indulge to my heart's content at the pan-fried foie gras station! Can't wait...

Playing hooky with Super Yo Yo Man

Super Yo Yo Man, cap on backwards in true 'hood dude style went for a walk with his Super Mummy (his name for me, not mine) today. (Super Yo Yo Man - the name, that is - is his idea. He's into this new identity of swivelling the cap on backwards and adopting the rapper stance and going "Yo! Yo!" and today, he said casually to me: "Just call me Super Yo Yo Man!"

It was just the two of us. We went for a walk in the heart of the city - the business district. Super Yo Yo Man, as usual, charmed the socks off passers-by and fellow MRT passengers with his grin. Or maybe it was just the roundness of his face that made people want to reach out and give his cheeks a good pinch.

Super Yo Yo Man was a trouper - never asked for nen-nen - he knew the golden rule: "No nen-nen outside, nen-nen only at home" and of course, "must walk and not ask mummy to carry." So he walked. We walked and walked.

We walked through Boat Quay, stopped at the Fullerton to sample the Bailey's mooncakes - not a taste of Bailey's disappointingly! Then Super Yo Yo Man saw the river. So we headed that way. Marvelled at Botero's Bird. Checked out Dali's Surrealist Piano - which Super Yo Yo Man approved of as he exclaimed: "Mummy, look! The piano has legs and shoes!"

Wandered past Dali's tribute to Newton and Super Yo Yo Man concluded the statue was lame - literally - because a big toe lay awkwardly to one side, cut off. And what was the deal about the ball hanging from the chest, he wanted to know? I explained about the statue being 'open-hearted' but not sure that Super Yo Yo Man got all of it. Never mind - lots of time to learn about that one.

Enroute to Nam Seng at Far East Sq for wanton mee, Super Yo Yo Man stopped to marvel at the wall of rushing water, spilling down a wall of coral - at least I think its coral - the flow of water over a rocky texture creating very nice patterns. One could sit and look at it for hours. It lent a nice cool feeling, softening the busy rush of the city. People in the city always seem to be in a hurry to go somewhere, so it was nice to be able to slow things down today with Super Yo Yo Man, just stroll, stand and look and move when it suited us.

At Nam Seng, Super Yo Yo Man slurped soup while I polished off the wanton mee. Lovely stuff. Must go back on Sunday mornings when it is open. After lunch, we grabbed a cab to BBC - Bras Basah Complex.

Like a good boy, he walked with me all through Bras Basah complex as I searched for a white board, browsed through some second hand books. Observed that the 2nd hand bookstore was a maze. He's not far wrong. But its a maze I love to be lost in.

On the way to Raffles City, he stopped to look at another water feature outside Chef Chan's restaurant (which I boycott because the famous chef was pretty snotty to kids) - this one being a calmer one with a shallow base filled with pebbles and stones, a small bubble being the only sign of life in the waters.

I never noticed it until today, but the city is really full of water and we're never far away from the sound and the coolness of water. A very good thing.

Today, from the green waters of the Singapore River, to the rushing wall of water at the Citibank building, to the poles of water in perspex at FarEast Sq, the calm fountain outside Chef Chan's, the kiddy favourite called Vitality in the Raffles Marketplace and the one in the atrium of Raffles City, we encountered water in all its moods and presentations.

We are drawn to it - Super Yo Yo Man and me. We like the coolness, the movements from the gentle to the rushing, the sounds, the play of light on water (the use of spotlights for Vitality, for instance, gives a feel of a moonlit beach) - all very interesting. We ended our afternoon at Vitality, sitting on the cool black marble rim and watching the flow and ebb, feeling the odd spray as the shooting jets come crashing down. Super Yo Yo Man and I could have sat there for ages and just watched in silence.

It was a good, lazy afternoon out. I think we both enjoyed it.

Incidentally, looking at the rush of the Shenton Way crowds, the men in suits/ties, the ladies ta-paoing for lunch, in their heels and shirts. I felt, as usual, a bit out of place. A bit grungy in my cheap tee, denim skirt and crocs. And a bit guilty - especially when I thought of my colleagues back at the office. As if I was playing hooky from a job. Despite the fact that it was my day off. I should, a twinge of work-ethic conscience told me, be doing something 'more constructive'. Especially if I say I work part-time and the other part of the time I am supposed to be at home with the kids, nurturing them, watching over them, checking their homework etc.

But at the same time, I felt glad to be able to play hooky with the Super Yo Yo Man. In a way, this is also part of my job as a part-time stay-home mom and what an enjoyable one it is. I like to think we did a bit of culture and art education, a bit physical exercise, lots of negotiation skills, some philosophy about water, some discussion about wind in the MRT tunnels (is that physics in a raw form?)... its been a full day.

There was no pressure to teach or to learn or do 'do something'. But yet, there were lots done. Lazy afternoons like today are not always easy to come by. But how memorable they are when they do.

The Maniken Piss - 'Live' in Riang

"Mummy I want pee-pee!" Owain shouts, jumping up and shedding his pants quickly.

"Okay," I say. "I'll switch on the bathroom light for you."

"No, no, no," he says hastily, squirming out of my grasp and running butt naked out of the house.

I follow him, it just dawning on me where he was headed and what he was going to do. Before I can stop him, I see him. A small figure in the darkening evening light, back towards the front door, standing in the garden, naked from the waist down, legs apart - in full view of passing cars and dog-walking neighbours - peeing in full Manikin Piss glory.

Done peeing, he shakes once or twice and then dances back into the living room, a gleeful grin on his face as he pulls his pants back on.

Well, it ain't exactly EC in its purest.

But I guess I should be happy for small mercies. Like telling me he wants to pee for a start. I am happy that he has the presence of mind to take his pants off by himself. And to put them back on when he's done. And of course, to go all by himself.

We just need to tweak the programme a bit and work on the appropriate location.

Meanwhile, I guess the garden will get an extra sprinkling of ferts for now - at least until we can move the Manikin Piss back indoors.

Sweets, anyone?

The MIL came by yesterday and I guess, will be, as usual, staying for a week. Sigh.

I am bracing myself for the usual slew of taiwanese hokkien mandarin-dubbed dramas, the mindless sit-and-do-nothingness, the mournful range of ills and aches she claims to have and worst of all all - the sweets galore.

The kids look forward to her visits as much as I grimace - for the same reason - the sweets. The woman is a walking candy shop to her grandkids. Despite my remonstrations of "Enough sweets already!" or "No sweets before breakfast/lunch/dinner!", I see my kids walking around with fistfuls of dried cuttlefish, chocolate-coated fingers, empty boxes of glico lying on the living room floor and of course, mouthfuls of mentos.

I grit my teeth and bear it but I swear one day I am going to lose it big time.

Case in point: rushing out to work this morning, distracted. Owain whining for 'nen-nen' which I could not give because (a) I'm late (b) nipples sore and oozing already so I am in bloody agony and (c) nipples full of corticosteroid cream to treat the ever-present and worsening eczema. So I am standing there at the door, one shoe on, bag in hand, cooler bag in the other, the boy is tugging at my skirt and the MIL decides to save the day. She swoops down and offers him a stub of Mentos going: "Sweet? Sweet?"

Before breakfast. On a bloody empty stomach. Of course the boy eagerly takes it and the whining ends. MIL is triumphant. I am boiling.

I say nothing but leave. When I grouse to KH, he says: "Not everyday lah." Sure. Just everyday of this week lah. I mutter something under my breath about too much sugar and braincells and then shut up but inside I am thinking: matter of time. Either he says it or I will. And I will not guarantee I will be nice.

Its not just the sweets issue. Its the excessive tv time that sends the tv-is-ok signal to the kids and so on. Maybe I am just very territorial and protective of my space.

I guess I just feel angry and I feel bad about being angry. I feel intruded upon and then I feel bad about feeling intruded upon. I feel sorry for her and I don't hate her. She is a lonely widow, I tell myself and the mother of my husband. But I wish she would seriously get a life. That sounds really mean but it's well-meant.

Looking at her though, I swear though that (1) I will get a life of my own when I am retired (2) take care of myself when I am old instead of expecting my children to do this (3) never live with my kids and (4) never, ever, ever sell my own house - cos that will be MY refuge and my sanctuary. I expect my children will have their own lives and their own families and while we do love each other, I want to be independent. I don't ever want to be a burden or feel a burden to the people I love.

With all the debate about why Singaporeans don't have kids (because kids are expensive they say and because kids don't take care of their old parents anymore) I say, why see children as walking dollar signs? Why see them as a retirement fund? God help us if we have children because we see kids as an insurance policies against our aging needs. If Singaporeans felt this way, lucky the population is on the wane. Because: what sort of people are we to put price tags on children?

This is why I never believe in endowment policies for kids, saving till the cows come home for a university education (which to me has never been the epitome of material success anyway). I think the kids will thank me more if I kept myself healthy, had a good retirement income, had a roof over my head, a good hospitalisation and medical insurance and made a will. And this can only be financially possible if I didn't have to slave just to pay for 5 $100,000 endowment policies.

Read in the Catholic News the other day about a priest's take on filial piety - and I agree 100%. Bring the kids up with love and they will want to take care of you even if they don't have to. No one can force love.

What has all this got to do with the MIL? sigh. My feelings for her are ambivalent. I swing between tolerance and dislike. Ok, to be fair, I probably don't dislike her as a person, but I dislike how she lives. Does that make sense?

Maybe because I see my own mom - the antithesis of the MIL, that I feel this way. My mother is a woman who chooses to work after retirement, she is financially independent, gallivants around town with her girlfriends, takes care of her family, travels freely (and no granny package tours for her thank you very much! She prefers independent backpack travel!), surfs the internet, reads widely... Perhaps it is an unfair comparison of lifestyles but mom has such a joie de vivre which I wish my MIL would have. She would be so much healthier - physically and mentally.

Ah well, blogging about this makes me feel better. So now I can go home with a nice smile and sit down to dinner without feeling angsty.

But first, I will confiscate as many of the sweets as I can find.

Snapshot #2

Had to pick up Cait from school yesterday since Bernice, who gives her a ride home was sick and away from school. As usual, Owain pestered me to let him come with me.

"It's hot out there," I say.

"I'll wear my hat!" He runs and grabs his cap to show me.

"It's a long walk to the bus-stop..." I warn.

"I will walk mummy."

So we set off, with him reminding me of my transitlink card for the bus. It was quite a pleasant walk despite the heat - we passed by gardens, banana trees, flowering shrubs etc.

But it was indeed a long walk and as we reached the last 200m, I noticed our valiant trooper flagging a bit, but still not complaining. I scooped him into my arms saying: "Mummy will carry you up the hill ok?"

He snuggles in and says: "Thank you mummy."

Then he says softly, "When you are old and tired, I will carry you!"

And his plump arms hug me tight as I hug him back.

Snapshot #1

A neighbour turned 11 and invited Owain, yes 3-year-old Owain to his birthday barbecue. Benjamin and Owain are best of playground mates - Owain having charmed the 11-year-old boy who looks out for him at the playground, buys him lollies etc.

Half the neighbourhood was there at the barbecue and we had a nice time chatting with our neighbours. The kids, wet from the pool, swarmed around snatching bites from the grill while playing "Freeze N Melt" (aka tag).

When we were leaving, I spotted Gillian sitting quietly in a corner talking to an older boy. Something about the scene made me do a double-take. I didn't quite recognise the girl sitting there as the daughter I knew. Sitting there, legs crossed, chatting, laughing, face rosy from the heat was a half-child, half-woman, poised right on the cusp of change. Facing her was a good-looking, attractive teen. They were clearly enjoying each other's company. It was all innocent and yet, alarm bells rang.

One part of me yelled: but she's only 11! Another just sighed.

It had already begun - the peeling off of childhood skin and the newness of adolescence. She's oblivious to it all of course. But then, I am her mother, years ahead of her on the well-trodden road of growing up. I have been there, done that and I guess maybe it is the sensitivity and the intuition of women and mothers that let me see this.

Number 5 and out in the cold

On Sunday the MP came by.

In our 8/9 years there, we have never seen or met our MP. Now election over and MP changed, and so we finally get a chance to meet the man. Mr Seah Kian Peng. Good firm handshake.

Took opportunity to 'pour out my woes' - heh.

There is a small park in a corner of Jln Riang. The kids of the neighbourhood love to hang out there. There's a playground with sandpit, a bastketball court and some swings. In the evenings, the maids of the neighbourhood hang out there with their charges, children kick around a ball, older kids shoot some hoops and place comes alive with chatter and noise. Unfortunately, the park is right next to the house belonging to the resident killjoy.

This launty living there loves to call the cops and confiscate stray footballs that go over her wall. And no matter how the children plead and apologise, they don't get their balls back. She's got a big box full of balls - at least 20 of them. I have seen one expat Australian family (with 5 kids in tow!) standing outside the auntie's house pleading for their ball back. Quite funny because the Australians can't quite understand the auntie, who keeps yelling: "我听不懂！ 我不会给你你们的 ball!" but to their credit, remained calm and kept repeating their apologies and asking for the ball. The aunty must have given in out of frustration for I saw the family walking past with said ball - the lone survivor out of ball prison.

This auntie has complained many times and the cops have come to take down particulars, given the kids' warning etc. Finally, she got the RC to lobby to change the park - so the basketball court went. The dwarf fir trees went up flanking her wall. The No Football signs went up.

According to my brother who has played many a basketball game on the court before it was demolished, this aunty has always been like this, complaining and confiscating stray balls for years.

I thought it rather mean-spirited of her - denying kids the chance to play and run and let off steam. We live in a private estate which means no space to kick a ball around unless we do so in the roads, which is dangerous. So the only place for kids to do this is in the park. So much for healthy lifestyle, community bonding etc.

I thought it was time someone spoke up for the kids.

Also raised pet peeve of zero benefits and zero baby bonus for my children. All have been denied any benefits due to dates. Number three was born 9 days shy of the Apr 1 2001 launch of the baby bonus scheme. Number 4 was born without any benefits because benefits only applied to the third child. By the time they extended the benefits to baby number 4, baby number five was born - and so did not get a cent.

We now talk so much about declining population, the need to have foreign talent etc. And newspapers are doing a great PR blitz with stories of happy immigrants, big happy families etc. Tax dollars are going into schemes to help entice foreign talent to come and stay etc. Yet we put caps on benefits for children of large families. If every Singaporean is important and indeed, as the PM himself said, no Singaporean will be left behind, then how come my kids don't get a red dime?

They are Singaporeans too are they not? My 4th child will serve NS and my kids will contribute to the economy someday. But somehow, they don't count.

I say: if it is so important and crucial to raise the population by births, don't stint and stinge. Give to ALL children, regardless of birth order, regardless of deadlines or dates. Those are just numbers. But the gift of children are real. Real to us as parents, and eventually, real to the country as citizens as well.

Husband says I can talk till the cows come home but nothing will change.

I am an optimist. And there are no cows in Singapore.

I hope Mr Seah passes the message on.

In the eyes and mouth

Noticed the boy has a bit of red-eye and the conjunctiva looked swollen. So I asked him to come over so that I can squirt some breastmilk into his eye. Always worked like a charm - within 20min of administering some breastmilk, the pink-eye always improves, thanks to the anti-bacterial properties of breastmilk. So much better and faster than the usual eye-drops the doctors give.

But this time, the boy was dawdling and refused to let me put some in his eye. After some cajoling, he and said: "You give nen-nen in the eye. How about nen-nen in the mouth also?"

Yep. Never lose an opportunity to nurse.

Nursing Owain this long means it's the longest I have ever nursed any baby. And because he is so verbal at 3 years old, it's so much fun to listen to all the negotiations and wise words that come out from his mouth when it comes to nursing.

Such as: "Breastmilk makes me stronger and bigger!"

"I like nen-nen! It tastes like ice-cream!"

"Please mummy, please can I drink nen-nen?" and when I say no, he clasps both chubby hands together and pleads: "Just a little bit, just a little while, please, please!" and if I still say no, he goes: "Arrrgggh!"

When he sees me nursing Trinity, he persuades: "I drink together with Trinity! Please mom, I like it!"

So while on one hand I get really antsy with his frequent nursing sessions, as frequent as 5 minutes apart sometimes, on the other, I wish he would never stop. Or at least, not so soon.

The 'Damaged' Person

"Daaaaddddd...." Owain hollers from back of our car. "Can we go to Queensway McDonalds?"

That sparks off our Saturday ritual of Deciding Where To Go For Breakfast. With so many members in the family, everyone wants a say and of course everyone feels like eating different types of food. There is usually a great deal of wheeling and dealing and lobbying going in the backseats as the kids try to garner votes, make alliances to pressure mum and dad into having breakfast of their choice.

So while mum and dad were hemming and hawing in the front, frowning in concentration to fit food and errands into locations which were convenient to each other, the back rows were noisy with discussions and arguments.

Through this noise, suddenly a voice piped up in very serious tones: "Mummy, you have to listen to the damaged person." This was Caitlin.

Huh? What damaged person? "Owain of course! He's got a wound in his head remember?" she says.

Who can argue with this recommendation?

The Damaged Person won and the Chongs had brekkie at Queensway McDonalds - our favourite outlet. The kids love the little garden and the turtles. And there's something nice about a lazy brekkie amidst greenery (and this includes the algae-laden pond) while the kids hang out at the bridge checking out the turtles and the resident large arrowana which occasionally surfaces, scales gleaming gold amid the green.

After brekkie, we tried to drug our son in preparation for the removal of stitches. The doc had given us some chloral hydrate syrup and Owain had to swallow 15ml of the stuff to be knocked out. I was not in favour of this, preferring to nurse him through the process - which is also very relaxing. But KH said no. So he was on his own when it came to giving the boy the stuff - which Owain promptly spat out onto himself and his daddy.

End result - nothing went in and my boy was not drugged after all. The removal of stitches went smoothly. He lay there while I talked to him, pointing out the big OT lights, asking him how many lights there were, telling him why we needed the lights etc, while the doctor snipped and pulled the stitches loose. He was a real trouper!

Milestone!

She stands! Last night came home from work to find Trinity standing all by herself. She stood there, hands busy fingering a toy, for at least a minute or so, until she realised that she was standing without grabbing anything. Then she let the toy fall and her eyes widened in panic as she reached out to find something to grab on to. Very cute! Also, saw yesterday that she's now able to climb on top of the low coffee table. She's been trying very hard over the past week or so and now finally she's done it. Yesterday, she also appeared to be more confident when negotiating the step from the dining to the living. She used to panic, cry a bit when she had to negotiate it and usually came down on her front, one foot at a time. Yesterday, she came down butt-first - which is safer.

She also shows a great deal of personality - I don't remember the other kids showing as much spunk and personality as she does when they were her age. These days she wriggles, snorts and makes noises to show she wants me. When she sees Owain nursing, she'd scuttle over and try to pull/push him off, then grab on and pull herself up on my other arm. Its her way of telling me she wants to nurse. When you feed her something and she doesn't like it, she'd grab the spoon and pull it away. She loves her hide and seek games. Gets really excited when her kor-kor and che-che play catching with her. She loves to 'run' with me in the sling.

Seems like there's a growth spurt happening because I see these changes coming fast one after another.

Before I know it, she'll be toddling away.

They grow so fast...

Humpty Dumpty

...fell on some rocks and cracked his head open.

Owain, my fishball, round-shaped Owain, did a Humpty Dumpty on Sunday. We were at the reservoir trying to catch some unsuspecting prawns. It was a nice golden evening. KH and the kids were perched on rocks, patiently luring the prawns out with some bait. I was sitting on a bench nursing Trinity. I saw Owain throwing one of his crocs into the water and called out to him: "Owain! Shoe!" The boy retrieved it and I continued nursing and day-dreaming. Next thing I knew Gillian yelled: "Mum! Owain fell! He's bleeding!"

Being mom to 5, you can really write the chapter on kid accidents so I was slow to react, Trinity was still latched on and I remained seated. Then I saw two women (other mothers!) racing towards him and something told me this was different from the scrape and cut we were used to.

I unlatched Trinity and yelled for KH to go over. By the time we reached Owain, blood was dripping from a deep open gash in his forehead. Dead centre. One mother said, "Give him some sugar. Got any sweets?" and I remember saying automatically: "It's ok, I'm breastfeeding. Breastmilk is sweet." And true to form, my injured babe was yelling: "I want NEN-NEN!!"

Everything happened so fast. We didn't even thank the mothers for the tissue papers. I told KH: "Hospital. Now." So I cradled Owain while KH organised the kids, the nets, the pails of prawn - "Throw them back! We can't bring them to the hospital with us!" I yelled. To which Isaac groaned: "WHAT! After all my hard work!"

So we ran - sort of - KH ran. It was marvellous to see what adrenalin can do to an out-of-shape 40ish man. All that IPPT training worked after all. Carrying Owain and running was like carrying a full-pack and running - same weight!

He drove like a bat out of hell - horning, flashing lights, cutting lanes. Until I told him to better slow down or we won't make it there at all. Funny how it is that faced with these situations, the man freaks out. I am calm - been there done that remember? Not the first emergency run to the hospital after all.

At the emergency room, Owain was examined and stitches recommended. But because he would scream blue murder and struggle, the drs recommended keeping him under GA. So KH sent the older kids home while Trinity and I accompanied Owain up to the ward - he was seated in a wheelchair!

Surgeon came later and explained the process. Said that he would give Owain an injection to make him sleep. I asked the doc to give some lidocaine gel before jabbing him. Doc said no need. I glared at him. For all of Owain's life, I have protected him from any injections - and that includes vaccinations. And here he is, being jabbed. Then I said: what about me nursing him so it would not be so painful? Doc said no, no food and drink. I said breastmilk is so easily digestible its not considered food. Doc started to explain risks of gastric aspiration. As if I didn't know that. I opened my mouth to argue. KH said firmly: OK no breastmilk. I gave HIM the evil eye.

By 9pm, the thrill of non-stop cartoons was wearing thin and he began fretting for nen-nen. Thanks to his evil dad, I said: no, but I will nurse you later ok? The boy was a trouper and agreed. For all of 10minutes - then he asked again! And again!

We went up to the operating theatre at 10pm. Owain looked so cute in a hospital gown and shower cap. I asked him who he wanted to bring him in, and pang of pangs, he said: daddy!

I felt ambivalent. On one hand, I didn't want to be the one to hold him while he got jabbed. Could not stand to watch him feeling pain. On the other hand, we've never been separated like this. Aside from the one night that I birthed Trinity, he has always been with me.

So as KH took him in, KH also dressed in green surgical scrubs, I stood outside the OT doors and peered in through the glass. For some reason, I felt like crying.

How long can you protect a child? I thought of his smooth, lovely wide and clear forehead, now to be marred by a scar and I felt a rush of tears. I stood there, carrying Trinity and waiting until I saw KH coming out. Then he gave me and Trin a hug and we stood there waiting until we saw the nurse carrying a tiny figure bundled in a white blanket.

We brought him down to his room but he was clearly knocked out. KH ta-paoed char kway teow which we fell on and devoured - so hungry were we! We both spent the night with him and at 1am, I heard a tentative, groggy sounding: mummy? I want nen-nen... I'm so glad that I can still give him something that comforts and heals.

Today is Wednesday and he seems fine. The wound seems to be oozing but he reports no pain. Stoic boy. Fearless, he's back in form - jumping, running, building his lego robots.

Tomorrow he turns 3. What a ride it has been. My big-head-boy, my superman. My first gentle birth 3 years ago, my biggest baby ever, has grown into a sturdy, generous, happy, good-natured charmer with a mischievous grin.

I'm so glad Humpty Dumpty survived the fall after all.

Invisibility

I now know how stay-at-home-moms can sometimes feel - the sense of isolation and invisibility. Recently, the govt was lambasted in the press for not giving sahms part of the budget financial goodies. But nearer home, even to the one's family, one can be invisible. Particularly to one's spouse.

A woman today has to wear so many hats that sometimes she herself loses track of which one was her original hat, her favourite look. She is someone's mother, someone's daughter, someone's colleague, someone's wife. But who is she really? Stripped of all the labels, what is left?

And particularly so for women who choose to stay home to care for their families, who have no income, how invisible are they? It might help if at least, to a spouse, they are visible. After all, we all hope to mean something to someone special. It can be disappointing when one realises that this special-ness is gone, that she too, has become invisible to this person.

So when the kids are grown, the last one out of the house, what is left? Who is left? To expect a woman to regain all her identity at that point is tough. Like learning to walk all over again. We have to get to know ourselves. And hope that that is enough to get through the aura of invisibility we now have.

I guess it might now be prudent for me to start relying less on how others see me and start seeing myself for who I really am. And while others will still inhabit different parts of my life, sharing my identity, I will still have a sense of who I am. And better for me now to understand that despite the painful awareness of invisibility from the one I love, far better to realise this now than later.

Ah well, time for dinner. Time to put on the mother hat and go...

Trinity is officially two months old. I haven't posted for a long while - getting over the birth, Sydney, then Christmas and so on. Things have been hectic.

So here, belatedly, is Trinity's birth story.

I was due to see Paul on Monday, Oct 31 - what would have been the EDD. Was already home on MC due to the ever escalating BP. The Wednesday before, with readings of 200/122, Paul ordered me to stay home. But things were uneventful until early Sat morning, 29 Oct. The mucus plug came loose with two slightly painful and long contractions. I found out only when I visited the loo early in the morning. I half expected things to progress quickly but they didn't. I had a couple of half-hearted contractions but nothing really meaningful until dinner time at Pastamania when I had several contractions coming close and painful. So I knew it would be soon.

After midnight on early Sunday morning, Oct 30, the ccontractions intensifiedand kept me in a half-sleep for several hrs. Kept getting up going to the loo and each contraction was getting more painful and lasting longer. I could feel baby turning and moving with a slight pooing sensation. She was very active. After 3am, I thought I'd better wake KH up. Guydidn't want to wake up! So I let him sleep thru another two contractions before really jabbing him awake. SaidI thought this was it.

We timed the contractions - it was comingat 1 every 5min and lasting a minute. Still, I was doubtful about going in to the hospital. Decided to get up to go to the loo. Probably because of the change in position to an upright one, I could feel the contractions change in momentum and force. One came right on top of the other, each lasting 90sec long, very painful and intense. I sat on the loo and waited the wave out with KH holding me. Could feel a distinct urge to poo and realised that baby was definitely in descent and I was likely to be intransition.

Weirdly thru my labour, there was this little voice in my head (childbirth educator mode) telling me exactly what was likely to be happening and what I should be doing. So we made preparations to go to the hospital. Ididn't think I could sit in the car so I got in thebackseat and crouched over the seatback as KH drove. Once in Mt A, we walked up to the labour ward, goingthru contractions in the lift etc. This was at 4am.

In the room, I stayed in my pjs. I knew I was probably dilating very strongly and quickly due to the force of the contractions but for some reason, the nurses didn't think the baby was going to come soon,despite the pattern of pain I was going thru. There was no urgency at all. KH went thru the birth plan with the nurse etc, asked for the stuff we wanted - the ball, the mattress, the cd player etc. I settled on my left on the bed for the 15min CTG trace we agreed to in the birthplan. KH went down to do registration. A VE showed that I was at 8cm and the waters were bulging resulting in a slight urge to push.

KH was gone longer than expected. I had gone thru several contractions without him and those were hard ones.Once or twice I lost control of my rhythm/focus and gave in to the pain. Most of the time I visualised myself walking above the treetops very lightly andthen the breathing would even out. The next sequence of events took place very very rapidly.

Once KH came back, the CTG belts were removedand he stood beside me holding my hand. At that point,the contractions changed. Midway thru one, I could feel a very strong, irresistable urge to push. It was involuntary. The childbirth educator in me said, ok good, but don't push until you feel itis involuntary. And so it was - my body was already pushing and it showed with a catch in the breathing and the grunt that came.

KH, not trained, did not realise this. I did. I told him and the 3 other nurses in the room: Thebaby is coming. Maybe they were used to wild-eyed hysterical mothers who thought the babies were always coming. There wa sno urgency in taking me seriously.

The nurses walked over in slow mo and checked and made soothing sounds - yes,yes we've called the dr to tell him you're at 8cm etc. Second contraction I told them - "the water bag is going to burst!" and pop! it did!

Third contraction I gripped KH's shirt and yelled: "My leg! Someone lift my leg now! Only then did the nurses take me seriously enough to lift my right leg over. "

KH said very excitedly: "I can see the head! You're crowning!" I could feel the stinging sensation and the CBE in me said: ok, now stop pushing and blow baby out. And gee, I'm glad I did. Next thing KH said very excitedly, "The head is out! The baby is out! It's a girl, dear! It's Trinity Rose!"

This was at 4.38am. Trinity cried - this wet, slippery mass of purple flesh. The nurses stood there, at the foot of the bed, still stunned at the speed. No one caught the baby.She just slid right out. I had to tell them to givethe baby to me. Poor thing was just lying there, screaming her head off, wet and freezing cold! So KH scooped Trinity up and gave her to me. I unbuttoned my PJ, had skin-to-skin with her and askedthe nurses for a towel to cover Trinity's back.

So far it looked like they were still caught off-guard. Paul walked in about 5min later, grinned and said, " Hi,couldn't wait huh?" Then he checked me and found a small nick but nicely down the midline. Asked if I wanted it sewn. Said it would sting otherwise, so I said yeah. By then the cord had stopped pulsating. So KH snipped it. After that, we stayed in the labour ward for several hrs.

I would not stop bleeding and passed big clots. Paul had to go in to do a manual removal - but it didn'thurt! Later, becos I would not stop oozing blood andpassing big clots he ordered a drip - oxytocin - to stop the bleeding. They were concerned abt pph if thebleeding was not arrested. So that's it - when the bleeding stabilised, i went up to the ward, stayed a night and discharged the nextday.

Looking back, I think I did get my unassisted birth -no one caught the baby or protected my perineum or did anything. Trinity just slid out - KH couldn't believeit. Had we stayed longer at home I think I would have birthed the baby there. It was a speedy birth. My only regret - we never had time to play the new jazz cds I'd bought for the birth or try out the massages I'd been teaching KH to give, or even the various positions. There was just no time!