Today, on Monday 22nd of December 2014, I am on my annual leave. I managed to re-arrange my maid visit to the morning instead of the usual night session, and the maid who turned up turned out to be a little miracle. My home is shiny and clean and I bask in it, whilst the rain pours outside, the closest you'd get to winter in Malaysia in December. Boo is as usual all curled up on his blanket on the sofa.
This time of year, before the family reunion, after the feast with friends, amidst the gift preparations (just delivered some homemade XO sauce, granola and freshly baked vanilla butter cake with relatives yesterday), I manage to sneak in moments of reflection, thought and above all, gratitude.
Work has been very much a pain at times, but I am grateful all the same for the opportunity to contribute, to collaborate, for the means to live the life we want.
For my funny family. My dad and mum who adorably whatsapped their entire day itineraries whilst on vacation, for my brothers, with whom I swap ideas for Christmas presents for the 'rents, and the first people I told (other than the husband of course) when I first discovered I was pregnant. And the shared joy once I announce the gender of the baby.
For our Boo, who as of this year has been with us for 8 joyous, laughter filled years. Boo who cannot seem to lose weight despite starting his low fat diet, Boo who would come in between us and meow loudly/drop and roll his fat self on the floor when we argue, as if to distract us or tell us to stoppit, Boo who hogs pillows. Boo who loves house guests and will sit on their lap/rub himself against them/tag along house tours, no matter if the guest welcomes it or not. Boo who spends quiet weekend mornings with mama while she relaxes with her morning drink. Boo who immediately comforts his papa when he slipped down the stairs. Boo, without whom our home life would not be complete.
For the husband and our growing little family. For the husband who can't wait for the arrival of his daughter. The husband who gives the best career/work advice. Whom I force to tuck me in and adjust my maternity pillow when I go to bed. The husband who makes a mean hot chocolate, who gives in to almost everything I ask for (boy am I going to be sorry this pregnancy will soon come to an end). Who assembled the baby stroller the day we bought it. Who just can't wait to be a daddy.
And to our little one. I wrote this during my lunch break some time ago, and shall leave it as is - a moment when my feelings were captured in words.
I think I finally get it.
The way I see it, pregnant mothers are divided into two camps – the mushy, I feel so connected, glowy group and the poor long-suffering one . I think I finally figured out which one I belong to.
The baby kicks and rolls. She kicks and jabs during my meetings, and sometimes it's all I can do to sit there with a straight face, trying not to jump/wiggle from the sudden discomfort. Sometimes I feel that she does it when I am most agitated, as if she is trying to distract me. Or even that she is trying to get me to speak out more.
She somersaults during my shopping walks, causing me sometimes to pause and grab my belly - just to be sure everything is still OK.
When I am alone, as I was in the past two weeks during the evenings in the hotel after my work in the fabrication yard, she makes sure her presence is felt.
It's just so awesome. More than awesome - I feel like a mum. A mum. I confess, I’m still not sure if mum and me are a fit.
Now, almost every night, I lay in bed and expose my belly, and watch the bump rock and jiggle, and laugh.
So yes, I finally get it. I hardly think about whether I will get back to my pre-pregnancy size anymore. Instead I worry about her nutrition, whether I will be able to breastfeed her, whether whatever I am putting in my mouth, or physical activity I do, will affect her.
This time of year, before the family reunion, after the feast with friends, amidst the gift preparations (just delivered some homemade XO sauce, granola and freshly baked vanilla butter cake with relatives yesterday), I manage to sneak in moments of reflection, thought and above all, gratitude.
Work has been very much a pain at times, but I am grateful all the same for the opportunity to contribute, to collaborate, for the means to live the life we want.
For my funny family. My dad and mum who adorably whatsapped their entire day itineraries whilst on vacation, for my brothers, with whom I swap ideas for Christmas presents for the 'rents, and the first people I told (other than the husband of course) when I first discovered I was pregnant. And the shared joy once I announce the gender of the baby.
For our Boo, who as of this year has been with us for 8 joyous, laughter filled years. Boo who cannot seem to lose weight despite starting his low fat diet, Boo who would come in between us and meow loudly/drop and roll his fat self on the floor when we argue, as if to distract us or tell us to stoppit, Boo who hogs pillows. Boo who loves house guests and will sit on their lap/rub himself against them/tag along house tours, no matter if the guest welcomes it or not. Boo who spends quiet weekend mornings with mama while she relaxes with her morning drink. Boo who immediately comforts his papa when he slipped down the stairs. Boo, without whom our home life would not be complete.
For the husband and our growing little family. For the husband who can't wait for the arrival of his daughter. The husband who gives the best career/work advice. Whom I force to tuck me in and adjust my maternity pillow when I go to bed. The husband who makes a mean hot chocolate, who gives in to almost everything I ask for (boy am I going to be sorry this pregnancy will soon come to an end). Who assembled the baby stroller the day we bought it. Who just can't wait to be a daddy.
And to our little one. I wrote this during my lunch break some time ago, and shall leave it as is - a moment when my feelings were captured in words.
I think I finally get it.
The way I see it, pregnant mothers are divided into two camps – the mushy, I feel so connected, glowy group and the poor long-suffering one . I think I finally figured out which one I belong to.
The baby kicks and rolls. She kicks and jabs during my meetings, and sometimes it's all I can do to sit there with a straight face, trying not to jump/wiggle from the sudden discomfort. Sometimes I feel that she does it when I am most agitated, as if she is trying to distract me. Or even that she is trying to get me to speak out more.
She somersaults during my shopping walks, causing me sometimes to pause and grab my belly - just to be sure everything is still OK.
When I am alone, as I was in the past two weeks during the evenings in the hotel after my work in the fabrication yard, she makes sure her presence is felt.
It's just so awesome. More than awesome - I feel like a mum. A mum. I confess, I’m still not sure if mum and me are a fit.
Now, almost every night, I lay in bed and expose my belly, and watch the bump rock and jiggle, and laugh.
So yes, I finally get it. I hardly think about whether I will get back to my pre-pregnancy size anymore. Instead I worry about her nutrition, whether I will be able to breastfeed her, whether whatever I am putting in my mouth, or physical activity I do, will affect her.
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