Family Portraiture: When We Were 7 Months

We did a family photoshoot with Playground Pictures slightly more than a month ago, and I cannot recommend our photographer, Ken Umehara, enough. He is very friendly and professional, and has an excellent eye for compositions. You might not be able to tell from the photos but M and I are very stiff and are the most awkward people one could ever photograph (our pre-wedding and wedding photographers can attest to this…), so it’s all props to Ken for helping us relax and capturing the candid moments perfectly. We were a little nervous about the shoot as we didn’t know what to expect with a baby (who gets really cranky when she is about to nap) in tow, but we did the shoot in an hour, and are utterly pleased with the photos!

Why Botanic Gardens, you ask? This was where we had our first date after we became a couple. Cliché but so very meaningful to us. Hey, at least we didn’t head to the very bench we sat on as we held hands, okaaay?

Right, I shall shut my trap and let the photos do the talking.

 

What The Man Wants, The Man Gets

‘Red Velvet, please. And I want it tall.’

My husband, M, certainly wasn’t standing on ceremony when I asked him what cake he would like for his birthday.

Well, I love him very much, so much so that I attempted to bake my very first four-layer cake which weighed at least five kilograms when it was finally dressed in a decadent, slightly tart cream cheese frosting.

It took two days of back-breaking work to create this, the most professionally-finished cake that I’ve ever made, even if it didn’t look like it hit the gold standards of established bakeries out there. What mattered most was M loved it. He declared it my best act, and that was well-worth the effort.

Happy Birthday, love!

Check out what I have been baking in my own kitchen.

Also check out my other food adventures.

For Better, For Worse

My dear husband,

Today marks all of eight years we have had with each other.

Eight years ago, you stealthily grabbed my hand as we crossed the road after our dinner date, under the pretense that you wanted to make sure I was safe from the non-existent traffic. With my hand in yours, unbeknownst to me, I was fooled into committing the very first day of our lives together to you. And then, somehow, you managed to hoodwink me into becoming your wife about three and a half years ago. You must have had plenty of tricks up your sleeve, for the world knows that we are different as chalk and cheese, and the world wonders how we are still very much in love in spite of that. I wonder too.

You and I know that we love each other in starkly contrasting ways. We have had eight long years to realise, fight over, and accept this. If anything, the difference in how we love was THE point of contention in our years together. It still is. You practise tough love. And I, ever the fragile, sheltered half, isn’t always strong enough for that. You see, I grew up knowing only tenderness and sometimes, I can’t quite grasp the affection for me that actually lurks in your nonchalance and harsh words. And my oh my, are we the worst sort of tempers put together. I am quick to anger at the slightest while you are quite the terror if you should ever blow your top. I am surprised that we are still together. But maybe, I shouldn’t be.

After all, we have given a lot to make a recalcitrant, heated, passionate relationship such as ours work. We had two honeymoon-ish years together, and we naively thought, hey it’s pretty easy to fall AND stay in love, then BAM! London hit us and well, we fought bad and almost threw in the towel before realising that WE are worth fighting for. So, we fought even harder, but this time, we fought to make it work. After getting married, I thought we had learnt what needed to be learnt about each other, that we had accepted what needed to be accepted. I mean, haven’t we gone through enough tears already? And surely, the storms would have blown over by now after so much drama during our time in London? I thought wrong.

The past 8 months have been INSANE. I remember lamenting that it was going to be tough the minute we knew we were expecting a baby. We had done everything backwards – you know, getting married while working on our second degrees, planning for a kid when we were fresh out of grad school. Friends questioned the way we lived. Strangers raised their eyebrows when they heard our stories. It was challenging to walk the path of the less travelled, but geez, I didn’t realise what ‘tough’ meant until we became parents.

The usual parenting challenges, the lack of sleep, the moments when we feel like fish out of water, the resentment that grows as we hardly see each other with your unforgiving schedule at work and my relentless mothering gig, the stress and constant criticism that comes with living with others, the scrutiny we are put under as new parents, the lack of time for a social life and how much we are getting dissed by our friends for not keeping in touch…these are really doing us in. Where do I start to dissect the pressures on our marriage, when we don’t even have the time to see, let alone talk to each other?

But we soldier on. We fight, we throw our heads back and laugh without a care in the world, we long to punch the living daylights out of each other, we hug each other and cry, we cry because we fight, we kiss and make up, and we love again. We walk on, my hand in yours, across the road as we dodge a more dangerous sort of traffic this time.

I don’t know how we do it. I honestly don’t know how we survived the past 8 months. There were moments when I was convinced that we were done for. But I am glad we are alive, and that we love each other more and more, even as we find more and more things to hate about each other. It is all very odd indeed.

You told me that you were afraid that I will forget all about you once I become a mother. I never had a chance to tell you this, but the truth is, I think about you more and more after I became one. My heart has grown to love you and our beautiful daughter to my very best, so much so that I have nothing left for myself. You have to know this.

You must know this too. For better, for worse, it has been eight years.

For better, for worse, it has been the most trying eight months of our lives together.

For better, for worse, with my hand still in yours, I pray that there will be more fights, laughter, tears and kisses to come just because it is you whom I share these moments with.

For better, for worse, as long as I am with you, trying as the times ahead will surely be, I say…come what may.

Love,
Me

2012: What A Year!

We welcomed 2012 in our serviced apartment in Boston. How? I, buried in all-day sickness,  M, hoisting my hair up whenever I heaved, us, watching the ball drop in Times Square and the magnificent fireworks display at the London Eye on telly. Our 6-week stay in Boston was nightmarish. I was plagued with nausea and survived on dry crackers and fish fingers. M woke up at 4.30am every day to work at MGH. We barely went anywhere as I was doing poorly. We did watch a live basketball game (Boston Celtics vs Phoenix Suns) and build a snowman when I was feeling better towards the end of our stay. That was nice.

After M’s elective at MGH, we flew back to London, met our friends for a Chinese New Year dinner, switched our bags out and I said a tearful goodbye to the city we have come to call home. We spent the rest of the New Year with our families in Singapore, our very first with them in five years. My obgyn told us we were having a girl and that she is healthy. We shared the good news with everyone who cared.

We celebrated M’s 30th in March. I baked him a strawberry and lychee shortcake after a long break from the kitchen. He was delighted to finally spend his birthday with family and friends in Singapore. A few days later, we hugged each other goodbye as M left to complete his degree in London, and I stayed in Singapore to prepare for the arrival of our baby.

It was a difficult time thereafter. I was missing M terribly, and feeling sad that I was going through pregnancy alone. M was stressed out with his finals and I really wanted to be there for him. We tried to keep up with each other on FaceTime. I often watched him have lunch and even cook his dinner, whilst he squinted at the tiny movements our baby was making across my growing belly. I exercised a lot to pass time and to keep myself fit for the delivery – yoga on Fridays and cardio twice weekly. M graduated in July; I was gutted to miss the ceremony but his graduation also meant that M was finally coming home. He took very good care of me and pampered me with lots of dinner dates and outings. We were determined to make up for lost time, and to enjoy each other’s company as much as we can before our daughter’s arrival and before he started his new job. We spent lots of time reminiscing the good ol’ times we had in London. We spent lots of time getting to know each other all over again. It was wonderful to be with my best friend.

Before we knew it, our baby girl was born. Nothing quite prepared us for parenthood, let alone that in the week when M embarked on his new role as a doctor. There were lots of laughter and lots of tears. There still are.

The next months were and still are trying. Four months into parenthood and we are still trying to find our footing. It has been a steep learning curve and we evolve with our baby girl everyday. We have had to dig real deep to stick to the kind of parenting we feel is best for our daughter in the face of a constant barrage of unsolicited advice. We learnt to sleep less and love more. I didn’t think this is possible, but it is.

So….yes…

This is the year when time sped up and slowed down at the same time.

This is the year when emotions swung like a pendulum on steroids. 

This is the year when I became a mother.

This is the year when I had the most and least sleep.

This is the year when I learnt to love a little more.

This is by far, the best year of my life.

—

I hope 2012 has been good to you too. Here’s to a better 2013. Happy New Year, guys!

Christmas Past, Present, Future

On Christmas Day last year, we were huddled together in the emergency room of MGH in Boston, heads down in fervent prayer and hands wrung in an odd mix of hope and despair. The ER was eerily quiet. An elderly woman was waiting anxiously for her husband. I just had the nth vial of blood taken from me since we arrived in Boston three days ago. The doctor had trouble looking for a spot on my arms that wasn’t already bruised by all the blood-taking they did. But that didn’t matter as much as what the doctor was going to tell us when the bloodwork was ready.

Two hours later, the resident on-call told us that our pregnancy looked to be progressing much better than it did a few days ago, but that’s only from the bloodwork and we won’t know for sure if our baby was going to be okay until a few weeks later. I was told to return for further tests in two days’ time. We took whatever that was positive, heaved a strangled sigh of relief, and stepped into the first snowflakes that fell that winter. Better was the best gift we could ask for.

This Christmas…the tree is up, the fairy lights are twinkling and the presents are waiting to be opened. Baby Faith joins us for her first Christmas. We are delighted and beyond thankful to be her parents, to love her the way our folks love us. We take nothing for granted and we are happy. She is our gift, as with faith, which inspired her name.

I don’t know what the future holds for our little family. But I know this…that I will treasure every single moment I have with my loved ones, and that I will thank the high heavens for every tomorrow.

Happy Christmas, everyone.

Love,

Us

 

 

An Open Letter to My Mother

Dearest Ma,

The clock struck at midnight and the first thing you did was to come into my room to wish me a Happy Birthday. You have done so unfailingly for many years, even when I was in London, even when there was a time difference. I could always count on you to make my birthday special.

Ma, little do you know that this year, I feel somewhat different on my day. I am now a mother, and you, a grandmother to my daughter. For years, I have wondered about childbirth and what it would be like to raise a child. For years, I watched you care for each one of us, not knowing how tough it is for you. For years, I have taken you for granted. I have only been a mother for three months and boy, has it been a challenge! I finally have the faintest idea as to what you went through in the early months of our lives. I say faintest, because Ma, I am only just coping because I have help. You, on the other hand, toiled and slaved through motherhood without any. I don’t know where and how you find the strength to do so, but I am glad you did, because without you, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

On my birthday, Ma, I want to thank you for giving me life. For feeding and making sure I am healthy. For putting up with the sleepless nights. For singing nursery rhymes and hymns to me when you shampooed my hair. For keeping the suds out of my eyes when you did so. I want to thank you for all the breakfasts, lunches and dinners that you made. For taking me to school and taking me home afterwards. For bringing me to the playground and the EPB bookshop to pick up classics like The Little Women, and The Prince and The Pauper even though we were cash-strapped. For teaching me right from wrong, and for putting up with me when I talked back. For teaching me how to love, to always look within myself and do some soul-searching instead of blaming others when things go awry. For kissing my forehead and taking me in your arms when my world came crashing down, and for sharing my joy when I achieved something in school, at work, and in love. I want to thank you for doing all that and more, and I am still amazed that you love me without any resentment.

Ma, 30 years ago, you suffered much pain to bring me into this world. Today, you love my daughter deeply, as much as you love me. I have much to learn from you in the years to come. I aspire to be the selfless and loving mother that you are and I hope that I can give Faith the kind of life that you have given me.

Today is my day, as much as it is yours, and I have never ever thought to thank you till this day. So, Happy Birthday, Ma.

I love you.

Always,
Your baby girl.

—

Read on for my new journey as a mother and for my thoughts on love and marriage.

When I Turned 10, 20, 30

So, I am turning a big, fat, smelly THIRTY in a few hours’ time and surprisingly, it isn’t as nerve-wrecking as I thought it would be. The sun still rises from the east and sets in the west. I still have two eyeballs and a pair of ugly feet, so everything seems pretty okaaaayyy.

I celebrated the occasion with some friends and my family this weekend, and all the feasting, candles and cakes got me thinking about how I’ve come to be three decades old. I mean, thirty years seem like a pretty long time, eh? I was once a newborn with a head full of hair. I was once ten years old. And I was once twenty. How did I get from the size of a tiny tyke like my 3-month old daughter to the giant with ugly feet and bushy hair? Amaaaazing!

I thought it would be fun to take a walk down memory lane…to revisit the times when I was born and when I was 10, 20 and now 30.

{When I was a couple of months old} I remember nothing, but of course. I looked like I had a lot of hair. Wait…I still do.

{When I was 10} I was definitely bo-geh (toothless; refer to photo). That year, I remember visiting my dad who was on a work trip to Hong Kong and Shen Zhen. We toured Ocean Park, got stuck in the cable car, got trampled on in the MTR, and I received my first fashionable bag – a Hello Kitty purse from Sogo. When we were in Shen Zhen, we also ate the sweetest lychees I’ve ever had in my life. I also did pretty badly in the first quarter of Primary 4 – my grades shocked me enough and I took my schoolwork more seriously thereafter. I was prescribed my first pair of glasses at the health check in school. I recall skipping my way out of the school gate to meet my mum at the nearest void deck, and I happily announced that I was FINALLY short-sighted only to see my mum turning purple. She blamed it on me playing too much Digger (does this sound familiar to anyone?) on the floppy disk and watching too much TV. My parents got me ugly pink-rimmed plastic glasses and I tried not to wear them unless I couldn’t make out the words on the blackboard – oh, the irony. Twenty years later, I regret not taking care of my eyes back then. My mum was right, I did play too much Digger, didn’t I?

{When I was 20} My eyebrows were too thin, ewwwwww. That year, I was single, thinking about but not looking for love. I was working hard in the Science Club on an ad-hoc dinner and dance project. I wore baggy tees and ugly neon board shorts to the university for lectures. And yes, I wore slippers too. I was pretty much a loner and enjoyed having quiet lunches in the most secluded and eerie corners of the NUS Science Faculty. I didn’t like going out with friends and loved taking long bus rides back home…alone. I adored spending time with my family. I was the least interesting person you could ever meet. Woohoo.

{Today I am 30} This is me, with M, and the little lump in the bottom right corner is my baby girl, who was fast asleep in the sling when I celebrated my birthday on Sunday. I was a student for the most of my 20s and worked for 3 years in total (2 locally, and 1 in London). I met my best friend at 18, but didn’t know it until I was 23 and  decided that he is the love of my life. He asked me to marry him and I said yes. We moved to London and shared the most amazing adventures for 5 years. He taught me to cook and encouraged me to pursue my interests in baking, food styling and photography; that explains the existence of this blog. We exchanged our vows in my dream Glass Pavilion, in the presence of our closest family members and friends, and had a small banquet the next day. We travelled to at least 25 cities in our lives together and decided to finally set up a family last year. I spent the last of my 20s heavily pregnant. Our baby girl arrived 3 months ago. I became a better person because of my new little family.

So much has happened in the last 30 years, as my parents testify, but it feels like life has just begun. I have so much to work on, plenty to learn and ample love to give. Here’s to hopefully a couple more of these entries, for when I turn 40, 50, 60 and maybe, if I’m lucky, 70. I reckon I might still have two eyeballs and a pair of ugly feet then.

———–

I would love to hear about your 10s, 20s and 30s! Comment or blog about this, will ya?

I Just Called To Say…

I don’t know about you but some of the best conversations I’ve had with my husband happened over the phone. It doesn’t really come as a surprise, given that we spend a lot of time apart in our 7.5 years together; after all, we were separated by more than 6000 miles in the early years of our courtship, and owing to M’s hectic work life now, time is once again a luxury that we cannot have.

We started our relationship with lots and lots of love letters sent via the good-old postman from London to Singapore, and from Singapore to London. Yes, we were the old-school sorta couple.

We also racked up sky-high phone bills and stayed up till the wee hours just so we could catch each other with the time difference. Yes, we were the insatiable sorta couple who couldn’t wait till the next time we checked our letter boxes.

We did very little of video calls on MSN. Yes, I was the shy girl who denied her boyfriend of the opportunity to see her face, who felt too embarrassed to smother him with tender words ‘face-to-face’ (read: my parents were probably lurking round the corner from the family PC and I really didn’t want them to know that their daughter was a lovesick puppy. HA!).

And so, we spent the very best times with each other on the phone in the early years (barring the letters which took forever to arrive).

When I was pregnant, we spent much of our time apart again; M had to return to London to finish off his medical degree, and we decided it was best for me to return to Singapore for the delivery. Those months are by far, THE toughest times of our lives. We were due to accomplish some of the biggest things we could ever embark on, and to do it without the other was…insane. I still can’t believe that we pulled through but I know exactly how we did it. We stayed up in the wee hours and talked whenever we could…only this time, we did it without racking up crazy bills, thanks to FaceTime.

Then, M returned to Singapore. Both of us felt relieved to be finally together in the same time zone, in the same place. This was short-lived, for 7 weeks later, we were thrown a curveball when our daughter arrived in the same week as when M started his new job as a doctor. Things were immensely stressful and complicated. They still are. We can hardly catch our breaths, let alone catch up with each other after an intense day of caregiving and saving lives. We see each other for less than half a week every Monday to Sunday. This has been going on for three months and we know it isn’t going to let up soon. So, what do we do?

We try our very best to talk. I could be in the loo as our daughter takes that rare nap (or damn, she could be in the middle of a wonder week and in that case, she is likely to be strapped onto me in the loo) or he could be sacrificing precious sleep during his crazy 32-hour weekly call at the hospital, but yes, we do what we can to call each other. As with the past 7.5 years, our conversations on the phone are always insightful, heartbreaking, loving….intense.

Just this weekend, I was feeling down in the dumps over the crap that is part and parcel of motherhood. Our daughter was extremely fussy and clingy for the past three days. She cried whenever I didn’t hold her. She fed poorly. She slept awful and I had only four hours of sleep in three days. She was going through her third mental leap and it was the worst one thus far. I was beyond shattered and feeling delusional about how this motherhood thing was going to work out in the next twenty years (cue EMO music). It didn’t help that I have been heavily criticised for not giving my daughter the care that others think I should be giving. It didn’t help that my daughter has often been swept away in others’ arms when she is all fine and dandy, and shoved back in my face the minute she screams murder; on top of that, I get blamed for her cries even if it wasn’t my fault, even if that’s what babies do, they cry. And I was upset because I was really looking forward to the recent weekend; early birthday celebrations were pencilled in and I CRAVED for time off to enjoy the company of family and friends, to grow older with my little girl in tow. I was close to cancelling the celebrations but I knew that if I rained on my parade, I will be worse off. I was also feeling shite because my ex-company suddenly called me up on Friday and offered me a job without me applying for one, and I knew I couldn’t go back to my career anytime soon because my daughter needs me now. I felt too much in too short a time. After lunch with my family on Sunday, I broke down in the car when M sent me back to my parents’ (he was starting his on-call and I usually head back to my parents’ when he’s not at home).

I couldn’t see myself pulling through this thankless, selfless thing that is motherhood. Because, maybe, I am selfish, and I want to be thanked, and I want to be acknowledged, and I want to be the one who steals love and affection, and shies away from the cries and angst of my daughter, without sifting through the crap.

M was speechless in the car as I cried in the backseat whilst looking after our baby girl, who was also wailing. He held me close in the lift and wiped my tears away before giving our daughter a kiss. He said a reluctant goodbye as we shut the door.

Then he called.

And every wound that stung so badly started healing inside me. He told me that he sees how hard it is for me to give up my career and freedom to be a mother. He told me that he sees how strong I have become ever since I became a mother. He told me that he doesn’t know how I do it but he is in awe at me for being a patient, loving mother to our daughter even when she is screaming in my ears and all I, or for that matter anyone, wanted to do was to muffle her screams in ways that loving mothers shouldn’t. He told me that he respects me for finding my will and staying strong in spite of criticism. He told me that he respects me even more for always being there for him, on top of caring for our daughter and dealing with negativity because it takes a selfless person to do all of that and more. He told me that he didn’t know why he didn’t tell me all that sooner, but he wanted to and he needed to.

I am glad. That someone finally sees how painful and rewarding motherhood is for me, that someone finally sees how it tears me up and yet, makes me complete, how it makes me stronger and weaker at the same time. And I am glad that this someone is my best friend.

One phone call from him was all it took to make me whole again.

Now that M is busy during his call at the hospital, there is nothing more that I want than to catch him at the right time, and call him just to say, ‘I love you’, even if my parents are lurking around the corner, eavesdropping on the lovesick puppy that is their daughter. Yes, even that.

—

Read on for my new journey as a mother and for my thoughts on love and marriage.

I Don’t Wish That My Baby Came With A Remote Control

Maybe I do. At times when I am up in the middle of the night, rocking my daughter to sleep until my arms (and eyeballs) fall off. Or at times when she screams in agony for no rhyme or reason, seemingly inconsolable and incredibly unhinging.

But, there is a rainbow after the storm, a light at the end of the darkest and frightfully long tunnel. I am always, eventually, comforted by the fact that my daughter wants to fall asleep in my arms before she decides to grow up and be all independent, and that she calms down and flashes the sweetest of smiles at me, just as I reckon the crying will never stop.

I used to be a child who didn’t know better, a woman who lost and found love, a scientist who relentlessly pursued the truth and the anti-truth, and then a researcher who stood up in board meetings telling people in suits what they should and shouldn’t do to make millions in the next quarter. In all these roles, there were a fair number of highs and lows.

Today, I am a new mother. I have only been so for slightly more than two months and whilst I don’t proclaim to be a know-it-all, motherhood is by far, the most challenging and rewarding role I have taken on.

The euphoria of finally meeting my daughter on her birthday quickly gave way to the blues. The broken sleep, the hours spent figuring the ways of breastfeeding, keeping at it despite the difficulties and the naysayers who kept pushing for formula for their convenience, the torrent of unsolicited advice unleashed with people’s mistaken rights of authority with MY child, the sudden absence of communication with my husband just because we were so darn tired, all these did NOTHING for my soul and I dare say, zilch for many women who thought they were 100% ready to be mothers. I felt depressed, angry, frustrated, ugly and most of all guilty for feeling all of that; after all, I did want a baby, didn’t I? And all these mothers, whom I know personally and whom I follow on social media, they seem to adore their babies and embrace motherhood unconditionally, don’t they? So, what is this that I am feeling? Do I not love my daughter? Am I fit to be a mother? These doubts gnawed at me and would have spat me out in disgust if not for prayers with the husband and my mother, and wise words from my wiser mummy friends (Y, P, F, QY and the wonderful ladies from this incredible online mothers’ group that I have had the privilege of joining).

Through them, I realised that I wasn’t the only one who was feeling gravely deflated. I realised that most mothers, if not all, sifted through that same pile of crap. I realised that not all mothers are forthcoming about the challenges because they fear being judged. I realised that people tend to gloss over the difficulties and focus on broadcasting the positive because that helps them cope…and come on, we all know that the audience isn’t always ready for social media diarrhoea on baby-cuteness (hell, I BET I’ve been struck off the news feeds of many friends after terrorising them with photos and videos of my daughter), let alone unrestricted whining on poop, vomit, crying and lack of sleep. My giving, non-judgmental and supportive friends let me in on the good, the bad and the ugly that motherhood brings; because of them, I am now brave enough to tell the world this… That the first month of motherhood was HELL. That it was the toughest shit I’ve ever done. That it was crippling. And somehow, I made it out in one piece.

Caring for my daughter still drives me batshit crazy sometimes, but my 24/7 spent with her has evolved to include more than a few redeeming moments that make me fall in love with her over and over again. I’ve grown to know a little more about her. Somehow, through the fussing, the tears she shed, the slitty-eyed toothless grins, the piercing screams, the know-it-all look on her potato face and countless sleepless nights, I have come to learn about her quirks, her idiosyncrasies, her penchant for certain things…her personality.

And that is the most amazing thing, to look on in wonder as my baby girl grows up to be more than the lump she was yesterday. To be the child who doesn’t know better. The woman who finds love one day. The woman who loves her vocation. The woman who becomes a mother. And hopefully, the woman who realises that she will always be her mummy’s little girl, no matter how old she is.

I wouldn’t have known my daughter this intimately if I took the easy way out of motherhood.

So….no, I don’t wish for my baby to come with a remote control. Perhaps, only for a few seconds (OKAY OKAY, MINUTES), when I cave into negativity and desperation, but I know that if I hung on a little longer and walked a little further with my little girl, the rainbow is just one mother’s love away.

—

Read on for my new journey as a mother and for my thoughts on love and marriage.

We Are Still Us

It was 5am. I had just finished feeding our little girl and was crawling back into bed when the husband rolled over, snuggled up against me and whispered, ‘You don’t know how much I love you’, before he woke up for work.

I guess we are still us, with a little one in tow, and I’m glad that almost nothing has changed.

Read on for my new journey as a mother and for my thoughts on love and marriage.