Thanks for all the congratulatory messages, it means a lot!

I’m still trying to wrap my head around this new pregnancy thing, alternating between sublime OMG I’M HAVING A BABY kind of euphoria and a terrifying OMG I’M HAVING A BABY kind of distress. Mostly the second part.

While I like the part about having the baby come out, I’m not too keen on the 9 months of pregnancy. I have friends who make pregnancy look so easy. They get that beautiful pregnancy glow. They get curves in all the right places. They get nice shiny hair and perfect skin. And they spend their entire pregnancy prancing around in size 6 designer maternity clothing.

Me, I get 30 kgs of curves added to my ass, which means I have difficulty getting into a size 12 and have to lumber around feeling downright miserable.

I’m hungry all the time but when I look at food, I immediately want to throw up. I’m exhausted but when I lie down, I toss and turn for hours before falling asleep. Most days, I just want to curl up on the floor and wait for time to pass me by.

Just two days ago, I had 30 minutes to grab a quick breakfast with the husband before he left for work. Being the third day of the Chinese New Year, most of the food places were still closed.  We settled for this coffeeshop along Beach Road but when we got in, we realized that only one stall was open and that my only options were kaya toast and soft boiled eggs. The husband was all spritely, like “sure, let’s eat here, everywhere else seems to be closed” so I figured I’d just grab a Milo and then go for a proper breakfast after he left.

But as I watched him enjoy his eggs and toast, I basically lost it.

“What kind of a ridiculous coffeeshop turns on all the lights and then only sells drinks? And who eats stupid kaya bread for breakfast? It’s not even a real breakfast and the smell is making me want to vomit. Baby needs noodles or rice or a piece of steak. They obviously hate my baby, it’s like they’re trying to starve me, amirite?”

The husband just sat there calmly and when I was done with my tirade, he was like “is this going to be like the *ice-chips incident?”

The “ice-chips incident” is a complicated one that will require another post but it is what we say when we refer to a pregnancy meltdown of epic proportions.

“No, it’s not like the ice-chips incident at all. Are you saying that I’m overreacting?”

“It could be the pregnancy hormones.”

“It’s got nothing to do with hormones. Baby is hungry and all I have to eat are half-cooked eggs. I’m going to need some real food. Do you want the baby to be malnourished?”

“I think the baby is going to be just fine. But you should go eat something nice later ok.”

“I’m not even sure I’m going to make it till later. I might pass out from hunger while driving and then it will be all your fault.”

“Definitely ice-chips.”

“I’m going to poison your eggs when you’re not looking.”

I made it to the noodle stall in Tampines without passing out but when I got there, I felt too nauseous to eat, so I went home and had a second milo, feeling all sorry for myself.

On the plus side, there are only 2 more weeks of my first trimester left and if the previous pregnancies are anything to go by, it’ll be a lot better then.

You’ve probably read the books on what to expect during a baby’s first year. Here’s my version, which is way less complicated and probably more true.

0-3 months: Cry Babies

That’s all they do. Cry and drink milk and cry and doze off for a while and cry some more which usually leads to you crying as well. You spend all that time waiting for a smile or a “thank you, mommy, you’re the best” and if you’re lucky enough to catch them on a particularly gassy day, you convince yourself that they’re actually grinning at you out of love and gratitude. But mostly, they just cry so it’s not terribly fun. My advice is to hang in there and if you feel like you need to cry too, there’s really no shame in bawling your eyes out.

4-6 months: Cute and cuddly

This is right about the time the rolls on their thighs start to really fill out. They coo and gurgle and look at you with those googly eyes that almost makes you forget the trauma of having a newborn. You witness the first flip, breathe in that intoxicating baby smell and hear the sound of a baby’s giggle that turns your heart to mush every time. Life gets better but mostly, they still cry a lot.

7-8 months: Independence Day

The mobility and independence kicks in and you suddenly realize that you’ve got a live one on your hands. They chew on electrical wiring, fling food everywhere and leave behind a trail of destruction. But good things happen and you stop needing to burp them for hours on end. Finally, the investment you made on all those developmental toys are worth their weight in gold and it buys you 30 minutes of uninterrupted silence. You can turn to the husband and gloat because now he has to eat his words when he said “only suckers pay a hundred bucks for a stupid dog that lights up and sings“. Now he’s all like “Daddy will buy you 10 doggies, one in each color, sweetheart”.

9 months: The really fun part

The moment they hit 9 months, you can let out that sigh of relief. By now, they should have worked out their nap time issues, sleep 12 hours through the night and do all the cute stuff you imagined every baby would do before you gave birth. The period from 9-18 months is like the moment of respite before the terrible twos hit and you have a screamy, whiny, tantrumy toddler who’s sole mission in life is to wear you out and make you cave.

In short, Kirsten has entered the really cute phase. From experience, this is a very brief window of optimum cuteness before the hissy fits kick in. Now, she still doesn’t know what a hissy fit is nor the perceived benefits of throwing one. She’s settled in nicely into a manageable routine. She grins and giggles and grooves to the beat and me, I’m just loving the moment.

As parents, we’re obliged to think that our babies are the cutest in the universe and even when they’re not, we’re supposed to love them like they are. But trust me, it does help when they actually are that cute.

I waited 9 months to meet her and another 9 months for her to blossom. I think baby girl has finally blossomed. Literally.

momma's little flower

Jules and Jim Maternity

I’m kind of an expert on pregnancy because I’ve done it twice and everyone knows that if you do something twice, you start to really kick ass at it. I hate to boast but I’m very good at being pregnant. I’m like a natural. In fact, I’m trying very hard to be less good at it. Some skills in life you don’t really need and this is probably one of them.

But that is exactly why I’m qualified to dish out pregnancy advice to people who aren’t so good at it. Unless you’ve already got 8 kids then I throw myself at your mercy, Grand Master (sextuplets only count as 1, so I’m totally on par with the Gosselins).

So here goes. Advice #1. Don’t buy pregnancy clothes.

Because most of them look like curtains. You know the kind I’m talking about, the shapeless dresses  in pastel colors with the large ribbon around the center. (We all get that your baby is a gift, there’s no need to be that painfully obvious). Also, having a huge ass is enough ammo for people to crack jokes at your expense and you really shouldn’t help them.

That’s unless of course you buy designer togs. Except that maternity couture is even more expensive than regular ones (you didn’t think that all that extra cloth was free, did you?) and you’d end up wearing the same $300 pants everyday without washing for 6 months. Which is kind of gross. And then people will still laugh at you.

I was prepared to wear oversized sweats everyday, until I found out about Maternity Exchange’s rental program. I was kind of iffy about the whole idea at first because one time I got a bag of hand-me-downs from my friend’s cousin’s somebody and it smelt like the underpants of that somebody with very bad body odor who died. Suffice to say, I did not wear it. So the first thing I did when I stepped into the shop was to take a big whiff of the clothes. But they all smelt pretty good.

I found the range to be decent and some of them could probably be cheaper but it’s not cool to haggle with couture.

Now, if you didn’t listen to my advice and went out to buy a truckload of maternity clothes and they’re now moth bait in the back of your drawers, it’s not too late. The guys at MX have launched a ‘Buy My Love’ program and while they may not actually be able to afford your love, they are willing to buy some of your maternity pieces for their collection. That’s almost half as cool as packing them up and sending it all over to some third world country where they’ll make some very pregnant girls very happy.

Speaking of which, I’m very happy to be announcing a new giveaway. There’s 2 (two) $50 Maternity Exchange vouchers up for grabs and you’ll be able to pick out some fancypants maternity wear.

To enter this giveaway, just answer the following question in the Comments section of this post: What’s your favorite maternity outfit? I’ll go first. Yoga pants and a singlet.

Winners will be chosen using a highly scientific (read: random) method and announced on 14 Feb.

And since we are all winners, you’ll all be getting a $10 MX voucher and all you need to do is head town to their flagship store at Marina Square and shout “I love Mother, INC”. I’m just kidding. About the shouting bit. You can whisper it if you want and they’ll still give you the voucher. Happy shopping.

UPDATED: Using my very scientific random generator…here are the winners!

Congratulations to Chrystal and Jen! You gals will be contacted via email for details.

The only thing I remember from my French lessons besides je ne parle pas francais is the fact that everything french is either male or female. The french are smart because they know stuff like how a doormat is indisputably male. But for me, it has always been a pain to figure out what stuff is masculine or feminine.

I’ve finally figured it out though. My boobs – they’re both. My right boob is a dude and my left one is a chick. It’s been puzzling me for a while now, and eureka! I’ve got it.

Everyone, meet Harry and Sally.

See, all this time that I’ve been expressing milk, I’m thinking that there’s a central milk storage system that channels all the milk to one side or the other. Like how if you tilt an hourglass, all the sand falls to the side that’s lower.

I usually start off with the right side. Let’s call him Harry. I go for 30 minutes on the pump and I get about 100ml. Harry is oozing with testosterone and always ready to go. Basically, it’s a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am no nonsense affair. Get in, get out and he’s done. And I always know when he’s done because there will be a steady flow of milk all the way till it almost completely stops. That’s my cue to switch sides.

The left boob, she’s definitely a lady. When it’s Sally’s turn, it’s a little different. I used to do the same thing – 30 minutes on the pump but I only get 30ml. At first I thought, oh, ok maybe all the milk has flowed over to the right side and there’s no more left. Then I googled it and turns out, no. Each boob gets its own reserve of milk. So what up, Sally? What are you doing with all that milk?

I decided that Sally was spoilt (I mean spoilt like broken, not spoilt like throwing a tantrum) but hey, at least I still have one good boob so I should be thankful. All this while, I’ve been assuming Sally was retarded but now I find out that she’s actually a woman.

Which is to say, she can’t be hurried. She’s perfectly capable of producing plenty of milk, but she’s a little shy. She needs to have Kenny G in the background, some candles, a back rub and whispers of sweet nothings. You’ve got to treat her right before she gets in the mood. And here’s the awesome thing. Once she’s there, she can keep going and going and going. Seriously, once she’s on a roll, SHE DOES NOT STOP.

I had a little experiment yesterday and after an hour, she’s still producing milk. I did 150ml on that one boob alone.

Now I’m smarter and I’ve got a system going. During the day when the kids are thronging me, Harry steps up and does his thing. 30 minutes and bingo. Then after the kids are asleep and I’ve got more time on my hands, Sally gets her turn so she doesn’t feel neglected. How do you say awesome in french?

Let’s talk about birth control. These days I’m like a pendulum, baby-crazy one moment and baby-scaring-the crap-out-of-me the next. When the kids are angels, I think “hey, this is a piece of cake, I can easily handle 6 or 7″ but five minutes later I’ll be all like “this is insane and these babies are going to have me for breakfast”. I personally blame the postpartum hormones.

In my saner moments, I think we’re going to hold out on Operation Populate The World and take some drastic measures on the birth control before I get suckered in by the googly eyes and baby smell.

But first let me preface this by saying that BIRTH CONTROL SUCKS. Like every single method invented by man sucks. It’s either useless or ouchie or ewww. It’s like a huge conspiracy so that mankind does not become extinct. I know I sound like a sex-crazed 14-year-old but the truth is, unprotected sex rocks big time. And there’s that element of surprise like am I gonna get preggers this time. What about this time? Or this time?

I’ve done extensive research on Wikipedia, the most *reliable* source of information and here is an exhaustive list of all the contraceptives known to man and why they suck so bad.

1. Condoms.

Hailed as the most popular method, it boasts an effectiveness level of 99% when used correctly (that means you have to actually “put it on” as the Spice Girls would say). Here’s the problem. It’s made from latex and disgustingly oily. The first time I touched it, I actually squirmed and flung it against the wall. I bet that’s what lizard skin feels like. Oh gros, just thinking about it gives me shingles. Needless to say, it’s not going anywhere near my thing, which of course, the husband is enthusiastically supportive of.

2. Female condom.

This is like a woman’s worst nightmare. It’s got all the same problems as the male version, except worse because it’s gotta be inserted *deep* before the sexytime and there’s a pouch that hangs out the whole time. Also, it’s possibly LESS effective. WHY then would anyone want to do this?

3. Cervical barriers (i.e. contraceptive sponge, cervical cap, diaphragm)

You’d think it can’t get worse, but it can. All of these methods work the same way, which is to block out the sperm from reaching the uterus. But the way to do it is to literally put something in the way to block it. In other words, you gotta stuff it in way in advance and there’s no guarantee that you’re doing it right.

Besides, let’s not forget the pain involved here. During Kirsten’s delivery, the cervix check was the most terrifying thing I had to endure. I almost sucker-punched the nurse who jabbed me repeatedly like as if she was making pumpkin pie. I still have a voodoo doll of her which I stick needles in from time to time. Bottom line, I’m not putting anything inside.

4. Hormonal methods (the Pill/Patch)

In my opinion, the best option. Non-invasive and so convenient. Just pop a pill every morning or walk around with a cute little sticker on my ass. I went on the pill during the honeymoon and at first, I was one happy camper. All the unprotected sex and all I had to do was take a tiny little pill.

2 days in, I started getting the worst bout of nausea ever. I felt so sick i was totally in no mood for any whoopee, so that kinda became a little counterproductive. According to the gynae, it’s caused by the hormones and it’s one of the common side effects for the pill. Long story short, my body doesn’t like its hormones to be messed with, so I’m back to square one.

5. IUD (Intrauterine devices)

The awesome thing is that it can last for 5 to 10 years so it’s practically like nonexistent. You get it fitted by a doctor once and that’s it for the next 10 years. Sounds awesome. Until I saw a picture of the device that I’m going to be carrying around for a whole decade.

It looks like an ice pick, you know the thing they used to kill Trotsky and perform lobotomies. I’m not carrying that thing around, alright. Who know what damage it’s going to do to my uterus.

6. Withdrawal

After our failed experience with the pill, our next contraceptive method was withdrawal. Either we’re too fertile and our combined powers are too much for this method to be effective or we were doing it wrong. Either way, Truett is a testament to the (non)effectiveness of coitus interruptus. Look how well that worked out for us.

7. Ligation

Seeing that I’ve already been through a major surgery and an almost surgery (the gynae had to episiotomize me ok), it’s only fair that I shouldn’t have to go under the knife a third time in 2 years. Which leaves only 1 more option.

8. Vasectomy

Never mind that it makes grown men go weak in the knees. I think it’s a male instinct not to let anything even go near their testicles. But what can I say? A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. When all else fails, he’s gotta step up and take one for the team, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I hear it’s reversible, so there’s nothing to worry about.

So this morning I was up to express my milk as usual and I couldn’t believe my eyes because it was distinctly green. GREEN! I heard of whitish, yellowish, and even pinkish (tinged with blood – not a good sign) milk, but green, that’s a first.

green milk

It looked like radioactive milk or something that came out from the Swamp Thing or Frankenstein (actually it’s his monster who doesn’t have a name but since Frankenstein does sound pretty menacing, most people think it’s one and the same). Usually, my milk is whitish and watery in the morning and kinda pale yellowish and thicker in the afternoon, but this green milk, it was really thick, like cream cheese.

I didn’t know if it was going to make baby girl throw up or have the runs, so I checked out trusty google for some advice. There were plenty of articles on how breastmilk is green but it was all about the environment like “green peace”, which was cool and all but not very helpful to me right now. I mean, I’m glad to be doing my bit for the earth, but WHAT ABOUT MY GREEN COLORED MILK?

Turns out, breastmilk is so awesome that it can change color from time to time, depending on your diet. Apparently seaweed, supplements and green Gatorade can cause your milk to turn green (way cool, except that I’ve been pretty much eating the same thing for the past 2 months so I’m still stumped). Although the general consensus is that the color of breastmilk is nothing to worry about.

Some folks have even reported expressing blue, purple, grey, pink and green milk and apparently, it’s all A-OK. Or these people could be totally messing with me and I should book an appointment with my lactation consultant pronto.

I just gotta state for the record that I’ve got TERRIFIC boobs. I didn’t say terrific-looking boobs so you can stop staring, thank you very much. They’re terrifically productive, and they’ve come a long way from the days of being nice-but-completely-useless. Not only have they matched the demand of my milk drinking machine, they have stepped up and far exceeded expectations by producing way more than needed. I’m up to 8 bottles of extras so I can go out galavanting for a whole day without worrying that she will starve to death.

I have waited for this day for so long that all I could do this morning was to open my fridge door and admire the milk bottles all lined up neatly in a row.

Now that I’ve officially joined the league of milkmaids all around the world and I can heave a sigh of relief because it means I’m not a bad mother, I’ve gotta say that society these days are not kind to breasts. I mean, you don’t see any other body parts coming under such intense scrutiny, like “Oh, your little pinky can’t fit into your ear canal? That’s terrible and you’re now less of a human being.” Or “OMG your nose isn’t producing enough mucus? Maybe you should get a nose job.”

The moment i got preggers, it seemed the whole world was interested in my boobs. I had lactation consultants manhandling them and complete strangers asking if you was successful at breastfeeding. Even the old lady who lives next door had a detailed and mildly inappropriate conversation about them when she walked past and saw me expressing milk. Ok see, where I grew up, my breasts are no one else’s business but mine and NOBODY talks about them, much less touch them.

While I was stuck at the hospital for 27 hours, I was bombarded with tacky posters of how BREASTFEEDING IS THE ONLY WAY and the evil formula was going to make my baby self-destruct. Except that I already have a baby who survived on formula milk and he seems to be doing fine (fine being relative because he likes to eat dirt a lot, which might not be the case had I given him breast milk). But even then, I felt terribly guilty all the time for not being able to breastfeed him, like I was shortchanging him or something.

And the husband will tell you that I went through a completely irrational phase of blaming *everything* on formula. He catches a cold, it’s because of formula. Can’t sleep, formula. Can’t eat, also formula. For a while, I was beating myself up everyday for not feeding him the all-powerful breast milk.

It used to really get to me, especially when folks who found out I didn’t breastfeed him gave this sympathetic-but-it’s-all-your-fault look and proceeded to berate me on the benefits of breast milk. It took every ounce of my self control and then some to not stab them and feed them their own guts. I KNOW BREAST IS BEST (the person who came up with that cheesy line should be beheaded by the Dear Leader himself), but there was a time when they were broken and refused to work.

So you can understand why I’m so proud of the fact that they’re fixed and no longer spoilt. And why I’ve got to shout it from the rooftops, so everyone will stop asking me if I’m breastfeeding, and going on and on about why it’s the elixir of life.

PS. I know I said breast/boobs 12 times in this post and if you’re conservative about that sort of thing, BREAST BREAST BREAST BREAST BREAST.  For good measure.

The state of our public health education has taken a giant leap forward, as I have been told at the launch of Pregnancy&me’s new live webinar at the swanky Grand Hyatt yesterday. It has certainly come a long way from the days of having propaganda shoved down our throats like “SAY NO TO DRUGS” or “CASUAL SEX IS BAD” or “SMOKING WILL GIVE YOU TESTICULAR CANCER“. Ok, the details might be a little fuzzy to me right now, but I do remember seeing large posters along that vein adorning the walkways downtown.

But all hail the revolutionary new development called a webinar (web seminar, geddit?) where audiences can now interact with doctors and trained professionals live from the comfort of their own cozy little armchairs. It sounds like a dream, especially for mothers like me who, for all intents and purposes, are under house arrest. Venturing 10 meters from my front door sets off multiple alarms that will wake the neighborhood and cause dogs to howl. So I welcome the idea of webinars with milk-stained open arms.

The initiative smacks of ingenuity as it harnesses all the magic of the Internet. Video conferencing – check, live interaction – check, interconnectivity – check. The point is that a panel of doctors will conduct a web seminar on a preassigned time and date on the portal and members of the public can then log in to participate. The panel seems impressive enough, boasting names like AP Tan Kok Hian, Chairman of O&G at KK Hospital. (Seeing how they managed to deliver my baby after a grueling 27 hours via natural birth has filled me with all sorts of good feelings towards their O&G department) Also, they have a whole list of topics planned out for an entire year, covering a gamut of pregnancy-related issues.

I also liked the concept of a medical butler. Makes me feel all aristocrat, if you know what I mean. “Why, Jeeves, could you bring me a cup of tea, please?” Except my medical butler isn’t going to shine my shoes or serve me tea. Her job is to moderate the questions so that the doctors won’t have to be stumped by something like “my dog has three nipples, is that a sign of infertility?”

iMedical Butler: 'Hi mam would you like some placenta to go with your cord blood?'

All a step in the right direction.

But I’d be interested to see how this pans out in the coming year. I foresee teething problems aplenty.

1. Webinar Structure

Out of an hour-long session, 25 minutes are dedicated to a lecture-style presentation and only 15 minutes for questions and answers – which is really the highlight of the webinar. Now, if I wanted to listen to a lecture, I’d much sooner watch archives over youtube at my own convenience (like 3am where I’ve got an hour to burn while feeding the kid). If I have to have to log in at a specified time in the middle of the afternoon, I’d want to make it count.

2. Audience Participation

Singaporeans are notoriously passive. While most of us are happy to sit back and observe, few would want to venture out to bare the details of our personal lives over the net, especially those relating to STDs and former/current indiscretions. Which means we end up with questions like “Doctor, doctor, how do I get rid of the swelling in my ankles?” See, that’s why Google was invented. Every one of the top ten links related to swollen ankles will tell you to raise your feet at night. You don’t need a doctor to tell you that over a live chat. I want to know the fun stuff, like what are the top 10 sex positions to improve fertility.

3. Topical Treatment

There’s an inherent problem with assigning different topics every week. Say I develop a nasty case of gonorrhea sometime in the 25th week of my pregnancy. And say I have to wait 5 weeks for the topic of STDs and Pregnancy to come up on the webinar, only to have the doctor tell me something like “you should have consulted medical advice three weeks ago. Now it’s too late and irreparable damage has been done to your baby.” I knew I should have gone with Google. FML.

But I’m sure the good people over at Pregnancy&me will have all these minor kinks sorted out in no time.

breast is best - or is it?

Would you believe that after 5 weeks of expressing milk, I haven’t had the guts to try it once? The husband would rather die than to try it (being lactose intolerant and all – but I think it’s just an excuse) and the one time I gave some to Tru, he made a face and spat it out. Seriously, he SPAT IT OUT! The nerve. The breast milk that I spent 200 hours with a pump attached to my boobs trying to squeeze out.

I mean, it can’t be that bad, can it? I hear it’s supposed to be sweet and light. Like kinda watery and filled with all sorts of natural goodness. Besides, Kirsten seems to like it, seeing how she decimates it throughout the day without complaint.

Since the men in my house are too chicken to drink it, I thought I’d step up and give it a shot. Suffice to say, I should have learnt something from watching all those episodes of fear factor. If you’ve noticed during the eating segment, there are the eaters and the chokers and the thing that separates the two is the smell. It’s not the sight or texture, but the smell that really messes with your head. Those that smell it usually end up spitting it out.

While the kids were asleep and the husband was at work, I poured out a small glass to try. I thought of having it with Oreos (you know, twist and dunk) but since I couldn’t perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre on myself, I didn’t want to end up choking on Oreos and dying. My kids would have to explain the stupidity of their mom to their friends all their lives and they would really hate me. “Oh, this one time when we were sleeping, my mom had Oreos with her breast milk and choked to death.”

So I had it on the rocks. Except that when it entered my mouth, I forgot and took a giant whiff of it. I cannot do justice to the smell because words fail me. It’s like unpasteurized goat’s milk mixed with a dash of human sweat and a little musk. NASTY. Most of it ended up on the floor, together with the remnants of my tuna melt.

Now I actually feel bad that Kirsten has to drink this 8 times a day. No wonder she gets cranky once in a while. I should totally cut her some slack. You’re most welcome to give it a try if you want.

Ever since I decided to abandon ship on the breastfeeding directly from the breast, my life has settled down somewhat. Initially, I was intent to succeed at direct breastfeeding, seeing that it had so many benefits. It’s the main reason why I got the co-sleeper, so that I wouldn’t even have to get out of bed at night. Just grab, pop in the boob, feed and go right back to sleep. But Kirsten had other plans. After having tried the bottle during her stay in the hospital, she realized boob-feeding is a lot tougher and every time I tried to latch her on, it would inevitably result in a major screamfest.

Not good for my already frazzled nerves. So I’ve gone the route of expressing, which is the next best thing I suppose. It kinda sucks that I have to spend a good 4 hours of every day with the pump attached, but I’ve somehow mastered the art of typing, feeding, burping and chasing Tru around the house while expressing milk. It’s all a matter of multi-tasking.

The good news is, the milk supply has gone up significantly. From my measly 10ml, I just achieved a record of 140ml at 1am last night. That’s like almost 1 full bottle. Great success.

*Victory dance*

It still fluctuates between 70ml to 140ml, depending on the state of my nerves, but it’s still a marked improvement from my humble beginnings. Although with my insatiable milk machine, there’s still a long way to go before my supply exceeds her ever-increasing demand. Believe it or not, I actually know of someone who can produce 1.7 liters of milk every 24 hours. True story. That totally gives me hope.

I also want to give a shout out to the mothers who’ve been so forthcoming with providing tips on how to improve my milk supply. The blogosphere rocks and I would have probably given up completely if not for all the help I got. There’s even a mom who sent over a lovely nursing cover, which was a godsend. I can now express my milk even with visitors around. For all the designs, check out www.bigbellymama.com

nursing cover from www.bigbellymama.com

On another note, thanks to the breastfeeding, the weight loss has been phenomenal. Just two weeks in, I’ve lost 12kg. Now just another 15 to go.