One of the best parts of the second trimester is this activity I like to call Watching The Baby Move, also known as Let’s See Who Can Stare At My Pregnant Belly The Longest.

I do that a lot these days, because Finn seems to be having a party inside all the time. And also because it’s fun on so many levels – I get to lie down and do absolutely nothing except stare at my stomach. Even when he’s not moving, it’s extremely therapeutic and when he does move, it’s like “woah chill out in there, little guy” but also “that’s unbelievably cool” all at the same time.

Having done this twice before, it still fascinates me whenever the baby kicks or moves or flips a somersault. You know that chest-bursting scene in Alien where the alien thing struggles to pop out of the dude’s chest? Like that, except far less creepy and actually kind of sweet.

Well, ok, the husband says it’s nothing like that scene at all but I’ll qualify that by saying that I’ve never actually watched the full scene, only the first 3 seconds where there’s visible movement in the guy’s abdominal region before I end up closing my eyes and stuffing my fingers in my ears while singing “I Will Survive” loud enough to drown out the sound.

Anyhow, I like to get everyone engaged in this stomach-watching activity because it’s great for family bonding and all that. So every night before bed, I’ll make the husband and kids gather to stare at my belly.

The husband would pretend to be interested while fiddling with his iPad but at least the kids would stare intently, waiting for any sign of movement. But then Finn would get a bout of performance anxiety and refuse to move. 30 seconds in, they’ll be like “this is so boring why is he not moving?” and I’ll be all “you guys need to be patient, just wait for it.” After another 5 seconds, they’ll realize that they have better things to do with their time and run off, which is usually the point Finn starts to move. Then I’ll yell at them to come back because they’re missing out on witnessing a potentially life-changing event. But obviously by the time they get back, the moving would have stopped and Kirsten be all exasperated, like “I come back but baby Finn never move what. BABY FINNNNN!! Are you there? I think he cannot hear me.”

Till this day, they think that I’m making this up so I’m going to make one of those time-lapse videos of me lying down for 24 hours just so I can prove it to them.

Now if only I can find 24 hours to lie down without moving.

It’s totally for research, you guys. Or science. Or art. One of those.

Yesterday morning, I woke up to a barrage of baby kisses.

I smiled and said, “Awww thanks kids, was that for Mother’s Day?”

They looked at me like ok, what is this Mother’s Day you speak of?

“Um, so what’s all the kisses for?”

“Because I just love you lah.”

And then my heart exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. Who needs Mother’s Day when I get smothered with baby kisses just because.

Although that didn’t stop me from milking the most out of my Mother’s Day. It does only happen once a year after all.

Hope you had a smashing one too!

“I need space,” he said as he gently shoved me aside with the back of his little hand, eyes still glued to the TV.

This was new. He’s needed a lot of things in the past almost 4 years but space has never been one of them. I didn’t even know that he knew what space was, much less needed it. Even when he was watching TV, he’d want me to sit next to him with my laptop just so I could be close by. He would smile and let me tousle his hair or play with his toes or smother him with kisses. He’d even reach out to hold my hand every so often.

“I’m not taking away your space, I just wanted to give you a small kiss.”

“Not now. Later when I’m done, ok?” Still not even throwing me a glance.

“Would you like me to sit with you while you watch?”

“No need. You go out to do your work. Go, go, go.”

“Fine, but just one kiss before I go? When you were a baby, you used to let me kiss you anytime I wanted, remember.”

He finally looked up for a brief moment. I thought he would reach in for a quick kiss but he didn’t.

“I’m not a baby anymore, I’m a big boy.”

So he was. He used to need me but now he needs space. Away from me.

I knew this day would come and I remember telling myself that when it happened, I’d let him take the lead in pulling away. I’d hang around in the distance just close enough that when he needed me, I could come sprinting back. I’d give him the space he needed for as long as he needed it. I’d learn to be ok with it.

***

“I want you to sit with me.”

I checked the clock and it was barely 15 minutes since he chased me out of the room. I was doing a victory fist pump in my head but I played it cool.

“You’re done with TV? You want mommy to spend time with you now?”

He nodded.

“Sure, sweetheart, anytime.”

Today, it was just 15 minutes of space that he needed and I felt like I was losing my baby. Maybe I was overreacting. I usually look forward to the pockets of time I could steal to check my emails or get some work done but I guess the difference was that I always did it on my terms, knowing that they still needed me.

How do moms do this? Let go, I mean. One day they’re helpless and needy and clingy and I turn my entire world upside down to be there for them. Then just when I’m used to being needed, they decide to grow up. Next thing I know, they’ll be running off with friends, hiding secrets, blocking me on Facebook and having all kinds of crazy adventures without me.

I should probably just enjoy it while it lasts. That and have more babies.

In view of the big 3-0, the husband put together a surprise party on Sunday evening.

I’m not typically one for big parties and I’ve always thought it to be overly self-indulgent to be celebrating my birthday past the age of 12. Besides, I was pretty bummed to finally be on the wrong side of 30 and I was secretly hoping the day would come and go quietly so I wouldn’t have to pay much attention to it.

But of course the husband knew better so he gathered a couple of good friends and planned the most amazing party a girl could ask for.

It was extra special because I know he doesn’t like to sing in public but he took the mic and belted out the sweetest rendition of U2′s All I Want Is You I’ve ever heard. And then he added a couple of verses to the poem he wrote 7 years ago when he proposed. I cried the first time I heard it and this time, I was totally crying on the inside.

Here’s a big thank you to everyone who took the time off your Sunday evening to be there, you guys really made it special. An extra mention has to go out to JQ and Pearlyn for the wonderful place, to Feng from After Hours for the music and to Sean Lee for the photos.

Seriously, I couldn’t think of a better way to turn 30.

30. I’ve always figured that’s one of life’s milestones, just not the kind you look forward to. Sort of like having your wisdom teeth extracted or going for your first colorectal examination.

In fact, I spent most of my twenties trying not to think about it because 30 just seemed so…old. Or at least, it was the gateway to being old, from which there was no return.

People like to say that 30 is the new 20, but having been both, I’m convinced that it really isn’t.

At 20, I was young. Idealistic. A little naive even. I felt unstoppable, like I could do anything I put my mind to. I was hard on others and harder on myself. I made lists of the things I wanted in life – all the awesome things I would do and the places I would go. My modus operandi at 20 was to have fun and carpe as many diems as I could, sometimes a little recklessly.

At 30, I’m older and hopefully a little wiser. Still idealistic, but it’s the kind of idealism that’s tempered with a healthy dose of reality after picking up a couple of battle scars along the way. Painfully aware of the fact that willpower and hard work (though important) aren’t the only factors for success. But on the bright side, along with that realization came a measure of grace and understanding that I was able to extend to others and myself.

Some of the things I so badly wanted in life when I was 20 turned out to be kind of meh, while others became far more important than I ever thought they’d be.

Instead of doing stuff and going places, I find myself wanting to be with people. I’m increasingly thankful for every single one who has been around for us the last 10 years because when I look back, those are the moments I remember with the greatest clarity and fondness.

My twenties are officially over and even though I feel a little wistful thinking of all the things I should have done when I had youth on my side, I’m excited about my thirties.

So there are several more fine lines to deal with. The weight seems harder to shake off. The boobs need a little more help defying gravity. My body feels tired and less cooperative.

But what the heck, I’m embracing it because 30 is where the magic happens.

Hulk Smash

Woke up this morning with a sudden urge to do the Hulk Smash. It’s got less to do with my anger management issues and more to do with how watching The Hulk smashing Loki around like a rag doll was one of my favorite movie action sequences of all time. Ok who am I kidding? Totally anger management issues.

It’d be nice though. Having an alter ego who swallows bullets and smashes stuff and is basically indestructible.

Speaking of, I was watching The Avengers trailers on Youtube with the husband the night before and the kids came crowding around the screen. We were too engrossed to make them cover their eyes like we usually do when there’s something violent on. When it was over, they were both like “WOAHHH, SHIOK!”

That’s exactly how we know they’re our kids.

Hot Pink

We’ve made a conscious effort not to reinforce gender stereotypes around the kids, like how dolls are for girls and cars are for boys. Somehow, they have gravitated towards some stereotypical choices but we would have honestly been ok otherwise.

We were talking about our favorite food in the car and Kirsten said hers was chocolate. Tru was all “I don’t like chocolate, it’s brown. I don’t like brown. I like strawberry because it’s…” when he realized that his next word would have to be “pink”. He hastily followed up with “No, I don’t like pink.”

I don’t know where he learnt to associate pink with femininity, but he was adamant about not liking pink.

It’s ok if it’s a genuine color preference, but if he’s not liking a color because its not manly, then we need to do something about that.

Maybe I’ll start with getting the husband to wear a bunch of pink shirts. Mmm, I do like me a guy who can wear pink and still look hot. If not for anything else, at least just so I can rip it off and…well, I’ll just leave it at that.

More Gender Stereotypes

While we’re still on the topic of gender stereotypes, I’ll never get over how I ended up with a girl who loves doing this.

Back when I was a kid, Asian parents were big on the “kids should be seen and not heard” philosophy and much as my parents tried to be progressive, we were often made aware of the fact that talking back was a sign of disrespect. We didn’t have open discussions about bedtime or how much soda was considered to be the acceptable limit for a child.

We were told exactly what to do, how to do it and when we had to get it done. A lot of it seemed arbitrary, but we did as we were told and if we didn’t agree, well, that was just unfortunate. For us, mostly.

I suspect that if I was left to my own devices, I would have been a smart-assed mouthy kid but my parents had the foresight not to leave me to my own devices.

I figured that when I had my own kids, the cycle of bossing would be complete and it would be my turn to be the boss of them. If they questioned me, I would nod thoughtfully and say “Because mommies are smarter and one day when you grow up, you’ll understand why you have to wear pants in public. For now, you’ll just have to do as I say.” Or if I wanted to be dramatic, I’d go with a definitive “Don’t question me, young man. I. am. your. mother.”

For the most part, that works on Tru so he’ll sigh audibly and say “Ok fine, I will, I will.”

Kirsten, on the other hand, is exactly like me, except possibly mouthier. Which is very jarring because she looks so tiny and harmless but then once she opens her mouth, she throws these verbal curve balls that stump us a little.

Me: Sweetie, it’s time for your nap. Take your duck duck and go lie down.

Kirsten: Huh, so early? Why I need to nap so early?

Me: It’s the same time you nap everyday. You need to sleep or you’ll be tired.

Kirsten: But I’m not tired. See, my eyes are so big.

Me: You’ll be tired later. Mommy knows better ok, just go to sleep.

Kirsten: How come sometimes I don’t need to sleep then sometimes I have to sleep?

Me: It’s… complicated. Don’t question me, I am your mother.

Kirsten: I just play toys for 10 minutes, if I’m tired I will sleep ok.

***

While playing a water shooting game with the husband at the pool

Kirsten: DADDY YOU CANNOT SHOOT ME!!!

Husband: Why not? We’re just playing…

Kirsten: IT’S NOT NICE TO SHOOT PEOPLE YOU KNOW?!!

Husband: You were having fun shooting at me just now.

Kirsten: But you’re so big and I’m just a small girl. I can shoot you but you cannot shoot me back.

Namaste.

I won’t pretend to know what that means but I’ve always wanted to say it without sounding like a douche and what better time than after my first real yoga experience. I say real because that time where I had to do the Downward Facing Dog after losing a bet doesn’t count.

Yesterday, the husband and I attended a Prenatal Yoga Class conducted by COMO Shambhala as part of the Drypers Soon-To-Be Mother’s Day campaign. Even though Finn is our third baby, it was a first for us because the past two pregnancies, we went for a grand total of zero prenatal classes. Our birthing plan was relatively straightforward – get to the hospital and start screaming for an epidural. Bam, problem solved.

Instead of trying to breathe away the pain, I could lie back and enjoy HIMYM reruns painlessly until the baby was ready to come out.

This round, I’m contemplating holding off the epidural for as long as possible and hopefully go for a hardcore natural birth without any pain medication. It’s a long shot and I’m likely to cave and cry like a baby at the first signs of pain but I’m going to try the breathing thing to see if it works.

We showed up for the class not knowing what to expect. Our level of tolerance for New Agey stuff is notoriously low and watching someone do the Garudasana or Natarajasana makes me giggle involuntarily. Yes, ok, I’m 12. In fact, the only pose that makes me not laugh is the Savasana, also known as the corpse pose, of which I am an expert.

Thankfully, we didn’t have to do any of those advanced yoga moves. Most of the 2-hour class was spent on relaxation techniques and simple poses to help manage the pain. The general idea is to get off the bed and into positions that will help move the labor along, positions that included squatting, grabbing a wall, hugging a chair, that sort of thing.

My favorite one was lying on my side with a bolster while the husband massaged my feet. It was so good that I’m going to make him do it every night from now until I give birth.

Besides this prenatal yoga class, Drypers has also organized a series of 7 other complimentary classes for expectant moms, to help them get ready for pregnancy in as many different ways as possible. The classes range from cooking to scrapbooking to photography, and even a babies book club. There will be 2 more classes in May: a Massage class for Daddies and Interior Decoration for Babies’ Nurseries. Sign up via the Drypers Facebook page and parents will get a complimentary goodie bag when they attend.

This is part 1 of a series of sponsored conversations on behalf of Drypers Singapore. All opinions and text are my own.

Ok, the radio silence is officially over. It’s generally been a rough couple of days and much time has been spent trying to find myself. I didn’t quite achieve that but I did manage to find my missing favorite top and a bunch of lost toys under the bed. At this point, I consider it a small success.

Thank you for all the love and hugs and kind emails, you guys are awesome. Please don’t ever change.

I’m still in the midst of figuring things out but at the very least, I’ve decided that I’m not going to let the bad stuff that happens to me define who I am. I can’t say that I’ll succeed but I am sure as hell going to try.

PS. It’ll be back to regular programming next week, I promise. Have a great weekend, y’all!

I feel broken.

And I don’t know how to un-break myself.

I don’t think I’ve ever done this before on the blog but I don’t have anything left in me to write so I’m going to take a couple of days to go away and find myself again. But I’ll be back soon, hopefully a little less broken.

In the meantime, here’s something from back in 2010…

What love *really* should be:

1. Making the first move

2. Talking through the night because there is just that much to say

3. Holding out for a yes even when it seems like a no

4. Cycling in the rain

5. Kissing in the rain because who really just cycles in the rain

6. Passing soppy love notes in class even though it is that juvenile and embarrassing

7. Sharing the papers in the morning

8. Making them smile

9. Delivering nasi lemak at 2am

10. Sharing the last cup of bubble tea

11. Freshly folded laundry

12. Thinking the same thing at the same time more times than is normal

13. Saying the same thing at the same time more times than is normal

14. Boom-chica-wow-wow

15. Excessively long bubble baths

16. Forgiving even when it hurts

17. Taking out the trash because it’s gross

18. Round-the-clock pest control

19. Saying sorry first all the time

20. Midnight feeds, and I’m not talking about a smackerel of honey for your tummy

21. Bedtime stories that involve a cat, dog, raccoon, hedgehog, hamster and a 4-year-old girl

22. A kickass shoulder massage

23. Cooking dinner together, and then ordering McD’s

24. Walks by the beach even when you get attacked by killer ants

25. Meaning it when you say forever