Hey Theo!

You know how when you meet someone for the first time, and they take your breath away…and you know that you’ve fallen hopelessly and completely in love?


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This is my moment.

Primary One Registration, the low down


Truett starts Primary One next year and this whole school enrolment is supposed to be like a big deal. Alumnis! Parent volunteering! School Advisory Committees!

I feel like I should be more anxious about this but I haven’t done any volunteering and my alma mater doesn’t even exist anymore so all I have at this point is a list of all the schools within 1km of our house (C’mon, phase 2C!). There are 5 around here and none of them are the Ivy League equivalent of Primary Schools in the country. Just regular neighbourhood schools that may or may not ruin his future. Kidding!

So how important is it to get into a school with pedigree? I don’t know, I’ve never been to one.

I spent 6 years in Ping Yi Primary School. Exactly how bad was it? Back then, there were Primary 7 & 8 students who would gather and smoke outside the school gate and I’d have to walk through a cloud of smoke on the way home everyday. There was a kid in class who excreted in his pants all the time. One of my teachers had the most bizarre accent (she was really old) and I could understand like at most 30% of all the words that came out of her mouth. I guess it was so bad they decided it had to be shut down permanently.

But it was also a place where I had some really great teachers. In Primary 2, my English teacher gave me a copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and that was my introduction to the wonderful world of Roald Dahl.

I learnt most of the academic lessons I needed to learn in that school, plus a little bit more. Like how it’s down to me to work hard for what I wanted even if the conditions weren’t the most ideal. To apply myself and make the most of what I had because nobody owed me anything. Also, to identify the smell of poop in the seat next to mine and get the hell away from it as quick as I could. And after 6 years, I think I did ok.

If I could, I’d like to give my kids a shot at the very best schools available. But the odds of them getting into Raffles or Nanyang or Tao Nan is close to zero and we’re ok with that. We’ll take our chances with the 5 schools available nearby and hopefully, the kids don’t turn out as delinquents.

Balloting starts next week, wish me luck!

Happy thoughts.

Ok, so it seems like everyone around me is giving birth, like some great cosmic joke that’s so unfunny. In the past 2 weeks, I have FOUR(??!!) friends who gave birth. Even the angry cat at my void deck (whom I always thought was male and just a little bit fat) decided to deliver 3 really cute squishy baby kittens.

Meanwhile, I’m still here, as pregnant as ever.

Had another round of contractions on Saturday night and the husband was all “I think it doesn’t look so good, let’s go in to the hospital” but I was not to be faked again. I grabbed a hot compress for my back and decided to ride it out while rolling around like a crazy person all over my bed. I must have been semi delirious because apparently I was yelling incoherent words along the lines of “I WILL NOT GO BACK IN UNTIL I SEE THE BABY’S HEAD!!”

I hear the world record for the longest gestational period lasted 375 days, which I will attempt to break with this pregnancy. You know me, I’m nothing if not an overachiever.

Instead of sobbing into my pillow, in the spirit of optimism and happy thoughts and all that, I decided to make a list of why it’s great to be 9 months pregnant and still not give birth.

1. Weight training.

Who needs gym time when I’m carrying weights everywhere I go? That’s 3kg of baby + another 3kg of placenta, amniotic fluid and extra boob mass. It’s exercise 24/7, yo.

2. Spider veins.

I don’t have stretch marks but I do have some pretty rad spider veins running across my belly. The kids saw it the other day and they thought it was really cool. They took turns using it as a track for their Hot Wheels collection and after that, I conducted an extensive lesson on our family tree.

3. Heartburn. 

You’re probably thinking, this can’t be a good thing…and you’d be wrong. You spend all this time getting well acquainted with feeling like your chest is on fire, and it’s all very good training because a day might come where you’re actually having a heart attack. Most people would be all “what’s happening to me?” but not you. If that day ever comes, you’d be prepared. And we all know early intervention makes all the difference.

4. Shortness of breath.

That feeling like you can’t breathe and you’re about to pass out after climbing 3 steps? Harness it and use it. So like if you’re ever captured and water-boarded for important secrets like How To Make Your Baby Sleep, you’d be able to last at least 1 round before caving. That’s like a serious skill to master.

5. Frequent toilet breaks.

After you have kids, you’ll realise how precious toilet breaks are. Sometimes, a mom just needs to take five in the toilet and there isn’t a more legit time for a bona fide toilet break. Take them liberally and more importantly, ENJOY THEM.

6. Memory loss. 

When you’re nine months pregnant, you forget stuff like people’s names and important dates. Forget a birthday? Flash your belly for a free pass. Call people by random names like Lindsay or Sally, they won’t mind. In fact, I’ve stopped using my kids’ names and started pointing at them and saying “YOU” or “BABY”.

7. Backaches.

Okayyy, there’s nothing good here. Moving along.

8. Fatigue. 

After a few months of second trimester energy, I’m back to falling asleep all over the place. Partly due to pregnancy fatigue and partly due to the fact that I’m hardly able to get in any sleep at night with all the contractions and pain and general discomfort. I was almost dozing off when I heard Kirsten sneak into the room and whisper to her brother “Shhhhhh, mommy is sleeping because she’s pregnant. Let’s go play quietly outside.” I got a whole 5 minutes of silence before they decided to see who could stack more lego bricks on my eyelids…quietly.

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