31
August
2006
Today we caught up with S & E — old friends from Bangkok who relocated to Melbourne where they had their first baby — F — and then moved again to Sydney.
We met in Rushcutters Bay Park — obviously a favourite amongst families as foot-tall bubs were popping up all over the lawn like mushrooms in the wet season.
When S, E and F arrived, one of my S’s first questions was to E — asking after her labour.
“Oh My God.” replied E.
Here we go — I could tell this was going to be the labour story S had been waiting for…
E went on to describe the labour as a black hole — her drug doctor was too late to administor anything much more than calming words, so it was largely without any pain relief — and we kept coming back to the contractions…
“First timers don’t understand what it is like,” said E, “They gear themselves up for a bout of intense pain, wanting to believe in themself that they can survive the pain, but in all the preparation, they’re sort of missing the point.
“I’m not saying contractions don’t hurt — cause they bloody well do — but rather that labour is more than one contraction. They just keep on coming — it’s not the pain from one contraction that leaves you spent — it’s the pain and the drain of contraction after contraction after contraction…”
Husband S chirps in, describing the run to the hospital, the peak hour traffic, torrential rain, E on hands and knees on the backseat screaming words that are not really suitable for this blog…
They’d not settled on a name for the baby and didn’t know if a boy or girl was on the way, and this chaotic run to the hospital wasn’t how they’d envisaged having their first child.
When the baby, a beautiful, healthy baby girl was finally delivered, he handed her to E saying…
“After what you’ve been through you can pick any name you want!”
Posted: Dealing with pregnancy
30
August
2006
Tonight we had dinner with very good friend of S, S. I wish I hadn’t started all this initial only stuff as I’m starting to confuse myself.
Anyways, S is a nurse at one of the large public hospitals in Sydney and she spent the evening regaling us with tales of sleazy doctors, crazy families, stupid interns, near misses, close calls and all the other stuff that makes up a typical episode of ER…
The stories were fascinating, but the timing wasn’t always so hot — being told of a patient who has had their oesaphagus removed while I was midway through a diced up chicken kebab had me politely pushing my plate to the side — but I also learned a lot.
By the end of the stories I’d pretty much convinced myself that anything more than a paper-cut woud have me exporting myself to Phnom Penh for treatment, and I asked her, would she be comfortable being treated in her hospital for a serious injury or issue?
“Of course I’d be comfortable” she replied…
“As long as it was before January 15 when the interns start”
Posted: Nothing to do with babies
29
August
2006
Today I dropped S off to catch up with her old friends S and C — each of whom have three rugrats — all of which are under five…
When I dropped S off, I thought I’d pop in myself — in part to say Hi to S and C but also to see what it’s like to be in a house with a half dozen ankle-biters gone mad.
Unfortunately for me, most of the kiddies were elsewhere and only three were around — and what a trio of well-behaved bubs they were — no swinging from the chandelier or anthing — BORING!
My S regards S with a degree of awe — apparently she always wanted three kids, but in the early discussions with her husband A, she said she wanted four — A bargained her down to three and thought he got a deal, while S got just what she wanted!
But S’s awe isn’t so much in regard to the nuances of her baby-bargaining, but rather what a megamum she is.
To my mind anyone who can have three kids under five and retain their sanity qualifies as a megamum, but S is not only in possession of her sanity, she can also whips up some wicked food (including a belly-busting dessert cake), and give loads of great advice (even road directions) and all this in an atmosphere of serene calmness…
How do they do it?
Posted: Advice
28
August
2006
Tonight we headed over to I and A’s for dinner and, as chance would have it, a spot of karaoke.
I & A live in this great house on what when compared to Jakarta seems like a half a sheep station. They’ve got bats and bugs, chooks (no birdflu) and dogs and their lovely daughter B (Happy Birthday B!) has great pets — two hermit crabs!
When I was a child we went through all the main pets — rabbits, guinea pigs, budgies, cats and dogs, but we never had a hermit crab.
They’re so stupid you don’t need to worry about training them — and even if you do try they just retract into their shell — so all you need do is feed them (B confided that they like apple the best) and give them a little water – to drink — not to swim in.
Then, every few months you need to drop in a shell a little larger so that the crab can move house and grow a little bit bigger.
I was watching B play with her little hermits (she has two) and found myself thinking what a great pet — no crap to clean up out of the back yard (perhaps I should recomend them to Grandma), they’re apparenly very cheap — there’s a lot of seafood to go before hermit crabs get to $20 a kilo and, best of all they don’t bark, meeaow or make any other irritating per noise…
I couldn’t believe it — the perfect pet!
That was until I pointed out they can live to 45 years old and can weigh 10kgs… that’s a big shell!
Posted: Buying for babies
27
August
2006
Today S and I along with the family headed up to my grandparents to catch up and see their new digs. Hidden away in the back-blocks of Terrigal on Sydney’s Central Coast, they’ve got a great house with a welcoming garden patio area out back.
We spent most of the day scoffing and catching up, but as E&K’s M got more and more restless I wandered over to her and started teaching her useful games like how to throw pebbles in Grandma’s birdbath and how to find all the invisible snakes in the garden.
Like many games with young children I grew weary of the games just as M was warming up — playing hide and seek in a garden that has nowhere to hide really gets stale pretty quickly — and so I tried another tactic instead of blank refusal — tire her out.
Piggy backs, on my shoulders, spun around in circles till I’m ready to pass out — I tried them all to no avail…
It wasn’t till after about fifteen minutes of crawling around on my hands and knees that I noticed that the lawn wasn’t quite as spotless as I initially thought.
Grandma has a little dog and my guess is the pooper scooper had been out of action for some time…
Posted: Advice
26
August
2006
We were whisked through Kingsford Smith immigration and customs pretty quickly — probably in part because I forgot to declare the tube of “Fat of Pythons” (no joke) that I’d picked up in the Mekong Delta — thank god they didn’t open the bags…
First stop was at B&G’s place – S’s parents — where, in all selfishness we went straight to sleep! This pregnancy stuff is hard work — even for Daddy!
After dragging ourselves out of bed, we headed around to E&K’s house for lunch and our first glimpse of baby R, little brother to super-smart M (who I’ve seemed to manage to teach to say “Oh My God!” quite well)
R is a beautie of a little bub — S spent a lot of time feeding him a bottle and at the end of the session we got to burp him — he’s a great burper — not unlike Barney in the Simpsons — even his lips quiver in the same way.
After the feeding and burping session we continued on to my folks place where we finally threw the feet up — standing out on the back balcony in the brisk (ie., bloody freezing) evening air, Saigon and Jakarta seem so so very far away.
Posted: Nothing to do with babies
25
August
2006
So I’m at Singapore’s splendiforous Changi International airport waiting for S to arrive from Jakarta. Before I left for Vietnam, S and I had done some “pre-planning” on how we’d meet up in Singapore for continuing down to Sydney. As I’d be flying from Saigon with budget carrier Tiger Airways, it was decided that I’d fly down to Singapore the day before so that there’d be no risk of me missing the onwards flight to Sydney due to delays or cancellations out of Saigon. For S, no such insurances were deemed necessary and a mere 50 minutes between the arrival of her flight from Jakarta and the departure to Sydney would be loads of time…
Needless to say S’s flight was late into Changi and arrived at gate F52, while the flight to Sydney departed from gate E3 — I believe there are some gates further apart but I was unable to find them…
I’d had a few hours to figure this out. The drinks in Singapore are oddly cheapest inside the international terminal ($9 for a beer Vs $12 in the outside world) so in my bar hopping it dawned on me that S would have only 50 minutes to disembark, walk about 1km, check-in and get onto our flight — that seems like plenty of time, but the arrival time is when the plane hits the tarmac and the departure gate closes ten minutes beforehand, so assumming S was first out of the plane, we’d only have 30 minutes maximum for the connection. I started to get myself into what S would call “a tizz”.
This was of course before S’s plane was late.
Also, working on my mind was S’s earlier post on the baby blog about her exploding — so I was expecting a seriously belly-enhanced S.
Plus she was bringing my laptop, which I figured she wouldn’t be too happy sprinting through the airport with.
So taking all this onboard, I wandered over to one of the assistance desks and explained the situation to the ever-friendly staff at Changi. I asked if 30 minutes would be sufficient for S to make the connection. What I really wanted was for them to give us one of those little go-go cars to zoom us between the two gates…
“I think 30 minutes should be fine sir”, the helful assistant said..”as long as she doesn’t have checked baggage it should be fine.”
Damn – luggage — I hadn’t even begun to panic about that!
“But she’s heavily pregnant” I replied, going on to suggest that perhaps she wouldn’t be up to sprinting.
“Oh I see sir.” I have the woman’s full attention now and I can see she’s doing the math in her head 1km, 20minutes, 8.5 months pregnant…
“How pregant is she?” she asked?
“Six months” I reply.
The woman’s face changes immediately –the flurry of panic that flashed across her face five seconds earlier vanishes (as does my chance of a ride in the all-lights-ablaze-sizens-blaring go-go car) — and is replaced by a warm smile as she thinks — ah, so sweet — a first time daddy — they really do know nothing…
“She’ll be fine sir”
And we were.
Posted: Dealing with pregnancy
24
August
2006
Finally, baby gets to get jiggled and poked and prodded and kissed and read to again tomorrow — we’re off to meet daddy!
So I have a bit of a dilemma. I’m getting a flight from Jakarta to Singapore, where S (the male one) joins the flight. I’m thinking of asking for an upgrade for poor pregnant lady, though I know the chances are about negative zero. In which case, do I then say, well, um actually I’m meeting my husband in economy, can you make sure we sit together?
Posted: Advice, Uncategorized
23
August
2006
Last night I went to a dinner at which Indonesian President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (I just love how that name rolls off the tongue after a little while) was giving a keynote address. I can’t say I’ve been to too many dinners with presidents or prime ministers. Erroneously, it turns out, I assumed that it would be a bit like a wedding: we’d eat and then between mains and dessert he’d have a little chat with us.
After a hectic day — already running to this hotel twice for earlier addresses during the day and just making it in time through horrid traffic (probably made worse because the president himself had shut down half the roads in the city to get there) — we were seated at 7pm with a bread roll each. Everyone at my table nibbled and finished theirs within about five minutes. At 8:30pm the president was still talking.
I couldn’t concentrate any longer and seriously thought about asking one of the people at the next table who hadn’t eaten their bread roll if perhaps I could have it instead. Then I spied a tray left on the table by the waiter with a napkin covering it. I peeked. And in full view of the seven others seated around me I shamelessly took the last one underneath and gobbled it down.
We started eating at 9 and three courses or 20 minutes later most everyone was out the door.
Posted: Uncategorized
22
August
2006
While I was waiting in a taxi queue yesterday the man in front turned to me to offer me his taxi. I told him no, and he actually said: “Really, I insist.” I told him thanks but really he could go ahead, another one would be right behind.
So he jumped into his taxi before I had a chance to ask him: was he was offering because I was a woman… or because I have a belly now?
Posted: Uncategorized
