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One versus Two

The difference between Aidan and Two

The difference between Aidan and Two

Is it me or does Two look a tad bigger than his/her older brother?

Anyhow, I feel more like a whale this time around. I think it’s because I have put on more weight than I did with Aidan!

(I also put in two separate online orders of a grand total of – DRUMROLL PLEASE – FOUR SKIRTS. For myself. I don’t even know if I am ever going to fit into them. Maybe my child-bearing hips – HAR HAR HAR – will stay with me FOREVA!)

But thankfully, I am physically more agile with Two than I was before. I can still rush between classes, climb stairs with relative ease and the aches don’t shoot down my bum anymore.

In the meantime, I am thankful that I have escaped the whole “wake up to pee in the middle of the night” plague once again. And thanks to the ministrations of Mr Thick every night before I turn in, I don’t get woken up by leg cramps either.

Confession: I get him to knead my calves, feet and butt even on the nights when my legs feel fine. Precautions, you see. Look, for all the physical discomfort that I am putting up with, a mere 10-minute massage of my legs is absolutely nothing. NOTHING, I tell ya.

Friday, it’s coming!

Oh boy, it’s been one of those weeks.

My work week usually starts off with a 6-hour teaching day and I am always, always so drained by the end of it. And then I’d be slumped on the sofa, wondering why I was crazy enough to think that I can teach all the way until I pop this baby out.

So yeah, I think I am kinda exhausted.

Everyone’s been asking me when I am due, and when I tell them that I have under five weeks to go, they look a little surprised. Some tell me that my belly looks too small for that gestation period and I always wonder why people think that it’s perfectly okay to tell an expectant lady that. And when they find out that we don’t know the sex of the baby, they look even more startled and decide to offer me their (unsolicited) guesses.

So far, we have had guesses ranging from boy to girl to boy to girl. Some say it’s a boy because my belly is pointy. Some say it’s a boy because my belly is round. Some say it’s a girl because I don’t look awful. Some say it’s a girl because my belly looks like a girl belly.

Mmmkay. We shall find out in due time. ;)

But it’s all good so far. Two has definitely piled on the pounds recently – I can’t speak without going all breathless now and my stomach has shrunk drastically! He/She seems to be a little lower too, I can now feel the squiggly wriggly movements low on my pelvis. The Braxton-Hicks contractions are definitely increasing in both frequency and intensity – the doctor did warn me that these will be more painful the second time around.

We’ve been going for our fortnightly checks at Dr T’s and Aidan has enjoyed every single visit. Every night, he would pull out that rubber tubing that came with the air pump that we use for his swimming floats, hang it around his neck and tell us that he wants to “scan the baby”. He then gently rubs the end of the tubing across my tummy. He also loves to rest his head on the belly and say that he wants to “sleep with baby”. And let’s not forget the kisses that he doles out on the belly every day.

It just makes my buttery, pregnant heart melt!

Fingers crossed that he will remain as loving towards Two when he/she is finally out.

Can’t believe that the little one will be joining us soon!

Psst, that’s me at 35 weeks two years ago!

Ugly duck

Nong nong time ago (okay, it was merely SEVEN MONTHS AGO), I was glowy.

And now, presenting the bulbous nose and LV Neverfull eye bags!

Why am I even posting this ugly, sans makeup picture of myself on the Internetz? (Was chilling by the pool in Bali.)
I don’t know. Maybe I am not-so-secretly humble bragging? Meaning, now is your cue to start posting comments on how glowy I look currently, how I still am beautiful etc.

Urghs. Hate humblebrag. Why do people post obviously good-looking photos of themselves with “oh woe is me, I look awful” captions, just to invite flattering comments? Are we really that insecure and in need of validation?

Anyway, yeah, I’m being completely honest here. Not trying to fish for compliments. I feel tired and I look tired. Third trimester is kicking my ass, the depth of exhaustion is like a bottomless pit. I can sleep for seven hours and still feel like I can go on for another 10. My honker can press the buttons of the lift on my behalf and my eye bags can hold a towel.

One day, I am going to look all shiny and radiant again.

Maybe when my kids turn five?

The whale

I’m now at the stage where everything about me is big: my boobs are spilling out of my clothes; my face is fat; my Jackie Chan honker is back in business; my feet is swollen and resemble puffy sausages; my stomach is obstructing my path.

In short, I look big and I feel monstrous. MEH.

Two seems to be feeling the lack of space too. Instead of cute kicks and buttery flutters, the poor little baby has taken to wriggling. It’s so…odd. I mean, imagine someone nudging you from inside. And the kid is ALL OVER THE PLACE. I can get strange wriggles above my belly button and all the way to my waist on the right. AT THE SAME TIME.

Mmm, maybe Two will be all supermodel-ly with long lanky limbs. LIKE FABULOUSLY GORGEOUS MAMA!

And because the giant uterus requires space, all my innards have been unceremoniously shoved aside. My stomach is probably somewhere up my chest – I wouldn’t know, I can’t really feel it anymore. But what this means is that the horrible nausea that I used to get during the first trimester is saying HELLO AM BACK! Sometimes, I would retch after brushing my teeth. Or after breakfast. According to the good doctor, the stomach is being squashed, which leads to nausea. Wahey.

But it’s all good. This isn’t forever and hey, I’m never going to be pregnant again. So I’m trying my best to enjoy this as much as possible.

Two gets some music time via the Belly Buds almost every night and I go to sleep to the soothing hypnobirthing tracks. The Muji diffuser in my room is puffing out lulling lavender into the air. The night is still (until Aidan wakes up, anyway) and the air-conditioning is humming.

It’s all good.

Waiting for my littlest

Dear Two,

And just like that, we are into the last stretch. In less than 12 weeks, we should finally lay eyes on each other for the first time. And I cannot wait.

Right now, I’m entering the phase where everything is starting to be quite uncomfortable. I’m lumbering around, I can’t take deep breaths, my stomach has been displaced and I can no longer tolerate heavy meals, walking can be painful sometimes etc.

But you know what? I’m the odd sort who really enjoys pregnancy, I do. I love the connection that I have with my unborn child – you – and the fact that this is something that can never be replicated. For these past 28 weeks, you have been a part of me and I am all that you know. And that’s an experience that I can never relive again. I want to make sure that every moment is lived positively and not wasted on whinging about how tough it is, especially since you are going to be my second and last baby. I only have 12 more weeks to go and already that fact is making me a little sad.

So I’m relishing in every ticklish wriggle, every cute little hiccup, every odd sensation. I laugh when I HAVE. TO. GO. PEE. NAO. because I know that you have somehow moved your little ass (or head, I wouldn’t know, really) on top of my bladder. I smile when it’s just you and me in the dark of the night or the cool of the morning. I feel your limbs poking out of me and I can’t help but poke back at you. I think about the moment when I will finally get to see you in real life, and whether it will be as surreal as it was when I met your brother for the first time. I love it when I read the “big brother” books to Aidan and he lifts my shirt up to “kiss baby”.

You are so loved, my littlest, so loved.

The other night, your papa and I were lying together on the bed. I was playing the Hypnobirthing affirmations and relaxation tracks out on the speakers and you were merrily bouncing away. I told your papa to put his hand on my tummy to feel your movements and you, my darling, obliged. (Your brother NEVER did, he would stop whenever he felt papa’s hand and then perform his tricks again once papa moved the hand away. He’s still as cheeky today.)

And so we laid there, his hand on my tummy, large and warm and secure and comforting. You delivered few wriggles and kicks, now and then. And we fell asleep like that, in a hypnotic haze of exhaustion and love.

12 more weeks. Stay inside me for as long as you can, my little one. And then you will be coming home with us.

Love you to the moon and back (yes, you too),
mama

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