It Takes a Village

When you find yourself fully pregnant and without a mother to dote on you and help you through this life-bringing journey, you find ways to cope.

Ever since I found out I was pregnant, I’ve always wondered how it would have been like had my mum been alive and around to hear the news. She adored babies more than any other woman I’ve known. Every single one of them, down to the snotty, poopy, weepy and whiny ones. And she always went for the feet first; nibbled their tiny toes like they were freshly spun caramel candy.

Her face would have lit up at the thought of becoming a grandmother, probably would have cried even. Like that happy squealing grandma-to-be cry you see on YouTube pregnancy announcement videos.

Then all this would have been an entirely different experience.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans for my mother, and as strange and sad it is to say, had it not been for her passing I probably would have never found myself pregnant to begin with. It was because she passed away that I moved to the other side of the planet to start anew — and I wouldn’t have met my then would-be-husband at our postgraduate Christmas party on that fateful Saturday night.

Sometimes, I’m actually convinced that my mom had a hand in our meeting since she always had a thing for the blonde and blue-eyed loyal boys-next-door, whilst I, up to that point, went for the dark-haired devilish heartbreaking charmers. She played cupid from her heavenly home, sat back with some her staple bowl of chips and homemade salsa, then watched her magical handiwork unfold and bloom.

So when things get persistently rough and I am reminded of this special mother-daughter experience that I seem to be missing out on, I tell myself that I am not alone. Not alone in the sense that there are other women out there in a similar situation, but that I have a whole legion of strong women — friends, best friends, cousins, aunts, my grandmother, my mother-in-law, and my mother’s own best friends whom I have come to call my adopted mothers — who in their own little way have made this life-affirming adventure just as special. Instead of having just one dote on me, I have a dozen — each one taking on a unique role and helping to fill in the gaps. They say that it takes a village a raise a baby, but it also takes a village of other mothers to support a mother.


Their much welcomed (un)solicited advice, practical day-to-day tips, and the wisdom they have so generously passed on — I have never felt more supported, more comforted in my single-minded pursuit to becoming the best possible mother I can be. After all, there are no take-backs and as soon as our little jelly bean is born, so will I be too.

I’ve been keeping to heart everything my Village of Mothers has imparted to me and have even started writing them down on the Little Blue Book of Unsolicited Advice that I received at my baby shower. Their insights into birth, motherhood and marriage, all based on their own experiences — of their triumphs and even their regrets — I have listened to and read over and over again with wholehearted intent. Their collective tenacity is something to be greatly admired and yet goes rarely acknowledged, and despite what feels like mammoth fails and mere micro victories, these mothers push on repeatedly with each passing day, fueled solely by their seemingly never-ending supply of unconditional love.

Who could ask for a better substitute?

via Daily Prompt: Tenacious

My Birthing Plan, with No Foam, No Sugar, Soy Milk and Cream on Top

I have always thought that giving birth was a black and white situation. You walk into the hospital and barring any complications, come out with a baby bundled in a soft blanket. Apparently, that’s not the case.

Childbirth has come a long, long way since my grandmothers’ time and much like how people order their coffee these days — single/double/triple shot, nonfat milk, soy, almond, half-and-half, latte, cappuccino, machiatto — there are a lot more different options to choose from: Natural. C-Section. Water Birth. At the hospital. At home. By a doctor. By a midwife. With a doula, and without. Even pain relief comes in a variety of forms these days. Acupressure. Acupuncture. Breathing techniques. Hypnosis. Massage. Meditation. Epidural. Gas. Demerol. Or nothing at all. And did I mention that you can even choose the position in which you would want to deliver? Semi-recline. Squatting. Lying on one’s side. Standing. Leaning on your partner. On your hands and knees.

Has it always been this complicated? This confusing? (If only they offered just as many options when it comes to buying baby stuff — because it’s in this department, where Norway needs greater variety and options).

And the pressure women feel these days to opt for as naturally a birth as possible, foregoing the comfort of anaesthesia, makes planning for our little jelly bean’s birth all the more challenging, more frightening.

Maybe I’m strong enough to go through labor without any medical intervention. I am my grandmother’s granddaughter after all, the Amazonia who directed, choreographed and arranged the birth of her first child whilst in the middle of labor because my grandfather was still attending to his patients (they owned a small hospital and clinic back in the day).

Then again, what if I’m not?


Ultimately, it’s going to be my decision and people can judge me all they want — but as with everything in life, we have all been given the right and liberty to choose (of course, within certain legal, ethical and moral limits!). So, go jump in the lake if it bothers you when I decide to get pumped up with drugs (they’re there for a reason, otherwise, it wouldn’t be on offer in the first place).

We attended the state-sponsored birthing course a few days ago, hoping that it would help me decide on a birthing plan. I had this image of a Lamaze-type class where everyone would be sitting on the floor and throughout the course of the afternoon, be taught a couple of breathing exercises we could use, on top of the usual “what to expect” information, and maybe the cliche video of a woman giving birth. Instead, we were sat around a conference table and given slide handouts. Then for nearly three hours, we listened to a PowerPoint lecture on things I had already read about at some point, and learned from somewhere or someone about the stages of labor, what to do in each stage, who to call, where to go, etc.

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Scandinavian baby staples. Wooly onesies. Sophie the Giraffe. And free reading goodies from the Health Center.

It didn’t prepare me at all for what’s to come and I was nowhere closer to completing my birth plan — other than the fact that I now know which ward/s I could potentially request to be checked-in to at the Women’s Clinic downtown.

Nevertheless, like all things, the silver lining was that — while I may not have learned anything new, my husband learned a great lot. He knows what to expect now and while he’s terrified out of his mind about what’s going to happen and what could potentially happen during childbirth, he has come to appreciate this epic challenge that we (moreso, I) will have to undergo in six weeks’ time. He has found ways to support me even more than he already has to make the home stretch feel a little less overwhelming, like giving me a 2-hour back massage and head cuddle in the middle of the night, for example, after what can only be desrcibed as an emotionally and psychologically draining day for him at work (he quit his job yesterday for what he hopes is going to be a better one!) — just so that I can sleep better at night. Bless him.


Whichever the case may be and whatever I do decide to do or what not to do, or what the circumstances ends up dictating (a birthing plan is never bullet-proof!), I am going to try and take this whole childbirth challenge like I would whenever I order a cup of coffee:

Simple and to the point, with perhaps a little frill and just a tad bit of sweetness on top…

…then enjoying every moment of it, when it’s finally handed over to me, all wrapped up in a pretty and delicious little package.

That Sinking Feeling

The rush of preparation and work deadlines have made the last couple of weeks fly by far too quickly for my sleepless brain to handle. In a month’s time, I’m going on my near 1-year-long maternity leave, which means I would have (by then) a little over 3 weeks before the Final Big Push.

And while I’m still terrified of the prospect, a calming feeling is starting to sprout its golden rays of sunshine.

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Surprise! Surprise! Tomato soup, wine (for the guests!), cupcakes and rice cakes are served!

Seeing my friends last night, surprising me at home with a beautiful baby shower (which my husband apparently initiated!), and hearing their stories or the lack of it, about birth and diaper changing and explosive poops in an airport without an extra change of clothes — it was reassuring to know that it’s OK to be unprepared, to feel unaccomplished and still know nothing about babies even when you’re just weeks away from bringing this little creature you made, out into the world.

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Gifts for the jelly bean and a free luxury spa treatment for mama after she’s done pushing jelly bean out.

“Because everything you need to learn will come to you when it finally has to,” is what one of my friends said during the baby shower, and it’s quite possibly the one truth that I am able to process and accept without making me hyperventilate.

It’s learning by doing, and no amount of fact-finding can replace the knowledge I will gain when I’m finally on that hospital bed and then off it with a baby in my hands. The learning curve will be steep but I will get through it, like every other woman that’s had a child over the last several thousand years has — and hopefully, with a little bit of grace and decorum while I’m at it.

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Filipino rice cakes topped with colored coconut flakes, made with love from a Norwegian. It doesn’t get any sweeter and stranger than that.

The love and effort my friends put into my surprise baby shower was overwhelming and it makes me feel proud to know all these amazing women — some with children, some without, and some who are trying. It’s a support system I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have, being so far away from family. They made me feel less unsure about myself, less alone in what I sometimes consider to be my doomsday plight, and just overall happy to be surrounded by a larger community of accomplished women, young and younger alike, who have gone through their own life experiences and have become the better for it.

Their sweet messages, kind and reassuring words, comical commentaries and ignorant quips have helped to fuel the calming fire I will need to get me through the next few weeks. Because labor isn’t going to be like the movies. It’s going to be scary. It’s going to be icky. It’s going to be painful. It’s all going to be very new.

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Baby books all the way from Singapore and Manila, and a future piggy bank for the little jelly bean (papa was very happy to see this!).

But my body was built for this, as my friends told me. I just have to trust it, wholeheartedly, even though I’ve never really put much faith in its capacity to do remarkable things before (yes, I sometimes doubt if my legs are able to get me down a flight of stairs without falling — which is why you can’t make me go hiking without me grumbling about it). I just have to let things take its course and not try to control the situation, like I always do. It would be counterintuitive and in no way help an already difficult situation.

And now that the banner is down and the cupcakes all lapped up down to their last scrumptious morsel, its business as usual. The last stretch is here and the final pages of this chapter in my life is coming to an end… and we’re on to a whole epic new one.

The Case of the Vanishing Feet

Ever since I found myself growing a human being inside me, I’ve had to cut down on some pampering luxuries in an attempt to keep myself as toxic-free as possible. And while most of what I thought I should avoid are in fact quite safe to do — manis, pedis, hair coloring and your occassional massage — now that I think about it, are things I shockingly haven’t done in years.

I’ve always found the bit of pampering therapeutic. Before I moved to Bergen, I had a rather luxurious routine of hair blowouts (when I was too lazy to wash my hair) and hair treatments, and the monthly visit to the nail salon and face spas, on top of my weekly massages — all of which would cost me no more than $100. It was my elixir and it helped to perk me up whenever the stresses of big city life — long work hours, manic commute, bills, expensive and private healthcare, etc — began to feel like I was being dragged  into an ever-expanding bubbling tar pit with no means of escape.

And now that I’m living in what has recently been declared the happiest place on Earth where the stresses of life are perhaps not really stresses at all in comparison to the world’s many problems; where education, healthcare and potable water are free, and new mothers get paid to stay home with their newborn for nearly a year; and workers have the right to take 5 weeks of paid vacation; I find myself wanting even just a modicum of pampering but am unable to do so because I can’t for the life of me justify spending $100 on one simple mani/pedi. So for the last 3 years, I’ve gone without any of it and while I’ve survived so far, the call for a good lacquer and highlight is finally ringing loud in my ears.

I mean, I haven’t been paying too much attention to my feet these days (what with it being winter and all, and the fact that I can no longer see them unless I’m propped up on the couch) but the sight of them (at 2.30am as I am writing this piece, mind you) all swollen and neglected from being pregnant has prompted me to do something unthinkable — almost akin to me getting more than 2 haircuts a year, and done with a lot of hesitation! — I booked myself a mani/pedi at a professional spa.

It took a lot of convincing on my part as I am not so easily swayed to part with $100 unless I’m getting something of equal value from it. I mean, I can’t even be persuaded to buy my child a $30 onesie if I know I can get it for a fraction of the price somewhere else with just the same quality and using the same organic fabric. What more a mani/pedi that would probably last me a good 3 weeks? A baby onesie would last a fast-growing baby longer than that.

Then again, I have to remind myself that I am no longer without a job and I finally have comfortable savings set aside, (not to mention that I can no longer touch my toes without having to do some ill-composed yoga pose) so perhaps a one-off spend wouldn’t be so bad?


It makes one rethink one’s needs and desires, and what it really takes to keep a sound mind in a world (and by world, I mean, societal pressures) that just won’t let you stop. What would be a simple cup of tea for some may be a 3-week holiday in an exclusive resort in Seychelles for others. It’s all about perspective and what we’re used to, I suppose. What our view on reality is, and how open we are to wanting to see beyond our own looking glasses — because really, there is a much wider world out there for us to truly see, and many more realities to consider.

In the case of my vanishing feet, however, it’s making myself feel just a tad bit pretty (even for just a short while) at a time when, despite this mythical “glow” that only others seem to see, I feel like a seacow out of the water.

via Daily Prompt: Elixir

Happy Freebies

Like most people, I find myself mindlessly glossing over Facebook, curious as to what other people are up to, but mostly because I have nothing else better to do after a busy day at the office. Though unproductive, it’s a great way to switch off — even just momentarily — before the demands of the real world call on you to get your ass off the couch because there’s dishes to be done and laundry to fold.

While I tend to skip all the ads and pages that Facebook thinks will be of interest to me, there are a couple, I confess, that have made me stop and go ‘hmm, that could be fun’. From hi-tech carry-on suitcases with GPS trackers to remarkable paper tablets, I’ve fallen victim to some of Facebook’s advertising ploys (thankfully, I haven’t charged anything to my card just yet!).

A couple of weeks ago I accidentally stumbled upon a page that I didn’t even know existed in a country like Norway quite often bereft of a good bargain or discount (unless it’s second-hand). It was a freebies website for mamas-to-be looking to try out products for their soon-to-be-born babies (or are just in it to get a free goody-bags). Interestingly, they’re called babyboxes (babypakker in Norwegian). They contain a generous sampling of maternity and baby products that help parents prepare for the arrival of their little bundles, quite possibly inspired by Finland’s world-famous state-sponsored 2-in-one maternity packages and box cribs called äitiyspakkaus. And although Norway’s options are few and far between compared to our lovely Scandinavian neighbors, all I had to do was place my order — and voila, I’ve got baby wipes and diapers covered (the latter for maybe a good couple of days or so, depending on how much of a pooper our little jelly bean is going to be!), plus a few other practical and entertaining treats for both mama and baby.


Apotek 1’s Baby Box is probably the best of the options. From baby wipes to diapers to bottles, and even a 2-month free subscription to Viaplay.

Of the choices available to Norway-based parents, I would recommend the baby packages from Apotek 1, Rema 1000 and Barnas Hus. They seemed the most practical of choices and didn’t require any unnecessary ‘subscriptions’ (I say unnecessary, because I ended up subscribing to Libero and Barnas Hus’ member clubs when placing the orders, but I was already thinking of joining them anyhow considering I would be changing a lot of diapers and buying a lot of baby/toddler stuff over the next couple of years!).

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Rema 1000’s babypakke mostly showcases their own products, which is always worth a try!

The baby packages will also give us a chance to try out different brands and see which ones we’ll eventually stick with. Is Libero really better than your average grocery diaper brand? As a market researcher in my previous life, this experiment will be interesting (can you imagine trying out a diaper sample that can’t contain poopy blowouts(?!)) — but more importantly, I managed to save us a couple hundred of kroners, possibly even more. And that’s always a good thing in my book.

via Daily Prompt: Luck

How a Project Manager Prepares for the Birth of a Baby

As a project manager with serious type A personality and a matching OCPD diagnosis to boot, you would think I would have this whole baby preparation planning all figured out.

In reality, it’s quite far from the truth, and I am placing the blame on my so-called pregnancy brain. It’s been driving me crazy how I couldn’t seem to get my myself as organized as I wanted to be. We started so great after the pregnancy test, and then somewhere between the first ultrasound and today, we’ve been playing serious catch-up. I mean, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I would probably need a breast pump until my bestie Lexy, who is expecting a baby in August, brought it up (amongst other many things that got me panicking).


Thankfully, and with a little bit of discipline, I think my husband and I have (finally!) gotten certain things under control. Not the whole extent of it, but just enough to make us feel like we’re ready to have this baby. Sort of.


This was perhaps the first thing my husband and I looked into when we found out we were expecting, and rightly so, because we live in one of the most expensive countries in the world. Even with our double income, we didn’t want to spend more than what was needed (with a few indulgences here and there, of course).

While the actual part of bringing a baby into this world is free in Norway, everything else isn’t. They’re also priced at such a premium that even during the biggest Winter Sales, I still found myself baulking at the prices. A baby onesie, for example, was selling for 250kr (USD 29) — and that was already on sale at 50% off. Even brands like H&M and Lindex can cost a pretty penny at retail price, and considering that a baby outgrows everything every couple of months (sometimes weeks, even!), clothes shopping alone can already take over the budget. And did you know that prams came in various sizes, so much so that you have to upgrade to a new one once they’ve passed the 12-month mark? Because these days newborns apparently have their very own prams designed just for them. Insanity.

So, how exactly did we budget for our little jelly bean’s arrival? We did our research. We went to bank websites and even government websites that published reports on childcare costs in Norway from the day they’re born until they turn 18. The newborn figures were far too overinflated for our taste (I guess the reports take every kind of parent into consideration, including the very indulgent ones who splurge tens of thousands of kroners on their baby nurseries) but we used them regardless as a basis for how much we thought we needed (the absolute worst case scenario) to keep our little jelly bean properly taken care off and happy when he finally arrives — without mama and papa having to dip into their savings accounts.

After a couple of rounds of cost-benefit and value-investment analyses, our golden number came to about 5,000kr/month, which we decided we’d split halfway down the middle. Then multiplying that by the number of pay checks until the expected delivery date, it seemed a decent amount of money to spend on a Norwegian baby ‘s arrival (perhaps even more than enough).

So far so good, we were right on the nose and on budget.


This is probably the area where we lost absolute control. I’m approximately 8 weeks away from full term and our shopping list is still as long as my husband’s Viking-sized arm; not to mention that it took me months to realize that I had to actually get myself a midwife; just barely made it on the list for the state-sponsored birthing and breastfeeding course before my due date (otherwise, we would have had to pay for a private one); and am just 2 weeks away from not filing my maternity benefits application on time!

Looking back, this would have been something that I would have focused my (wandering) attention more on, and also taken into consideration all the other timelines (most of them, already established) required to welcome a baby into world — meaning doctor’s appointments, mandatory medical exams, preparation classes (whichever ones you intend to join) and the ever famous bureaucratic red tape. The last one is perhaps the most important one to plan for since they’re completely outside the area of your control. The last thing you want to happen is not to receive the benefits due to you when you finally need them. It also helps a great deal if you know how the system works, which was sadly not the case for us.


I got into making checklists only just recently, when I finally got my head out of the clouds, and all the nasty side effects of my pregnancy had started to wane. Whether you do it on paper or on your mobile, or go completely zany and create a master spreadsheet of sorts, checklists are a must-do and its important for both parents-to-be to be in on the game.

And the best part is, we didn’t even have to create a checklist from scratch because the internet is literally drowning with checklists. From the uber-practical to the ridiculous (I mean, having a baby food catcher bib sounds awesome, but it only takes a curious and feisty baby to learn how to dig his tiny hand into that catcher full of food and you’ve got yourself a monster catapult machine).

We opted for checklists that divided the necessities from the nice-to-haves, and even went one step further by dividing the immediate must-haves from the ones you can buy after the baby is born (as seen on the Danish website Vores Børn’s Den Store Huskeliste Inden Fødslen). This checklist has helped us manage our budget and spread out the costs. It’s also made me feel a little less unaccomplished, knowing that I don’t need to have EVERYTHING in place before our jelly bean is born (even though everyone else I know is ahead of the game).

Other checklists we’ve also had to consider were specific to our needs as parents-to-be. While I haven’t gotten around to making them just yet, I know we’re going to eventually need 3 packing lists for the hospital (for me, the baby and even the husband), and even a list of questions to ask our midwife during the birthing and breastfeeding course. No stone left unturned, as they say. I want to make sure we’re as prepared as we possibly can be now that we’re a little bit more in control.


Having worked in a consulting company in the past, the word ‘sourcing’ has stuck to me like glue. When planning for the arrival of a baby, it’s important to narrow down your source of suppliers depending on your budget and requirements.

My husband’s requirements were such that everything we were going to buy had to be quick and practical, and it didn’t matter so much if it cost more. He just couldn’t envision himself, for example, putting a crying newborn into a car seat by himself, and then struggling with the seatbelt under the pouring rain (we do live in Bergen where it rains 250 days in a year!). So, we narrowed our newborn carseat choices down to those with an ISOfix base since our car was already equipped with it anyhow. All it takes is one click, and voila, baby is secure!

My requirements on the other hand, included aesthetics and overall usability. I wanted to buy pretty things that grew with the baby and didn’t require too much handling for it to work.

So we ended up choosing the BeSafe Newborn carseat with ISOfix base and the Stokke Cruzi pram, which we bought second hand for a third and half the retail price (and luckily for us, we got the pram almost brand new — as it had just been replaced by the former owner’s insurance company after an airport mishandling mishap and by the time the replacement arrived, their baby had outgrown the pram).

I had personally test-driven a bunch of baby prams available in Norway by pushing my friends’ prams for them during our girly coffee dates and Stokke was by far the easiest to maneuver, isn’t bulky and best of all, adapts to a growing baby. The only thing that annoyed us was that while BeSafe’s carseats were compatible with most Stokki prams — where you could click the carseat into the pram base, making for an instant functional “pram”, it wasn’t compatible with the Cruzi (the older versions, at least). But babies aren’t meant to be in carseats for prolonged periods anyhow, so we just let this little oversight pass.

As for baby clothes, I resorted to buying everything online. While I may have splurged on a few Danish and Swedish designer baby items, most of our little jelly bean’s everyday clothes I got from Mango, Zara, Benetton and Carters. Mostly from their outlet/sale sections, where you can get an adorable baby onesie or kimono shirt for as low as 30k (USD 3.50)! It also pays to know how to knit and I taught myself over these last couple of months how to knit baby clothes so I didn’t have to splurge on 100% sweaters and hats, which would have cost quite a bit if I bought them off the rack.


And finally, with everything said and done, we’re finally getting around to compiling all the documents we’re going to need for the baby’s arrival.

In Norway, that would be the mother’s medical pregnancy records and the application for parental leave, which is a series of documents that you submit to social services (should you be eligible) to be able to go on paid parental leave.

The documents are a bit tricky to fill out since there are a number of possibilities to choose from, so it helps to ask and read about it ahead of time.

30 weeks

I may still have about a dozen or so weeks left before my due date, but I already feel like I’m sprinting my way through the final stretch of my pregnancy; and as much as I want to deny it, I feel sad that its all coming to an end. It’s gone by far too fast, and I just want to put the brakes on it. Somehow.

Despite the constant back aches, frequent trips to the loo, round ligament pains, stretch marks, and morning sickness (which I went through brazenly whilst going on an epic road trip through Iceland), my first pregnancy has been a grand and fun adventure in itself.

Each experience may have been uncomfortable, painful and frightening at times, but it was all new and exciting. Perplexing, even. And every day, I could sense a subtle change that only I seemed to notice, and notice still to this day. Changes that have happened and are happening still as our jelly bean continues to grow. Day by day. Week after week. A carefully orchestrated transformation that I have been given the privilege to nourish and witness. From the first time I felt him move — it was late at night and I was no more than 18 weeks into my pregnancy and in the darkness of our bedroom, between the sheets and my husband’s calming deep breathing, I felt the softest of thumps that stirred me wide awake — to how he reacts to big brass band or death metal music or that time when I ate a 7-course gourmet dinner at Lysverket. Of baked sea slugs and squid ink chips and he seemed to have a whirlwind of a time 2 hours later as I was desperately trying to go to sleep. Oh those strange new flavors he must have tasted, and intriguing sensations coating his developing tongue.

This pregnancy and all its many physical and emotional nuances have made me understand this whole special bond everyone keeps talking about between a mother and her child.

Even though no words have been spoken yet and I have yet to hold my baby’s hand, I feel like I already know him and he knows me. We already have that sense of understanding and connection that I only wish our baby boy could share with his anxious papa. With his every kick and hiccup, I feel like I am getting to know his personality. Who he will be and what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he’s going to one day charm his way out of trouble with me because he understands me. Because I am his mother.

Or perhaps, its just my hormones and imagination going wild? God only knows how many conversations I’ve made up between me and him with his every punch or kick to my insides:

“Woman, can’t you keep still for one minute? I am trying to get some sleep here. It’s cramped enough as it is, what with you being a tiny lady and all, so stop flopping about.”

Or “Mama,”–a wild jolt to my side–“Mama, you awake?”–another buck to my side–“you need to feed me now because its only been 2 hours since you had a snack, and now I’m hungry again. But this time I don’t want some easy fix like your hidden stash of cookies or macadamia nuts. Nope. I want a full on meal with rice. Something warm and sour too.” So i find myself cooking a pot of hot tamarind vegetable soup with chunks of salmon and a side of rice at 3 in the morning.

So at 30 weeks, I am dreading the day I finally go into labor. Not because I am terrified of the pain and the gunk and the fluids and the tearing and the screaming — well, I am (let’s all be honest here… the pain will be excruciating) — or because we still haven’t bought all that we need for this little feisty jelly bean of ours (people keep asking me if there’s anything else we’re missing and to which i reply, everything!), but it’s the fact that these last several months have been so incredibly special, so magically strange, that I simply don’t want it to end. Can you just stay in there for a little while longer until mama finds a way to get used to you not being in there? It’s going to be quite lonely when you leave.

(I know… I know, I am going to regret saying that 12 weeks from now).

Daily Prompt: Nuance