Baby Kai’s Day Out

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OK, it was our day out. Having stayed home for almost a month (trip to Mum’s house for celebration not counted), Naomi and I thought it’d be good to get out and let Kai announce himself to the world, H1N1 notwithstanding.

And announce he did, with big, heartfelt cries when it was feeding time when we were almost done with the supermarket shopping at Tanglin Mall, which, by the way, if you’re with child and pram, is the place to be. There is a nicely equipped nursing room (although the wallpaper featuring a sofa was an unforgivable tease), and everyone else seems to be with child and pram, so they’re mostly considerate and forthcoming with all manner of advise (such as: no, you should not use your pram to hold the lift door open).

After too many hours out because our timings for running simple errands like eating lunch and buying groceries have gone slightly awry due to accumulated suakuness, we came home with a few cakes to celebrate Kai’s official one month day (Gregorian Calendar), but the little bugger decided he wanted to have a long snooze instead, so we’re having the cake today.

It’s good to be finally able to go out.

Living at The Meconium

Baby Kai

A friend commented on the baby jargon we’ve accumulated over the past 9 months, but I’m sure it’s the same with all new parents.

One of the things that we’ve learned is that baby’s first few poops are a sticky greenish-black substance called “meconium”. That sounds more like the name of one of those modern designer condominium complexes than greenish-black baby poop.

Greenish-black baby poop should be called “whadda heow? why is his shit liddat?”

Some more, telling the taxi driver, “Uncle, drop me off at The Meconium” doesn’t sound out of place. Some condos do have stupid names anyway – like this one on Balmoral Road still under construction, called “Sui Generis“, because the developers think buyers will believe that their unit is one of a kind, just like the other 39 in the block.

And don’t worry, we’re not the sort of parents that take pictures of poop and post them up on the ingterneck.

We just take the pictures.

Kitting out baby

I’ve not been too busy to blog, and I blame Twitter.

Even then, I’ve not been twittering properly either. But with that out of the way, we have been busy getting the house ready for our still nameless baby, who arrives in 7 weeks.

We’ve been shopping around but not necessarily buying, and putting things on gift registries so our friends can buy stuff for us that we’ll use.

It’s bewildering (and tiring) for first time parents – the slew of baby monitors, thermometers, carriers, slings, sacks, sleeping bags, full body suits and other gear you wouldn’t expect a newborn baby to need. But they do.

We even saw what I think is a baby astronaut trainer. I could be wrong though – I think I saw buttons for spin dry and gentle washes:


Baby Astronaut Trainer from Benjamin Lee on Vimeo.

Halfway there

U/S

One of the funnier moments in the last 20 weeks was comprised of me, sitting in the ob-gyn’s office, reacting to the ob-gyn’s indicating on the ultrasound that Naomi and I would very likely be having a baby boy instead of a girl which I had so confidently predicted previously “because I can just feel it”.

I went, “oh”.

The Ob-Gyn asked if I was disappointed while Naomi laughed as hard as she could, teasing me about being so sure previously.

So, yes, we are expecting, and while it hasn’t been completely smooth sailing, we are both very excited and nervous – being first timers and all, and being close to being buried by the tons of information on the internet, in books (the Kino discount card is handy) and magazines.

Conflicting dietary advice has also been coming in from many well-meaning family members and friends, and while we’re trying to let common sense be the final arbiter in difficult choices, it can still be worrying (e.g. oh no, I’ve eaten 2 mangoes in a week already, and now they say cannot eat mango, how ah?)

Being expectant parents also explains our indifference at our Krups breaking down again as we’ve both gone off coffee (I still have the occasional espresso but my tolerance for caffeine’s gone down tremendously – one double shot and I’m climbing walls like spiderman on um… caffeine), while Naomi’s cravings have been interesting without being bizarre.

Sometimes it feels as if we’re operating a short order kitchen – sandwiches, pasta, chips – as the books say Naomi should eat smaller but more frequent meals.

The books don’t say anything about expectant daddies gaining weight because the expectant mummies can’t finish their food. Well, they do, and I have put on 5kg since and I can’t fit into my jeans any more.

Naomi’s gonna be a Mummy! And I is gonna be a fat daddy!