Pak Cik Mikabear

My son is just a month shy from turning two, and he's in the midst of mastering the art of conversing with others. What I can say is that, boy.. is he a talker. He rambles, and he yaps, and he blabbers. It's honestly the cutest thing ever (it can be a little migraine-inducing at times) - he's like a little pak cik, I always say. He says a new word everyday, and I get caught off guard every single time. It's like one day he only knows five words, and the next thing you know he can form proper sentences. 

Now that he's in the talking phase, we really have to be careful of what comes out of our mouths, and choose our words wisely. Mikabear loves to repeat the things we say as though he's registering the words into his brain. He has recently started calling my husband Dabs (sometimes daddy Dabs), a name I gave my husband long before our son came along. We couldn't believe our ears when he first did it. Of course what followed were fits of incontrollable laughter. 

So anyways, my son was asking for a bottle of milk earlier today, and I was trying to teach him how to say it in an actual sentence instead of just saying "Drink milk."

Here's how our short lesson went:-

Mikabear: Mommy, drink milk.
Me: Okay, what do you say when you want to drink milk?
Mikabear: Mommy, Qald want.
Me: Qaleed want to...
Mikabear: Qald want to three four five! /runsofflaughing

.....

We obviously need to work more on that.

The Poke Bowl Incident

Here's a kinda, maybe, sorta funny story.

Over the weekend, I was once again down with a fever (screw you weak immunity system!), and was forced to stay in bed for the majority of the forty-eight hours. I hadn't eaten in two days because of a lack of appetite and a thou-shalt-have-no-mercy migraine. During the second day of me being sick, my husband happened to have breakfast plans near this newly opened poke bowl joint that we recently visited. I thought of their spicy salmon and instantly felt my appetite jolt back to life. And so of course I made my husband buy me some. While waiting for him to come back, I was already envisioning myself downing the hearty bowl of fresh and salmon goodness. The whole scene kept replaying in my head like some sort of dramatic over-staged advertisement. Need I remind you that I hadn't eaten in two days?

When my husband was on the way home, he video-called me to keep him company (yeah, we are a little clingy I guess), and after talking about random things, he proudly showed me the brown paper bag that consisted of my lunch. 

"Oh by the way sayang, I didn't know what base you wanted so I just ask for quinoa," he said ever so innocently. 

"YOU. WHAT." I probably looked like I was on the verge of a heart attack.

"Ha why? What's quinoa?!" oh, sweet husband.

"IT'S SOME HEALTHY THINGMAJIG THAT I DON'T EAT." c'mon, who eats that stuff?!

"I thought it was some fancy name for rice!" face palm. 

OMG GUYS SERIOUSLY. I mean I know one of my resolutions for this year is to eat healthier but let's get real - I'm no where near the quinoa stage! I'm not even at the brown rice stage?! I'm as asian as an asian can get, and I need my white rice dude. I honestly thought he was pulling some kind of sick prank on me because he does these kind of things pretty often so a small part of me was still hopeful. But yeah, it wasn't a joke. I don't know if it was because I was tired or just super famished, but I just started bawling when I dug into my poke bowl and saw the quinoa. 

I guess my husband felt bad about the whole ordeal because he went out and got me another bowl - with white rice this time.

".... who's gonna eat that?" I had already finished the first bowl (with leftover rice from the previous day) by then.

"I'll share with you okay?" okay. 

He ate half of it and kept the other half for me in the fridge.

As I was about to dig in on whats left of the poke bowl the next day, it turned out that my husband had accidentally finished all the salmon.

...........

Sigh, men. Can't live with them, can't live without them.

Does Motherhood Ever Get Easier?

As a mother to a newborn who was barely surviving through life with minimal sleep and sore nipples, I remember plenty of people telling me that "it will get easier". Well, fast forward to a year and six months later, I still find myself fumbling and tumbling through this mothering gig. Don't get me wrong - yes, the whole motherhood business is wonderful and I wouldn't trade it for the world, but does it ever get easier? Or is it just a white lie mothers tell other mothers to make them feel better? I don't think I qualify as an 'experienced' mother just yet, given how young my little bubba still is, but this is just what I have come to conclude thus far. No, it does not get any easier (yes, you read that right). Okay, let me just break this down for you real quick.

The newborn stage: This is when I had experienced some of the hardest months of my life. Most days felt like a daze, and I was in and out of mild postpartum depression. Newborns are fragile and cry at the littlest of things. Most of the time you will be frantically trying to figure out why your helpless little human is crying and how to stop it from doing so. It's basically a 24-hour festival of pooplosions, piss, farts, cries and screams, vomit, and stomach gas. Oh, and did I mention that they are hungry all the time at this stage? The thought of fully giving up breastfeeding came to mind a couple of times, to be honest. The main goal is to just keep everyone alive (particularly the baby) by the end of the day. Other than all that, they are insaaaanely cute at this stage. 

The infant stage: Exhausting to say the least. Analogous to newborns, but this time they are mobile and have nastier smelling poop. Being mobile means that they are more prone to getting hurt (read: falling off the bed). Teething is a total nightmare for both mom and baby. Let me just say a prayer for your nipples if you're currently at this stage. They'll also start to eat solids which means that you'll have meal preps and more cleaning added on to your already overflowing to-do list. Yay!

The toddler stage: I feel that the word backbreaking was created especially to describe this stage. They run, fall, climb, bump their heads, bite, scream. They are basically on a mission of self-destruction which means that you have to watch and run after your kid every single second! I'm not sure about other moms, but I suffer through at least fifteen mini heart attacks on a daily basis. Toddlers also almost never nap anymore, and require your undivided attention 24/7 which means that you don't have time to do anything else but to cater to the needs of your child. They throw tantrums, they throw food, they throw their toys. Oh, and they are much much heavier now. 

So, there. I think it can be reasonably concluded that motherhood does not get any easier. What it does become is a different kind of difficult as time progresses. But (yes, there is a but!), I do believe that we mothers get better at living with uncertainty, with chaos, with tantrums, with throwing, and the never-ending task of picking up toys from the floor. Over time, you will acquire a bunch of parenting tricks in your bag - the silly expression that will make your child laugh, the bribe that will get them in the shower, and the mantra that works best at keeping yourself sane. You'll learn what different cries mean, and eventually will also begin to learn how to decode the complex baby language. Things get less burdensome once you know that "bergertbergertbergert" means yogurt and "iyealk" means milk.

You get better at doing your daily chores and/or tasks despite having a child hanging onto your legs. You get better at having a conversation filled with interruptions. You get better at doing your morning exercise whilst a twenty-five pound baby is trying to climb on your back. I'm even composing this post while putting my son down for his nap. I mean it's not that these things don't bug you (we are after all still humans), it's just that you will learn on how to get used to it.

Mom-ing is hard, and I am in constant fear of screwing everything up. I'm realistic though - I don't aim for perfection. I just want to be able to raise a decent human being (possibly more in the future). And sometimes I become a nervous ball of anxiety because how can I do that if I don't know what I'm doing most of the time?! I am still in the process of learning that it is okay to have days that feel like a struggle and be uncertain that I'm doing things right. I think that parenting doesn't get any easier because it never becomes less important - no matter what age your kid is at. 

Even though my son is on the verge of the "terrible two" phase and my patience is constantly being tested, I feel that the toddler stage is currently my most favorite one. You can see them slowly becoming a mini version of you and your husband whilst at the same time developing their own unique personality. It's crazy how much and how fast they learn, and it's even crazier that you'll learn more from watching them than they'll ever learn from you. Truth be told, I can foresee that I will miss all of the things that are making my life not so very easy now - after all, they're not young forever (/uglycries). So just enjoy the parts you like, dislike the parts that bum you out, whatever. You don't have to constantly rate your performance. That's the only way that things will get any easier and how you will get better at being a mom. 

But you know, we'll see how it goes five years from now - maybe my perspective will change and maybe things will get easier. Savor whatever stage you're in now, because change is probably around the corner... and we know that can't be easy.

The Mommy Life

Slightly less than a year ago, I was faced with the dilemma of not knowing what to do with my life after I had my son. I had approached a crossroad and needed to make a decision on what kind of role I would play as the mother of my child - would I be a working mom who would continue to provide for my family and further advance my career, or would I stay at home and be a full time care provider? I had worked hard to get where I was... would I really just throw it all away? No I wouldn't... or so I thought.

After eight love-soaked weeks with my newborn son, I knew it was going to be difficult going back to work. Come to think of it, difficult is an understatement. In between shoots, I was constantly asking my mother for baby updates, secretly praying I wouldn't miss anything major. On the days that I had to work late (which was most days to be honest), I was haunted by an overwhelming sense of guilt. But I kept assuring myself that this was all for my boy, and his future. Every time I head to the office, I leave a piece of my heart at home. And eventually, I just simply lost interest in my AM to PM job. It took me six months to make the decision of wanting to become a stay-at-home mom. My son was growing so fast and learning new things everyday, and I didn't want to miss any more of that.

I want to be the one who puts him down for his naps in the afternoon, feeds him his meals, holds him when he is sick, teaches the little guy things that are still foreign and unbeknownst to him. I wanted (and still want to) be the first one to witness all his firsts. I am aware that parents who work full time can do many of these things, but I want to do these things at any time of the day - morning, noon, and/or night. I want to do it all, not out of a sense of pride, but out of pure love. I want to be with my son, and I want him to be with me.

It's been four months since I chose to be with my son full-time, and I've learnt a couple of things since then. Contrary to popular belief, no, stay-at-home moms do not have a ton of time to kill. Though mostly great, the transition hasn't been without some setbacks. As it turns out, being at home isn't as easy as it looks. While taking care of my child is my main priority, my duty is also to prevent the house from falling apart. Living in a house with eight other occupants, with my mom and I being the only girls, and no help, our days are considerably hectic to say the least. We cook, we clean, we run errands, we clean some more... I give credit where credit is due, and my mom deserves most, if not all, of the credit at keeping our home and family together. I can only wish to be half as good of a wife and mother as she is. Anyways, I feel that I need to put this out there because I'm tired of people thinking that I'm living the life of an empress, and do nothing but hang around with my kid at home.

I have officially become an expert on something. I am an expert on my child. I previously thought I knew everything there is to know about my son, and raising him, but lets face it - it is difficult to become an expert on your child when you are gone most of the time. You can catch up a little bit on the evenings and weekends, but it is not easy to actually be an expert on your children when you are not fully engaged in their lives. Cultivating parenting and home-management skills is satisfying in ways I never expected, especially since I never saw myself as the homemaker type. If ever I begin to mourn the loss of skills and opportunities in the workplace, I remind myself of how much I have learnt, the skills that I have established as a mom and wife, and the benefits that have been to me, my family, and others.

The wondrous thing about staying at home is that you have the best job security in the world. No one can replace you, unlike the ever-expandable corporate world. The fact is, there is only one mom and one dad. There are a million and one ways that you can mess up, but you will always be the parent of your children. You can't change that, they can't change that, nobody can change that. I used to think that being praised for a job well done by my boss and/or colleagues was great, but nothing beats the feeling of being told that I am doing a tremendous job at taking care of my son. I had previously invested my energy and time in things, the success of a company, and the success of myself, and it felt really good and satisfying. But it is not the same as investing in people, in my family, in relationships, and in my child. Investing in my child by raising him to be a strong and decent human being will not only benefit the future of our family, but also the future of our society, God willing.

Staying at home does not mean you don't do anything except things that revolve around your child. By making the choice to leave my career, I am now able to fully focus in building and flourishing my own clothing label. Due to certain commitments with my previous job, I wasn't able to do so. Staying at home means that I am free to spend time, not only to care for my son and family, but also to pursue personal interests and dreams outside the pressures of a job. It feels good to be doing something that fits into my life instead of fitting my life around something.

The most crucial thing I have come to learn is that raising children is not all about you anymore - it's not about what you get in return, it's not about your success, it's not about your self-esteem, it's not about your material achievements. It's about loving, nurturing, and doing for others. It's about building your empire of memories and treasures that will never fade. I made some huge sacrifices when I left my full-time job, no doubt about that, but those sacrifices were either material or focused on the self. The past few months has pushed me to change my notion about my life and my choices - that what is most important is not my professional success and the accolades that come with it, but the people in my life, my family, who I am, not only as a mom, but also as a woman - not what I do or produce in the professional world. My decision most definitely came with a cost, but it also comes with incredible and lasting benefits. 

My Labor Story (Part III)

5.00PM - ARRGGHHH. Pain level - 1049348329394. My contractions were more frequent now, and every time one comes, I would be shaking in pain. "The baby must be coming soon.", I thought to myself. The doctor came in once again to check my dilation. Yes, this could be it. Yes. Yes.

Five centimeters. You've got to be kidding me.

I was puzzled. Dumbfounded. Dismayed. More than anything, I was speechless. My journey was no where near the end, and I could hardly withstand the pain any longer. When the doctor went out, I started to cry. I wanted the pain to end so badly, but at the same time I wanted to proof that I can be strong like all the other moms, and have a drug-free natural birth. And, so I continue to toughen it out. Hafiz and my mom tried their best to keep me sane and calm.

6.00PM - The pain was getting stronger, and stronger, and it left me feeling like a month-old mushy and rotten vegetable. My cheeks were stained with my tears, and my hands were sore from gripping on to the handles of my bed. In the end, my mom and husband had manage to persuade me to take the epidural. Honestly, I was disappointed with myself because of that, but I just couldn't handle the pain any longer. My fear of needles disappeared that evening - I just wanted to be free of the pain of my contractions. Within a few minutes of having a needle stuck into my spine, I felt relieved of the pain that had been aggravating me for the past few hours. I couldn't help but to think - "Why didn't I take the epidural sooner?!". I was in and out of slumber after that.

7.30PM - I felt a sense of joy watching the levels of my contractions on the machine going sky high, but here I am barely feeling anything. Dilation - six centimeters. This boy of mine is really taking his time. "By the looks of it, the baby could either come tonight or tomorrow. We'll see which one he chooses." said my doctor. Any nervousness I had of giving birth was gone by now. I was basically too tired to feel anything at this point. My temperature still hadn't subside despite already being given medication, so the nurses had to add a dose of antibiotics into my already drugged self. Mom told me that my dad and brothers are in the waiting room rooting for me, and that made me feel so much joy.

My fever was really draining my energy. I wasn't exactly allowed to have heavy meals, hence I survived on dates and Ribena.

9.00PM - Seven centimeters. The nurse had to insert a tube in my lady parts to empty my bladder. It was the longest and awkwardest thirty seconds of my life. Need I remind you that both my mom and husband were there in the room which meaaaans they could hear every drop of pee being drained out of my body. Awkward is an understatement, actually. Mom, Hafiz, and I were getting really restless and tired. Bless the two - despite so, they never left my side even for a second.

And again, we wait. Will this baby ever come out?!

10.30PM - Eight centimeters - woohoo! My doctor proceeded to manually break my water. I didn't feel any pain when this was done. It was more of a pressure-like sensation. Even though I was already on epidural, I started to feel the strain of my contractions again. Checked my contraction levels, and it was shooting upwards. No wonder. "The baby should be out in no time. Get yourself ready, I'll see you in a bit ya?", said my doctor joyfully. How do I get myself ready to have a baby come out of my vagina?! Deep breaths, fuh fuh. Mom continued giving me back rubs to ease the pain, whilst Hafiz tried to reenergize me with more dates and Ribena. Honestly, the fact that my life was going to go through a 180 degrees change after tonight hadn't really sunk in. Heck, I hadn't fully digested that I was carrying a baby inside me to begin with.

So so tired, and so so ready to push.

11.30PM - "OK Iman, you're ready to go!", said my doctor whilst putting on her rubber gloves. Wait, what?! And suddenly things were moving almost too rapidly - everyone was moving faster, talking faster, everything faster. The nurses had propped my legs up, and I abruptly felt the need to push. There were about eight people other than myself in the labor room at this moment. Eight people were going to see me give birth. Eight people were going to have front row seats to watch my baby come out of my lady parts. To be honest, I was more nervous about having various people see my hoo-haa more than I was about actually giving birth. But when the time came, I didn't give it a second thought. My mom, my husband, and the nurses were like my personal cheerleaders - enthusiastically cheering on every single time I pushed.

"Push, push, yes, push!"
"Just a little bit more, sayang!"
"Yes, that's the way, good girl!"
"Puuuuuuush. You can do it!"

What was going on in my head the whole time? "Don't lift up your butt, don't lift up your butt..". A few people had advised me not to do so if I didn't want my vagina to be torn all the way to my anus. Of course I didn't want that, hence the chant.

I pushed about six times before the doctor said, "I can see the head now. Just a few more pushes!". My husband was the most zealous one in the room which was quite surprising as he doesn't handle blood and all things gory too well. He was walking back and forth, from standing next to me to trying to get a good look at his son. I kept hearing him say, "I see him! I see him!" and "This is so amazing!".

11.45PM - I had to push three more times before I finally heard my baby's cry. The feeling of hearing my baby's voice for the first time was profoundly surreal. The only thing more beautiful than that was seeing my baby for the first time. And when they first put him into my arms for body-to-body contact... /cries. I am tearing up just thinking about it. I couldn't stop thanking Allah for this graceful miracle. After the short time I had to welcome my son into the world, the nurses took him once again to get him cleaned up. My mom and husband followed the baby wherever he went. I on the other hand had to continue my battle, and push my placenta out. Unlike the baby, the placenta only required a single push. The doctor then proceeded to stitch me up. Despite feeling rather numb down there, I could feel the needle going in and out of my lady parts. And there I find myself thanking the person who invented epidural. My ever calm doctor seemed to be enjoying herself though - taking her time to gently stitch me up. She kind of looked like she was knitting a sweater.

My husband came back soon after, and I've never seen him look happier. His eyes were glowing and he had this massive smile plastered across his face. He couldn't stop talking about our son. One of the nurses then came in with our bundle of joy all wrapped up like a little eskimo. He was sucking on his thumb when the nurse gave him to me, hence she suggested that I try feeding him. The little genius instantly knew what to do, masyaAllah.

It's funny really, I thought I knew all there is to know about love and/or loving another person, but then I had a child - and I realized that I didn't know anything about love. I had underestimated how great and infinite one's love to another can be. My son redefined the meaning of love for me.

So that is it. That is my labor story.

My Labor Story (Part II)

11.15AM - My doctor arrived - finally a familiar face. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, she got right down to business - in other words, checking my dilation. Again, I spread my legs unwillingly (/cringe). Three centimeters.

"Two centimeters within thirty minutes, that's quite fast huh? There's quite a lot of blood too. I think we should just admit you lah ya? How far apart are your contractions?" Doctor.

"Wow, that is fast. They're very inconsistent actually. They come and go as they please. Is it normal for me to be bleeding so much? Or should I be worried?" Me.

"Oh yes, it's totally normal. You just rest, and I'll come and check on you in a few hours okay? Are you thinking of anything right now? Anything to ease the pain?" Doctor.

"No, not just yet." Me.

Well, there goes my food fiesta. Hafiz offered to go out and get me food, but the thought of being left alone in the labor room horrifies the bejeezus out of me. Nonetheless, he still had to leave me by myself for a bit to settle the registration and admittance processes. Whilst he was away, I had to answer a myriad of questions, and fill in numerous amounts of forms - all that whilst having to endure the agony of my contractions. The nurses had also briefed me on the different types of pain relief - Entonox (gas), Meptid, and of course the infamous Epidural. My thoughts on pain relief - Entonox? Yes. Meptid? Perhaps. Epidural? Hmm, maaaaybe. Like most mommies, I wanted my first labor to be as natural as possible, hence I didn't give much thought on pain relief, but I didn't dismiss the subject entirely either.

11.45AM - Pain level: 5. My support system (aka mom) arrived. Lucky for me, the hospital allows both my husband and my mom to be in the labor room. I can't imagine going through my labor without either of the two. My husband came back not too long after that, and the three of us had lunch together in the room. I was still able to talk, Whatsapp my friends, and laugh at my own jokes at this point. "This isn't so bad. Nothing I can't handle. Maybe people were just exaggerating the pain..", I thought to myself. Well, ha-ha the joke was definitely on me.

Time moved inordinately slow after this point.

2.00PM - Pain level: 7. The pain was getting more and more profound by the minute. I was pretty much dependent on Entonox by now - which actually serves more as a distraction rather than pain relief, to be honest. I could feel my energy slowly creeping out of my body. My dilation was checked yet again - five centimeters. "OK, just five more to go, shouldn't take that long right? Keep the Ribena coming." Mom insisted that I take a nap, but how could I? So. Much. Pain. My attempts at taking my mind of the pain included listening to verses from the Quran, playing endless levels of Candy Crush, and reminiscing and daydreaming about my days at Lombok.

It wasn't long before I couldn't do anything, but stay curled up in a fetal position. Mom and Hafiz took turns at giving me back rubs.

3.30PM - Pain level: 9. I was experiencing cold sweats by now. It felt as though someone was forcefully extracting the bones of my spine one at a time, whilst persistently slashing my uterus with a samurai sword. The pain is real - very, very real. With that said however, I was still trying to abstain myself from succumbing to other forms of pain relief other than Entonox. I kept telling myself that it will all be over before I know it, and I just had to brave through the pain a while longer. One of the nurses had come in to do the routine check up and found that my temperature had spiked up to 39 degrees. Yikes. Concerned that it would affect my energy levels, the nurses were advised to give me fever medicine via an IV tube. Anyone who knows me may know of my tremendous fear of needles. Despite already experiencing severe contractions (like what could be more painful than that, right?!), I was still freaking out about having a needle in my hand. In the end, I think I handled it relatively well (/pats self on the back).

"Just a little bit more. I can do this.", I kept telling myself.

(To be continued...)

My Labor Story (Part I)

Growing up, I dreamt to be many things, but being a young mother was never one of them. But now that I am one, my beautiful baby boy feels like a dream come true. Weird how God works - blessing me with something that I didn't even know I wanted and/or needed. So this is me reliving one of the best days of my life. This is my labor story.

Friday, 15th May 2015

Hafiz and I had planned to go to the baby fair that was happening during the weekend weeks beforehand. We still had a couple of things that we needed to buy before we welcome our little one. As a matter of fact, our weekend was revolved around preparing for the arrival of our baby. Besides attending the baby fair, we had also planned to rearrange and/or spring clean our mess of a room to make space for the little guy. Weekends are the only time where we can actually get things done due to our full-time jobs, thus the forty-eight hours we have at the end of every week is eminently crucial. There was basically so much to do in so little time. But that week in particular, I had requested to be excluded from work on Monday so that I can get more things done. Before we said our goodnights, we had gone through our things-to-buy list together - carseat, diapers, bathtub, carrier... amongst other things. I had also texted a friend to confirm our lunch plans for the following day. With fluffed pillows, alarms set, and lights turned off, we cuddled to sleep.

Saturday, 16th May 2015
6.30AM - I was woken up by an intense pain in my abdomen and lower back. It was my first time feeling that kind of pain throughout my whole pregnancy, but I was only 36 weeks pregnant then, hence I didn't think much of it. Besides, it was just like one of my bad period pain days. "Perhaps this is what they call Braxton Hicks...", I thought to myself. Performed my Fajr prayers, and went back to bed in hopes that the pain will go away when I wake up.

9.30AM - Hafiz woke me up, and asked me if I still wanted to go to the baby fair. Half asleep and in pain, I dragged myself to the toilet.

"Mm, sayang? I don't think we can go to the baby fair." Me.
"Huh? Why?" Hafiz.
"I'm bleeding." Me.
"What?! Banyak ke?!" Hafiz.
"Quite lah. Can you help me call Azi (my gynae's asisstant), and ask her what we should do." Me.
"OK, OK." Hafiz.

I took my time in the shower - not really feeling anything. It was only when Hafiz told me that he was asked to bring me straight to the labor department, that I started feeling rather apprehensive. I immediately texted my mom to let her know what was happening. Thank goodness I had listened to her, and had packed my hospital bag way beforehand. After I had gotten myself ready, I sat on the bed, and watched my husband pace back and forth across our room while gathering his things. Surprisingly, he was more anxious than I was. After he was done packing, we looked at each other and just hugged in silence. I remember it so clearly because I think it was at that moment that we realized that our lives were going to go through a major transition after this trip to the hospital. We stayed that way for awhile.

10.30AM - On the way to the hospital, we made a pit stop at the petrol station to get some snacks - Ribena (seriously guys, this was my #1 energy booster), candies, buns, etc. Another occurrence to prove that my husband was more nervous than I was was that he had suddenly forgotten the way to the hospital despite him always accompanying me to my monthly prenatal check-ups. That made me forget about the pain I was feeling for a little while.

We reached the hospital, and I insisted that I walk from the parking lot together with my husband instead of him dropping me off at the lobby. As instructed, we went straight to the labor department. A nurse had then led us into a room, and asked us to wait in there until someone comes to assist us. The room was huge - bigger than any hospital rooms I've ever been in. There's a bed, a toilet, a couch, a couple of chairs, oh cool - there's even an extra sink... Hey, what's this spotlight for? That's odd - why is there a table of apparatuses over there? Wait a minute...

"IS THIS THE ROOM THAT I'M GONNA GIVE BIRTH IN?!" Cue panic attack.

A few minutes later, a nurse came in and said that she wanted to check how far dilated I was. I remember having a conversation with my colleagues in which one of them told us that doctors and/or nurses have to insert their fingers inside your lady parts in order to check your dilation (/gulp). I gave Hafiz a look that probably reeked of terror, and he immediately held my hand.

"Hmm, I can't seem to find your cervix. Hold on just a sec." And she walks out.

"What does she mean she can't find my cervix?! Did you see the amount of blood she had on her gloves?!" Obviously I was freaking out. Hafiz tried his best to reassure me that everything was going to be fine. The nurse came back with a superior and she too proceeded to check my dilation. Yikes, here we go again. One centimeter. Still a long way to go, she said. In the mean time, the nurse suggested that I go out and have a feast because in her words, "It'll be a while till you get to eat good food again". But before she could let me go off on my food run, we had to wait for my doctor to come and check me up.

Yumm, salmon sashimi...

(To be continued...)

Journey To Getting Hitched (Part 2)

God had other plans, however. Not long after my dad made the statement of wanting to have a man-to-man talk with Hafiz, he started developing severe back pains -- severe enough to land him a three-month long medical leave from work. With the uncertainty of when my dad would resume work, and the possibility of him having to undergo a major surgery, we had to put all marriage talks aside. After numerous trips to a myriad of doctors, hours of physical therapy, and nights of worrying, my dad got better -- slowly but surely. In the midst of my dad's recovery, my grandma had succumbed to liver cancer. It was a very dark moment for us all, given that it was the first death within the family. With that said, it took our family quite some time to get used to the absence of our beloved Nanny/Mama. 

Even though discussions regarding a possible union were put on hold, the idea was never fully ignored. My parents would talk about the matter with me from time to time, making sure that I hadn't changed my mind. With God's will, my dad got so much better by the time March arrived. His doctor and physicist had both given him the thumbs up to get back on the plane. And then the moment came... the man-to-man talk (/shivers). My dad insisted that the talk should be just between the two of them, and no one else. Quiet as a mouse, I sat on the stairs whilst eagerly trying to make out what was exchanged between the two. It didn't take me long to give the mission up though. Who would have thought that the talk would last for four hours. Yes, four long hours. I didn't know what to think of it -- did it mean that they got along really well, or did my dad use those hours to cover up a murder scene... (/gulp). Thank the Lord it wasn't the latter. During the talk, it was decided that both parents would meet the next coming weekend to discuss the matter even further whilst Hafiz and I attend the compulsory pre-marital course. Another crucial thing that was agreed on by the two was that Hafiz and I would not see each other until the day of the wedding -- a wedding that was yet to have a date. I was genuinely upset that he would agree to such thing. Within the two and half years we had been together (+ some months before), we had never been apart except for that one time I went to the UK for a family vacation. And here he was suggesting that we do not meet and limit all contacts in the next, what... three months? But he assured me that it was going to be worth it, and it is something that he had to do, for him, myself, and our future. 

Our last 'date' was during the pre-marital course, and it was also then that it all felt real to me. "Wow, this is really happening. We are really getting married." I thought to myself about only half a million times. And whilst we were in the mosque, our parents were having their own little meeting. Yikes. I kept on sneaking text messages to my mom to see how everything was going, but of course she refused to spare me any details via the telephone. But Alhamdulillah, with just one meeting, our parents had managed to mutually agree on a date -- 15th of June 2014. My dad had made it clear from the start -- he wanted to take the easiest route. Why make the process of completing half your deen arduous? Everything was surpassingly straightforward and painless that most times it didn't feel like I was going to tie the knot in three months' time. No entourage were sent to ask for my hand, no overpriced fancy-schmancy engagement, no ludicrous conditions and/or demands were set, no nothing. I realize now that marriage is made difficult due to our culture. If things are planned based on Islam, almost nothing is burdensome. Most parents have too high of an expectation when it comes to choosing partners for their children. All my dad asked was if I was confident that Hafiz could lead me closer to Allah. He didn't ask me how much Hafiz earns, what kind of car Hafiz drives, or if Hafiz lavishes me with branded goods. It wasn't because my dad didn't care, but it was because all that do not matter. If you do things purely for the sake of Allah, He will make things easy for you, and it will all eventually fall into place. All you have to do is put your trust in Him.

And that meant that we really had to stay away from each other. To genuinely purify our intentions of getting married for the sake of Allah. Many people gave me bewildered reactions whenever I tell them that Hafiz and I are staying away from each other until the day of our wedding. "How are you going to plan your wedding if you don't see each other?","But what is wrong with seeing each other? Just don't do anything you're not supposed to!","But, wwwwhyyyy?","Aren't you worried that it'll drive you guys apart instead?","I don't think that's necessary.", and all things simultaneous to those. To describe the three months as being difficult would be an understatement to say the least. It was a very intense and emotionally-straining period, especially on my side, given that I didn't understand the purpose of it all in the beginning. But thinking about it now, I'm glad that we went on with the three-month hiatus. It blossomed our relationship into one that is much more genuine and powerful. And the feeling of seeing him for the first time on the day of our union was... (/sigh) nothing short of beautiful.

And that was that. Before I knew it, I became someone's wife. And I wouldn't trade the life I have now for anything.

Journey To Getting Hitched (Part I)

I remember very clearly telling my mom that I don't want to get married before 27 and/or before getting my career on track. My mom let out a little laugh and said, "Yeah, right. When you meet the right guy, you will be the one begging me to marry you off." Obviously I thought my mom was being nonsensical. I wasn't even a believer of love back then. It's either my mom secretly possess the ability to see the future, or she knows me a little bit too well because as it turned out, what she predicted was right on the dot. Well, I didn't beg, but... you know what I mean.

I don't know what happened, how it happened, but it did. And I couldn't be happier.

My now husband made his intentions of marrying me very clear right from the beginning of our relationship. Of course I thought he was just pulling my strings what with him knowing how big of a commitment-phobe I was at the time. I realized his marriage talks and hints were all serious after he shared them with my mom. Even so, I still remained calm as I knew that that chapter of my life is still a gazillion miles away - especially after my dad had made it clear that marriage is totally out of the picture until both Hafiz and I graduate, and land ourselves stable jobs. However, a few months and an epiphany later, with a 1/2 don't-take-me-seriously, and a 1/2 no-actually-I-am-being-serious face, he nonchalantly suggests that I get married next year (this was sometime in September '13). When I told Hafiz of my dad's sudden and unforeseen suggestion, I could see fireworks going off in that head of his. If he could marry me right then and there, he probably would.

I don't quite remember how I got comfortable with the whole idea of marriage, but it was around the time when my dad asked me the two questions that kept haunting me in the AMs - "Do you see yourself with anyone else? If the answer's no, then why wait if you can do it now?". He has a very good point there right? Why wait and pile on the sins, when you can make it halal and get rewards for even the simplest of acts? And so I agreed - but not after asking both my dad and Hafiz a million and one questions. Who's going to support us financially? Where are we going to live? What about my studies? What am I gonna feed you if I can't cook? But the two of them never fail to assure me that everything will be alright if I just put all my trust in the Almighty. When I gave my dad the thumbs up, I could see that he was having trouble processing it - as if he couldn't believe that his one and only daughter, the rebellious one out of the whole lot, has agreed to settle down. He kept asking me if I was being serious, and/or if I was actually ready. Well, I was serious, but I wasn't sure if I was ready.

Without a doubt, my dad could sense that I wasn't ready. Hence, before anything was proceeded with, my parents and I had a myriad of serious (and slightly awkward) talks. Talks that involved a lot of questions, interrogations, heart-to-hearts, feelings, and tears. Alongside with making sure that I'm making the right decision, they wanted me to know what I'm getting myself into - they explained to me about the side of marriage that are hardly ever portrayed in the movies I watch, and the books I read. After about a whole month of this, my dad decided that it was time for him to have a man-to-man talk with Hafiz.

(To be continued...)