Reflections

My life has been divided into two--before children and after children. Before having children, none who knew me would have described me as being the maternal type. Those who knew me well were actually surprised when I announced that I was pregnant. What would possess a woman who was so self-absorbed, independent, and unsentimental to want to have a child? Actually, it came down to the moment when I first held my niece. There she was, all of three days old, looking quizzically into my face when it suddenly occurred to me that this tiny being contained a portion of my family heritage and yet was an entirely separate being. That incident did not instantly transform me into a baby-loving person. But it did give me pause, and for the first time I wondered what it would be like to have a child with my husband.

People often talk about the magical experience of being pregnant. The glow of pregnant women, their beauty and serenity, the womanliness of it all. The first time I was pregnant, I was quite repulsed by what was happening to my body. Although I joked that it felt as though an alien was growing inside me, sucking my life's essence, making me tired and cranky, robbing me of my one vice, coffee--I was only half joking.

Both my sisters suffered miscarriages. One in ten pregnancies end in miscarriage. The odds, I felt, were against me and I prepared mentally for the potential loss. So when Zoe kicked for the first time, I thought I had lost her. It was quite amazing how quickly I went from mildly resenting being pregnant to having my heart stop with fear. "Something's happened," I told my husband, waking him from a deep sleep. He put his ear to my belly and listened, and for the first time we felt very much connected to this little creature growing inside me. I felt her kick and he heard her heartbeat.

Although having a child changed me profoundly, it changed my husband even more. He has become one of those utterly devoted fathers who never knew they had it in them. In fact, neither of us had spent much time with children, let alone babies, before having one of our own. The first night at the hospital after Zoe was born, we argued over who would change "its" diaper. This was only because we hadn't agreed on a name and because we didn't know how to actually change a diaper. Within a week, not only were we changing diapers like pros, but we could also do it half asleep in the middle of the night. Nevertheless, we still argued about whose turn it was. With Phoebe, I do most of the diaper changing, but I feel it has to do with the fact that I feel guilty for working outside the home and missing out on her life, whereas I took a year off work after Zoe was born.

If I was slow to appreciate my status as a pregnant woman the first time, I made up for it the second time with Phoebe. I gladly accepted all the seats on buses and the MRT that were offered. I moved into my maternity clothes almost immediately after my belly started to show. And I ate to my heart's content between the bouts of nausea. Yes, the baby was squishing my organs all out of place, taking up room that was normally allotted to my bladder, and generally sucking all the nutrients from my body, but she was a healthy, thriving baby and that was enough for me.

Some women I know didn't have an easy time with their pregnancies or labor. One friend has flatly stated that she would never become pregnant again, "Not even if someone paid me a million dollars." For me, the pregnancy and labor were the easy part. I hate pain and my pain threshold is notoriously low, but it helped psychologically that there was an end to each phase. The fact that labor was short both times was an added bonus. The tough part was trying to see past the first three months after the baby was born. The endless feedings, the anxiety inherent in caring for a vulnerable being, and the household chores that were all put on hold, all took a serious toll. The worst aspect was the sleep deprivation, not sleeping for more than two or three hours at a time. A doctor once told a new mother that nobody ever died from a lack of sleep, but I contend that one could commit murder due to a lack of sleep. Once, after Brent had taken the baby for a walk, cooked dinner, and washed the dishes, I viciously lashed out at him for splashing water all over the kitchen floor (which he has done for the last 13 years). His response was, "At what point is your head going to start spinning around?" inferring that I was possessed by the devil a la Regan in the movie The Exorcist.

All hardships and sleepless nights aside, I am truly grateful for having two happy, healthy, and gorgeous children and a supportive and devoted husband. I have a long way to go before anyone would consider me a nurturing mother type (I complain too much for one), but I'm proud to say that my life has been enriched immeasurably by my experiences as a mother these last three years. Before having children, the most important thing in life was going on vacations. After having children, the most important thing is getting my daily dose of hugs and kisses from Zoe and Phoebe. I may no longer have the freedoms and solitude that I once cherished, but I wouldn't part with my babies for anything--not even for a million dollars.

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