“An ancient species of everlasting plants known as the Resurrection plant that can withstand almost total dehydration for decades (losing 98% of its water content) and return to life unscathed when rehydrated … The Rose of Jericho is also said to have mystical properties and bring peace, harmony and abundance.”

I am so not the gardening type, but I was curious enough to put this in a bowl of water, almost a year after I first received it with a press release. I got it all shrivelled up and this is what it looks like after it has bloomed. It reminds me of those Chinese tea things that start out as a ball and blossom into a flower when you add hot water. This is probably going to be the only thing I ever “plant” in a long, long time to come.

My boss recently got back from the UK and he brought with him baby’s first toy! (How sweet of him.) He said they didn’t have this in gender-neutral colours so he went with the blue because he thinks we might be having a boy. Having spent the last couple of weeks baby shopping, I must say this gender-neutral thing is a lot trickier than I thought it would be. I bought a blue changing mat the other day because the store only had it in blue or pink, and then, just to balance it out, I bought a pink bath towel. I’ve been thinking if I should name the bunny. I love how he sits in the pouch.

Most of them don’t even explain why they think it’s one or the other, though our families seem to be going by the theory that a small, neat and sharp-ish bump indicates a boy. But I’m glad everyone’s getting in on the fun. In fact, the office has even started a betting pool to guess baby’s sex and the date of birth. So far, the majority seems to think we could be having a boy, so if it turns out otherwise, those four people who bet baby girl are in for a treat.

Both our mums are also leaning towards boy, although I must add that all their guesses are followed by a “but”. As in, “I think it’s a boy but I thought your sister was a boy too because my bump was so neat when I was carrying her” (my mum). And, “It looks like it could be a boy but I was so sure [Y's sister] was a boy too until she came out” (my mum-in-law).

As for hubby and myself, our first guess was that we’re having a boy. Hubby was so sure we even bought boys’ clothes when we got a voucher that we had to spend before the end of last year. Recently, though, I’ve been thinking it might be a girl, and hubby woke up one morning last week convinced of the same. So we’ll see. One of my new-mummy friends told me the woman always knows instinctively, but I think my instincts are just as confused as I am.

Sometime towards the end of my first trimester, I was told that in order to prevent stretch marks, I would have to apply stretch-mark cream right from the minute I found out I was pregnant, and not just once a day but several times a day! I thought it was a bit extreme. I mean, who has time to apply cream on their tummy several times throughout the day?

So I went out and got myself a big bottle of Bio-Oil and started applying that every night instead. I’ve kept it up most nights since my second trimester, although I admit to occasionally being too lazy or too tired every once in a while. There are plenty of fantastic stretch-mark creams out there, or so I’ve been told, but I picked Bio-Oil because: 1) Lots of people have told me how good it is; 2) It’s really affordable.

Until recently, I thought I was doing pretty well. Then I found out that the real challenge lies ahead. Apparently, I’m going to absolutely balloon in these last weeks and it’s when you grow really big really fast that stretch marks develop. As if to underline the point, Y discovered these first marks that very night. They’re fairly small but a rather defiant purplish colour, kind of like bruises.

I’m preparing myself for more – as Y put it, “Of course you’re going to get stretch marks, you’re carrying a baby inside you for nine months!” – but in the meantime, I also don’t think I’ll be playing hooky from my nightly Bio-Oil routine anymore.

The following day, when it was just me and my in-laws, my father-in-law basically suggested that if Y came home from work in a bad mood, I should leave him alone. I’m sure he meant it in a peacemaking kind of way – he did say it so very, very nicely – but he also said: “Sometimes we men, when we have a bad day at work…”

My first thought was, “Excuse me, but I’m over seven months pregnant and working full-time, but I still don’t think it would be fair for me to come home and give Y attitude just because I had a bad day.” But I didn’t say anything. Or rather, I didn’t say anything to express my disagreement. Probably because my father-in-law said it so nicely, and because I’m generally a non-confrontational person unless you’re my immediate family or my husband.

After I got home, however, I got really annoyed at the chauvinistic implications of that remark. The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I got – not so much at my father-in-law, but at myself for not saying anything. And the more I stewed in my frustration, the more worked-up I became. The worst part was, I didn’t know if I was overreacting because of all the pregnancy hormones (I’ve been on the look-out for mood swings since day one) or if it really was as big a deal as I was quickly making it out to be.

So I did what I do best – write. I sat down at my laptop and started to write this post. I got as far as the second paragraph… and my frustration completely dissipated. I contemplated deleting everything since I was no longer annoyed, but decided to keep at it. And the more I wrote, the calmer I felt and the more convinced I became that, yes, it was those hormones after all.

I was initially going to title this post, “This will teach me to be so damn un-confrontational.” Then I thought I’d make it about how I was no longer upset about my father-in-law’s remark because I understand and appreciate the fact that he meant well. Now, I think it’s about how my pregnancy hormones are (finally) kicking in and screwing with me because, as hubby will testify, it’s been pretty peaceful so far. (Thank God for that.)

I ask because I was raised to move my ass the instant someone called, and when I married Y, I was surprised to discover that he wasn’t. In fact, he has no problem keeping his family waiting while he finishes something up, whereas I’d be the one standing at the door (or the dining table) going, “Come on, your parents are waiting.”

It was a bit of a “culture shock” the first few years, but now I’m used to it, if not entirely comfortable with it still. More and more I’m beginning to see how Y and I are rubbing off on each other. These days, he definitely moves that much quicker when someone is waiting for him while I, on the other hand, am learning that it’s okay to be a little slower sometimes. I hope we’re changing for the better.

Our Chinese New Year reunion dinner was exceptionally pretty this year. Y and I have never been big on the whole visiting shebang, and luckily for us, neither are our families. Here’s wishing you a wonderful Chinese New Year break, one that turns out just the way you hope for it to, and an even better year of the Tiger ahead. Gong Xi Fa Cai!

From what I’ve been told, traditional Chinese confinement practices include not bathing and washing your hair for a month, no going out, eating as much ginger and chicken as possible and then some, and not drinking any water that hasn’t first been boiled/mixed with red dates.

I have no problems with not going out, it’s the no bathing part that I cannot tolerate. I understand how it might be a good idea in China, where I assume these practices originated from, when the winters are bitterly cold and most people only shower once a week or less anyway, but to even suggest such a thing when we live practically on the equator is completely ridiculous to me.

Also, how can not drinking water for a month be a good idea? It amazes me that my mother, who spent much of my childhood telling my sisters and I to “use our common sense” is unable to do the same when it comes to Chinese confinement practices. Don’t get me wrong, I know how important it is for me to rest and recover well post-birth, I just think people also need to consider the origins of these traditions, the reasons and context surrounding them, and how they apply to us who no longer live in China.

I know a confinement lady can be a great help in many ways, and not all of them are as scary and crazy as I’ve imagined them to be in my mind, but honestly, I don’t really want to take the risk. If childbirth and the month proceeding it is as awful as my mother has made it out to be – a part of me wonders why she had four children if it was all so miserable or if she’s just saying it to scare me into getting a confinement lady – then I want to make sure I’m as comfortable and relaxed as possible. And the last thing I’ll need is a stranger invading my bedroom and nagging me everytime I want a shower.

Did you have a traditional Chinese confinement? What are some of the other things you cannot do during your confinement?

Why I like watching TV with my unborn baby #1: Armrest

Why I like watching TV with my unborn baby #2: Easy access remote control

Why I like watching TV with my unborn baby #3: Cup holder

The thing that struck me the most was how simple and communal everything was. The couple’s closest friends and family gathered around them for the ceremony, some sitting on the floor, others standing around. It felt really homely because it was held in the groom’s living room – some opt to have their ceremony in a mosque – and everyone just seemed laidback and happy without detracting from the solemnness of the occasion. I thought there was something really beautiful about that aspect of it.

In the picture, the groom is taking his marriage vows and signing the marriage contract before a religious official while the bride looks on. The bride doesn’t get to say anything during the ceremony, which I’ll admit felt a little weird to me.

The couple exchanging wedding rings after the ceremony. In more conservative fashion, the bride kisses her new husband’s hand while the groom kisses his new wife on the forehead. Unlike the Western ‘you may kiss the bride’ custom, which feels romantic, this feels really sweet. And did I mention that the newlyweds are absolutely darling?