Food Friday

This isn't a typical Food Friday post, because it's not about something that I made. Rather, my sister got me hooked on a baking blog, and I just have to share!

I absolutely love to bake cakes. And even more than baking, I love to decorate cakes! So ever since Jenna pointed out this blog to me, I've been hooked.

In particular, I love her cake pops. She mixes crumbled cake with icing, rolls it into a ball, puts it on a stick, and then decorates it.

Yup, they're all edible!

If you love baked goods, even if you don't make them yourself, just check out Bakerella. The photos of the stuff she comes up with will make you drool all over your keyboard. Don't say I didn't warn you!

Decision time

I thought I had healed, both physically and emotionally, from my experience of having a casesarian section when Norah was born. Over the past five or six weeks, I've come to realize that I was somewhat mistaken on both counts. I was out one evening with five other women from our parish, three of whom are young mothers as well. We were discussing our labour and delivery experiences, and one woman, even after hearing what I went through, and even though she'd had a rather easy experience said, "I'm scared of going through labour again! I wish I could just ask to have a c-section!" It was probably one of my greatest moments of self-control. I continued to sit in my seat and smile politely, when all I wanted to do was run crying from the coffee shop.


Why would anyone choose such an experience if it weren't necessary? Why would one want to be numbed from the ribs down, have her arms strapped down straight out by her sides, have a sheet draped in front of her face, and be totally cut off and disassociated from the birth of her child? Every time I watch "A Baby Story" and the woman ends up having a c-section, I end up in tears. I know I certainly never want to repeat that experience.


And yet, that is what I have chosen to do.


If you've read my older posts, you know that recently my OB offered me the option of attempting a VBAC (vaginal birth after caesarian). I was overjoyed at the prospect of being able to fulfill my dream of actually pushing out my baby. Actually, the way I explained it to Francis was "to actually give birth, not just have a baby taken out of me". So, like with just about everything else in my life, I sat down and started researching the pros and cons of each option.


There are risks involved with both c-sections and VBACs. And those risks are not insignificant. For example, with a c-section (which is major abdominal surgery):
- The maternal death rate is twice as high for elective c/s as for vaginal birth
- Babies delivered by c/s have an increased risk of respiratory problems.
- Serious complications for women undergoing c/s include infection (up to 30% of women acquire one postpartum), haemorrhage, blood transfusions, bladder and bowel injury, heart and lung complications, blood clots in the legs, anesthesia complications, possible scar tissue adhesions, the ability to establish breastfeeding is reduced, and possible hysterectomy (both in current and future pregnancies)
- In subsequent pregnancies, women with a prior c/s have higher rates of secondary infertility, miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, and serious placental abnormalities.


See? Scary stuff. Believe me, I don't take any of that lightly. But here's the difference: with a VBAC, the biggest risks are to the baby, whereas the risks with the c-section are primarly to the mother's well-being.


The most significant risk in attempting a VBAC is uterine rupture. Sure, it's my uterus that would rupture, but it's my baby whose life would be on the line. Best case scenario - oxygen-deprivation related problems like cerebral palsy. Worst case scenario - baby would die. Because of the extreme pain I've been experiencing at the site of my internal stitches, I worry that this may be an indication that I'd be at higher risk for complications during labour and delivery, should I attempt a VBAC.


As a woman, I have strong preferences about the kind of birth I would like to experience, and nowhere in those preferences will you find "c-section". But as a mother, I know that it is my job to do what is best and safest for my baby regardless of my preferences. And isn't that, really, what so much of motherhood is about? Dying to ourselves, dying to our preferences, to do what our children need.

I'd prefer not to change poopy diapers. But I do, and I do it with love. I'd prefer not to let my dinner get cold while I try (often in vain) to find something that will suit Norah's tastes of the day. But I do, and I do it with love. By the time I was using my third kind of antibiotics and was bleeding nearly constantly, I would have prefered to stop breastfeeding. But I kept going, and I did it with love.

I'd prefer not to give up my hopes and dreams of being able to push my baby into the world. But it's safer for my child, so that's what I'll do.

And I hope I'll be able to do it with love.

Just have to say:

I love my kid!

Norah's a huge fan of bathtime, but not a fan of having her hair washed. She has a bath every night before bed, but we tend to only wash her hair once or maybe twice a week. It just seems mean to make her so angry during what is otherwise a very enjoyable bedtime routine. Usually, after having her head lathered and rinsed, she's completely ticked off until she's cuddled up with one of us in the rocking chair for her lullaby and blessing. Last night, however, she bounced back very quickly, and was downright cheery in spite of her wet hair. Francis took the opportunity to do a little "styling" with the towel. She's such a good sport!

Oh, and if you're wondering why the soother looks a little orange, that's due to her insisting on having it right after taking a big mouthful of sweet potatoes. It's not quite as stained today, but it looked pretty gross last night!

"The best laid plans...

... of mice and men, often go awry." (Rest in peace, Mr. Clancey.)

It seems to be common (and perfectly acceptable) to ask a pregnant woman whether or not her pregnancy was "planned". I've been asked this both by people who know we practice NFP, and those who don't, those who are advocates of the method, and those who give it no more credit than the "rythm method". From people within our circle who understand and appreciate NFP, I suppose it's to be expected, as so many couples we know who use it have had "surprise" first babies. I find it's even more common from those who don't know about or understand NFP with this pregnancy - as if people couldn't possibly believe that we'd actually be okay with having two kids under 16 months apart. But regardless of who does the asking, every time it comes up it seems as though people are expecting either "yes" or "no". But the way I see it, there's really a third option.

This is my third pregnancy. I had an early miscarriage the first time we conceived, then (by God's grace) Norah was conceived two weeks later. Both of these pregnancies were, in fact, "planned". When Francis and I got married, we knew that we would prefer to have a little bit of time alone together before we got pregnant. We had a few things we wanted to check off our to-do list first - I'm not talking about touring the south of France here. Our list consisted of things like "buy life insurance". About 8 months into our marriage, we decided it was "time" to try to get pregnant, and we were very blessed to conceive in the first month. After we lost that baby, we wanted to try again right away, and were blessed with Norah.

So we had our "plans", and things seemed to work out exactly according to those plans. But when we declared our marriage vows and promised to be open to life and welcome children from God, we meant it. Had we conceived earlier, it of course would have been different from our plans, but a welcome blessing nonetheless.

So isn't that the third option? This baby in my womb was neither specifically planned nor unplanned. Once Norah was about 5 months old I really felt ready to embrace the possibility of another pregnancy, but my cycle was still not quite regular. We decided we wanted to just let "nature take its course" - in other words, be open to God's plan for our family. Just a couple of months later, we were thrilled to find out Norah would be a big sister.

Earlier today I was watching a video with Norah on one of my favourite blogs, and it made me smile. I so look forward to the beautiful craziness of a house full of little ones and the extra heaps of love they bring with them.

My two babies!

Simple Pleasures

Last night I had an especially good sleep. We had just put fresh, clean sheets on the bed, and I had just finished a nice, longer-than-usual shower and donned my coziest pjs, fresh from the clean laundry basket. Slipping into bed was heavenly.

Of course all this was not so much luxury as it was necessity. Norah woke up extra early yesterday, then wanted to cuddle in bed with me after Francis had fed her breakfast. She fell asleep for nearly an hour, and I was happy to have the extra time to doze. At a little after 8am, I woke to hear her coughing, then - before I could react - she vomitted all over herself, me (including my hair!), and the bed. We started our day with a mother-daughter sponge bath, because I find lifting 24lbs in and out of the tub tricky with my big belly.

She spent most of the day clearly under the weather. She was extra affectionate (some days I call it "clingy") and took an extra nap. It was low-key but tiring in a funny way, so come bed time, I was grateful for the extra cozy & comfy sleeping arrangements.

I Like My Belly

I've never been thin. I'm certainly not tall. And I've never fit into society's definition of beauty, though I don't consider myself to be obese, "too" short, or unattractive. My whole life I've struggled with body-image issues, and much of my youth was wasted on self-esteem crises. As I grow older I find I'm growing in my self-acceptance, and my view of my physical self is being healed. I'm pleased that I'm maturing in this respect (and of course the unconditional love of my husband is very helpful).

When I'm pregnant, however, it's a totally different story. When my belly swells as baby grows, I can't help but feel beautiful. I guess it's a result of feeling fulfilled in my femininity.

When I'm pregnant my skin clears up, my hair gets shinier and more manageable, my nails break less, and my eyes change colour ever-so slightly. So far, through a pregnancy and a half, I've been spared stretch marks (surprising, since I have many faded ones as a result of puberty). And I just plain love pregnant bellies.

My body, of course, has not come through pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood un-scarred. The scar from my c-section is, superficially speaking, ugly. It's purple-ish/red and raised in several places (a result of it opening a week and a half after Norah was born). My breasts bear many scars from a horrible early breastfeeding experience and subsequent infections in the cracks. And, of course, I didn't get to my pre-pregnancy weight until getting pregnant a second time, when horrible "morning" sickness caused me to lose 14 pounds.

But I wear my scars (and even the extra pounds) as a badge of honour - a testament to what my body has done for the sake of my family. I love the look of my large belly, especially towards the end of my pregnancy with Norah when she ran out of space and my belly looked like it had corners.

Whenever I see pregnant women in the mall, the grocery store, church or anywhere else, I just want to affirm them on their beauty. In our weight/body-obsessed culture I know it's easy for many women to feel less attractive as their body changes. I just wish every woman, every mother, could know how gorgeous the pregnant body is on every level.

(This picture was taken just 30 days before Norah was born. I wanted to have something to celebrate the way I felt about my pregnancy, so Francis set up his camera on a tripod and set the timer. I love the way it turned out.)

One?

My birthday girl, when she was just 1 day old -

How can my baby be one year old? Didn't I just bring seven and a half pounds of squirmy cuteness home from the hospital a month or two ago? Who is this twenty-three and a half bound beauty walking around my basement, delighting me with unsolicited kisses and hugs?

Starting on Saturday evening around 7pm, I started playing "One year ago right now...", mostly talking to myself, but also to anyone who had the dubious fortune of being in the same room. It started with "One year ago right now, we went out for wings with Francis' co-workers. I ordered the HOT honey-garlic, in hopes the spicy food would help bring on labour." Two hours later: "One year ago right now, my contractions started, but they weren't that bad." I even woke up around 2am on Sunday and thought to myself: "One year ago right now my contractions got too bad for me to sleep any more." This continued until 3:37pm on Monday: "One year ago right now, Norah was born!" I'm sure this got on Francis' and my mother's nerves, but they humoured me nicely.

Norah's birthday was on Monday, but we held her first birthday party on Sunday afternoon. We had somewhere between 20 and 25 people (family and close friends) in attendance. The birthday girl was not quite herself, as she was battling a case of bronchiolitis AND an ear infection. So if you're wondering why she doesn't look too thrilled in the picture, that's why.

The FOUR of us Kwoks at Norah's party -
Considering how miserable she must have felt, she did very well at the party. She was in a good mood the whole time, and other than having NO interest in eating cake or ripping wrapping paper, she was pretty close to perfect.

Norah's birthday cake -

This is the princess castle cake I made for the party. Well, to be clear, my mother baked the cake and cupcakes, and I just decorated. I whispered to Norah, "I had fun making this, but don't expect one every year!" It took me close to an hour and a half, mostly because constructing and icing the towers was a longer process than I'd expected. Mom also made golden pig cookies (which required some explanation for the non-Asian guests) to honour the fact that Norah was born in the year of the Golden Pig - very auspicious in the Chinese culture. I wish I'd gotten a photo of them, but I was too busy eating them!

Of course Norah's first birthday also happened to fall on Chinese New Year, so my mother in law took Norah, my mother and me out for Dim Sum, then over to one of the schools she works in to introduce us (well, mostly Norah) to some of her co-workers. When Francis got home, we sat down to a lovely dinner (courtesy, again, of my mother) of homemade chicken soup and fergosa. It was a wonderful way to spend the anniversary of my firstborn's birth - and, more selfishly, the anniversary of the day I became a mother. That's a day I wouldn't trade for the world!