I had a dream where I had a baby (not Joshua) who cried and fussed constantly. S/he made it impossible for me to achieve anything or have any sort of social life. I was basically sitting in a huge white living room of a house (read: landed property), holding the crying kicking baby while looking at my beautiful huge swimming pool outside. The one that I can’t go for a swim in thanks to the baby.

My father and the in-laws were there, and they were no help. They indulged in television programs while I was the only one who tended to the child. I felt… so angry.

The anger I felt in dreamland was so strong, it woke me up.

Barely sober, I was still filled with frustration. Every single fiber of my being was boiling mad and yet so helpless. Hubs is so tired from his job that he barely spoke 2 sentences to me before snoring again. He doesn’t even snore unless he’s super duper tired.

I feel… so alone.

No. I don’t want another kid. Not now, not yet. Maybe not ever. I’m too selfish to go through another round of physical and emotional suffering due to pregnancy.

Regardless of the number of people who may be nice to you during the term (most of which you would just brush off as being irritating), you will still be the only one suffering the consequences. Ultimately, you will going through it alone. No one can share your backache, nausea, weird vivid dreams, strong food cravings, etc etc.

It doesn’t sound exciting at all. And to know I may need to juggle two small children alone IF I really am inflicted with the condition of being sperminated just scares me enough to make me cry.

I’ll be facing with the situation of:
- no movies
- no partying
- forced to avoid certain malls due to inaccessibility
- forced to let go of my favourite restaurants because they have a noisy crowd, no baby chairs,baby-friendly food
- struggling with my much hated public transport (now with TWO little monsters)
- always being spotted at Plaza Singapura because it is convenient and has cheap food available
- having no private time with Hubs
- leaky tits
- having a weird ugly body for another 2 years

Basically, I will have no life. And I will have to grapple with my self-image again. And my marriage will be threatened again due to lack of “dating time”.

Prior to Joshua, I barely visited Plaza Singapura because I don’t like Golden Village and there’s pretty much nothing there for me. It was Orchard Road all the time because there’s an ENTIRE FUCKING STRETCH of malls for me to pick and choose. Post-kid, there isn’t much reason or finances to go shopping, so why bother.

I ADORE Parkway Parade, but I haven’t been there for at least 4 months. Because it’s not accessible and it’s crowded, etc etc. Imagine having one more kid in the picture.

I’m happy here right now. I have money to spend, I have time to do what I want, I HAVE A LIFE. And I like it this way and I can still deal with the little things that are still lacking (eg: a car, late night beach visits, the luxury to slowly enjoy my atas kopi at Starbucks, etc). Imagine having one more kid in the picture. There will be less and less of what I enjoy and more of what is “good for the kids and easy on us”.

It really doesn’t help that I woke from the dream, came to the living room, and the wonderful stench of kitten poop greeted me. Both the cages have poop in them. I cleaned up one, and went to throw up in the sink. Now I can only resort to lighting up cigarettes one after another to stifle the gross smell of shit in the air.

And I am still badly craving Burger King breakfast (despite the smell of kitten poop lingering in the air).

I still want to go dance the night away amongst the bottles of alcohol.

Seriously, I could die right now. My lower back is still hurting like a bloody motherfxxer. Even the most soothing music cannot calm my frazzled nerves.

Once the shops open, I am going to buy a bloody test kit and get a negative result just for the heck of it.

And if my period does by any magical chance come in a week’s time, I am getting an IUD. I really really don’t think I want another kid soon. Not when some of my dreams have yet been fulfilled (where is that fucking overdue Bangkok/Hongkong/Australia trip?) and the things that make my life easier (where is that fucking car?) aren’t here yet.

I am an angry little woman. And I won’t even be “little” anymore if my worst fears are realised.

I saw a family man on the train today. He was decked out in an over-washed tee, bermudas and (eeks) running shoes. Hair unkempt and unshaven, in that attire, completely reminded me of one of my ex-boyfriends.

I remember how I would have to constantly remind him to shave so that he wouldn’t look like a beggar. His retort was always, “Once I drive my Volvo out, the girls drool anyway.” Complete with a smug face.

Except the car didn’t belong to him. His father bought it and all he did was to take it out for rides.

So, as I watched that man on the train fuss over his kids who were wreaking havoc, it suddenly struck me that this could be my ex in a decade’s time. Still unkempt, and looking like a disheveled uncle from head to toe. With kids.

I’m so glad my Hubs is well-groomed and hawt.

My baby’s silhouette shone
in the light of the night

adorable chubby cheeks
beautiful facial features
in minuscule perfection

mouth wide open
breathing the deep sleep

tiny hands clutching
pillow in one
bear in another

he stirred
flipped over onto his front

undisturbed
by my intrusion
into his rain-swept room

sometimes I forget
the reality

that he was smaller before
and soon
he will only get bigger

in my own selfish mind
I only wish he was tiny forever

always looking to me
always close to me
always my baby

I could never describe this love
in plain words

I have decided I should really make a trip down to my piercer tomorrow and get my tragus done. Again. So that in the (accidental) event that I really am pregnant, then I wouldn’t have to wait another TWO YEARS to get my missing piercings done again.

The last time I was carrying Joshua in the womb, no one would touch me, claiming that it’s not in their practice to tattoo or pierce pregnant women. Then after I gave birth, they wanted me to wait til after my confinement. Since when did piercers/tattoo artists become so… traditional?! Then after that, I just got too busy. But fortunately squeezed out some time to touch-up the fading inks by having Hubs watch the baby (and using pumped out breastmilk as a substitute).

So tomorrow, I’m making a trip down. Before it gets too late. Again. Hubs’ tragus piercing has been very lonely for the past 2 years (since it was supposed to be a matching couple piercing thingy).

I am also contemplating redoing the short-lived nose piercing that was done in January 2005, didn’t last past a month and has been waiting to be done again for more than 3 years.

Damn. I chipped the “paint” off 2 of my fingernails already.

And now the talons are so blunt because I chipped one off somewhere somehow, and I am forced to snip them all short for uniformity’s sake. *throws a bimbotic hissy fit*

EXAM ON 8TH!! *panic mode*

Names, numbers, financial figures, emails. I think I’m born for the life of a bimbo. Like, seriously.

I need a break after this whole slew of sprees. My body finally protested by breaking out into a fever. Congrats.

Sprees were never supposed to earn you any money, but what’s worse is when you make countless overseas calls to USA to sort out the billing issues, and promptly get put on hold for extended periods of time as the clock ticks (and the phone bill increases).

Actually, it’s not even the matter of overseas phone bills. It’s the matter of the whole shebang being so troublesome with lots of liaising to and fro with the bank and the overseas merchant that really irks me. Especially when you are accountable to a few others whom you do not know.

And the fact that you have to be up overnight to call since there’s a significant 12 hours’ difference in time zones.

Hubs said, “Darling, it’s so not worth the effort. Next time just buy what you want, regardless of shipping costs etc etc. Don’t bother to spree to ’save money’.” So true. And I feel so loved.

In the midst of all the spree chaos, I still have to squeeze out time to study for my exam on the 8th (explains why I’m still up at 7am). Seriously. Now I truly understand the term “too much to handle”.

I have no comments about people who juggle family, work, studying part-time, etc. They have super powers, I don’t. In fact, I have like, super low tolerance/patience with almost everything. Nuff said.

::

I was sorting out my stuff in the wardrobe, and I think… I SERIOUSLY need to go on another shopping ban. Like, PERMANENTLY until my figure goes out of shape (or get pregnant) and I SERIOUSLY need new pieces.

Ok. Ban starts today. (Uncle Henry will be chuckling with glee when he reads this.)

My wardrobe has already successfully transform from a sexy vixen’s collection to some domesticated boring housewife’s closet. One-third of the tops hanging up there are boring tees for days with unshaven armpits (due to personal negligence) or “fat” days. Such things never (and I mean NEVER) happened before the Boy came along. *sigh*

I’m only glad the Boy behaves.

::

Byebye hair on Sunday. Have YOU donated?

We will be shaven at 5.30pm at Velocity (beside Novena Square). Come come and watch me turn bald LIVE right in front of your eyes! I am getting cold feet.

Need to wash my long out of commission beanies and headgear to wear for when I have no more hair.
::

I am having baby yearning after seeing countless mothers’ prenatal ultrasound scans and tiny coo-ing babies on the streets. Someone has GOT to destroy this relentless maternal instinct inside me. Isn’t ONE enough yet?! *tears hair out*

::

For once I would like to sing a different tune: I have lost my appetite for the past week, I feel nauseous when forced to eat, strange smells kick-start my urge to purge, I have odd cravings. PLEASE DON’T LET ME BE PREGNANT. I am so not ready right now. We are so not ready. This is a BAD TIME. But then again, stuff always happens when you’re NOT ready for it. That’s life.

All the sprees are closed for now. 3 batches of Old Navy/GAP, 1 batch of Hot Topic, 1 batch of Urban Outfitters. The past few days were crazy.

Old Navy/GAP were unable to verify my credit card, so I had to CALL them alllll the way in USA to verify it. But it was quite a new experience to be doing a 3-way conference call between GAP staff, DBS staff and me. I am easily amused.

I am seriously seriously boycotting stupid Victoria’s Secret. The stuff I ordered from them (for myself) was so problematic that I really want to be spared from it for life. Not to mention, I still feel that they’re overrated. Especially their exorbitant pricetags. I’m only ordering bottoms from them because they’re cheap. Cheapos suffer for the sake of being… cheapo.

My Havaianas have reached my US address too. Now I just have to wait for the personnel to match up the slippers to my account and inform me that they are ready for shipping towards SG. I have almost slipped and fallen so many times with my 3-year-old pair of olive green Havaianas that it is truly time for them to retire (despite still looking very pristine).

Everyday is shopping day! But online shopping is truly more perplexing than mall shopping. All the emails, long-distance phone calls and checking of invoices and delivery statuses. Can faint.

Off to catch “Wanted” at The Cathay! Angelina Jolie (with tatts not air-brushed off the film) w00t!

When Hubs met up with me to watch Sex And The City last Tuesday at Orchard Cineleisure, he was only too happy to see me strutting down the street with that devil-may-care attitude in black knee-high boots, black mini skirt and grey off-shoulder top.

My black bra was peeking out on purpose and I saw that smirk on his face when he saw me from afar. “My goth girl is back”, he said with a grin.

I can only imagine his joy when I finally push the limits and go bald to match that rebellious persona.

Ya, right.

Nonetheless, I know he will be immensely proud of the selfless act I have set my mind to go forth with. Shame on my ex for saying that he will seek every chance to laugh at my awkward hairless state. Tsk tsk. Some people just don’t grow up.

The two dirtiest words in my dictionary that start with the letter ‘S’: ‘Shopping’ and ‘Sales’.

There is nothing more eye-catching than a storefront with BIG signs spelling S-A-L-E to lure your wandering feet into the store and emerge moments later with bags stuffed full of your proud bargains. Nowadays I’ve progressed to a less physically taxing (but no less financially taxing) version of scouring the sales, where the stores virtually (pun intended) never close and welcome you 24/7 regardless of weather or time.

One saving grace of doing your impulsive sale shopping online, especially in a country where few stores offer return policies, is that you are reminded repeatedly to “confirm your order”. That’s when that tiny sliver of logic hits and you start to trim the fat off your shopping cart.

Then comes the long process of checking out your cart contents, where at any time you may feel free to edit your order, and the input of your 16-digit credit card number, your shipping address, billing address and other various information.

Impulse shopping doesn’t really seem that impulsive when you’re forced to go through that many steps just to buy that something you don’t really need and possibly only want for a short while.

I cannot count the number of times as I am in the process of keying in my credit card details and I suddenly stop short and decide to just leave the cart contents waiting for another day. Either too wait for Hubs’ stamp of approval (financial or fashion wise) or to just… wait.

If the one day I decide to really purchase the items and they are not longer available, I let out a soft sigh from the combination of relief and resignation. “It’s fated that I not have it”, I would think aloud. While Hubs wipes the sweat off his forehead, I join him and secretly rejoice at the fact that I had inadvertently fought off the shopping bug.

Nonetheless, all that said and done, this month I’ve really gone a bit overboard. I advanced part of my allowance (which I must proudly proclaim has been given a generous 30% permanent increment) and well, I’ve been spending it. Obviously.

But hey, what’s a girl to do? I can’t possibly wear white eyelet smocked tees with a bald head. Forget about the frilly chiffon dresses and DEFINITELY no satin. Not in my books anyway. It’s back to the grunge, punk and goth. Until I get my hair back to a decently feminine length, that is.

Meanwhile, I’m still on the search (and spree) for animal prints, punk/goth stuff and head wear. No Harajuku-inspired please. Too kiddy-funky. Hey, better to dress goth now than in my 30’s.

Is that it is super frustrating when the orders are not coming in fast enough, or worse, not even coming in at all.

I have an Urban Outfitters spree that I have to close by 25th June in order to use the promo code for 20% off sales item. Otherwise I can only use the 10% off code.

Then I have another Hot Topic spree that has currently ZERO orders (no thanks to low traffic at the spree community I’m posting it at). If still no orders soon, I’ll just have to cancel the spree and order my stuff lonesomely. Which makes for more expensive shipping cos no one to share shipping costs. Hubs say to just order what I want then he’ll pay for it, no need wait for sprees, but… I cheapo lah.

I seriously desperately need to get into the SgSpree community as a spree organiser lor. All the other communities have like… low traffic (if any at all). Damn sad.

I just opened a private Old Navy spree (due to requests and the fact that Hubs wants some cheap jeans) and I’m only hoping people chop chop karipok place orders and chop chop I can close and order so nothing go OOS (out of stock).

Anybody wants 80sTees? I might open one cos someone requested me to hold it, but if not enough orders, sibei sian one lor…

P.S. I still haven’t put up my “For Sale” page yet (no time to take pictures). But I have added my LJ link on the sidebar (under my “blogger pass”).

We went to Build-A-Bear at Plaza Singapura on Saturday, and we “built” our own plush toys!

I got the limited edition Tropical Hello Kitty ($38.90). It’s a gift from PapaNash!

And she wears Hello Kitty panties.

I would have gave her a Hello Kitty mini tee to wear, except I found it damn weird for her to be wearing a tee with her own face on it. She’s currently dressed for lounging around at home.

Check out her name on the “birth cert”:

The cashier was like, “And your kitty’s name is…” *looks at cert and stuns* I told her she didn’t have to read out the name since there were kids around.

Of course, Joshua the S.N.A.G wanted a plushie too. And this is what he picked:

Meet Fiona the Bear ($17.90). Don’t ask me why. He picked the name.

And he also tottered over to the shelves and picked out the pink tutu she wears.

Somehow he decided that this bear had to be a girl. And she has to wear a pink tutu. We put back the tutu several times, but he just kept going back to point at it and insists the bear has to wear it. We wanted to get a top for the bear, but he refused. Don’t ask me why. Ask him. *points to Joshua*

Fiona Bear’s birth cert:

I had to fend off accusing comments from the in-laws about WHY this bear is a girl. They said it should be a boy since Joshua is a boy. Really, DON’T ASK ME.

PapaNash says it’s CORRECT for Joshua to want a girl. He’s a boy, so his bed-mates should be girls. If he picked a boy, then it’ll be more gay, isn’t it? I don’t know, and honestly I don’t give a shit. Joshua still adores cars and motorbikes. But, does it really matter?

All I know is, I want to get a bathrobe for my Kitty. Plaza Singapura’s store isn’t very well-stocked so I’m going to re-dress my kitty. I just didn’t want her to be “naked” while I find the perfect outfit.