Lots of pregnancy advice to spare
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
WHEN a Bruneian girl enters her 20s, there are the Three Questions she must be prepared to answer:
1. When are you getting married?
2. When are you having a baby?
3. When are you going to have another baby?
For me, the second question was pertinent even during the week leading up to my wedding. It seems that once you are well on your way to becoming a wife, your usually more reserved aunts and even very traditional grandmother consider it the perfect time to talk with you at descriptive lengths about getting pregnant.
Sex talk. A lot of it. I was suddenly part of an exclusive "grown-ups club" to which my other un-married cousins did not qualify as members. And without getting into too much detail, let it be said that I was given a full private education.
Four months later, I feel extremely blessed and thankful that the education paid off. Firstly because I am now in my 30s, therefore starting a family was always an immediate plan. And secondly because I don't know how much longer I could take the one-liner questions of "planning?", "berisi kah?", "ada sudah?" (which all mean the same thing) as they tap their stomachs and cock their heads curiously.
Of course, the questions are all kind-hearted and meant to show interest, but I do remember how much pressure I felt even in those early few weeks when I had not yet conceived.
It is not rare for a couple to take six months to two years before having any success. That means many weeks of on-lookers' stomach pats and cocked heads which can only compound existing anxieties about the ability to conceive.
But it would seem that if there is one thing we Bruneians are very good at, it's getting pregnant and making very little fuss about it.
My father comes from a family of 10, my husband eight, which translates to a lot of no-nonsense advice from both my mother-in-law and grandma. And while neither of them can read or write, there are obviously no better tutors in home affairs and home economics.
Absolutely no jogging for the first three months. Don't skip, don't jump, don't hop. No pineapple, no icy cold drinks, no high-heels, no hammering of nails, and do wear kain palikat. Drink soy milk for the baby's skin, suck on samboi for morning sickness, don't watch horror movies, don't criticise other people because your baby will pay for it, and if you suddenly can't bear the smell of your husband, don't be alarmed.
And then you have the advice from sisters and friends: Don't get back-fat because it's a really bad look with the baby bump. Wear plenty of make up and accessorise cleverly to distract from the fact that you just look really fat. Don't wear the maternity dresses with the sailor collars; and don't under any circumstances go out to the shops in cotton maternity pajamas.
The first three months were difficult in ways I did not fully anticipate. So much so that I suspect the early stages of pregnancy turned me into one of those annoying ladies who trumpet the heroic qualities of women in a manner not dissimilar to over-enthusiastic feminists.
My morning sickness was mild compared to other mothers-to-be who were constantly in a state of vomiting and/or exhaustion but who still went to work. And even without the vomiting, the unrelenting nausea is no walk in the park.
My work suffered, as I found myself dialling my boss's mobile one time too many in the space of a week; as did, I am sure, my reputation for being usually quite reliable. I felt conflicted; it was like I had a disease which I had actually signed up for.
And while your husband is there to hold your hair off your face while you lean over a bucket, the discomfort and fear that accompany the miracle of pregnancy and child-birth are for the woman alone the changes in your social life, working hours, energy levels, skin, hair, and of course, body.
It's uncontainably exciting, a little frightening, and at times really quite tiring. And with the economy becoming more demanding, the option of being a jobless full-time pregnant woman is not really an option. Yet millions of women are doing it, and millions more will continue to do it. Nevertheless, I am thankful I have passed the very unromantic three-month stage because give it a few more weeks and I would be pulling a frantic Emiline Pankhurst and burning my bra (which would be a terrible idea because I actually need it now more than ever.)
And now the realities of the next few head-spinning months can be more clearly addressed.
Is it really going to hurt? How much time will I take off after delivery? Can we afford for me to take more time off? Can I afford to keep seeing a private doctor to avoid hours of waiting at the more financially friendly government clinic? How much does it actually hurt? What do I do with all my clothes which don't fit? And how much should I spend on maternity clothes? Should we start the education fund now? And seriously, it can't hurt all that much, can it?
There are many fresh questions that pop up. I can't answer any of them very well at the moment. But going back to our original Three Questions, I am certainly down two of them.
And as for that third one, don't even think about it.
The author is Brunei's news reader and a radio deejay.
The Brunei Times
1. When are you getting married?
2. When are you having a baby?
3. When are you going to have another baby?
For me, the second question was pertinent even during the week leading up to my wedding. It seems that once you are well on your way to becoming a wife, your usually more reserved aunts and even very traditional grandmother consider it the perfect time to talk with you at descriptive lengths about getting pregnant.
Sex talk. A lot of it. I was suddenly part of an exclusive "grown-ups club" to which my other un-married cousins did not qualify as members. And without getting into too much detail, let it be said that I was given a full private education.
Four months later, I feel extremely blessed and thankful that the education paid off. Firstly because I am now in my 30s, therefore starting a family was always an immediate plan. And secondly because I don't know how much longer I could take the one-liner questions of "planning?", "berisi kah?", "ada sudah?" (which all mean the same thing) as they tap their stomachs and cock their heads curiously.
Of course, the questions are all kind-hearted and meant to show interest, but I do remember how much pressure I felt even in those early few weeks when I had not yet conceived.
It is not rare for a couple to take six months to two years before having any success. That means many weeks of on-lookers' stomach pats and cocked heads which can only compound existing anxieties about the ability to conceive.
But it would seem that if there is one thing we Bruneians are very good at, it's getting pregnant and making very little fuss about it.
My father comes from a family of 10, my husband eight, which translates to a lot of no-nonsense advice from both my mother-in-law and grandma. And while neither of them can read or write, there are obviously no better tutors in home affairs and home economics.
Absolutely no jogging for the first three months. Don't skip, don't jump, don't hop. No pineapple, no icy cold drinks, no high-heels, no hammering of nails, and do wear kain palikat. Drink soy milk for the baby's skin, suck on samboi for morning sickness, don't watch horror movies, don't criticise other people because your baby will pay for it, and if you suddenly can't bear the smell of your husband, don't be alarmed.
And then you have the advice from sisters and friends: Don't get back-fat because it's a really bad look with the baby bump. Wear plenty of make up and accessorise cleverly to distract from the fact that you just look really fat. Don't wear the maternity dresses with the sailor collars; and don't under any circumstances go out to the shops in cotton maternity pajamas.
The first three months were difficult in ways I did not fully anticipate. So much so that I suspect the early stages of pregnancy turned me into one of those annoying ladies who trumpet the heroic qualities of women in a manner not dissimilar to over-enthusiastic feminists.
My morning sickness was mild compared to other mothers-to-be who were constantly in a state of vomiting and/or exhaustion but who still went to work. And even without the vomiting, the unrelenting nausea is no walk in the park.
My work suffered, as I found myself dialling my boss's mobile one time too many in the space of a week; as did, I am sure, my reputation for being usually quite reliable. I felt conflicted; it was like I had a disease which I had actually signed up for.
And while your husband is there to hold your hair off your face while you lean over a bucket, the discomfort and fear that accompany the miracle of pregnancy and child-birth are for the woman alone the changes in your social life, working hours, energy levels, skin, hair, and of course, body.
It's uncontainably exciting, a little frightening, and at times really quite tiring. And with the economy becoming more demanding, the option of being a jobless full-time pregnant woman is not really an option. Yet millions of women are doing it, and millions more will continue to do it. Nevertheless, I am thankful I have passed the very unromantic three-month stage because give it a few more weeks and I would be pulling a frantic Emiline Pankhurst and burning my bra (which would be a terrible idea because I actually need it now more than ever.)
And now the realities of the next few head-spinning months can be more clearly addressed.
Is it really going to hurt? How much time will I take off after delivery? Can we afford for me to take more time off? Can I afford to keep seeing a private doctor to avoid hours of waiting at the more financially friendly government clinic? How much does it actually hurt? What do I do with all my clothes which don't fit? And how much should I spend on maternity clothes? Should we start the education fund now? And seriously, it can't hurt all that much, can it?
There are many fresh questions that pop up. I can't answer any of them very well at the moment. But going back to our original Three Questions, I am certainly down two of them.
And as for that third one, don't even think about it.
The author is Brunei's news reader and a radio deejay.
The Brunei Times
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