Today is...


Nye nye nye nye nye!

Hello, Internet! My mamma is currently up to her neck in work and her in study and even though she’ll be on a loooooooooong leave starting tomorrow, she said she still don’t think she can blog much. Poor mamma so tired that last night when I woke her up to feed me, she couldn’t get up at all! Thank God daddy heard me and straight away prepared my formula but daddy’s formula not as nice as mamma’s… Daddy’s formula got hair… KIDDING! See? I can be funny too.

So, today I’m taking over mamma’s blog because OMG INTERNET TODAY I AM FOUR MONTHS OLD! F-O-U-R MONTHS! I’m a biiiiiiiiiiiig baby now! Last checkup, I was 6.5kg so I guess by now I’m 47kg? Mamma said every time she carries me, she can feel muscles she never thought she has. That must be good, right?

Mamma also complains that she’s sick and tired of people always asking her, “How is Kaisan? What can he do now?” and mamma said the next person who ask her that she’s gonna answer, “Golf. Kaisan know how to play golf already” Personally I rather join the Deadliest Catch crew than golfing… No offence, daddy!

Internet, at this stage, I still don’t do much aside from laying on my back gazing at the florescent ceiling light and gurgle, sucking my fingers/fists/daddy’s knuckles/nenek’s pet kitty/anything I can get my hands on, poop, sleep, plastering myself on mamma’s chest, smiling, squealing, demanding, kicking, reach out to my feet and pull off my socks and driving a sleek black Maserati while sucking my thumbs [Oh yeah! They see me rollin’, they hatin’, patrollin’ tryin’ to catch me ridin’ dirty]

Daddy just gave me another haircut last week. Haircut? More like BALD CUT! My hair didn’t grow as luxurious as mamma wants so she told daddy, “Those bald patches at weird places gotta go” NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOmmfingers! Yummy yummy fingers! Then every time mamma touch my head, she muttered, “Dear God, please don’t give my son Justin Timberlake’s hair. Thank you” Personally I prefer Mr. T’s hair, ma.

I gotta go now. If mamma approve of this post, I might come back here again. What say you, Internet?


Mission: To write something in 10 minutes ONLY

Here I am taking 10 minutes of my busy life to jot down something that I have been struggling since I add “MOTHER” to my life resume.


Ever since I’m back to work, TIME is my biggest enemy.

If I have too much work, I bring work home (because I don’t want to stay back), but as a result I don’t get to spend time much with my son.

If I priorities my evening with my son, I won’t have time to do my assignment.

If I spend the evening doing my assignment (especially after I put Kaisan to sleep), I won’t be able to do the house chores and the laundry would pile up, dust gathering and so on and so forth.

If I spend the free time to do house chores, I don’t get to spend time with my husband and have our own moment together.

If I spend my time with my husband, I don’t get the time to do my own leisure thing like reading, blogging and all.

If I spend time enriching my mind reading, I waste time not resting and take an early sleep.

So being a genius multitasker, I squeeze and do everything at one time. Morning –work. Lunch- go back to my son. Afternoon –work. Evening –spend time with Kaisan, cook and laundry. Once Kaisan asleep, take out my work or assignment or do both simultaneously. Close to midnight, crawl in bed and just manage to say, “Hey Love, how’s your da… zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….” AND SHE’S OUT LIKE A LIGHT!

What about time spend with my family? Friends visiting or bringing me out for tea? Or functions like wedding, birthday party or even replying emails from readers, customers and advertisers? (By the way, THANK YOU for your emails, Internet! I’m sorry but I cannot accept vector orders and replying reader’s emails YET)

And because of that by the end of the day, my body just shutdown entirely. There are times I can’t even get up and feed Kaisan when he wakes up at night because I’m too deadly exhausted.

24 hours in a day is not enough. Or it is more than enough, IF I know how to manage it.

My 10 minutes is up. I leave you with a photo of my niece who was born yesterday. Ain’t she pweeeetyyy cute? I went in the labor room and witnessed something that probably will haunt me for the rest of my life. Will write about it WHEN I FIND THE TIME [strangle self]



The kittens are just earning their living. I'm paying them with kitty treats.


What's That White Stain On Your Shirt?

I am very concern. Very concern. If I don’t, MOMMY PARANOID OVER SMALLEST THING wouldn’t be my middle name.

When Kaisan first discovered his fists and how yummilicious it seemed for him to suck those cute chubby little dimpled fists, we were like, AWWWW! Then followed by NIAGARA FALLS CALLED THEY WANT THEIR WATER BACK DROOLFEST. He was drooling like his saliva pipe just got burst and nothing within his vicinity can escape the sticky liquid baby dribble.

But since it’s pretty normal for a baby that age to flood our house with his drool, we put up with it and we just make sure there’s always a napkin nearby (We abolished the idea of a bib because he likes to tug the bib hard ALL. THE. FREAKING. TIME GAH YOU’RE JUST GONNA CHOKE YOURSELF SILLY SON!)

Then lately he started to barf. A lot. Every time after feeding, he burps and barfs. Sometimes even when he’s laughing and gurgling, pop goes the barf. Up to a point that we started to call him Baby Barfzilla. Life is indeed a party with baby that not only drool 24/7 but also barf at a bizarrest moment (Yes, yes I know that is NOT even a word).

Is it the formula? Please don’t tell me it’s the formula. I’ll run you over with my son’s stroller if you say it is. We stop having problems with his formula for a month plus now (I think. Time just passes me by and I have a memory size of a gnat) Or it’s my breast milk? (I cringe typing that down knowing full well my family and people in my office also read my blog. SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP PEOPLE, GO AWAY! LEAVE ME AND MY PRIVATE DIRTY RANTSS TO MY OTHER READERS)

His doctor’s appointment is in another 2 months. I can’t wait that long. We’ll drown in his barf and we’ll be buried smelling like sour milk.

I’m tempted to resort to my last and only option but I think I might cave in and… GOOGLE.



Goodbye Bloody-Long-Maternity-Leave. Hello, Monday-till-Friday 8am-4pm at the office.

I’m back at work! Why, yes. Yes, I do miss my son. But actually those who miss him more than I do are Miss Right Boobs and Miss Left Boobs. I am still breastfeeding and so every lunch time, I rush back to my son to release the throbbing OH MY GOD WHY MUST IT BE SO PAINFUL boobs. I cannot pump in the office. The idea itself makes me more uncomfortable than shaking hands with a baboon. Where to pump? In the toilet? In the pantry? Want my milk with that tea? I was told there’s a nursing room in office building somewhere but still… A-w-k-w-a-r-d.

So, work. It’s so good to be back. For 3 months I was a full time housewife and that was when I realized, that role is definitely NOT my calling. No offence to those housewives reading this now. It’s not you. It’s me. Contrary to what people belief and for reason I cannot mention here, I love my job. My job gives me the kind of adrenaline rush that I only get when I jab myself with unicorn’s blood.

Aside from that, I can FINALLY wear nice clothes. At home, I looked like an abused mental patient drab in pajamas 24 hours. I didn’t bother to dress and look my best because I know, as a walking talking leaking boob machine, I will eventually stain my front blouse/shirt and my son thinks my shoulders are rubber toys to be gnawed and drooled on. Oh I tried to look nice for my husband but 5 minutes after Hurricane Kaisan attack… Haih! Don’t worry. I assure you I have been verbally shredded by all my female friends about me being so homeless looking.

Only when I go to work that I put some effort to my look. Note the word SOME. As I mentioned previously, I can’t afford to spend too much time dressing up, putting on makeup and such. Besides, all my work clothes STILL too small for me and all my maternity clothes are TOO BIG. Nothing kills my confidence faster than looking in my cupboard and realizes I can only wear towels to work. And what’s worst: I hate shopping here. I want to shop elsewhere. Like maybe, Johor’s new mall? [HINT][HINT]

Anyway, being a realist, this excitement will eventually wears off. I just hope it’s not too soon. In the meantime, I’m going to celebrate this return to the zombie land by buying tons of breast pads. 

Then clean my desk. But first, breast pads.

Love it when you talk that talk to me yeah...

Hair: Oh hey there Red One! Long time no see! [GUFFAW] See? Get it? Long time no SEE? [GUFFAW] Coz you know… you’re a prescription glasses? And you S-E-E?

Red Prescription Glasses: I see YOU haven’t change. Still crazy?

Hair: AL-WAYS! Hey I thought you’re retired?

Red Prescription Glasses: I thought so too… [GRUMBLE] My NEW replacement went MIA and so the Master pulled me out from my retirement and here I am… On. Duty. Again [GRUMBLE][GRUMBLE]

Hair: Come on. It ain’t that bad. Look at the bright side… BRIGHT SIDE! [GIVE A HUGE LUMBERJACK GUFFAW] GET IT? GET IT? YOU AND… AND… BRIGHT? I’M ON THE ROLL Y’ALL! Oh God, I kill myself.

Red Prescription Glasses: Yeah. Whee. Don’t you ever have a BAD HAIR DAY like any other hair in this world?

Hair: Not me. No sir-ee! Always partying up here. UP HERE! BWAHAHAHA! MAN I’M HILARIOUS!

Red Prescription Glasses: No. No you’re not. Your puns are horrible and you are just humiliating yourself. Why don’t you just leave me alone and TRY to have a bad HAIR day.

Hair: I have a rather specific sense of humor and find many things amusing that other sane people do not. Besides, I have some WHITE CHICKS coming over soon. They are simply ANIMALS! We’re gonna party aaallll night long and you’re not invited. Just hang there and sulk, you grumpy retired old glasses!

Red Prescription Glasses: STOP WITH ALL THE PUNS FOR GOD SAKE!

Hair: I wonder if Serena &Shentel’s in town. Maybe I can invite them to my party with the White Chicks.


Hair: No can do, homie. This ROCKSTAR gonna party till dawn. PHAISE!

Red Prescription Glasses: It’s pronounce PEACE you moron.



Mother’s Day is coming soon and as a new mother, I am NOT CELEBRATING MOTHER’S DAY.

I am celebrating NO MOTHER’S DAY.

So, on Mother’s Day, I won’t be accepting calls or emails or updating my Twitter or Facebook or text or Whatsapp or blogging.

On 13th Mei, I choose to go silence, receive no gifts or giving out gifts. My absence is my way of showing everyone around me, how mothers are missed when she is gone.

Join me to raise awareness about girls and women who die each year during pregnancy and childbirth.

Our silence is our loudest voice ever.

Whether you are a mother or you just love one, you can educate people about this issue and help prevent it. Here are some important facts about maternal health around the world.

1. Approximately 358,000 women die each year due to complications in pregnancy and childbirth. That's one woman every 90 seconds.

2. For every woman who dies each year in childbirth, 20-30 more suffer from lifelong debilitating disabilities.

3. Pregnancy is the number one cause of death in women, ages 15-19, in the developing world. Nearly 70,000 young women die every year because their bodies are not ready for parenthood.

4. Over 200 million women who would like to choose when they get pregnant don’t have access to family planning.

5. The United States ranks 50th globally in maternal mortality, even though it spends more on health care per capita than any other nation in the world. African American women are four times more likely to die in childbirth than Caucasian women.

Almost all of these deaths are preventable. To learn more, visit


Ninja Kaisan!

Really have no time to blog. Gah! I have to start sorting my timetable for everything!

This-or-That Beauty Whatchamacallit.

I don’t mean to discriminate against gender preferences but I seriously think men who will read this post will combust with boredom.

Out of the blue, I was tagged by Miss Makeupgeek to do the This-or-That Beauty Tag. OoOookay… I don’t wear makeup much because I decided that my makeup skill is at par with a 3 year old, I just use the basic to cover some scars on me face. And I have almost zero knowledge about makeup products.

When was my last tag? Gazillion ages ago I think. But here goes nothing (like anybody cares what beauty products I used… dun dun dunnnn…):


Blush or Bronzer
-Neither. Because I have no idea how to put on both. Besides, what the hell is a bronzer anyway? Is it something to make my skin like one of those Greek statues?

 Lipstick or Lipgloss

Eyeliner or Mascara
-Eyeliner. Mascara is so messy.

Foundation or Concealer
-Foundation. I can’t afford to spend so much time dabbing concealer on my face when I need to get to work asap.

Neutral or Color (eyeshadow)
-Neutral (brown) I only have browns. My life just screams PATHETIC.

Pressed or Loose (eyeshadow)
-What does that mean? Press what? IT’S AN EYESHADOW FOR GODSAKE NOT A LIFT’S BUTTON! But I do let em loose in my drawer. Is that bad? Should I tie em all up instead?

Brushes or Sponges
-To clean toilets, I used both.


Perfume or Body Splash
-Perfume because I don’t know what a body splash is. Body smash I know. Body splash? Not so much.

Lotion or Body Butter
-Lotion. Unless my husband wants to butter up my body… mmrroowww! Ahem. Next.

Body Wash or Soap (bar)
-Body wash.


OPI or China Glaze
-I dreaded to ask what are those two things…

Long or Short
-Short. If I remember to cut em that is.

Acrylic or Natural
-Itchy butt.

Brights or Darks
-Scratch me buttock till its dark outside.

I decided to tag anyone who are more knowledgeable about makeups that me.


My Weekend Men -FAB FRIDAY

The hubster bought me these 3 super delicious men to help me with my addiction with The Avengers movie [I WANT TO WATCH THE AVENGERS A GAZILLION TRILLION TIME UNTIL MY EYEBALLS BLEED!!!]. So ladies, this long weekend, I'm snuggling with these hunky hubba hubba! 

Yes, including Patrick the dog! 

Sneak Peak: The New Member in Running Man

Mommy Bragger

My world from the minute I find out I was pregnant, giving birth and until now, has been all about my son, THE BABY.

Every time I open my mouth, you can bet I'll be talking about my son.

Every time I blog, yes, yes it WILL be about my son. Or my boobs. Those two are interrelated.

I can't help it. My life just revolves around him and when I'm not with him, I think and talk about him.

Call me crazy but I think this obsessing over one's baby is very common among mothers. Am I right to assume that, Internet?

I know for a fact that it will tone down sooner or later. Especially with the second child. Poor second child. It seems unfair not to get the same limelight as the first one. Dear future second child, if I don't babble incoherently about you here is because I ran out of juice. Blame your brother.

So when I hear mothers talk about their kids, I understand. I will listen attentively and ask questions that they wanted me to ask and praise their kids accordingly. Because I UNDERSTAND.

There is a need to talk about one's child and I always see it as their way of sharing information about their child's development and accomplishment. Maybe they do brags sometimes but I always choose to humor them and listen. Because I UNDERSTAND.

So what this post is all about today is just to tell you that if you're the type who does not understand about parents need to brag shamelessly about their child, shame on you. One day when you have one of your own and no one is there to hear you squeal like a monkey when your child take his/her first step, poor you.

What? I'm just being defensive today. It's in the air. Blame the air. 

What? 3 months already? What has changed?

1. As of today, I’ve lost 8kg. From weighing the same as a female humpback whale (63kg), I am now 55kg; sharing the same weight as a water buffalo. I have 8kg to go before I reach my optimum weight (if you happen to weight 55kg and above, I meant you no insult **koff*whale!*koff**)

2. In midst of chaos, I can stay calm and think straight while at the same time come up with lighting speed decision-making. Like, I can be in a room, calmly licking my vanilla ice cream while disarming a live bomb and twitter, “I’m locked in a room with a bomb that is about to explode in 5 seconds. How’s your day?”

3. As early as 3 weeks old, my son was already interacting with people by cooing adorably. It delighted people when he babbles in his baby language and everyone swears that my son is “talking” to them directly. Little that they know that my son also babbles incoherently with his shampoo bottle.

4. This blog has gone seriously viral lately. From 200 readers a week, now I have 5000 readers a month. You do the math. My question is: WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING HERE?! YOU’RE FREAKING ME OUT!

5. My son has gained 3kg since birth. Now he’s 6kg at 3 months old. He is nowhere close to become a pygmy hippo (awww sho sho cyoot!)

6. We went back to Anmum (formula) and so far no problem with it. THANK GOD!

7. I am 31 years old as of 15 April 2012. I’m perfectly fine turning another year older. Really. But you make fun of my age I will put you in a blender.

8. I will start working starting 2nd May 2012. Part me is dreading the separation with my son but another part of me is excited to be back working and feel the adrenaline rush of being a responsible mutt again.

9. Going out is no longer as easy as before. Before this, I just put on my nice clothes, makeup, take my handbag, my keys and locked up the house and drive to wherever. Total time, 15 minutes. Now, I have to plan first where to go, then get ready my son’s babybag (diapers, bottles, hot water, formula etc), dress him comfortably according to the weather, readied his stroller and strap on his car seat. As for myself, I just put on whatever clothes that is within my grasp, no makeup just lipbalm, if I can remember where I last put my handbag and keys and shit, did I lock up the house? No? Drive back in the house and recheck. And all that takes, hmmm, about an hour and a half.

10. After a year of taking a break, I’m back with my studies. Going to class and doing assignment while a baby is crying for attention, a hungry husband and a house that resembles a refugee camp with Ebola disease spreading rapidly, life sure is a circus full of fun.

11. People, I am a certified ninja, majoring in dodging my son’s surprise-urinal-spray.

12. Papsmear still feels like bitch. Luckily, the result came out singing with praises. I’m clean. Whoohoo!


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