I went to a girlfriend's house for a short visit since she just delivered her first-born. The fuss was tremendous. All these women getting broody and making gaga noises and goo goo eyes at the oblivious newborn.
I'm not a particularly maternal sort and am completely at sea with all this baby stuff. So, it was with complete stupefaction and pity with which I watched my former Party Girl girlfriend become a zombie. The song was even playing in my head as I watched her trundle off to another room to breast-feed her son.
Three hours later and there was still no sight or sound from her. Worried, I decided to go check on her. Found her in the baby room with one mammiferous body part stuffed in her son's mouth. I gaped ... "He's still feeding??? Jaysus! Now you know your son is growing up to be a tit man, doncha?"
She managed a weak grin and really worried now, I sat next to her to find out what the deal was. I was horrified as a sad tale of virtual imprisonment to the baby Nazi unfolded. Apparently, it took an average of 3 hours to breast-feed the baby. Bloody 'ell! I can't even sit through a hairdresser's appointment ... this totally cemented my conviction never to be a breeding sow. The poor woman was tired and suffering from extremely low self esteem - a complete role reversal from the vibrant, in your face, total Wild Woman who used to shock the blokes with her antics.
She told a torrid tale of sitting in a small room with no company for hours, almost having to be surgically detached from baby's liplock, feeling like life is passing her by and a total disconnect from people in general. This sounded like a real case for post-natal depression to this neophyte Dr Seuss. And no wonder! If I had to sit for 3 hours with some little man's lips locked on my ... er ... right, shutting up now.
Anyway, I was still reeling from this experience when I had dinner with a girlfriend and we pondered this situation. My girlfriend could shed more light since she has already produced two rugrats of her own but even she was shocked at the extremity of the situation. Then I made her choke on her sliced fish noodle soup when I said that it was as if the baby had sucked her personality right out with the milk too.
I know ... my timing sucks.
Anyway, back to the food. We ate at Ka Soh at Amoy St as we were craving Chinese food after an extremely long and hard day of workshops with Yousry Sharif. So, it was the sliced fish soup which was yummy but I felt that it was not as good as it usually is. And of course, we had the Har Cheong Gai, which is the chicken deep fried with prawn paste. It was totally yummy. Crispy, hot, tasty and incredibly orgasmic. We had some unknown vegetable (looked like lettuce to me actually) sauted in sambal. The meal was great and I went home highly gratified.
Not the most healthy meal but hey! I needed comfort after the trauma of watching Rapacious Tit Kid at work. And I went to bed determined I was not gonna join the rank of Attack of the Body Part snatchers victims anytime soon - if ever. Shudder.
Categories - Rambling Prose