
c u! and me in deep thinking...and still as thirsty as ever..

Just a little this and that of my expressions.. Dedicated especially for my 4 angles and my little warrior.. Life is beautiful..
Anak punai anak merbah
Terbang turun buat sarang
Anak sungai pun berubah
Ini pula hati orang
Mengapa dikenang
Asal kapas jadi benang
Dari benang dibuat baju
Barang lepas jangan kenang
Sudah jadi orang baru
Mengapa dirindu
Kasih yang dulu tinggal dalam mimpi
Kasih yang baru simpan di hati
Kasih yang dulu tinggal dalam mimpi
Kasih yang baru simpan di hati
Selat teduh lautan tenang
Banyak labuh perahu Aceh
Jangan kesal jangan kenang
Walau hati rasa pedih
Mengapa bersedih
Kalau pinang masih muda
Rasanya kelat sudahlah pasti
Kalau hilang kasih lama
Cari lain untuk ganti
Mengapa dinanti
Patah 'kan tumbuh hilang berganti
Akan sembuh kalau diubati
Patah 'kan tumbuh hilang berganti
Akan sembuh kalau diubati
Sayang mengapa dirindu
P/S: AND i WISH THE NEW MOTHER GOOD LUCK TOO!!"MISSION IMPOSSIBLE
(BUT THEN AGAIN WITH MARY SCHNEIDER)
The American woman who recently gave birth to octuplets intends to breastfeed them all. Good luck with that.
I JUST read about the American woman who recently gave birth to octuplets – six boys and two girls. Her doctor had told her she was expecting seven babies, so when baby number eight made an appearance, he was surprised.
“It’s quite easy to miss a baby when you’re anticipating seven,” he said by way of explanation.
Although the doctor’s statement made me wonder about the quality of the medical care this new mother had been receiving, I was more taken aback by her intention to breastfeed all her babies. With only two breasts and eight babies, I’m not sure if this is possible.
If any of her babies are like my firstborn (he was the kind of baby who nursed for 45 minutes at a time, with 20 minute breaks between feedings, all day long, and several times a night), there won’t be enough time in a day to breastfeed eight babies. Of course, she could breastfeed all of them just once a day. Or spend her days doing nothing but eating, drinking and expressing two gallons of milk with the aid of a breast pump. But then, she might not like the idea of spending all her waking hours bonding with a small electrical appliance.
Since the new mother will probably be housebound for the next three years, (I can’t see her taking her babies to the mall for a little shopping trip any time soon, or popping into her favourite restaurant for a light lunch with her brood in tow) she will be spared the stigma attached to public breast-feeding.
Some people are uncomfortable at the sight of a baby being breast-fed. They will whisper overtly to their companions and then assume the same sort of look of disgust that is normally reserved for someone who’s just taken all her clothes off and doing a pole dance in the middle of a funeral service.
Then, there are the overly curious people who ogle you in the hope that they will get a glimpse of your breast. I once attempted to nurse my son in a five-star hotel. Although I was sitting at a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, and I’d covered myself and my son with a large shawl, I could feel the hot stares of some of the other diners boring into me.
One man even got up from his table and wandered over in my direction while pretending to talk to someone on his handphone. I know so, because as he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye, the handphone that he was talking into began to ring.
Still, despite the difficulties associated with breastfeeding in public, I tried not to curtail my social life too much while I was nursing my son.
When my son was three months old, my then husband even took us to Pulau Pangkor for holiday. On the drive to Lumut, all I did was nurse my son. On the ferry across to the island, all I did was nurse my son, and once in the hotel, all I did was nurse my son. When I look at the photos of that trip, all my memories are centred on breastfeeding.
I have a photo of me standing on the beach, in a swimsuit with a plunging neckline, the rising sun peeking over my shoulder and my son sleeping in his stroller next to me. My breasts were huge: two swollen melons squeezed into a piece of lycra. I looked like a sleep-deprived, red-haired, slightly shorter version of Pamela Anderson.
Well, okay, maybe not Pamela Anderson. It’s amazing what lack of sleep will do to your sense of perception.
That particular day, after my son had had his first morning feed beneath a shady tree near the hotel’s swimming pool, I placed him over my shoulder to burp him. He duly obliged, in a loud undignified manner, then fell asleep almost immediately.
It wasn’t until I returned to my room two hours later, after doing my Pamela Anderson impersonation as I sashayed around the swimming pool, that I caught sight of a long streak of milky vomit on the rear of my swimsuit.
After eight months of breastfeeding, I stopped – only to begin again 13 months later when my daughter popped into the world with a loud lusty cry.
I wish the mother of the octuplets good luck with her quest.