Hello and Salaams to all you guys out there.
I am gaining weight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (cries, slaps forehead, wails).
ok so I suppose pregnant women are supposed to gain weight? but still, I gained a whole kg!!!! For the first three or four months, its okay if you don't gain any weight at all!!! Coz the baby is about the size of a fist!!! You don't need to put on anything! Sigh. I have my doctor's appointment today. And last time I went I told her I didn't want to put on too much as later its very hard to come off. She totally agreed, and told me as long as the baby is healthy and growing, she doesn't care if I don't put on too much. After baby no.1 I looked like baby elephant no.1 for a long time. I shudder.... I seriously have to watch what I'm eating. Blast those amazing Cinnabon rolls I gorged on!!! (It doesn't help that there are 6 more in the fridge. coutesy: guest from America).
If I just eat healthy, eat right, kid and I both are healthy, and I stay normal!!!!
Oh yeah, food turned out pretty good! masha Allah! Guest from America couldn't believe I had made it, turns out he remebers me as the kid who was always playing cricket and had some kind of hangover with Inzamam-ul-Haq's style of batting. (OK, so I even went and met him once, but thats another story). The praise felt wonderful and I made a mental note to do 2 nafl shukrana. Thanks Allah You kept my face in front of nearly ten ppl! alhamdulillah! Whats more, I tried to make sure apartment looked okay also. Hub happy too.
Nausea slightly better, alhamdulillah. Kitchen closets still not done. crap.
Gotta give baby her food. Ciao. Fee Aman Illaah
Saturday, August 30, 2008
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5 comments:
hehehe, mubarak ho! Mabrook!
App bohot suggarh ho! LOL!
hahahahaha.. ROFL
seriously I'm as un-suggarh as you can be. If I was a little bit better, I wouldn't be so worried abt having a party at home... Suggarh ppl are just too... perfect. me: not even close! infact i wish i was a bit like that....
to prove a point: read this article I happened to write some months ago...
She is every man’s dream. She is lissome and sexy, beautiful to look at, and always well-dressed and sweet-smelling. She is a gourmet cook and whips up exceptional meals in a matter of minutes. Her management of her time is admirable. She can pick and drop the kids to school, do the grocery, laundry and ironing, cleaning-up and cooking and still have time to attend the kitty parties.
She is blessed with a fine aesthetic sense and decorates and maintains a delightful, neat, contemporary and practical home, where everything is in its place. At the end of a long day she will be in a perfect mood. She doesn’t shout at the husband or at the kids to vent her frustration.
She sets a perfect example for her children, who are thoroughly well brought-up and very well-behaved. She is always smiling and is a pillar of strength for her family. She is loving and caring and can be the perfect hostess to her husband’s friends, her children’s classmates, or her own circle of friends. She is a source of pleasure and strength to all around her. One question: does she really exist? Ah... perhaps in movies and TV soaps, but in real life? I’m afraid no human being is perfect and even the best of us have our faults.
As far as I’m concerned, I do not match up to this super woman at all. Not by a long shot. I regret the fact that me and perfection, we never really got along and it’s been years since we parted ways. A typical day for me is something like this. I wake up somewhat late, probably because I was writing something for the better part of the night and went to sleep fairly late. I down the calorie-packed breakfast of coffee, cream cheese and bread and reluctantly give my little one small pieces of my bread to satisfy her.
I realise how hungry the baby is and feel a twinge of guilt. I boil an egg and force it down her throat. Next I look around the house to decide what needs to be done. I feel doing the dishes is quite boring, so go back to the bedroom. Here the comforter stares at me in despair as I try to ignore the unmade bed; I give in eventually and, after making the bed, I go into the kitchen.
Sigh! It’s an all-too-familiar dilemma. What to cook and how to cook it. I must admit that I am a very ‘plastic’ cook. I make edible biryani, all thanks to packet spices. I cook good BBQ chicken, but it would be rather unfair to take all the credit away from the BBQ sauce that sits in my fridge. Soups get ready in a jiffy because of the very helpful cup-a-soup packets and I make cakes with good old Betty Crocker cake mixes.
Its lunch time already and the chicken that I took out of the freezer a while back has only just thawed. I feed myself and the baby with instant noodles and at long last, devoid of all excuses, I decide I must cook. With tears in my eyes I cut onions and with a very disgruntled expression on my face I slice tomatoes, wondering why we can’t always eat out. With minimal deliberation I fry and stir and mix and boil and within twenty minutes, I'm outta there!
I sample the food. The result is directly proportional to the effort I put into it; it’s an insipid concoction of onions, tomatoes, chicken and rice. It’s no secret that the first thing men inquire about when they come home is food, so I try to look presentable and charming, to divert his attention from the unpalatable meal waiting to be devoured.
He, however, is more intelligent. When I present it to him, he refuses to eat the ‘khichri’ which was once meant to be a chicken pulao. I gingerly bring out yesterday's leftovers, which happens to be a rare accomplishment of mine: edible, nay, tasty food without any ready mixes! The baby wakes up and I am glad someone will appreciate my labours in the kitchen. Alas, she, too, spurns my food but I am more than a match for her.
The day is almost done and I am jolted out of my little world into a world of true realisation. I can be a perfect housewife if I put my mind to it. It’s not so tough. In my eyes, anyone who genuinely wants to do well is a winner, which means my devil-may-care attitude needs improvement, to say the least. And surely, there are women who are near-perfect. I have a long way to go...
*shivers*
eeek
who'd wana be that perfect? It's unnatural, and scary!
The description of the lady sounds like something from the 1950s
oh, RAMADHAN KAREEEEEEM!
LOL
Ramadan Kareem!
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