4 for 7

Posted on August 22, 2012 by ajummama

“I would take out minimally three mortgages on my home so I can pay for her to go to therapy four times a week for the rest of her life,” said K.

“Wow, you nice. I would disown her. Fine, too harsh. I would just make my friends adopt her even if she is 26,” I responded.

We were watching a gem of a show on ABC called “The Bachelor Pad.” This beautiful girl named Jamie was so delusional in her one-sided romance with a guy who did not value her in the least. She would follow him to his bunkbed and beg to makeout with him even when he had shoo’d her away before. And even after he had been making out with another gal on the bottom bunk as she fell asleep on the top bunk, knowing what was going on. She obviously did not value herself. This seemed to be a recurring theme among the quality reality shows we tune into.

“These shows are really making me scared to have a daughter,” admitted K.

For better or for worse, we’ve committed to not finding out the sex of our Belly Baby this time around.

For better: We want the experience of being surprised as a few friends have shared that the surprise was the most amazing, thrilling event of their lives. (Here, Kevin wants to point out that the pronoun should be “I”, not “We,” as he was all for finding out).

For worse: I don’t think we’ve purchased a single thing for this baby even though we know there are some gender-neutral options out there. When we are out shopping, we just freeze when we see boy/girl options for clothes and accessories (and Kevin unfreezes just long enough to shake his head at me though he was initially into this surprise business.) And the suspense (that yes, we created), even though we know that there are only two options, Lord willing.

To not know whether we are going to have another son or a daughter is a strange stage, a new experience we created to make our second pregnancy stand out from the first. (Again, I’m sure Kevin would like to insist that I use the “I” pronoun for accuracy). We end up fretting about the potential problems specific to girls when we don’t even know if we’ll ever have a daughter.

On the way to the gym one day, Kevin saw a teenage boy trying to hit on a teenage girl. He watched their interaction and worried that one day he will be cringing at the sight of someone trying to pick up his little girl. If he has a girl.

When I was carrying Micah, I didn’t have time to wonder TOO long as I found out Week 17. The night before, as we were about to fall asleep, I said, “C’mon, Que Bin. Let’s close our eyes for a few seconds in silence and then on the count of three, tell me which name you see on the wall of our imaginary nursery. One, two, three…” We both said “MICAH” even though we were still name-shopping. We both thought “boy.”

The next day, at the anatomy scan, we were holding hands tightly as the sonographer lubed up my belly.

“Can you tell me when you’re actually gonna tell us ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ because I want to brace myself. Otherwise, I’m just gonna stare at your lips intently to see if they’re gonna form a ‘b’ or a ‘g’ sound. Thanks for bearing with me. I’m just too excited,” I said.

Few seconds later…

“OK. Are you ready? I’m going to tell you now.”

“Yes, we’re ready!”

“It’s a boy!”

I started to cry. Kevin got verklempt.

“How sure are you? Can we tell the grandparents?”

“90% sure.” She moved her gadget on my belly a little bit more. “100% sure.”

After the visit, as we’re about to call our parents, I took out a boy’s onesie I had brought in my purse to show Kevin, “Booyah! I had known all along!” I had just felt it but wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking as gut feelings are not 100%. Then I went on to have a Joy Luck Club conversation with my MiL who said something about how NOW, I can really lead the Kim family since I am producing the fourth generation first son. (Cue “Lion King” song).

This time around, I really don’t know. In a way, I can’t imagine either. I can’t imagine another boy because when I think “boy” I can only imagine my beloved Micah. But I also can’t imagine a girl because I can’t imagine my womb producing a different product from before. I do know that their sonograms look nothing alike. Micah was rounder, this baby is pointier, sharper. Pregnancy symptoms and the way I’m carrying is pretty much the same, not that those are conclusive.

I am pretty surprised at the reactions I’ve been getting from our family and closest friends about our not finding out the sex this time. My mom has begged me to quit doing this because it is just too frustrating and contrived to not find out what is readily available. She said back when I was born, there was no choice but to not know until the birth, but now, for me to look away during the anatomy scan and not find out was ridiculous. My mother-in-law went on a recent trip to Korea and said she couldn’t buy this baby ANY gifts since we don’t know the sex of the baby. My close girlfriends have taunted me, saying on the one hand, this is so not me, but on the other hand, why I gotta make everything such a dun-dun-dun event, and let’s just break into your online medical file.

I admit it’s driven us crazy here and there especially because my medical file is online, always available with my username and password. Yet, it has made our second pregnancy feel less like a mere sequel. It’s been fun hearing people’s theories and hunches, based on their own experiences or general wives’ tales.

For instance, after one of my o.b. appointments, a Black man come up to me on the F train while I was devouring some S’mores scone crumbs from inside my Alice’s Tea Cup bag, making sure I got every last bit. He stared right at my face then at my belly, then back to my face. “GIRL! You having a girl!”

“Is that right?” I asked, wiping the crumbs off my chin. “How’s your track record? How many times have you guessed correctly?”

“I have seven kids. Four by my wife. I guessed right four times. You having a girl.” He was honest. Didn’t lie about his less than stellar track record.

Another time I was running after Micah at Barnes & Noble when I noticed a tan Asian woman staring at me. I wasn’t offended at her long stare because it seemed like she was readying to strike up a conversation.

“How excited are you to have a girl this time?” she finally said.

“Really!? We actually didn’t find out the sex this time but what makes you think that?”

“You’re carrying so wide like I did when I had my daughter. You are having a girl! I’m Indonesian and we know these things.”

And finally, I met a gorgeous mother of four gorgeous, well-behaved boys today. She guessed girl as well but admitted that she thought she was having a girl the fourth time around. Her girl turned out to be her now three-month old son, Luke, the only blue-eyed child among her brown-eyed brood.

Why resort to something as scientific and accurate as a sonogram when I can have all this fun speculating for up to two more months?

Marveling in the Mundane

Posted on August 10, 2012 by ajummama

On the phone with the husband:

K: Ji-yah! Remember to eat the pack of mesclun and endives for lunch. They have to be eaten soon.

(We have a bad habit of throwing away produce because we postpone eating them).

Me: Well, I find salad to be more of a dinner or a never kind of entree.

K: (laughing) Thanks for always reminding me why I married you.

He married me because my eating habits point towards a proclivity for getting real round?

Then I remembered that while we were dating bi-coastally, pretty early on in the courtship, we were walking around Manhattan when I saw someone stroll by, devouring a gooey slice of pizza, folded in half, NYC style. I started to whimper and growl like a dog, even patting the ground with my paw to express my ravenous hunger. I was just being myself. I also knew that many a Korean-American menz would find me too quirky or “weird” to fit into their mold of wifey, which was fine because I found their mold to be hella boring.

But Kevin didn’t trip. He simply responded with that pleasant mug of his, “We’ll feed you soon, dear.” Little did I know then that this dude was full of quirks himself.

We recently celebrated our five-year wedding anniversary. We fondly recalled those bi-coastal dating days when we were law students who visited each other in SF and Boston only as much as our class schedules and financial aid packages allowed. I would cry sometimes, telling him, “I feel like I am dating a voice. Like in Charlie’s Angels. What if we don’t make it? What if we just wonder what could’ve happened but we just run into each other one day with our respective spouses who were only geographically more desirable? Oh, Kevin, that would be SO SO sad!” We didn’t do Facebook or Skype back then though they may have been available. I bought Kevin a webcam as a gift, but his laptop was so old it could not handle such a device.

Kevin laughed at me as usual. “You watch too many movies. We’ll be fine.”

My biggest wish was to partake in the mundane like “normal” couples. I was sick of these hyped up visits where we would pine away for each other for at least two months at a time. We would plan such DATE-like events each time we made it to the other’s coast, to take in so much of the sights in each city to maximize our time together. I told him I craved going to a CVS together to pick up some toiletries or just buying some hamburger meat together at a Stop N Shop.

The Lord answered our prayers. Fast forward to five-plus years as a married couple with a kid and a belly baby and we have basins overflowing with the mundane. (Literally. I see Micah’s drooly bibs in a basin in our bathtub, awaiting a wash tonight). And add to that my third trimester aches and pains:

Me: How you gonna just leave stuff on the floor? You KNOW how much I hate bending down these days. I know you so quirky you don’t mind sleeping on top of yo clothes or books but to pass by and SEE your boxers on the living room floor but not pick them up? Oh, uh-uh, Que Bin!

Kevin: Ji-yah. You know you wore my boxers last night because you said your pajama bottoms were choking your belly? So uh, YOU actually left them on the floor. (He picks them off the floor for me.)

Me: Well, they must’ve just fallen off from my belly sweat or something then because I would NEVER do such a thing! (Tryna bat my eyelashes, I am smiling sheepishly, Kevin shaking his head).

These days we are pretty exhausted from day-to-day life as still new-ish parents. Kevin works all day at the office but helps out SO much before and after work, even more than usual because he knows I am wiped out too and that we don’t have local relatives to drop by regularly to help out. But even though it’s hard, we always remark on how much more fulfilling and FULL these hard days are than when we had all the time in the world for “Curb Your Enthusiasm” or Korean bee-dee-o marathons on lazy Saturdays or even when we were able to travel so much more on a double-income with no kids.

Me: Oh, you took out the trash already? Thank you! Thanks for lining the trash can with the plastic bag already, too!

Kevin (tired, bleary-eyed): (sighing) WHAT!? I DID line the trash can already! Look!

Me: I know – that’s why I said THANK YOU! Oh, man, you thought I was being sarcastic? Am I that much of a wise-ass? That is SO sad!

(We both smile). Kevin is about to come back with something.

Me: Don’t you start, boy!

And as if on cue, there is Micah, waking up from his postponed nap this rainy, humid afternoon. We are all about to get schooled in the mundane, Advanced Placement classes, in the months to come as Belly Baby arrives. As long as we can laugh, we’ll be fine…right?

“Supplies!” I Funny!

Posted on August 8, 2012 by ajummama

Walking to the subway from my visit to my o.b., I realized I had no idea how well the baby was growing because I had gotten sidetracked by my doc’s warm personality. She has a real girlfriend vibe about her and in our ten-minute appointment where she simply measured my belly with a tape measurer, she and I ended up chatting about our husbands’ personalities and how we are wired differently from them. She is the opposite of my previous rush-rush-rush older male o.b. who charmed me at the initial visit with his warm Italian uncle routine but once he had hooked me as a new patient, he even asked me not to ask questions at our monthly visit because he was too tired and my questions so routine. Not a bad guy but not touchy-feely at all, especially at the delivery where some support would be nice. The nurses were intimidated by him and he didn’t explain what he was about to do when his entire forearm seemed to reach right into me to break my water. He was going on vacation immediately after my baby arrived so he seemed to want to bone out right quick. Maybe it worked because I had such a swift delivery, especially considering it was my first baby. Checked into the hospital at 12:06 am on Thanksgiving Day 2010. Micah arrived at 6:26 am Thanksgiving morning.

My new female o.b. remarked again how funny she thought I was. She has said it before at least a couple times each visit but today she kept shaking her head, fist-bumping me saying, “Have you always been this funny? You really are a funny girl!” looking deep into my eyes.

I felt sheepish and Joy Luck Clubby because I really didn’t say anything riotously funny and she was making a big deal out of it. She seemed so amazed and surprised that I was funny. It came up while she was telling me not to go to the playground so much with Micah since it’s much harder in the heat and this far along. To relax by going on playdates at other mamas’ homes so that I can just park myself on the couch. I told her I would never be able to just sit there as I have to watch my boy, make sure he doesn’t knock down anything or get into other kids’ faces, even though he is hardly ever aggressive. She said, “Sure you can just sit there!” (She has three kids of her own so she is very experienced.)

I said something about well, I never want to be a gross mama who doesn’t watch her own child especially like those extreme mamas whose children can never do no wrong. How their kid will slap a child silly and the mama will just say, “Oh, he is just so curious!” without any apology. We bonded over how we always correct our kids even at a young age because we want them to learn right from wrong. But she asked again, truly wondering, “Were you always this funny!?”

(I told you I didn’t say anything really funny. Just imitated annoying mamas per usual).

I said, “Well, I was nominated Best Sense of Humor back in my high school days. Some people didn’t vote for me because they said I didn’t LOOK funny. I guess I can look kind of corporate?” I was being Al Bundy, reliving my glory days, but she asked for it, inquiring about the origin and development of my sense of humor.

“Yeah, it’s really unexpected because of your ethnicity.” She responded without pause. I agreed.

Walking away from that visit, I realized I have no idea if my baby is growing as he or she should be right now. I am gonna guess yes since my doctor didn’t flag anything. Need to focus next time. Also, what she said about ethnicity. I found it to be nakedly honest. A bit surprising that she admitted it since people try to be so damn P.C. these days. It’s true that most people don’t expect Asians to be funny and she straight up admitted that casually during our ten-minute girlfriend-like chat. No wonder she would always be surprised by my personality during each visit. Proves that people definitely believe in stereotypes and only fools wanting to be applauded on talk shows go around saying, “I don’t see color.” But is it really that surprising that an Asian-American gal can be funny? Would it be less surprising if I just sat there very quiet and demure, artfully peeling an apple while waiting for her to come in? Giggling off to the side with my hand covering my mouth? Offering her a quick dry cleaning of her doctor’s white coat?

I meant to write about how much of an uproar my Not Finding Out Baby’s Sex has turned out to be but I totally went on a tangent. Goodnight.

Nekked playdate anyone?

Posted on August 3, 2012 by ajummama

The weather report is displaying the dreaded cactus and blazing sun icons for today. Heat wave has hit again yesterday and even worse today. Just strolled 1.72 miles in this nasty heat. To and from Micah’s last day of Vacation Bible School (VBS) Mommy & Me. What a special week it’s been. Such a blessing in so many ways. Reminds me of when I would get so attached to my Sunday school teachers and retreat/revival speakers that I would ask a few of them if we can be pen pals (no emails back then) because I didn’t want to say goodbye forever.

So if it’s so unbearably hot again, why didn’t I drive? So many reasons. Unless I can drive from a permanent parking spot to parking lot, I generally don’t bother driving in NYC. While I usually love strolling around everywhere, not driving can sometimes make me feel stuck during the week. Yet when I think about what I need to do to actually drive, I usually end up walking. Looking for our car somewhere in our neighborhood, collapsing and lifting the stroller into the trunk, fanagling M into the carseat, then returning to circle around for a parking spot in the heat for God knows how long, having to wake him up from his nap, risking him not going back down for a true nap at home. I simply refuse to do it especially as I get bigger and less tolerant. Plus, I am so scared of getting lost and not being able to recover as I mostly did the subway thing since I moved to NYC in 2005. Gotta work on this fear.

Only about ten more weeks until Belly Baby arrives.

This heat definitely affects our day-to-day activities. Some thoughts:

Walking by a pharmacy with the most glorious air conditioning, I wondered what type of immoral act I would be willing to commit if we were held hostage in this heat. Maybe immoral is too strong of a word but something that goes against my faith and values just for a blast of a/c. I’m human so if I were told that Micah, Belly Baby and I would have to stay in the heat for ____ minutes with no relief or shade, I’m sure I would succumb to some degree of depravity for some a/c. Imagining where I would draw the line. Throw in an icy drink – would I renounce my faith? Ask God for forgiveness later?

I used to pay to go to hot yoga. The irony. (But I wasn’t pregnant and strolling a toddler in an overstuffed stroller and wearing a bra with underwire).

It’s too hot to get ourselves to a playdate, something we usually love to do. It’s too hot to even host one, the easier alternative these days, because I would be nekked and that would be inappropriate. At least for the kids. Maybe a couple mamas would join me.

I wish walking around nekked on really hot days would be legal and normalized. I enjoy it so much. One of the reasons I enjoyed not having a roommate for several years in my 20s.

Oh, no. M hasn’t been napping in his crib after all. He’s calling for me before I’ve had a chance to eat. That’s what I get for blogging on my break. So grateful that the weekend has arrived. Weekend = Daddy driving!