If beating myself up actually burned calories, I would be one skinny girl. So much has been swirling around within me, making for an exasperating week (or two)? I didn’t want to write about it at all, especially on a blog accessible to anyone, but I decided to do it, even to practice being able to say, “F*ck it,” and not care so damn much about others.

On July 1st, at seven months and one week old, Micah officially began to crawl after some weebly wobbly practice rounds that he had become quite militant about. Practicing his form and technique until he was ready for blast off. Quite a festive fellow, to ring in Independence Day with a crawl away from his lifeline (mama and her boobies). I think right around then is also when Mama started to feel the effects of raising a baby on her own. Not truly on her own like a single mama but without her family and longtime friends to stand in for her at times.

This is where the beating myself up comes in. I felt guilty to say it’s starting to get harder because I kept saying to myself and to others, “How can I complain when some folks are struggling to even get pregnant? I have a great, supportive husband. I don’t have twins, I only have one very calm baby to take care of, I know I have it good.” But it was still starting to get harder right around his First Crawl/Independence Day. Like I said, I was starting to feel the effects of not having relatives (or relative-like friends) to watch him regularly while I exhaled, picked my toes, read a novel, swam, remembered who my husband was before he became fellow taskmaster around our home. And just be ME, whoever the hell she was or is. Sure I get SOME pockets of time to myself but I crave more. Where I don’t have to explain to my hubby from the bathroom, “I’ll be out to feed him. What’s that noise? Are you mashing the peas or the carrots? Don’t think I went MIA. I’m just taking longer than I thought!”

One caveat. I currently cannot take more than four hours off during his wake hours (thankfully the boy is a naturally good sleeper). Micah started to reject the bottle of pumped milk when he wised up around four(?) months old, saying, “Why take this lifeless bottle when I can get back on those warm flesh pillows of mamas that I’ve been known to enjoy since the minute I was born?” So I just said, “Well, I’ve chosen to stay home so why not let him reject the bottle. I’m here so I don’t mind.” I still don’t mind for the most part and actually love breastfeeding because it is truly bonding, as he stares right into my eyes, sometimes spilling milk out of the corners of his mouth as he flashes me a smile mid-feed. During a full breastfeeding session, I don’t think I’ve ever been this content and this full of love. The only part I do mind is that it means that for the time being, I can’t take a whole day off, sending Micah on a Daddy and Me Day, or going on a Mommy and Daddy day or weekend. I just gotta take my chunks of time here and there.

Weekends have become family time. Birthday parties, groceries, park, buy buy baby. Still need ME time. And I hadn’t heeded this advice too much before because I was and am SO in love with my boy that even as I craved me time, each time I saw him, I would cave and want to hold him again. (Feeling my guilt creep in even now at the thought of sharing this because I DO have “plenty” of time, like talking to my friends on the phone while I walk around the neighborhood at night after Micah sleeps but I’m always feeling like I’m on a short leash that comes with being a mama. Or maybe I’m talking about how K and I rarely have made it a point to go out on our own).

Now the time to recharge and rebuild is overdue as K and I have been disconnected, I’m getting crankier, and I find myself envying mamas fortunate enough to say, “Oh, my mama is coming over to watch him while I….” and “The in-laws watched him while we…” Now is the time to ask the CT grandma to please visit so that K and I can have time to ourselves. Now is the time to ask some folks to come over for a few hours at night after Micah goes to bed EVEN IF I HATE to ask (hate inconveniencing and feeling like I owe favors). Now is the time to go out and NOT talk about how many ounces of solids on any given day and talk instead about stuff that used to make me tick.

Last week was K’s and my fourth wedding anniversary. 07.07.07 was a beautiful, meaningful day but already somewhat faded in my memories, or maybe just eclipsed by the birth of our 6-lb boy. Our anniversary was the first time we left him in the care of someone other than CT gramma or CA gramma. Just as we had predicted, our friends didn’t even have to touch him, or even SEE him, as he slept soundly in the other room with the door closed.

We went to our friend’s daughter’s first birthday at their kiddie pool. First time at the “pool” for our 7+ month MLK.

First time at Fairway Market for both mama and Micah. Huge aisles, practically as many employees as customers, and they even have JACKETS you can borrow to walk around in the COLD section! Like a funktified Whole Foods.

And Micah, don’t worry. I’ve noted other bigger Firsts in other sources. (like July 1st, when you started crawling at 7 months and 1 week).

Happy Fourth of July! Micah seems to see fireworks anywhere there is a ceiling or a ceiling in the form of any blanket-type thang falling down on him. A few short clips from this holiday weekend – squeals of delight:

In honor of Fourth of July, Mr. Micah has been flexing his independence muscles this week. After turning seven months, he is SO over being a baby, and is diligently, almost obsessively, practicing his power crawl. I hope he is not a perfectionist already. I wish he would rest and cuddle with me but he keeps practicing the crawl as if Kim Jong Il is making him do a thousand sets…or else. He thinks being strapped into anything is SO six-month old and can’t believe mama would still belt him into the stroller or the highchair when he is grown! He has protested the stroller heartily with big tears and dramatic screams but usually acts like he ain’t never been upset once we start strolling and he crinkles his little peacock toy friend, with his signature serious face. The highchair has been worse though. He screams so much he can’t even eat sometimes. My naturally good eater going through a brief phase, hopefully. Today, I even resorted to feeding him with a Micah-head tucked under my left armpit, on my lap, his right arm around me, because I didn’t want him to skip meals or just have breastmilk.

A couple days ago, I was washing dishes with my back turned to him. My boy was seated in his blue Bumbo seat, with his juicy thighs crammed into the leg spaces (how I dread the day he has thinned out and his legs fit easily). I would turn around sometimes to reassure him that mama is still there, since he could only see my back. Something about his crooked smile and confident gaze my way played a trick on my eyes and for a moment on that ordinary afternoon, I caught a glimpse of college-aged Micah surprising 50-something year-old mama while she washed the dishes. He would come in with that indescribable smile that makes me excited for each new day, the smile he doesn’t dole out to just anyone. He’d sneak up on oblivious, daydreaming mama doing the dishes and say, “Umma! Surprise! I came home to see you! You happy to see me or what?” He might bring some laundry to do, ask me for some food, ask where his pops is. He’d give me a big bear hug that I’d hold onto for an extra beat and in that moment, somewhere out there, I would flash back to this moment and see my seven-month old boy all over again.

bright sunny day started off with some church. then hopped on the 7 train to citifield for k’s first father’s day (not counting in utero micah). pretty good seats (promenade club) so that we can get into acela club restaurant for all-you-can-eat “marketplace” appetizers then yummy entrees in even better seats within the restaurant. micah, thank you for making yo daddy a daddy.

i learn a lot from bravo tv, as trashy and waste-of-time as it is. i saw my first breast pump on “bethenney ever after,” while i was pregnant. and many of the ladies on this channel have taught me that if i ever act like them as i get older, i need to ask my friends ahead of time, to bitchslap me or dunk me into a cold bath.

last night, i watched “the real housewives of new jersey.” in this episode, my beloved giudices attend their daughter’s gymnastics meet. she came in 7th. there were eight girls total. they not only catcalled and whistled for her, with so many extended family members attending, but also told her repeatedly how great she did. and she is one confident girl. i told k about this, how different it would’ve been if it were our Korean parents at that meet.

“ji-yah! why you not smile? you too scared and that’s why you fall. you know fat girl with short hair didn’t fall. aigoo. next time you smile and then maybe you don’t fall, okay? that is much better.”

maybe that’s why i’m hard on myself? growing up hearing how much better i could do or be? so k and i talked about how we’d praise micah a lot just for doing whatever he wants to do and having fun at it, but then i recalled some adults who grew up getting overly praised. yes, overly praised. parents being so proud of them when their grown asses handled a crowd well at Whole Foods or made a doctor’s appointment for THEYSELF. and unfortunately, these folks expected a lot of affirmation wherever they went since it was a freaking buffet in their home. so clearly, that is not the way either?

just typing out loud. wondering how to parent the best way without being overly critical like many first-generation Asian parents, who may mean well, wanting us to strive for more, or handling with kidgloves and raising an annoying kid who just expects praise everywhere he goes.

Can’t stop saying “Joe Giudice.” Especially when my brain freezes and I can’t think of the actual word I need. “Hey, Kev, can you make sure you go to Buy Buy Baby and pick up that…damnit, pick up that Joe Giudice, you know what I mean.” And sometimes he knows exactly what I mean. Or he’ll counter with, “Don’t you want that Joe Gorga sheeah babyproofing thang though?”

It’s already June. My Thanksgiving baby will be experiencing his first summer. Him in his lil wifebeaters and sleeveless rompers, with the bulging fleshy arm rolls and thigh rolls and wrist rolls = too much to handle for my eyes! People who haven’t seen him in a few weeks have commented that his face has changed and matured. No longer looking as baby-like. Waaaah.

I wonder if motherhood will play out like law school on the social front. During the first few weeks of law school, a lot of us hung out all the time because of the shared experience of starting law school with the much-hyped first year ahead of us. Open to hanging with everyone. Most of us all eager and wanting to make friends. It feels like high school all over again, with the lockers and the gossip. Soon, this phased out and cliques naturally formed based on what kind of person you were.

With new moms, it’s so easy for me to strike up a conversation with a stranger, swapping birthing stories or sharing how deeply in love we are with our babies. Or sometimes, we talk baby products, something I really didn’t like to do during my pregnancy because it both bored and overwhelmed me at the same time. I was excited to bring my bouncing, nekked baby into the world but I wasn’t excited to research baby products and receive TONS of emails about all that’s out there. But now, it’s a necessary conversation to information-gather for your little one and a natural way to talk with other moms.

After the initial conversations, as we form our different mothering styles and philosophies, I have a feeling we will soon hang with the mamas that we mesh well with, vibe more with, beyond, “Oh YOU’RE a mom, I’M a mom!” I can already see the different types: the coddling mamas, La Leche League mamas, the extra-busy mamas, the more relaxed mamas, the granola mamas, the self-deprecating mamas and more. It makes me think about what my style is or will evolve into, not that there’s a singular label for what kind of mama someone is. I always say it’s much harder to go beyond acquaintanceship in my 30s and also in NYC, so different from the friends I grew up with. So we shall see how friendships in the mama arena play out as we raise our kids together. (Also caught “Bridesmaids” last night, yes, late-night on a Tuesday with a couple other mamas. Watching Kristen Wiig and Maya Rudolph on the big screen calls for a shout out to my best friends, those who are mamas and those who are not.)

I want to work on giving people more benefit of the doubt so that my boy will learn that trait (that I inherently lack). “So I tried it…” a la John Stossel. (Although when I doubt the benefit, I’m usually SO right!). Usually I say “hello” to my neighbors even if many don’t. There is one man who practically pushes me aside and walks away when I greet him. My natural reaction would be to doubt any benefit and vow never to say “hello” to him again ’cause mama ain’t no sucker. But I paused and thought, “Wait, he ALWAYS does that! MAYBE he’s hard of hearing or maybe even nearly blind since he’s older. He doesn’t quite see me clearly.” The other day, he practically chest-bumped me while exiting the elevator to get to his place in a hurry. Another lady, a Rosie O’Donnell type, remained in the elevator. She rolled her eyes and groaned after he left.

“I figured he can’t see well or hear well?” I said, to possibly explain his behavior to her. This is how benefit of the doubt works, right?

“No, I’ve been his neighbor for four years now. He’s just an asshole.”

Hmmm…this is going to be hard.

A three-day weekend is a beautiful thang. Hubby was THIS close to having to work through some of it but found out on Saturday that he did not have to. Halleluyer! Weekend was glorious, full of quality time as a family of three with some sizzling weather as a backdrop.

Some highlights: Micah was able to get on the swings with Daddy for the first time. Walked miles in our beautiful park through lush trees and shade. Daddy was Billy Madison, lining up at the ice cream truck, very seriously weighing the decision – Cherry Dipped Vanilla Cone v. Firebomb. Nice to walk alongside them, with Daddy behind the stroller. After committing to staying at home indefinitely with my lil shumai, I keep wondering about part-time, flexible opportunities for the future. Ice cream truck? It’s seasonal and my boy could roll with me? Bump some R&B and drive through the parks?

Some seafood with childhood friend and his wifey and baby boy just six weeks older than our boy. So nice to see parent friends in love with their own babies.

Church. Sermon on Anxiety. Got to see a few friendly faces afterwards.

Woodbury – overrun more than ever this weekend by Orthodox Jews and Asians. So curious how everyone makes their money, how they’re able to buy, buy, buy. So crowded and too hot but nice to get out for a drive away from the city. Must write letter of complaint soon though so that they can upgrade their bathrooms. On this especially hot day, we went speedwalking to the bathroom marked as “nursing station” on the map so that Micah would not get dehydrated. Shoving one battered wicker chair into a toilet stall within the general population of the masses of other toilets does not make for a nursing station. Impossible to nurse with diarrhea fumes swirling all around, punching both baby and mama in the nose. Unacceptable. There needs to be a separation. At least a few comfortable chairs in a different room? Yes, there was one Family Restroom which I was so excited to use because it was another First for our family but it was not airconditioned and a line of other families started to form, people knocking and making me nervous to do my thang. I don’t do well when people are waiting on me, so I flung open the door and told the other mama to come on in and change her baby while I nursed (or tried to since Micah likes to bite now – even with no teeth). Laughable really, that you sell Gucci and Prada on your premises but shove a nasty chair into a TOILET STALL and call that a nursing station. I guess this would be one lowlight from the weekend’s highlights.

Dim Sum with my new mama friends and their baby daddies. Nice to bond and have our babies see other babies regularly. Would be too isolating to do this on our own.

Walks around the neighborhood.

Putting away winter clothes. (Not that I enjoyed doing any kind of packing or organizing but symbolically).

Some other highlights but brain shutting down. Goodnight.