hi, micah,
you are fast asleep in your crib, with your face mashed up against the mesh bumpers that were so necessary for you. i try to put off buying yet ANOTHER baby product because i think it’s all a scheme to get us eager-beaver first-time mamas to buy everything but sometimes, things are truly necessary or at least very helpful.

i’ve been meaning to write more about how you change daily but i have to confess that i haven’t been keeping up. i get more tired these days as you grow. you’ve always been a good sleeper so that’s not why. i just feel wearier. maybe because i no longer even try to workout at night, at least for the last month or so, ever since you started to reject the bottle of expressed milk your papi tried to give you as your final meal before bedtime. that was usually when i would try to go to the gym but now you demand mama 100% of the time.

i’m rambling now. i just want to capture some moments on this here blog because some moments will forever be gone. your papi tries to remind me that as sad as i am to see that your chubby baby feet are starting to look more childlike than tofu newbornlike, we will have future moments to cherish, like when you start talking and saying the durndest things or when your papi throws you a ball or when you are in school plays (only if you want to!) and look out for us in the audience. but as your mama, i can’t believe that some of your baby moments are FOREVER gone. for instance, you used to purse your lips into a small, tight little “o” when you were brand new but now you are SO over that – “C’mon mom, that is SO 2010!” when i first brought you home from the hospital, you were a pink, nekked molerat, earnestly trying to suckle at my breast. your eyes were shut tight, just trying your hardest to get some meat on your 6 lb. frame, getting adjusted to this crazy new world outside of mama, not yet resembling a chubby, bouncing baby. now, you are my big hamhock, my sea bass, wide and gurgly, complete with baby pecs and succulent thighs, fat wrists, staring right at me as you nurse. you love to play with your feet in the happy baby yoga pose. your favorite thing is ceilings. you’re shy around other babies and you sometimes sigh like you have a lot on your mind. when we’re with a lotta babies, you sometimes want me to lay you down apart from the chaos so that you can crack up all by yourself. you like to smile in the presence of men who talk very seriously without paying you any mind.

sometimes, i get obsessed with chronicling your every move, your every change. i realized i was doing this when i overly stressed about which fancy camera we should upgrade to. your perceptive papi noticed that i was getting really riled up and finally tears spilled out as i spit out, “Look, maybe it’s not even about the camera. i’m just freaking out that we’re losing precious moments. i want to capture EVERYTHING because he’s growing SO fast and i feel like i’m the designated family historian! i mean damn, LOOK AT HIS FEET! they’re soon not going to be baby feet and he’s gonna lose his fat thighs and he’s not gonna want to be held by me forever! then he’s gonna ask me to drop him off at the mall without getting out of the car in front of his friends!”

when it was a rainy day last week, we stayed indoors for shelter, foregoing all activities and playgroups. i turned on some music and slowdanced with you, cheek-to-cheek, with your tiny, sweaty fist gripping my finger. when i spun you around, you smiled even bigger and you babbled with glee. you are now hefty in my arms and you will only get bigger until you (hopefully) tower over me. of COURSE i want you to grow up, strong and healthy. it would be a travesty if you stayed your size forever yet i want to freeze you at your current stage while you are still my baby who beams at me with your gummy smile, peering into my eyes without looking away even for a moment, then spilling all your milk out because i make you smile WIDE just by calling out your name. around your fifth month, you became smilier than ever and it’s been so delicious that it actually makes my heart ache.

when you are about to fall into a deep sleep, you usually have to shake your head from side to side – fast and furious. this helps you settle into sleep. you like to kick a lot and tap your feet. you’re big enough now that when you sock me or papi, it kinda hurts. you discovered your ears a while back and you can’t believe these things exist right on your very own head so you twist and grab them, giving them a hard time (also a sign of teething). you like to sing along, with the Easter song and “God is so Good” being your favorites. Your nemeses: the wind, toilet flushing loudly in public restrooms, the hand dryer in public restrooms, the food processor, the bright sun directly on your face, my sneezes, my sudden loud laugh. and cold lotion, too, lately. you actually gasp and shudder.

you are SO over the swing but you love the jumperoo. you had your first “solid” – we gave you rice cereal on mother’s day and you seem to like it. you don’t have any teeth yet but you love to roll over, esp. from your back onto your tummy. whoa, it’s past midnight so i should go to bed now. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH and I THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING ME A MAMA!

(we have since gotten you a nice high chair and plastic bowls – this was just our first time)

I think it was about ten years ago when I attended a Pacific Crossroads Church community group in Santa Monica, CA. Many of the folks at that church were in the entertainment industry. The icebreaker was, “How was your week? What achievement are you most proud of from the past week?” I’m sure it was tied to what we were studying or discussing that night. I racked my brain and came up with, “Well, one thing about me is that I have to stand up for people when they can’t stand up for themselves so like I feel good about speaking up against a gym employee who was treating a Latina lady poorly because she couldn’t speak English. She was really talking down to her and treating her like a little kid, raising her voice when she couldn’t understand so I had to say something.” Then the next guy who shared was really fired up, saying that I jogged a similar memory of his, of when he defended someone while in line at Starbucks.

Shortly after we shared our highlights of the week, the next dude said, deadpan, “I’d have to say it was pretty cool when I won an Oscar last week.” Well. He was so truly humble about it, saying it was just for a technical category but I always laugh when I think of this memory, especially today, while still reeling from the news of Osama bin Laden’s death. How was your week? What was the most memorable? I’d probably choose from many Micah anecdotes, how we walked a 5K together as a family with a stroller at the Bronx Zoo’s Run for the Wild, or how he took some solid naps on any given day. And then some cooler-than-cool dude would follow that with, “I’d have to say I had a monumental week. I shot Osama bin Laden. Dead.”

Last night, my husband and I watched footage of people gathering around Ground Zero and the White House to celebrate bin Laden’s death with bright eyes, huge grins and unabashed cheer. Unlike me, Husband was in NYC on 9/11, actually fleeing his office two blocks away from the Twin Towers, running the fastest he’s ever run in his life. Yet Husband still said, “This feels a little weird. Cheering the death of another human being.” I know what he meant but I hardly heard him as I was too busy cheering beside him. I KNOW this does not bring back the lives of the victims or the men and women who served our country but knowing that this evil man is no longer with us, I kept shouting, “BOOYAH! You punk ass BITCH! Finally!” As a Christian, I do believe we are ALL sinners and that vengeance is the Lord’s. But whether right or wrong, I feel what I feel. I am still thrilled that the ruthless, unremorseful mass murderer of thousands is no longer roaming God’s green Earth and hope that other terrorists can get theirs too, and soon.

Someone shared this MLK, Jr. quote on Facebook today: “I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” I confess that I ain’t no MLK, Jr.

One of the many things I loved about pregnancy was how I could meet a woman and have her tell me how short her cervix is or how she is currently suffering from heartburn that no amount of Tums could combat. Even before we swapped names. I love the quirky and intimate, and would rather skip the same ol’ pleasantries.

Lately, I’ve met so many different mamas with careers ranging from Broadway performer to former coast guard, sales executive to personal trainer, preschool teacher to portfolio manager, pediatrician to flight attendant. Yet we all speak the same language now. One afternoon, when we were all gathered at the library, hanging out on the floor, on the kids’ colorful playmats, sharing what we did pre-mamahood in between, “Micah, be careful! Don’t roll over that way!” and “Emerson! Gentle touch! Don’t hit Baby! Come back here please!”, it all reminded me of something. But I still can’t figure out what.

Like jail? How inmates must all gather around the communal toilet and say, “Whatchoo in for?” then listing the variety of offenses that brought them there? But no, this analogy does not work. What GOT us here was the same. We had sex and got knocked up (yes, I know that there are many alternative ways to getting pregnant in this day and age but I’m just stating the tried and true way so I don’t forget what I was writing about in the first place). So while this jail analogy was the first to come to mind, it doesn’t fully make sense since we got here the same way. Or wait, maybe it does, since we all had differerent jobs but ended up at the same stop – motherhood? jobs:offenses / jail::motherhood?

Like college? Or rather, the exact opposite of college? In college, I felt like most of us, at least most of my friends, were on equal footing, lining up at Sproul Hall to physically pick up our financial aid packages. Then graduation hit and we went on different paths that led to different lifestyles. So talking with mamas who did vastly different things only to end up together in this very moment, clutching our babies and watching over them with beaming grins and common complaints = different paths to equal footing, at least in the mother bear regard. Again, imperfect analogy. Okay, I’ll let it go and stop trying to write an SAT problem (remember the analogy section?). (Nerd alert: Obviously, I loved the analogy section a little too much).

For some reason, the library scene really stayed with me. Whatever it reminded me of, not jail, not reverse college, but maybe just Act Two? I want to carve out something grand in Act Two though I’m not sure just what shape or form it will be. Let me know if you’ve any ideas for me.

I am starting to realize how much I look forward to blogging as I stay home with my baby. Sure, I get some adult interaction through playdates and other events but being able to collect my thoughts beyond the FACT-sharing (which toys to buy, how to make his food when the time comes, is there a difference between adult Aquaphor and baby Aquaphor on his dry skin, raising a bilingual baby, and OH SO MUCH more)…is a treat.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about vices, which brought me to a particular memory. Picture it: the year was 1999. or was it 2000? (even with “Mommy Brain” I still strive to retain a lotta detail.)

A few of my Berkeley girlfriends and I are starting to hang out more back home in Los Angeles, with our new label as Recent College Grads or Young Adults. It’s a whole new chapter for us, hanging out not as financial-aid collecting students but with our respective paychecks and apartments. We meet up at Miyagi’s on Sunset Blvd. My friend’s good-looking co-worker and I start talking amidst the loud music. Next thing I know he asks for my digits so that we can go to dinner some time. Props to him for stepping up.

He picks me up at my office in West Hollywood. When I walk out, he is leaning against his car with his arms crossed. (I later gush to my friends about how cool that pose looked and one of my girls says, “Yeah, um, eww. He got that from ‘Pretty in Pink’ yo.”) Anyways, Micah may awake from his nap any minute now so I best fast forward to my point. That is some pressure since I love tangents.

During our dinner, where we were seated next to a very depressed Rob Schneider, we get to know each other by asking different questions. He learns pretty early on that despite having met me at a trendy club/bar/sushi joint with my wilder friends, I am AS SQUARE AS THEY COME, and proud of it! He is perplexed because he had belatedly discovered the Ktown party scene and seemed to be looking for a party girl, a partyer in crime. But there I was, Miss Korean Lisa Simpson, practically about to play her saxophone.

“Wait, so you don’t drink, smoke, or party at all? Then what do you DO? What are your vices?” he asks, hoping for something, anything.

“My vices? Oh, hmmm…Good question. Oh, okay. Let’s see….um, I guess like I really like to write in my journal a LOT and get my laugh on with my friends. And have deep talks. OH! And I REALLY LOVE NATURE and like taking walks in it. And I love to swim…”

When I got home, I had to look up “VICE” in the dictionary because the dude looked so perplexed by my answer (note: this was not the only date resulting in some debriefing with a dictionary, lemme tell you).

VICE: 1. an immoral, wicked, or evil habit, action, or trait
2. habitual or frequent indulgence in pernicious, immoral, or degrading practices

OH, so it’s a habit but more like a BAD or “impure” habit, not my nature hikes and 200 meter breaststrokes.

This memory asked for some attention lately because FINALLY, at the tender age of 30somethang, I understand why people have, and succumb to, their vices. I am so in love with my baby boy that when I am not feeding or playing with him or visiting every reflective surface in our home to crack him up with his own reflection, I am looking at pictures or video clips of him or even blogging about him. After a long day together, especially on the bad weather days where all we have is each other, I miss him after I put him down. His daddy and I talk about him constantly and stare at him in wonder. I have never had such a fulfilling job and I wake up excited every morning to hold him again. Added blessing: he has been such an easy, jubilant baby.

Now having said that (hate to use that expression because of an especially clever episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm”), I have never before wanted to unwind with a drink at the end of the day as I do these days. I am NOT a drinker other than some good wine with a fine meal so this urge is surprising. Not even while studying for the NY Bar or during law school did I want to drink for the sake of shaking it all off. But after baby is down for the night (he has always been a good sleeper, even when he was 2 months old!), I wanna get my draaank on. Or I wanna cram fistfuls of baked goodies into my face and lie there. Uninterrupted. Just lie there and exhale and not be called on. I understand vices more than my 20somethang self. But still I don’t drink because 1) I still breastfeed exclusively, 2) I like my calories from savory foods or gourmet baked goods, 3) I don’t want to want it regularly and 4) my wine of choice (Silver Oak) costs the same as a few large boxes of Pampers.

So while I wish I could say that these days, one of my “vices” is “Yeah, I just workout TOO MUCH as soon as baby is sleeping.” Instead, my vice, is sometimes more in the form of eating my half lamb, half chicken Halal dinner by placing it directly on my belly while lying down, asking Husband to just pretend I’m not even home for a few hours, watching a bad bad movie that is so unlike my life (Sex and the City 2) and washing that down with some milk and too many Martha’s Bakery cookies. Unwinding. Just Me Myself and I. Exhaling while I miss my sleeping baby boy…praying for the strength and grace and creativity to be fully present for him the next day.

Thank you Lord for a great 4 month appointment with our fave, original doctor. MLK is in the 50th percentile in height, weight, and head circumference (yes, even if he Korean, he wasn’t off the charts in head size). So grateful for his development. From a 6 lb. little guy at birth to an almost 16 lb. four-month old. Halleluyer!

A couple days ago, I watched “Our America with Lisa Ling” (she has one of my dream jobs by the way). It was the episode where she follows up with some of her interviewees from previous shows like “Heroin in the Heartland,” “Online Brides,” and “Praying the Gay Away.” She followed up with a couple named Mike and Darla from the heroin episode. After kicking their heroin addiction, they had stayed clean for about 18 months. Though clean, they were homeless in New York City and trying to regain custody of their baby boy, Caden, by securing housing and employment.

Background: They were a “normal” couple until Mike lost his six-figure income after being injured on one of his construction gigs. That’s when both Mike and Darla AND their two teenage sons started getting hooked on heroin. It disturbed me to see the whole family shooting up in their mini-van, all of them so obviously ill, fiending, and out of control. It broke my heart. How utterly shitty they must feel deep inside to not only get hooked on heroin but to get their sons hooked, too. (But of course, while high, they probably couldn’t even feel raw emotion). The most devastating part was when I saw footage of their youngest, baby Caden, in his carseat, tagging along with his parents and Lisa Ling WHILE they were on the hunt for heroin, doing whatever they had to do to score some and score some QUICK. (I really don’t want to imagine what they had to do to score). I wanted to jump into my tv and pull Caden the hell outta there and keep him safe in my bosom. Then have to explain to my husband how he came home to double the number of babies than when he left for work.

Anyhow, in the follow-up episode, I was hoping for some good news since the last time I had “seen” Mike and Darla, they looked great. So healthy and CLEAN, despite having nowhere to live and only two backpacks of worldly possessions. Thankfully, Caden was safe. He was in the custody of another family. Mike and Darla had decided he was better off there as they could not get housing, one of the requirements for getting him back. I had been thinking about Caden as I nursed and played with Micah. That footage of him, a happy baby, oblivious to what was going around him – ay, Dios Mio – how it stayed with me. [In the update episode, I learned that his mama, Darla, had passed away from an overdose of prescription pills. Mike tried to revive her but she was already dead. Mike is still clean. Still homeless. I hope he can find his way.]

The next day, I heard about Donald Trump, Jr. and his wife expecting baby number three. People go around saying, “Money can’t buy happiness” but it sure does take the edge off – haha. Money takes away numerous obstacles and worries. Caden, at his tender young age, already has to overcome his “past,” while adjusting to his new life with new parents. Trump Jr. #3, on the other hand, will be lavished with luxury goods in a luxurious mansion, with parents who will always be able to pat him down with gourmet foods, designer clothes, toys, tutors, private schools, vacations, you-name-it. And because of how successful his grandpappy is, he will have so many doors already held open for him (by butlers and other hired help), not because he did anything to EARN it but because he had the good fortune of being born into that family. Money will never be an object

And sure, we don’t know the end of the tale. Caden can grow up to be the President of the United States while Trump Jr. #3 can squander his life away but I just keep thinking about the disparity at the freakin’ beginning of their lives, at an age where they don’t know the difference between rich and poor, privileged and marginalized. I always want everything to be based on meritocracy but life is not fair. Babies don’t choose their families. Even with my boy, as I stared at him sleeping in his Pack N Play at my parents’ place outside of Los Angeles, underneath the outdated professional family portrait, I thought, “He does not know what he’s gotten himself into. I hope I can do right by him and not have him wish he were born into another family.”

I don’t know where I’m going with this. Don’t have a neat little bow to tie onto this so I may just hit “Publish” now

Mama hasn’t been writing. Sometimes, there is just too much swirling around in my head and I don’t have time or energy to organize them thoughts into a focused blog entry. I don’t have much down time anyhow since you are my most devoted and expressive fan yet, watching me from across the room, to come join you and squeeze you. And when I walk away, you protest. This will be a mini-entry as I still want to get down the swirly thoughts AND post your four-month pictures (though on this blog, I only know how to do it one-by-one!).

SO MUCH has happened since my last entry. Earthquake, tsunami, devastation in Japan, for one. Attacks in Libya. The world can be a scary place.

On a lighter note, your daddy’s fave college team, UConn, made it to the Final Four. Their star player, Kemba Walker, started to shoot up to superstar(ruh) level on Thanksgiving Eve, the day before you were born. I remember yo daddy was timing contractions, not really believing that your birth was imminent, while peeping the UConn game.

In our small world of just you and me, you’ve picked up a new habit. You beat my chest as you breastfeed. You punch me rhythmically. Perhaps you don’t like some passages in our daily Bible readings? Like when I read you Proverbs 29:3. Does it sound like it’s already jahnsohree/lecture from mama? “…But he who keeps company with harlots wastes his wealth.” These are things you need to know though, son!

I know it may not make the official record but according to my planner, you DID say your first word on Feb. 17, 2011 while we were at CA gramma and grampa’s place, when you were 12 weeks old. Your pops and your CA gramma witnessed it. You said, “Ummmm – Maaa” staring straight into my eyes. You never said it again but you said it quite clearly. You do like to babble though and it’s getting louder and cuter by the minute!

In the middle of the night on March 29th, you rolled over onto your tummy. You cried out because you were trying to sleep but found yourself in a wacky predicament. Unbeknownst to you, you had ended up on your tummy so you started doing ab work involuntarily. I felt so bad because you couldn’t help it and it must have startled you. You were just wailing, doing Tummy Time, when alls you wanted to do was sleep. I think about you when I’m at the gym, having to do ab work in Pilates, how hard it is and how hypocritical I am, making you do Tummy Time while I refuse to.

We have to put up some crib bumpers so that you don’t hurt yourself. But not all bumpers are safe. Boring topic but something we’ve been thinking a lot about.

You are a good sleeper and always have been. Thank you for that my mongshil-ree! You still take at least three solid naps daily but now that you’re so aware of your surroundings, they are harder to get you to START. You don’t want mama to leave you. I have never felt so needed and though it’s intense, I love it. To be needed by such a handsome, cute, sweet, mild-tempered, somewhat shy, plushy babe makes me JUBILANT. I was going to name you “Jubilant” because that is how I felt throughout the 39 weeks I carried you but your dad vetoed that one vehemently!

You’ve been to two dohls and one baek-il already. Two more coming up. You’ve been to our huge church twice now. I’ll continue this later, my honeybear. Not an interesting entry but I have so much of your life to record. I want get it all down since you are growing up so fast. We have to go to our playgroup – I’ve just been waiting on you to wake up. I LOVE YOU, my mochi! Your smiles make my heart sing!