Category Archives: from the parenting trenches

Like a Baby in a Storm aka Wear Me, Lord!

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We had just parted ways with our little buddies at the library. I was wearing Ellis in a baby carrier against my warm and plush torso so that he can fall asleep though overtired, way past his naptime. Mr. EZ Kim had graciously given up a proper nap in his crib yet again in order to accompany his big brother to his Wednesday activity. Secondborn’s lot in life.

On the way home, the raindrops that initially fell intermittently from the trees started coming down faster and even fatter. Micah was sitting in the double stroller, facing me, Ellis still on my body, his seat empty. I adjusted the raincover for their stroller accordingly but it was pouring so furiously that a pool of water was already gathering at the bottom of both seats.

Micah pleaded with me to take off the raincover as it was annoying him. This was going to be a long walk home.

I pleaded back with him to please please just be patient as we had many blocks to go.

I was carrying an umbrella, wearing Ellis, fidgeting with the wet, steamy raincover, trying to stroll as fast as I could when the front wheels started locking so that I could not maneuver them. Locking every other step I took. So I would have to crouch down, wearing Ellis, blinking through the rain, trying to figure out why it kept locking on us.

Thunder. Lightning. So loud that car alarms started going off in succession in the parking lot of a funeral home, and up and down Queens Blvd. Micah asked for snacks in the midst of all this. I pleaded with him again to please be patient as Mommy could not reach down and rummage through for a snack of his choice.

Toddlers are not too compassionate during a harried moment.

My stomach was grumbling from hunger.

Brakes locking repeatedly.

Passersby looked at me trying to get our little crew home safely as they waited under awnings. I thought about seeking refuge under a bodega awning or at the Chinese restaurant our friends are grossed out by due to the “C” grade, but I was nervous that Micah would get restless and demand to walk. I would rather deal with the storm than a tantrum. Drivers snug in their cars watched us, too, as we were quite a spectacle.

Because I was wearing Ellis and Micah was seated in the seat closest to me, it looked like I had three kids with me.

Ellis stirred awake. I was nervous that he would cry from hunger or from being startled by the elements. Instead, he looked around, looked up right at me and smiled a gummy smile. He sighed with content as he watched the outside world, hanging from my shoulders.

By looking at his serene face, you would not know that we were walking clumsily through a crazy storm. At that very moment, like J. Lo said about her second husband, Chris Judd, in an Oprah interview shortly before their divorce, he was my peace.

When I got home, I had to towel myself dry and catch my breath. Thankfully, the kids were dry and my phone had kept Micah from bombarding me with any more requests. I WAS FAMISHED but diapers don’t change themselves.

Micah proceeded to play with his toys all over the living room without picking up after himself. Of course, I tripped on them as I tried to rush and change Ellis’ diaper. Micah then chose that moment to get jealous. “Mommy, Hold me?! Hold meeeeee! Hold you!?”

I wanted to transport myself to the Grand Canyon to belt out all the stress of that moment, deep from within my gut. Not just that moment but other storms that have been raging within me for months now. I wanted to be as loud as that thunder and lightning we had just walked through. Set off car alarms.

If I had been able to write this post immediately after that storm, I would’ve ended it here. Just a scene from our week. TGIF, whatever.

But today, as I nursed Ellis from the right boob while feeding Micah with my left hand and myself with my right hand (a rare occurrence, this terrible timing, but we were all so hungry at the same time), I realized that the most memorable part of that storm was 1) the entire walk home, including the end when we finally got to our building and someone who tried to help me push the stroller inside couldn’t do it because it was just too heavy. This was a scene that was so chaotic for 20 minutes but something I will tell the boys over and over again, how “when they were little,” we walked through a scary storm together and they were so brave and happy…

and

2) how they didn’t bat an eye through the loudest of storms because MOMMY WAS WITH THEM! Ellis looked like we were taking a stroll on a perfect day like today.

As Micah is prone to say, “Don’t cry Ellis! Mommy here!”

What a beautiful and innocent stage they are in. Nothing is troubling as long as Mommy is here!

I’m thankful for this new visual I can use when I pray to my Lord and Savior. I will conjure up Ellis’ face in the midst of that storm as I pray through my own struggles. To trust that I don’t have to be afraid.

“Go Work in Office, MOMMY!” aka Thursday

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I am recovering from a 6.5 or 7 tantrum on the tantrum Richter scale (I reserve the right to change magnitude after experiencing more tantrums in the future). What a dramatic way for my firstborn to turn 29 months old today.

A seven-minute walk from the playground ended up taking us approximately 45 minutes (door to swing). Don’t know what set him off. He has been battling a pesky, persistent cough for about a week now but something else set him off on a whole ‘nutha level.

Some guesses:
He was annoyed that I didn’t bring his scooter while the other kids scootered ’round and ’round? (He started scootering on an imaginary scooter). He saw me adoringly place Ellis back into the stroller first? He heard me cooing at Ellis as Ellis faces me in the stroller? He asked for milk and alls I had was diluted juices (apple and orange)? He is two years old?

As we left the playground, Micah demanded to be carried. I explained to him that I could not carry him on the street while strolling his brother. “We can hold hands, Micah. But Mommy cannot carry you up. Too heavy for Mommy, ok? Mommy hold you at home, okay!?” This made him throw himself on the ground and scream, “Mommy! Carry up, carry up. I’m baby. Carry up, carry up.” This broke my heart because Micah never exhibited any jealousy when we first brought Ellis home from the hospital but lately, he’s been saying, “Mommy, put baby down. I’m baby. Carry up. Hold me.”

I crouched down and held him in a big soothing bearhug to let him know that I hear how upset he is. But holding was not sufficient. He wanted to be carried all the way home while I strolled the double stroller!

I tried to keep him in the stroller but he was thrusting around so much that I let him loose. I was not strong enough to force him back down, which is what his daddy always advises. He bucked so much that his snack tray fell off and onlookers watched me pick up all the dried strawberries, dried bananas, and animal crackers from off the ground.

“Micah, do you want to live here on the sidewalk of Queens Blvd.? You have a home. You don’t live on the streets. I see our home from here (pointing). Let’s walk like good boy and Mommy will give you big hug and read you stories when we get home.” Made him more pissed.

While he cried and carried on on the sidewalk, an obese lady walked by with her brown poodle. She saw me struggling with Micah and she just shook her head at us, laughing derisively! I wanted to pause from our scene to tell her to go suck a bag of…(it wasn’t an empathetic laugh. It was a ridiculing, “I hate f*cking bratty little kids” laugh.) Few other passersby walked by and were much kinder, one saying that he’s a grandpa of three, and that they can get like this at this age. I told them about the lady who laughed at us.

Man of the hour: li’l bro EZ who waited patiently ON THE STREET FOR nearly 40 MINUTES, in the chilly shade, while his big bro was working it out. Shout out to neighbor doing laundry in the basement who ESCORTED us to the elevator as I had to carry hysterical Micah after all while she strolled Ellis. If I didn’t carry him, he would walk right under my feet so that I couldn’t even walk without tripping over his body.

Man of the Hour, waiting patiently (pictured here before tantrum erupted)

Man of the Hour, waiting patiently (pictured here before tantrum erupted)

Micah understands everything these days so when he heard neighbor lady say, “Wow, your little sister is so good and quiet. She’s waiting patiently,” (about Ellis), he started crying more.

At one point, I tried to carry him under my armpit, like a huge clutch but he got even more upset by that. I reasoned with him that I can hold him to his heart’s content once we got home. That didn’t work.

More aftershocks at home when I tried to put him down for a nap. He actually said, “Mommy, go! Go away,” (which is not uncommon for him to tell both Mommy and Daddy when he poops or wants to play alone with baby) but for the FIRST TIME EVER he also said, “Go work in office!” Excuse me, little boy? I’ll have you know I always update my resume after one of your big tantrums anyhow but you told me to do what now? Like you aren’t the same boy who hadn’t been able to separate from mommy or daddy in Sunday school until two weeks ago?

TGIThursday at the very least. Two Trader Joe’s tamales later, I am still wondering what made him get THIS upset. Maybe I’m still new to the Terrible Two’s club, but this was a doozy. Gotta go now. A resume don’t update itself you know.

‘Cause I Gotta Have Faith, the Faith, the Faith…

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Kevin just left for his Wednesday night ritual. Looking for parking.

“Do what you need to do Jihee-yah! I’ll be BOCK,” he said as he left.

I’ve been wanting to write for so long but have been burnt out the past couple weeks. Since the kids have been battling a persistent cough and runny nose, I have been running after the one who can run and wrangling the other tender morsel to wipe their faces multiple times an hour. NONSTOP. The second one has to succumb to my sucking his snot out with my beloved Nosefrida but the first one just starts running like Peter, the chubby white boy on “The Cosby Show” whenever I threaten him with, “You’re next, Micah!” My days are filled with snot, spit-up, tears, drool, “Cover your mouth when you cough, Micah!” and, “Ellis, Ow, ow, ow, let go of mommy’s hair,” and a dozen requests for Mommy to do something else right then and there. Micah has also been a bit sensitive lately to our adoration of his little brother, acting up more when he sees me caring for or nibbling on Ellis.

As I started typing this, I got a whiff of a distinct gnarly smell. I began looking around the living room to see if I missed a puddle of spit-up from when Ellis practices crawling too soon after a meal. Nope. Couldn’t find anything. It turns out it’s my shirt. Just a general stench from wearing it two days in a row while carrying the kids around.

As thoroughly spent as I am, if I don’t write, I feel incomplete and even melancholy, just a shell of myself. I have to write but I’ve been confused about the medium: what belongs in a journal, in an email to a close friend, in a blog post, or even in a letter to my kids (moments to read about when they are older).

Since my last post, so much has happened in the world, namely the Boston Marathon bombing, which I don’t have the energy to string together words for at this moment.

When I want to write about 17 different things, and don’t get to jot them down, I lose them all.

(Okay, I need to take off this smelly shirt before I can proceed).

Two Sundays ago, Kevin and Ellis stayed home from church to nurse their colds. Kevin rarely misses church and I was tempted to stay back with them to gladly declare the day as Family Rest Day but I ended up driving just Micah and me to church. I acutely craved church after hearing about Pastor Rick Warren’s son, Matthew Warren, taking his own life at the age of 27, after battling depression all his life. A lot to unpack.

Quick drive down Queens Blvd. Micah is talking to me about what he sees on the road or singing along with the chorus of Taylor Swift’s “Trouble, trouble, trouble, Ohhh!”

We get in the vicinity of church and I start looking for parking. We pass by a crew of firemen washing their firetruck. Each time we pass, Micah exclaims, “FIRETRUCK!” At first, it was a cool sight to see, but each time we pass by them, it becomes a reminder that we STILL ain’t found no parking!

I start sweating profusely as I struggle to withhold my choice curse words. It is maddening to deal with parking even to get to church! I am very close to just driving back home since we are already half an hour late and I can’t stomach such tardiness. I can imagine myself surprising sick Kevin by stomping back into our apartment and throwing myself onto the couch, crying about how we couldn’t go to church due to PARKING! I know how much little Micah loves his Sunday school and this pisses me off even more.

I pray for patience, calm, and a parking spot. I explain to Micah, “We just need to park the car and then we can go into the church. You can go into your Little Lambs class but we need to park our car, okay?” (I used to wonder why parents bother to give play-by-plays to their toddlers but now I see how it can prevent tantrums if they know what’s going on, and how they are part of the action).

I start muttering while breathing deeply, “For the LOVE of GOD, please, please give us a parking spot!” Micah starts to parrot back, “…Love…God! please…parking! Love…God…oh, Mommy, firetruck!”

As the radio starts to blast George Michael’s oldie “‘Cause I gotta have faith, the faith, the faith, I gotta have faith!” I come up on a parking spot, like an oasis in the desert. A big space too! Now I see how God was teaching me patience and timely provision. I can make it to church after all. He had prepared this spot for me while I of weak faith doubted. What a great lesson, a story to tell on my blog perhaps? Almost too good to be true, especially with the perfect song playing on the radio!

Our friends pull up beside me in their bigger Honda. I say hello and check with them, “Hey, I finally found parking after more than 30 minutes! This is fine, right, this parking spot?” He checks for a few moments and informs me, “No, this is a construction site. You can’t park here.” Sure enough, I see that there is a sign on a makeshift wooden facade indicating that it is a construction site and that cars will be towed. It looked too good to be true because it was.

Moments ago, Micah and I had been high-fiving and cheering, “Yay, parking! Awww, jeahh!” but I sheepishly scoop Micah back into his carseat and explain that we cannot park there after all. Somehow, I am no longer tempted to return home to have an adult tantrum. I continue to look for parking. A huge truck ahead of me swoops in on a huge spot that I had been salivating for. In order to not give up, I keep picturing Micah learning songs in his Sunday school class. Keep my eyes on the prize.

We eventually find legal parking.

That Sunday ended up being the first time Micah stayed in Sunday school by himself. I kept sneaking peeks through the window in disbelief that he was able to separate. Initially, he started crying when I left but after I took him into the sanctuary for a few minutes to show him that this is where Mommy and other adults will be singing and listening to sermon, he looked at me firm in the eyes and solemnly said, “Bye Mommy!” I knew then that this was going to be it. He was ready.

Sure, parking is just parking, not a matter of life or death and this is a long-winded rant but when I thought I had found a spot with that George Michael song so aptly setting the mood, I thought I had come across a sweet little nugget, a neat story about having faith and God providing even something as insignificant as parking in moments of “darkness.” (I was really reaching, I know).

But life is messy and complex. God does not provide everything that can make for a sweet anecdote about faith or fit easily into a chapter of “Chicken Soup for the Soul.” Instead of the gift of that initial parking spot, I was gifted with resolve and self-control by not succumbing to my quick temper, by not driving home dejectedly. And the unexpected gift of Micah staying in Sunday school on his own for the first time.

In this wilderness of staying home with two very young children, I often feel lost in terms of next steps. The How of it all. When do I go back to work? In what form? How do I pour out all my heart and breath for my kids and family while still remembering to dream for myself and figure out what is life-giving to me apart from being their mama? And how can I contribute income to my family doing something I enjoy, while still being able to spend heaps of time with my kids? Is this even possible or must I white-fist it through some job just to provide?

I don’t know.

It may not be a simple story I can put a bow on and present as a neat chapter of my life but I want to keep searching. I may sweat profusely and throw tantrums along the way but I want to keep on keeping on. Goodnight.

milkshake apéritif

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When my husband comes home soon, I get to go into our poorly lit bedroom for a little bit (until our congested #2 needs to be nursed) and BE STILL, after a day of meeting our kiddies’ demands, without a playdate or an outing to break up the wintry hours.

It is comical to me, a Californian, how cold it is this week. It’s a joke. And it’s doing nothing for my VERY LOOSE plan to slim down before seeing my best friends. The husband is an enabler when he asked all on his own yesterday, the Day Micah Didn’t Nap, “Do you want me to get you your peanut butter/chocolate shake from your spot? I have to move the car anyways and you’ve had a rough day.” Even more ridiculous than this week’s arctic temps is that we still have to move our car. And yes, that is my usual “beverage” of choice.

Being at home with the kids makes me feel like I have multiple personalities. When I’m squeezing and kissing them, or watching the gorgeously fat-cheeked one beaming at the now-lean one, upside down, from his Boppy pillow, with a milky smile, I think, “I SO understand the Duggars. How can we stop at just two of these morsels?” Same for when I see the boys bonding, or #1 beaming at his music class or at Sunday School, or feeding me tons of imaginary food.

But when I still don’t have it together enough to plan and cook nutritious, delicious meals for them or run the home like a small preschool, all the while being a Proverbs 31 wifey, I feel like I am only surviving, not thriving. Not being the best mama I can be while blessed enough to be at home.

Or when I see myself, really see myself a la “Avatar,” on a day like today, dressing PURELY for comfort, wearing the same hole-y tore-up loose grey t-shirt and navy elastic pants that aren’t so elastic any more, with dried milk stains on or around the chest, smelling not unlike cheese because of said milk, and hair falling out of ponytail holder like I’m actually TRYING to look like the BEFORE on The Ricki Lake Show, makeover episode circa 1991, with my teef knocked out (not really, but the gheem I overate while waiting for the husband to make his entrance, makes it look like I lost a couple teeth), I think, “How am I gonna revamp myself to look and feel as presentable as working Jihee? To be motivated in the mornings to not be a slob just because I knew we weren’t going out at all today?” Big ups to my hair, though, steadfastly thick and sustaining a gal through some blah moments, though not able to be held in place.

During this free time, I should finish at least one of the Christian books I’ve started.

I should at least START the book on toilet training that I procured from the library. But how does one read more on parenting after a whole day of parenting? NO THANK YOU!

We really should change the lighting in our home to not look like we’re filming a PSA against domestic violence here.

We really should do something about the clutter that enrages me yet never goes away completely. We just seem to rearrange shit into different corners of the home, a stupid game of Hide-and-Seek, where everything is actually in plain view.

We really need to move into bigger space. Already. After having bought this place so recently (Sept. 2010). But the bank is so unreasonable, not willing to accept Monopoly money for the monthly mortgage and maintenance payments.

All I want to do is tune out for a bit and be on this heavy laptop that Micah forbids me from using during the day, tune out by reading a blog I found called “People I Want to Punch in the Face.” Today, I want to add to that list “people with unlimited free time.”

My time is up. I didn’t get to read that blog but at least I got to type a sliver of my own thoughts. And yes, I know this is all just a season and soon I will find my groove and I need to be kinder and more patient with my self, blah blah. Let a girl get her therapy on via blog, though, won’t you, please, my dear seven readers? Peace.

Hit Me Baby One More Time?

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When I get a severely upset stomach, instead of abstaining from more eats, I think, “Well, I’mma blow it up anyhow so let’s get my grub on.” Kevin thinks this rationale is beyond stupid and warns me that he will not have any sympathy for me when he hears me weeping on the toilet in the middle of the night.

I thought about this today after a very full day. A fully joyful, fully accomplished, fully exhausting day. Grateful to be back to my active self again after the initial postpartum period.

Walked two miles with the boys in their double stroller to and from a home in/near the Gardens. Thankfully, hardly any rain and such a gorgeous walk. Not too cold yet.

MLK stayed in the basement with a few other toddlers and a sitter, after months of not being able to separate from me. We mamas sat around the dining table upstairs, discussing Galatians 4 through a Tim Keller study. I went up and down from the basement to the dining room a few times to either grab stuff that I needed for E.Z. or give M his milk. I changed and nursed E while listening to the discussion. For the most part, he was perfectly calm, sitting in my lap in his white velour tracksuit, one of our favorite hand-me-downs, with his cheeks ever-so-bountiful and comical for his debut among this group.

We rushed home to get M into his crib for his nap, with my telling stories extra loudly as we strolled, so that M can hear me from the front of the long stroller. If you don’t get them in bed during that magic window when a nap befalls them effortlessly, you in for some rough times. He ended up skipping his nap ALTOGETHER today, my solid, faithful napper. THIS NEVER HAPPENS. I won’t go into this any further as it is too scary for me to discuss.

Second half of the day, we speedwalked for 20 minutes to Gymboree as the ominous rain clouds turned into actual rain. I didn’t want to bother with our new, huge double-stroller raincover so I practically ran towards the end.

The most memorable moment from today started when my e-z E finally started to fuss a bit after patiently sitting in his infant carseat so that his hyung could participate in art class. M was coloring shapes when he looked around from his table and couldn’t see me because I was sitting below everyone, nursing E on the floor, against the mirrored wall for some back support and also lest I break the small kiddie chair that everyone else was seated on. I saw his eyes get huge as he started wailing for me.

I called out from below, “Micah, Umma-yah! Umma here!”

He came running towards me on the floor and flung himself into my right armpit. I was holding both kids tightly, E suckling on my left, M wailing on my right.

His teacher said that M had actually held his breath for a minute, completely stunned, when he thought I had snuck out on him. When I held him tight, he started soothing himself by singing softly through his huge tears, “la la la, la la la.” I swear, these kids do new things daily – I don’t know what this “la la la” is about. By this time, my shirt had wet spots from my nursing pads shifting, milk leaking through.

A young Russian mama who has never spoken a word to the others in class for the last few months finally spoke today. She said to me, “It looks so hard.” We chatted a bit and she said, “I thought I would want another kid but when I see how hard it looks, I do not.” I assured her that while it can be hard, it is all very natural and it will flow. And that the joy is more than double.

I still had to pack up M’s icebox, diaper bag, lift the impossibly heavy infant carseat onto the top of the double stroller, put on M’s jacket, winter hat, shoes, and strap him in, grab his sippycup and E’s burp cloth strewn about the room, grab my jacket and shoes, all in order to just make it upstairs in the elevator for some more play at open gym time. I had to keep my eye on both M and E while M went up and down the apparatus and E was still in his infant carseat smack dab in the middle of the play area with toddlers peering at him, tempted to touch him. I resorted to keeping him there because as of now, he does not like being in the Ergo and my back can’t handle wearing him for too long anyhow.

M’s diaper was about to leak so I asked a teacher at the front desk to watch E for a few minutes while I changed M. He tried to jump off the changing area, of course, asking for more juice. My head was throbbing from having stayed up too late the night before, banking on M’s naptime to squeeze in a small nap myself.

When Kevin met us there after work, I was WIPED OUT. My back was pulsating from either carrying E or his carseat around the play area. I had to remind myself that the man was coming from work himself, not from playing beach volleyball at Hedonism. We all walked home together.

As spent as I was from such a full day, I could already imagine looking back on moments like these when I’m older and greyer, fondly recalling how needed I was and how blessed I was to be able to mother these two morsels at the height of their innocence and cuteness. How our little family was such a tight little unit, eager to reunite with daddy at the end of the day.

So why did today make me think about how I handle upset stomachs? When I get an upset stomach, I know that I’mma have a long appointment with the porcelain throne that night, whether I do the B.R.A.T. diet that doctors prescribe for such bouts or whether I put away some Singapore Mei Fun. Along those same lines, why not have another baby soon-ish, since it’s already so hard (some days more than others), to juggle raising two kids, working on being a better spouse, not burying your personal aspirations beyond being a mama, and carving out time for yourself.

Also, today, I met another mama at Gymboree whose toddlers were only 11 months apart. 11 months! She must have stories.

It is most definitely gonna be harder than juggling two but the joy and reward of sleeping next to a 12+ pound baby, with half that weight in his cheeks, is immeasureable. Kevin is a big baby-lover, too, practically bawling when I told him not to dress two-year old M in onesies anymore.

Then again, pigging out when your stomach is already upset means hella worse diarrhea.

And practically speaking, it’s insane. We really can’t afford another one as kids are SO expensive especially in 2012, in NYC, and because I’ve chosen to stay home. We are getting closer to 40 than 30, so tired, and most significantly, we would be outnumbered.

It may be my strange way of responding to the 12.14.12 massacre of 20 children in Newtown, CT, but my reaction to this draining day was how quickly it will pass. Life is so fleeting.

Don’t have to commit to anything now but the heart wants what the heart wants.

I have to crash now after eating some broken cookies from the bottom of our stroller basket. Hope this post made sense as I wrote it in a semi-conscious state.

I Miss You, Me

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The guy next to me at the smoovie store at my gym is supposedly 7’3″ but he seems more like 8 feet tall because I looked like a toddler by his side at the cash register. So, that sentence was my way of casually sliding in the fact that I finally went to the gym today after a long hiatus. So long that it was mimicking a retirement. I haven’t been since…well, the point is I went tonight.

I had even purposely let the membership expire because I didn’t want to pay up if I wasn’t going to go regularly during my second pregnancy. But I just HAD to go tonight to check in. To see wassup out in the world away from my living room, away from my double stroller. I had fire in my eyes so I knew I was gonna go no matter what. Usually, to just get out the door, into the building’s hallway, past our doorman and neighbors coming home from work, through the other side of Queens Blvd just a handful of blocks away, especially in the winter, triggers all kinds of psychological obstacles but there was no stopping me tonight.

I have been feeling down lately. To be more accurate, both up and down, then down and up. Probably exacerbated by postpartum hormones but also the very natural ebb-and-flow as an at-home mama.

Moments of, “I am the most fulfilled, blessed woman on the planet as I now have TWO morsels to nibble on. This is better than ANY meaningless office job as a lawyer that I had to struggle through each day. Thank you Jesus,” but interspersed with, “I feel like crap. Who am I other than mamamamamama? I am an all-you-can-eat-buffet for my new bundle of joy when not engaging my toddler. Even during my ‘down’ time at night when the kiddies are sleep, it’s more mama duty follow-up on the laptop like arranging playdates, researching stepstools and preschools, or email-consulting with my fashion-forward girlfriends back home about different shades of red for a perfect winter jacket for my Micah.”

Though it is natural to feel like all I am is mama especially as I am currently in the thick of it all (newborn plus toddler plus winter gloom plus hating on my post-baby body), I wanted to do something about feeling cranky and lost at times. Though I am FAR from being a Martha Stewart mama, I am still so SPENT from doing only mama duties. Started feeling really imbalanced as a human being. Craved using the other side of my brain. Everything I lived and breathed was mama-related. Of course when I mention that to my own mama from another generation and culture, she be like, “AND? Of course, you are mama, mama, mama. As you should be. You blessed.”

In some ways, I can’t help but agree with her as I am old school in many ways, but I don’t want to feel guilty about admitting that while mamahood is beyond amazing and rewarding, I just want to carve out a little nugget for myself. To recharge and regroup. I may not be able to figure out a five-year plan or ten-year plan for incorporating a livelihood into my full-time mama life but I can carve out more me time, to invest that into being a better mama and wifey at home.

So after a Monday full of:

fingerpainting (to curb his requests for tv and computer),

battling Micah to please wash his hands after fingerpainting,

battling him once again as he ran away smirking with his diaper full of grown-man poo,

feeding Ellis any time he fussed,

finally getting to eat my breakfast for lunch while wearing Ellis in an Ergo because he realized that being stuck on mama was the way to go at ten weeks old,

vacuuming Micah’s tiny Play-Doh and lunch crumbs scattered about the playmats,

picking up after toys strewn all over the living room so that I won’t trip over them as I walked around with Ellis still stuck on my now sweaty chest,

enjoying a playdate full of toddler noises (x 3) when our beloved little twin friends came over to help our afternoon go by faster…

I sat on the couch to nurse once again. I started caressing Ellis’ explosively fat cheeks when Micah came to join us, snuggling on my right side. A picture of love and tranquility…

until my usually too-gentle-with-his-friends little rascal started to pull out my hair from my half-ponytail. Pulling it HARD, strand after strand, while beaming at me and beaming even brighter when I pleaded with him to stop. He thought it was hilarious. Then Ellis started strumming my tri-rolls, the fatty fats on my torso as he nursed, like he was saying, “Oh, mama! We have the same body! Tri-rolls rule! I love you, you squishy thang!”

Once Kevin walked in the door, I was ready to bounce in my fingerpainted pajama/lounging/workout/going out elastic-waisted pants and a very unforgiving t-shirt perfect for showcasing my tri-rolls.

Sure, when I got to the gym, I realized I was too hungry after nursing to do a full workout, but at least I got there. I read my US Weekly on the elliptical machine and only 20 minutes later, I was in line buying a chocolate shake for dinner. I belatedly realized that “Performance Shake” was probably meant for bodybuilders who wanted to gain mass (doh!) but some natural peanut butter and whey protein wasn’t gonna kill me. And so what if I got hungry after my meal REPLACEMENT drink and had to eat a gang of cheese on Fire-Roasted Tomato Triscuits?

What I’m gonna take with me tonight is that instead of giving into the nightly temptation to NOT step away and do something, anything, just for me, myself and I, even if it means walking around the block to talk to a girlfriend on the phone or going across the street to CVS to look at nail polish colors or Christmas wreaths or fill an overpriced antibiotics prescription, the key is to be ALL BY MYSELF. To step away. To unwind. To exhale the stale living room air and inhale some wintermint air. To remember that the world does not stop just because mama duties call, that this is just a season in my life.

Once these seasons pass, it would be beneficial to remember who I am since the boys won’t need me as much (sniff, sniff) and I can’t hover over them forever. I need these little “me” moments to balance me out and even revamp myself once the time comes.

If I do step away just a little bit, say every other day once Kevin walks through the door, I think I’d have more energy and peace for my daily duties. For playing hide-and-go-seek 11 times in a row with a toddler who never even bothers to hide and refuses to let me use the computer during the day. For switching sides every few hours as I sleep for a newborn who has started snacking on me throughout the night.

Champagne wishes and caviar dreams have been replaced with longing to go buy milk and grapes all by myself please.

Tantrum Tuesday = Bargain Movie Night

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“Look, Jihee-yah. We’re just gonna leave and let you eat dinner in peace. Exhale. TAKE YOUR TIME. Don’t worry, we will find something to eat at home.”

Don’t have to tell me twice. I did not protest. Raise up, boys. Let me exhale after Micah’s Tantrum Tuesday. If mama could, she would even order some wine with her Polish platter.

Second time this month my boys left me at a restaurant during dinner. But honestly, I welcomed the ditching. Eating with a happy toddler still takes some patience and wrangling but an unhappy one? Oy.

This time, it was even before ordering. M had been throwing a few tantrums, wanting to look at my P-H-O-N-E so that he can watch videos of himself. He had gotten better the last couple months but regressed a bit lately maybe because I’ve been on it more. I can’t leave all emails and online business for nighttime especially these next few weeks.

We met Daddy at a nearby restaurant after Gymboree (where a public tantrum went down). Packed on a Tuesday night for Yom Kippur. We may have been the only Gentiles. Upset customers due to slow service. M is also upset because he wants more diluted apple juice which we ran out of. I could tell it’s only going to get worse so I say, “Let’s just go. I don’t have it in me to sit through this after today.” When Kevin told me to stay and unwind, he tried to place M in the stroller but M was so upset, he used it as a slide and came right out.

A handful of senior citizens watched shamelessly as if we were the dinner show. Almost beaming that they got a free show to add some fun to their uneventful meal, having nothing to talk about other than the slow service. One lady even said, “This is SO funny!” while Kevin huffed and puffed to calm him down and get them on their way. Glad we could amuse her. The boys left and a party of six sat by me. They had a toddler who (happily) threw his toys throughout their entire dinner.

Last time this happened, it was after our food had arrived at an Italian place in our neighborhood. The boys went home to leave me at peace, and also to look like such the stereotype for Very Pregnant Lady with a seafood linguine, fried calamari, and pizza for One. Sure, we hadn’t come with ANY toys or distractions for M as we wanted to be carefree and just walk across the street for a family dinner for once. How smart of us.

After our separate dinners and M’s bath, our friends came over to sit at our place while M snoozed away. They wanted us to treat ourselves to a final(?) date night before we become a Family of Four. What a weeknight treat thanks to Uncle AO and Auntie NK. I was so frenzied from Tantrum Tuesday that I didn’t even get to look up the movie choices the way I usually do. I actually let Kevin narrow it down on his own. Something I never do because I am so damn picky and difficult about what I’d watch. It was between a Cop Movie (action, suspense, mystery, humor?) or a Clint Eastwood-Amy Adams father-daughter flick which would also interest me because I love family dynamics (but not as critically acclaimed).

We went for the Cop movie.

Kevin is usually overprotective about what I am “allowed” to watch during my pregnancy. Koreans say that women should only watch lovely things during their pregnancy. Nothing scary or emotionally jarring. So he had banned me from many movies, including the Final Destination series that always seems to pop up on our HBO channel when I’m in my final few weeks before due date.

So why did he take me to the movie that included oh, let’s see (SPOILER ALERT for “End of Watch”):

babies wrapped up with duct tape, human trafficking, blood and gore, gang violence, babies nearly catching on fire, rotting dead bodies, knife in the eye, beat-up-to-a-pulp unrecognizable face…

I actually LOVED the movie because it took place in South Central LA (where my folks used to run a Chinese takeout joint when I was a little girl, which gave me the street cred I still carry proudly to this day, yay, yay.) Also about brotherhood/friendship and racial tensions, again riveting fave topics of mine. But oooh, not now, not after Tantrum Tuesday and while THIS pregnant. I had to cover my eyes especially in the couple scenes with the babies.

Kevin was sheepish. He looked to me and said, “Feel free to cover your eyes whenever,” as I was already covering my eyes and ears. Because it was Bargain Tuesday, some parents had brought the whole family! I heard little kids’ voices behind me saying, “Cover your eyes, Lupe!” when a striptease came on the screen. Though their ears and eyes were exposed to everything else. Again, it was a GREAT, memorable movie but just the wacky timing. The Koreans would’ve steered me towards the Eastwood-Adams flick though this was my usual style.

As we drove home to relieve our friends, K was carsick because the camerawork in the movie had triggered his motion sickness. We were laughing at our comical choice for final movie night. Drove by a car accident that again reminded us of the movie as we prayed for those involved.

Found out after the movie that while I surprisingly didn’t go into labor from the medley of jarring scenes, a Due Date friend of mine had given birth to his second baby exactly at 38 weeks along yesterday. It really struck me that I got next.

Okay, no editing for this post but starving and M may wake up soon.

35

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When I was around 35 weeks along with Micah, I stopped working. I ended up having less than four weeks before he arrived and that in-between time was such a blessing. I had been able to commute on the subway and work full-time because I thought, “That’s what you do. Work! There ain’t no baby just yet.” But once I let go of this rule I had imposed on myself, I realized I was able to do it only because I was on auto-pilot – it was something I just did because of course I should keep working as long as I was physically able. But there was no intentionality behind it, just a (natural) drive to receive a few more paychecks to cover increasing baby-related expenses. I ended up trading in money for time.

When I stopped working, my body started exhaling, melting into the bed and basking in rest, like a turtle sunning on a rock. I was able to invest in quality rest everyday. Something not readily valued in today’s society, especially in rush rush rush NYC, but oh-so-necessary and healing. I’m pretty sure I moaned in my sleep a few times. The rest was so delicious, the kind where you sleep with a small hand towel under your face as you cuddle with your Snoogle because the drool will flow.

I would wake up whenever my body told me to. If I had had insomnia during the night, I could catch up by sleeping in. I didn’t have to run errands on my short lunch break. For the most part, I would find myself with only one item on my to-do list for the whole day like, “Try making scones,” “Meet Anna for lunch on Austin St,” and of course, “Daydream about baby.” Enjoyable, short to-do lists. I could take walks. Or not. I was wealthy with time. I also tried to learn to be kinder to myself for once. I didn’t have to DO anything if I didn’t want to, other than hydrate, eat well, and think pleasant thoughts for baby. I didn’t have to feel accomplished by checking off a long to-do list. Very unnatural for this child of immigrants who is naturally hard on herself.

This time around, I am not as wealthy with time or rest. I do crave some more of each before we are in the thick of it again, the sleep deprivation and exhaustion. Two other life-improving features I find myself craving: a parking spot preferably in the driveway of an actual house and a washer/dryer unit within that house (our co-op will not allow it). I should be content with our present home as it is a blessing that we prayed for in 2010, but the heart wants what the heart wants.

Instead, I am wealthy with cuteness via my toddler who toddles around all day with his bright eyes and smooth dolphin skin. Yesterday, we started the rainy morning off with a load of laundry in the basement. The load consisted of all of his stuffed animals and some of his drooly bibs. Such a small task requires much more energy with a toddler because he will turn it into an adventure. We have to wash his friends often because they are overkissed daily.

Once we get into the elevator, he immediately finds all the slivers of reflective surfaces so that he can give himself loud kisses. “Mmmuahh! Mmmmuahhh! Mmmmuuahhhhhhh!” I also have to cover the panel of alarm buttons that is perfectly within his reach. We walk down a long underground hallway to get to the laundry room. While walking, he feels very affectionate towards me and hugs my leg. He stops to look up at me with pleading eyes like the Puss in Boots Antonio Banderas cat in the Shrek movies. “Up? Up? Up?” He would like to be in my arms. Down the looong hallway. I hate to refuse but I do. I would love to always cuddle with my morsel, too, but I need him to get used to my not being able to pick him up for a while.

I try to distract him from the rejection by making it into a chase. He squeals. He just has to stop at the boiler room to check out what the workers are doing in there. I wrangle him away. We finally get to the washing machine. I’m worried he may be shocked to see his friends, Bear, Elephant, Mr. Mets, Lion, and many more, get dumped into a machine that will spin them silly, drowning them in suds, looking like a scene from Titanic. “Micah, it’s bathtime for them, okay?” He actually helps me by placing them in there one by one, solemnly, like we are performing a ritual.

Still carrying a bottle of detergent, I decide to let him walk outside in the courtyard for a little bit before the rain returns and we are forced back home to wait for the wash to be done. But he refuses to come back into the building as he checks out every gutter, dead leaf, bush and puddle. No matter how many times I pretend to walk back into the lobby without him, he doesn’t care. He wants to roam free. No separation anxiety since he knows I won’t really leave him. Dude is confident. I hide behind a tree so he will come looking for me and we can get home so I can sit for a spell but he is not falling for it.

He’s had it with my fakeouts. When I walk farther away, acting like I don’t have my eye on him at all, he throws himself on the ground. Lately, he wants a LOT of attention from me, almost like the baby has already arrived. And why not? He has always received 100% of my attention. We are always together. He is in for a rude awakening come October.

I am panting and sweating. I just want to sit down. I’m still holding the damn detergent. He wants to stay out. Finally, he hears one of the groundskeepers’ walkie talkie go off loudly with static so he runs over to me, about to cry. I soothe him and explain it is like a phone, that it was loud but not scary (“No ah-yah, Micah!”). We get home after more elevator kisses to his reflections and my pleading with him not to climb stairs once we got to our floor. After just a few minutes, we have to go back down to transfer his friends into the inferno, the dryer.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the elevator. Grey roots, sweat beads on the upper lip and lower eye regions, disheveled low ponytail in 80s leopard-print scrunchy, no bra, in the most comfy rainbow “dress” I should not wear in public even though it’s still within my building, wishing I could look only half as elegant and accessorized as Mrs. Roper.

That was about one hour of our morning. The rest of the time we play, read, dance to his favorite song, John Mayer’s “Heartbreak Warfare” while I’m making sure he doesn’t fall off our high bed when gets too excited during the chorus. He also climbs my stomach from time to time because it is big and inviting. Oh Lord help me when I do this with a newborn attached to my teat.

4.17.12 legendary

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I am trying to be like Barney on “How I Met Your Mother” by living some more “legendary” nights. Most nights, you know where to find me. Right here at home, completely wiped out and nursing my back pain, maybe debriefing with the beloved husband or arguing with him about important matters like how to pronounce “Arsenio.” But now, I must keep the due date of 10.11.12 in mind and try to have more “legendary” nights. Live it up before postpartum recovery and Korean lockdown Part Deux goes into full effect. This time with my toddler in the mix. “Legendary” as broadly construed as possible: Be Out of My Living Room. So last night I left my living room to have dinner with a fellow pregnant. (I cannot stand the word “preggo.” Almost as much disdain for it as for “chillax.”)

On our date night, we felt so light and free. We cracked up as soon as we saw each other without our bosses, those little humans. We looked so different, 20 to 30 pounds lighter! What, no stroller to collapse and maneuver into the trunk? No toys and snacks to pack? No pleading with our toddlers to stay in their high chairs, and no, no, I know he kind of looks like daddy but please leave the patient Latino man to his lunch at the mall food court and no, no, he has been very sweet to you but please don’t hug up on his leg.

M has been waking up at 5:30 to 6 am the last few days instead of his usual 8 to 8:30. I volunteered to stay up with him when I realized that the crying it out so that he can hopefully go back to sleep (and let us sleep!) was futile and cruel. K said he wouldn’t let me be the designated Awake Parent because I am pregnant. Another perk of this new early morning waking is that it gives me this time to write a quickie post during his reinstated morning nap as I eat my breakfast of leftover skirt steak. After K let me go back to sleep, I had a horrible dream about fighting with some, er, relations on the Kim side. So when he came to wake me up, I said, “Please gimme a second. I just got ganged up on in my dreams by _______ and ________ and even ______. I have to catch my breath.” K said, “REMEMBER, it was just a dream! And I know what you’re gonna say – No matter how realistic, Ji-yah! You can’t be mad at them all day!” I know pregnant women are known to have vivid sex dreams. Why I gotta have realistically combative dreams instead then wake up before I can say my peace!?

Now, I’m gonna have me some cheese toasty with spinach dip. It’s a beautiful day in the 70s today. Thank you Jesus!

4.16.12 a Cosi vacation for $6.99

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Initially, it was easier to just not write as I was in the closet about baby #2, sticking to the traditional first trimester rule. Harder to do the second time around as I was showing earlier and I was constantly hanging out with local mamas rather than hidden behind a desk at work, also directly being asked when I want another baby or in a couple cases, if I were knocked up as we speak! Even when I went to go buy the pregnancy test at our local CVS on Day 29 of my cycle (yes, I am VERY regular), I braced myself for running into a familiar face or two as I asked the employee to grab me a test from behind the locked glass display. Buying a pair of much needed maternity pants (as first pregnancy’s wardrobe consisted mostly of slacks for the office) was also a challenge as the huge bag screamed “DESTINATION MATERNITY” while I still tried to remain incognito on the subway and walk home lest I run into someone I knew. The fake mustache wasn’t fooling nobody! They may think about having a blank bag for those of us who wish to remain in the closet for the time being, although I guess they lose out on some free advertising. (A nanny I see regularly at Gymboree actually called out my pregnancy to a couple of my friends who had no idea at the time. “M’s mama? She is pregnant. I am sure.” She sensed/observed this at JUST SIX WEEKS. She should get a side hustle going, charge less than pregnancy tests. I asked her if I will be having a boy or girl.)

Carrying my blessed belly baby while wrangling a toddler has been hard, just as I imagined, but like all things imagined, it ain’t actually hard ’til it becomes your reality. M has been going through some separation anxiety – something he didn’t have until maybe around 14 or 15 months old. I’ve tried to plug myself back into a Women’s Group/Bible study on a weekday morning, something I used to do before he was a year-old, but had to stop as the timing was running into his naptime. When we returned after many months, he refused to stay with the other toddlers down in the basement with a babysitter for about 90 minutes. I think I’ve tried about four times now but he is committed to crying and screaming for me. I still don’t mind this too much as I know it is a phase and there will come a time when he does not want to be around me 24-7. BUT it would be nice if I could have that 90 minutes each week to sit with adults, hear about their lives and share my own.

Yesterday at church, he and I went to nursery as daddy looked for parking. I told the nursery volunteer that I will attempt to leave but that he is going through some anxiety and that he will surely cry for me. She assured me that it’s a normal phase and that toddlers will cry off and on but that it will be fine. I smiled because I knew M would be committed to the crying. I left around 10:21 am to try to listen to the sermon. Around 10:26 am, we received a phone call reporting that M was still crying. K laughed as he rushed down the stairs to join him in the nursery. We think the nursery is still a foreign place for him, not a comfort zone so K will sit in there with him for a few weeks so he can really feel comfy, familiarizing himself with the rotating volunteers and fellow toddlers.

I feel bad for Belly Baby because I am so devoted to the needs of my Outside the Belly Toddler that I often forget that I am expecting. As I follow M up steep slides at the playground or plead with him to not choose the same book I’ve read to him about 13 times in the morning alone or beg him to not whine in the pack n play so I can eat a meal, I temporarily forget about this other being developing inside me now. I do remember though when I am completely wiped out – “Oh yeah, I’m not just chubbier and lazier. I am actually pregnant.” I try to reflect and talk to the baby at night but by then I am looking up something on the computer, talking to K, or drooling on the couch even before dinnertime. I totally understand why my friend told me that going to work at a stressful big law firm was like going to vacation when she was expecting Baby #2.

I even take M to my o.b. visits because I have to. One time, I had the luxury of going on my own as my MiL watched him. After my visit, I WAS ABLE TO SIT IN A COSI AND EAT A CHICKEN PESTO SANDWICH! It felt like I was at the spa! It was more vacationy than my 33rd birthday on the seas of Oia, Greece! I was able to eat my food uninterrupted without my little human either coming up to me with arms raised and cute voice exclaiming, “UP!” (to be carried) then curiously sticking his fingers into my food.

I have more to say but no time. Here is my dude, making it all worthwhile:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sl8vbbpw994