Giving Up Free Parking in Manhattan: A Birth Story

Posted on April 27, 2018 by ajummama

Olive is turning 11 months old tomorrow. Here is her birth story, before she becomes a toddler on Memorial Day:

Saturday of Memorial Weekend 2017 was soccer for the boys. Kevin went to Costco with them so I can rest after my scare the day before which landed me in the hospital to get checked out. My bladder had protruded out of me while I was on toilet and I initially thought, “OhmyGod, I am on one of those TV shows where I have the baby in the toilet, except I’m 40, not at prom.”

I joined them at soccer while Kevin put away the groceries. I relayed my dramatic story to a fellow soccer mom and dad. He joked that I should have my baby on Memorial Day Monday for rare, easy parking in NYC.

I rested a lot that day. Read a library book off and on that day (I wrote the name somewhere – some mystery book that was NOT riveting). The boys went to sleep easily and earlier than usual (maybe God was setting up the scene). By 8-something at night, they were both sound asleep so Kevin and I propped ourselves up in our bed, to organize some baby clothes as we had so many hand-me-downs and time was running out.

8:58 pm – As I shifted in bed, I felt warm liquid seeping and I could tell it wasn’t the usual discharge that sometimes felt noticeably warm and would give Kevin a scare.

And JUST LIKE WITH THE BOYS, I had bloody show, which is ALWAYS a helpful heads up that my body gives me – to say, “Hey, this is happening and will happen within 24 hours.”

I called the doctor’s office and Dr. Not My Doctor was the one on call, just like with Ellis. He said I can either come in right away since it sounded like my water had broken and contractions would be coming or I can labor at home and come in in the morning. We weren’t sure if he said come in in six hours or come in by 6 am, so we called him back to clarify.

We texted lots with our neighborhood friends, A, S and W re “It’s Game Time!”

S was very smart in that he could tell we were telling him to just come over by 10 pm so that we wouldn’t disturb him in the middle of the night so he offered us our space to labor at home, be nekked if more comfy, and pack final items. He assured us that once we needed him, he would be over within ten minutes. This was an answer to prayer as I worried about who would take the boys if this happened in the middle of the night before my mom arrived on 6/1.

S rushed over. The boys would be waking up to him instead of us. I wrote out letters to each son. I felt so emotional, knowing that these were the last moments of us being a family of four, my having just my two precious sons I doted on for the past 4.5 and 6.5 years. I was a Boy Mom and so whupped on these two very different creatures who made me a mom. And my Pillow Cheeks was no longer gonna be my Babyest after 4.5 years of milking it.

Light pink seepage soaking up dozen maxi pads. I used pantiliners until I realized that I needed more heavy duty support.

I practically barked at Kevin and was super-mean. “I know you supportive but I need you to LEAD so I can just be passive in times like these!” But he was discombobulated by my water breaking 16 days before the due date, after the bladder prolapse the day before.

Also, it may have been an animal thang, like when a dog gets ready to give birth to her litter and she feels crazed, scratching her claws across the wooden floor.

I didn’t start contractions under AFTER midnight (water broke at 8:58 pm). I had snuck into boys’ room to marvel at my sleeping babes whose lives were about to change. In a good way mostly, but there would also be a loss of Mommy’s attention and energy as a third apple of my eye would be scooting them over. Or “scootching” them over, as Ellis likes to say.

Looking back, this final moment to nestle with them and breathe them in on the last night of having only two children outside of my body was such a gift. It also allowed me to calm down, soak it all in, and not be so mean to Kevin.

Contractions picked up, about 6-7 minutes apart. After I kissed the boys in their sleep, I calmly woke up a sleeping Kevin to tell him we should go in and get my epidural more timely than last time. I had told Kevin to invest in rest though I wasn’t able to sleep. For some reason, Kevin was surprised again that this was really happening.

S arrived so swiftly, gave me a quick “heem-neh” hug and marched right into our apartment like a soldier on a mission, with his rolled up sleeping bag. Kevin gave him inhaler instructions for Micah and we took off before 2 am.

My contractions were coming regularly and it hurt like a mother (is that where the saying comes from?) but I don’t think it hurt as much the previous two births.

For MLK, it was, “WHAT THE HELLLLLLLLL!???” and for EZ, “HOLY SH*T I NOW REMEMBER ALL OF THIS AND THIS IS GONNA HURT LIKE A MOTHER!!!” For this one, I can only remember it hurting so much my eyes would shut on their own, but I still dared to tell Kevin between frequent contractions: “It’s middle of the night. Don’t do the $100 valet parking. Drop me off by that plant at the entrance and then park on the street.”

Kevin advised: If you wait for me to park, it could be a matter of getting an epidural on time or the anesthesiologist getting all booked up like last time when it was too late.

Me: You right. Good call. Just pay the $1000 for parking valet.

I checked in at 2:22 am on what seemed to be an uneventful night at the maternity ward. Later I found out that it truly was uneventful due to it being Memorial Weekend. I asked how can babies time their own births around major holidays and someone explained that as far as scheduled deliveries, they were scarce around major holidays.

2:27 am – Dr. PG gave me an internal exam. 3 or 4 cm dilated and 70 effaced. Head still down. This doctor is gorgeous. Just like the nurses at Ellis’ delivery – they looked like they were gonna pillow fight on The Bachelor.

Dr. S, a handsome young Indian anesthesiologist gave me my epidural at 3:05 am when I was ONLY 3.5 cm dilated. Another gorgeous Indian doctor.

Dr. Not My Doctor checked in at 3:34 am, 4:58 am (said I was 7 to 8 cm dilated and should be another hour), 6:15 am and said it was time.

Wait, is my baby crawling out the cavern on her own before I even pushed? I told the doctor and he said, “Let me check. Oh yeah, she’s right there.” The Korean-American nurse commented, “When I have kids, I want a birth like that.”

Baby girl arrived so quickly at 6:32 am that we didn’t even get to get our cry on. She just appeared. Two contractions and total of five pushes within a few minutes. She seemed to birth herself, as I felt her crawling out of me even with my epidural; no pain, just pressure.

Olive Hope Kim, 16 days early for most memorable Memorial Weekend ever and best reason for bailing on friend’s BBQ:

5 pounds, 8 oz, 2500 grams, 19 inches tall

Now, 11 months old, with a staring problem like I’ve never seen before. Only Li’l Kim to army crawl, still zero teeth, and waking up once or twice through the night since seven months old. Slept so much better when brand new. Wishing you a wonderful last month of being an infant.

photo by Gaga Photos

“Are you…the Mom?”

Posted on October 25, 2017 by ajummama

Moments after “Are you…the Mom?” I look like I could have offspring in middle school and high school while my Olive looks like Governor Christie once again. We embrace all of it but I just had to share these stories.

Many of our friends in our NYC neighborhood have mixed families. The mama friends I made when MLK was about four months old have been mistaken for The Nanny because their child doesn’t look the same race as them. This made for fun play dates as my friends shared story after story, about a doctor, teacher, or stranger in the elevator, assuming that they were not the mom.

Since our family is of Korean descent, this has not happened to me. Boring!

Well, once, when M got hurt at the playground and was bleeding, I ran over to take care of the cut and another caretaker (mom, aunt, sitter?), in her shock at the sight of blood asked me, “Where is the MOM? Oh my God!? WHERE IS THE MOM!?” I answered that I was The Mom and that I needed her to scootch on over so I can reach the bathroom sink.

I was actually tickled because I wanted to tell my mixed family friends that hey, I, too, got asked if I were the Mom!

This past summer, while I had to explain to a cute little toddler girl that it was the boys’ Gramma Lee’s birthday and that is why I wanted them to get on the phone with me, she asked me, “Are YOU a Gramma?”

I worked through the bitterness in my heart and have since forgiven that juicy cherub.

Last week, on the way to pick up my boys from school, I found myself walking side-by-side with another stroller. The baby appeared to be a newer model than my nearly five month old Rolly Olive Royl. I asked, “Aww, how old is he?”

The mom answered, “Two months.”

“Awww, enjoy! Congrats! Is he your first?”

(No answer. Just a smile and hesitation.)

“Oh, I was just curious. This one is my third but my first girl. You?”

“I have a few.”

“Oh, okay. You don’t want to say? Big families are beautiful.”

“I have a few.” And we both walked off to our destinations.

I wanted to sprint after her shouting, “Five? Six? Nine? 12? HOLLA AT ME! I MUST KNOW NOW!” but I played the role of a mature adult and picked up my kids.

While I was still wondering what type of comments and with what regularity drove that mom to now answer, “…just a few,” I put Olive in the swing for the first time ever.

As I was swinging her, another Asian caretaker was next to me, swinging her toddler and noticing us. I didn’t pay her any mind as I was so excited for Olive’s first swing ride.

The Asian lady proceeded to stare and stare at me as many first generation Asian ladies are prone to do. She asked, “Are you…The Mom? I’m this one’s gramma.” She looked proud as if she enjoyed folks telling her, “WOW, you are the gramma!? You look young!”

When I happily and proudly answered, “Yes, I’m her mom!” she stared longer, studying my hair and face. “She…your second?”

“No, my third.”

Since I have no hesitation talking to strangers, I wanted to ask, “Oh my Gawd. D-d-d-did you think I was…her Gramma?!” But I knew better than to go searching for an answer I might not be able to handle.

This was comical to me. And I knew it would give Kevin a good laugh later as our favorite pastime is to laugh at my expense.

When we found out on my 40th birthday that we were expecting, we started calling each other “Andrew” and “Laurel,” our church friends’ parents who had a third, beloved child much later in life.

We joked about how we’d be mistaken for Baby’s grandparents down the road but yo, I meant DOWN DOWN the long and windy road like maybe when she was in middle school. And perhaps I didn’t really mean it because Asians preserve well, like our pickled banchan!

Throughout this last pregnancy, I got all sorts of fun comments. They didn’t bother me; it made for a more colorful experience, anecdotes galore. Most of the comments were along the lines of, “What you got at home? Boys? Oh Thank GOD, there’s a girl in there.” (Once screamed across the street from a stranger, pointing at my belly).

One time, as I walked to the subway from my o.b. appointment, the crossing guard started chuckling at/with me when I smiled and waved hello. We had never met but she started teasing me, “Again!? Again!? hahahahah C’mon now! How many at home?” For some reason, I started laughing right along with her, and I answered, “This is my third.”

Asian Gramma exchange reminded me to care about my appearance a bit more as I navigate my 40s. For Olive’s sake!

I dyed my shocking white roots the next day.

5.26.17 Clementine, a pre-birth story

Posted on June 9, 2017 by ajummama

Since the last post, we have officially become a family of five. Thank You, Lord.

Our tiny Olive Hope Kim is already 12 days old today and just about 6 lbs after losing then gaining lotta ounces. She was nearly Olive Poema Hope but a family vote knocked (my) choice out pretty much immediately though I campaigned for it after I heard a sermon on Ephesians 2 on our being God’s “Poiema,” God’s workmanship and masterpiece.

I also considered “Clementine” for a split second when I had to rush to the hospital two days before her birth, but the back story is just gross and not meaningful. She is the only one of my kids who took me to the hospital before their official arrival.

I am itching to write for the sake of writing and sharing and feeling more myself, though some of this is while holding Olive. I want to feel more balanced as I’ve been nursing ’round the clock and trying to catch up on sleep in short little spurts during the day. Sleep deprivation is a beast especially after I’d been sleeping soundly for years.

I took the boys to get their hair cut yesterday when they were home for Chancellor’s Day, one of THREE days off from school this month of June.

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Their barbers were asking me details of how I want their hair to look and I loved that they cared enough to ask. But I closed my eyes for longer than I had planned and said, “Can you please excuse me for a moment? I haven’t been getting enough sleep so I can’t even answer the most basic of your questions. Just one moment. Please forgive. Thank you.”

Where do I start? Lemme back up to 5.26.17, Friday before Memorial weekend.

Micah had been home with me four out of five days that week, with a bad cough attack similar to what had landed him in the hospital nearly a year ago. I felt bad for him as his cough shook his skinny little body but I confess I also felt sad that this possible final week of being pregnant was not as restful for me as I had daydreamed about.

I went to go use the bathroom while Micah coughed away on the couch. When I wiped, a clementine-sized sac protruded from me. Though I knew it was NOT the baby’s head as i was in no pain, I completely freaked out and started crying, imagining myself on a reality show, Geriatric Multigravida Gives Birth in Co-op Toilet While Son on Nebulizer.

I called my doctor and the nurse told me not to get up. But how could I not. I had to pack for hospital and get someone to come over.

I called my friend, our emergency contact that God had provided. My biggest fear of going into labor was that no one could take care of my big kids especially if I had to go in the middle of the night. Our friends graciously and gladly offered their help, a true answer to prayer.

I got Micah’s albuterol treatment started as my friend rushed over. Her husband was ready to pick up Ellis from pre-K later that afternoon. I was beyond grateful for these helping hands that allowed me to get to the hospital without worrying about my boys.

Once I got to the hospital, the nurses asked me lots of questions. I told them that all morning, I felt something different down there, almost like I was sprouting a penis. I kept telling them it was a clementine sized flesh sac/water balloon that decided to hang out when I was on the toilet. The nurses tried to make me re-enact what happened but the clementine hid itself. They also told me that my descriptions were disturbing and terrifying.

Since they could not figure out what happened, I was discharged. They said even if they had figured out exactly what was protruding, the baby was doing fine and there was no reason for me to stay in the hospital.

They advised that next time, I take a picture of the clementine. I berated myself for not doing that in the first place. Kevin assured me that I was normal and not a perverted sicko, to not think of taking a picture of my privates during that alarming moment.

So that is the story of how 5.26.17 was an alarming day leading up to her actual birthday. We ended it happily eating Chinese food with our dear emergency contacts, not knowing that baby would be arriving within 48 hours.

“Immeasurably More…” – Mother’s Day 2017

Posted on May 17, 2017 by ajummama

Mother’s Day 2017 started out with the boys scurrying around with their homemade cards and origami flowers while I enjoyed a prolonged snuggle with my Snoogle, our old pregnancy pillow that we miraculously didn’t throw out over the years because Kevin liked it for himself.

The boys presented me with their bounty and also did their Mother’s Day choreography to Boyz II Men’s “Mama you Know I Love You,” directed by Daddy since 2015. Kevin made me a veggie omelette, which Ellis also nibbled on.

Micah’s one gift was a handmade heart that said, “I love you so much it’s as easy as drawing a heart.” He also added, “And you’re also easy to draw, Mommy, because I’m good at drawing fat people now.”

We went to church and all the adult females were gifted with a single pink carnation. Ellis asked, “But Mommy, why you take the flower when you said we can’t buy you any kind of plant because then you have to take care of it?”

Pastor Rich Villodas spoke from Ephesians 3:20:

²⁰Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, ²¹to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Now he pointed out that though many focus on “immeasurably more” as in blessings in our personal lives, the passage is actually referring to how God can bring opposing groups together, immeasurably more than we ever imagined.

But I was marinating in the “immeasurably more” as in more blessed than I’d ever imagined. There were two times in my life where I struggled with a debilitating depression.

While in the pit, I informed my parents that fine, I will stay alive because I have to but that I won’t ever thrive in this here life. Sorry for being so broken and such a burden but you guys will have to take care of me for the rest of my life because of the darkness I just can’t emerge from. As a parent now, I think about how devastating that would be to hear from your child who “should” be having a blast in those much anticipated college years.

Talk about immeasurably more than I ever imagined. Despite those earlier dark times and even tough times in more recent years as we struggled in our marriage, here I was, sitting in the balcony at my colorful church in Queens, NYC, with a bonus baby in my belly, my two sons who crack me up daily, and a husband who just may be the Most Reviled husband for making others look bad.

But I have to put myself on blast as the day took a different turn. I swear I was thinking about my Immeasurably More Blessed status even as we drove to Brooklyn for the Mother’s Day Brunch that Kevin had reserved.

On the way there, Ellis warned us he was getting carsick so we parked very far from the restaurant to get him some fresh air. Whew, vomit averted. We walked many blocks to the restaurant. One block before the restaurant, Ellis gagged and bent over, vomiting onto the sidewalk, like a little man hungover. Passersby commented, “Aww poor kid.”

As far as vomit goes, this was ideal. Sidewalk vomit, only a mild spittle on my shoes.

I don’t know if my bad attitude started brewing then but once I saw the set menu, I went from basking in my Immeasurably More Blessed status to griping for Immeasurably More than the limited fancy egg or samich on the menu. I still don’t know how I went from beyond grateful to pissed off so fast.

I started getting crabby as the boys fought over the phone, which I had hoped would not have made its appearance but Kevin was worried about Ellis’ stomach so he thought it’d be a good distraction. Then I noticed all this glassware on the table that no one else seemed to be mindful of while I could picture spills in slow motion.

No kids’ menu so they were gonna have to order same overpriced egg or samich from the adult set menu. The waiter said he would bring the kids some pistachio ice cream for their dessert later and because we were harried, we both said, “Yum.” Then I called him back to say, “Oops, he’s allergic.”

My attitude spiraled down from there, as I thought, “Man, I wanted to just tag along today. Clearly, I can’t just be passive for one day. Mama still has to be hyper-vigilant.” Again, unfair since Kevin totally holds it down so that I can mostly be passive.

Ellis remarked, “Mommy, you MEAN on Mother’s Day.”

I just wanted to confess this Mother’s Day attitude that I later apologized for. I dunno if it was the hyped up holiday or my hormones, but even at my most grateful, I jacked up AGAIN. I might have stayed up too late the night before, finally trying to catch “Catastrophe” with Kevin, or I just had too high expectations, unbeknownst to me.

After I apologized, I asked Kevin to not surprise me next year as his veggie omelette was way better than the $40 egg I had at Glassware Galore Restaurant. He reminded me that last year I had requested brunch ambience aka White Papple ambience, so that is why he chose this place but that next year, I can chime in since my cravings are ever-changing.

Anyone else’s Mother’s Day take a topsy turvy turn?

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At least the $40 egg included homemade cinnamon donuts with caramel sauce.

Watch the Sky

Posted on May 5, 2017 by ajummama

The other day, I took a quick solo drive to the out-of-town public library to grab Micah some more difficult chapter books per his request. Our local library is closed for repairs and due to parking issues, I prefer driving out of town anyhow, especially if I get to do it alone.

No work, no doctor appointments, no urgent tasks to complete other than purging before another (mini) family member joins. Not having to rush from point A to point B or respond to urgent emails, running no other errand than the library run was rejuvenating.

I admired the spring flowers on our block as I walked to fetch our car.

Minutes later, I was driving on the highway with zero traffic, sun shining bright, when this ditty came on the radio:

If you wanna go and take a ride wit me
We three-wheelin in the fo’ with the gold D’s
Oh why do I live this way? (Hey, must be the money!)

HEY! Must be the money! I could imagine my girlfriends from two decades ago riding with me, turning up the volume and laughing. Even in present day mini-van with our garish McDonald’s Happy Meal emoji hanging from our rearview mirror, I felt 20-something and extra grateful for the day.

Grateful for breath, my life and the life pop-lockin’ inside of me. Grateful for the sudden surge of energy this week, after last week’s sluggishness where I would just have the kids gather ’round me in my bed. Then another great song came on:

I am a flower quickly fading,
Here today and gone tomorrow.
A wave tossed in the ocean.
A vapor in the wind.
Still You hear me when I’m calling.
Lord, You catch me when I’m falling.
And You’ve told me who I am.
I am Yours, I am Yours.

Who am I, that the eyes that see my sin
Would look on me with love and watch me rise again?
Who am I, that the voice that calmed the sea
Would call out through the rain
And calm the storm in me?

Life truly is about the simple things. A solo drive. No traffic. Two great songs on the radio.

The night before, I needed to konk out after staying up too late to review some boring, time-sensitive documents (adult life). I could have drifted into dreamland right then but I felt jipped of my sacred, quiet time after kids had gone to bed. So I left my lamp on so that I could read just one exquisite short story from my new library book. I reread certain passages and it was time well spent. It felt like a square of fine dark chocolate or hot red tea after a meal. Recalibrated my brain.

This reminds me to add a simple joy to my day in the raw postpartum days to come, when hormones are off from nursing while adjusting to the new normal of a helpless little babe completely dependent on me.

My parents did not appear to value self-care. They believed that they could not afford to, that it was a wasteful luxury just for the unencumbered upper crust folks with margins in their lives. Or maybe that’s what they told themselves as it was too painful to admit even to themselves that they could use some sweet time just to exhale and enjoy life.

I don’t fault them for this way of thinking as they had to work as much as possible to pay for life’s necessities. They didn’t get to collect a paycheck from some air-conditioned office.

I used to follow my parents’ standards as an excuse for why I, too, thought self-care was fluffy and for folks who weren’t diligent and hard-working enough. I went so far as to judge those who prioritized self-care in a way that was foreign to me, coming from my background.

“Another massage? Another date night? Didn’t you just come back from vacation? How ’bout you take a break from taking a break?” But now I see that my parents would have fared better had they not just worked all the time, had they somehow carved out small pockets of leisure.

When my mom owned a small gift shop in Panorama City, CA, working at least six days a week, ten hours a day, she would comment that the moment she heated up her lunch, customers would barge in. And nine out of ten times, these would be annoying customers, those who would ask the price of her whole inventory with their eagle eyes and too many extended family members in tow, and then leave without a single purchase. This is why to this day, I don’t like going into someone’s small business or vendor booth just to look, chitchat, or merely compliment an item without buying.

My mom would sometimes feel chained to her store. Once, when I was in high school and visiting the store, she sighed and said, “Sometimes, I wish I could just run across the street and lie down on that patch of grass, just roll around and look at the sky.”

I now wish I had insisted that she do just that. Go right on across Roscoe Blvd., Umma, and lie down on that patch of grass in front of the old drive-in movie theater. Exhale. Watch the sky. Watch the clouds drift. Grab a cold beverage. Think about something that makes you laugh. I got you.

I remembered this when I was in Bryant Park last summer, and I purposely lie down on the grass in the middle of my day. A homeless man was to my left, damp green grass under me, and the blue sky above me.

I am going to create more “Watch the Sky” moments. Priceless.

We are not to walk on the courtyard grass but I just had to get close to these beauties. They looked like they were made of pink Kleenex.

I mean, they were bigger than my kids’ faces. Nature is astounding.

Diverted by Marshawn Lynch

Posted on May 1, 2017 by ajummama

It’s May 1st! A brand new month. Exciting month ahead for our family. Hopefully, baby won’t arrive this month as this is the month prior to the expected due date. I take “due date” with a grain of salt as both boys arrived early. May will be filled with lots of anticipation, checklists, doc appointments and hopefully rest, too. During Sunday service, I couldn’t keep the tears from flowing from my jaw down to my clothes as I *still* can’t believe that I get to do this all over again.

On a TOTALLY different note: I relate to Larry David’s character on “Curb Your Enthusiasm” way too much. I recognize that so much of what I sweat is “small stuff” but I had a lightbulb moment last week. I sometimes want to pause on the trifling happenings of life to allow my mind to drift from the actual meaty stuff: adult decisions and responsibilities.

Flashback to last Wednesday at my o.b. appointment. I take the elevator to the 11th floor with just one other person. The man seems restless and preoccupied as he tries to exit the elevator unchivalrously before me, practically clipping me, so in true Larry David fashion, I maneuver my girth so that I can exit before him.

I sit down in the waiting room and look all around at the Upper East side patients and think, “So boojie, mmm. So much privilege up in here. Blech!” (And yes, I know that I am at least partly one of them as much as I try to claim “Other.”) That is when I notice that the man from the elevator is talking to the receptionist and soon, addressing the large waiting room:

“Excuse me. Someone here got a ride from me and did not pay me. Who was it? Who took a ride from me and did not pay me?”

Everyone peered down at their precious phones as if they were Cinderella’s Magic Mirror revealing the future, and ignored him completely. He repeated the announcement:

“Someone here did not pay me after they got a ride from me. Who was it?”

People continued to ignore him. While his announcement made folks uncomfortable, it was not delivered in a scary manner. He was just a brown man trying to get paid for his services, hunting down his boojie customer who stole from him.

I started feeling my emotional buttons getting pushed from this man being completely ignored, even though I knew nothing about the customer and whether she was privileged and wealthy, taking advantage of the cab driver.

I responded loud enough for him and the room to hear: “Sorry, man. I took the subway here so it wasn’t me. Good luck!”

He walked out of our waiting room to the adjoining doctor’s office, presumably to make the same announcement. The man just needed to get paid and I felt for him. I also flashbacked to when customers stole from my parents.

The second he left, one of the phone-staring ignorers, an older White lady, promptly got up out of her seat to tattle to the receptionist, “He didn’t go downstairs. He just went to the next office.” So the receptionist had to act as security to tell him that he must raise up and wait in the lobby, not here in the doctors’ offices.

Just then, a White husband who had his pregnant wife’s feet on his lap the whole time, exclaimed, while still staring at his phone: “What!? Marshawn Lynch…!”

He and his wife were called to be seen by the doctor and I noticed he had on a blazer with elbow patches. I judged some more.

As a post-doctor appointment treat, Kevin and I met for lunch. I told him about how incensed I felt when everyone ignored the cab driver in our boojie waiting room. Kevin said that he, too, would have ignored the guy because he didn’t take no ride from him. Kevin laughed and said, “Maybe you responded because you felt like you had to defend yourself since you always have to explain yourself?”

I explained, “No, I responded because he deserved to be heard by SOMEONE, even though I wasn’t the fare-jacker. And guess what? When I saw the older White lady report him after ignoring him the whole time and then that Elbow Patch exclaiming about Marshawn Lynch?! I got all crazy inside. I wanted to go fight him and say, ‘If Marshawn Lynch drove a cab and asked you boojies if someone made off without paying him, you would totally ignore his ass too if he were a nameless man of color. But because he Marshawn Lynch, you dare to exclaim his name while seated here amongst the pregnants. Man, shut up! Don’t ever utter Marshawn name again, Elbow Patches!”

“And then, I started Googling ‘Marshawn Lynch’ instead of looking up the checklist for what this particular o.b. appointment should entail. I think I just like diversions, the more trifling the better!”

All this to say that everyone has their coping mechanisms. When seated in front of my husband to discuss Adult Decisions, I suddenly had to talk about Marshawn Lynch outburst. When we have to make important decisions, Kevin becomes more logical and focused and can’t be bothered with the trifling. I subconsciously seek out tangents and treasure troves of trifling to take a breather from the adult ish. What is your funky way of coping with adult life?

So, Jihee, where do you want to raise our kids? And you must decide by the end of lunch…

I need to tell you what happened in the waiting room today.

Reaccommodatin’

Posted on April 20, 2017 by ajummama

Substitute my brother’s white Mitsubishi Eclipse from decades ago for our silver Honda Odyssey minivan. And my 20-something self with my bigger 40 year-old self with pregnant belly protruding onto the steering wheel and basically, we have the same scenario.

When I was younger, I would blow off steam by driving in the familiar San Fernando Valley streets with music blasting. I hadn’t realized that driving alone to de-stress was still an option for me until this past weekend. Lemme back up.

Spring Break was upon us and this year, it went on for seven full weekdays. So counting the weekends, it was for 12 days straight. Kevin took one day off for our trip to local Bear Mountain. I noticed during the break that my boys have grown much bigger in stature and presence. I could not physically control them like I could when they were morsels I could lift in and out of their double stroller.

The most stressful moments of Spring Break were when we had to get somewhere by a certain time.

Like on Good Friday, the tail end of that first week of break. The boys entertain each other so well these days that I am practically a third wheel to their inside jokes, songs, and secrets. Until they fight. Right when we had to go get the car to get to our parking-challenged church for Good Friday service, Fight Club was at it again.

Perhaps because this was the end of a fun but long week, I started seeing red. I wanted to swat them. We somehow made it to church and I noticed that en route to church, they had fallen asleep. They must have woken up earlier that morning and that was why they were more rambunctious than usual. But I didn’t care.

I needed to tap out. I counted the minutes ’til Kevin could meet me in the church parking lot when he could tend to the sleeping angels and I could take just Me Myself and I (and obedient, compliant, quiet Belly Baby) into the sanctuary. I hoped Kevin knew from my terrible mood to not try to find me once we were in the sanctuary. BECAUSE I NEEDED ME SOME SANCTUAAAAARY!

I sat in the balcony, my favorite section. I couldn’t even sing or pray. I just kept fanning myself, just feeling beyond drained from the week of quality time with my boys. I was at a -10 in self-care. I didn’t know how to get them to listen to me, these growing, galloping horse boys in our apartment. In some ways, this stage was much more taxing than a baby with no visible neck, just sitting there, with all of its delicious rolls and sausage arms to objectify and nibble on.

As I was fanning myself, Kevin texted me, “We are downstairs,” right after I saw them walking in. Because I was so tapped out, my first instinct was to hide! (Family – if you ever read this, I LOVE YOU. But I am also human and I need to tap out and recharge). My beautiful Denzel-smiling Micah located me right away and looked up at me in the balcony. He beamed like he and his Fight Club partner hadn’t just put me through the wringer. I smiled back but didn’t budge when he gestured for me to come down to their level.

I gazed down below at a family of six, sitting together, the youngest nuzzling into Dad’s neck. Father, Lord, help me, I just can’t right now.

I was able to savor my solitude throughout the beautifully planned special Good Friday service. I wanted to clap back with an exclamation of, “Glory Hallelu!” when Pastor Rich Villodas pointed out in his sermon that Jesus did not say, “You are a good good Father!” when He was being crucified on the cross. Instead, even Jesus cried out, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?” And we can take comfort in that because it gives us permission to be human and voice our anguish to God.

And man, I felt VERY human on Good Friday. I couldn’t get over how hard of a time I was having just taking care of myself, Belly Baby, and Wrestlemania Kims. As I was headed to different, interactive centers set up throughout our church for focused meditation and reflection, a couple people kindly informed me, “I saw your kids in the Elephant Room!” as a way of greeting me. Usually, I would beam at any mention of my kids but this time I thought to myself, “Good, they there with they Daddy and Mama here in the Upper Stage Room, still ketchin’ her breath.” I did peek in without being seen and was relieved to see that they were enjoying a jellybean Jesus activity instead of absorbing my Tapped Out Toxins.

I was still emotional even after we were able to enjoy an Easter Egg Hunt at twilight with our friends. I told Kevin, “Hey, I know I am repeating myself but I am so tapped out. I cannot repeat another day of Fight Club. It sounds extreme but I cannot take care of anyone tomorrow. Please.”

Kevin heard me but still said, “OK, but remember, tomorrow I have to check out open houses and all you would have to do is take the boys to soccer.”

Tread lightly, brother. “All you would have to do?”

I got salty because that sounded tame for any other day but I was tapped out. And taking the boys to soccer meant walking them over, taking them back home, feeding them, keeping them from fighting, and little details you don’t quite think about. Suddenly, I had a lightbulb moment.

“Hey, *I’MMA* go to open houses and you will take them to soccer. And I will return laaaaaaaate.”

That is how I found myself on the highway, blasting my radio and driving like a free bird. I always thought I hated driving but I had to check myself and qualify that: I hate driving in our congested neighborhood with my precious treasures in the backseat, demanding The Weekend and Ariana Grande at the same time, but driving ALONE AND UNENCUMBERED with full control of the radio on a highway to a land of parking spots galore!?

I NEEDED TO DRIVE ALONE BY MYSELF ON THAT SATURDAY! Sure, I came back and reported to Kevin that one house was very close to a Taco Bell/Pizza Hut and that was cool so now he needs to go re-visit houses for me, but that Saturday of Solitary Driving saved me.

Added bonus: Kevin reported back to me that his staying home with the boys was just what he needed to rest!

We reaccommodated our roles and were much better for it. I drove home, loaded with gyros and Greek chicken soup that night and was able to miss my boys again. Recharged for Resurrection Sunday.

Now we lookin’ for more ways to reaccommodate our roles after I experienced some cramping and contractions that we first chalked up to a rare Taco Bell consumption.

When you feelin’ like this, REACCOMMODATE (but not like United)!

Vision of Hope

Posted on March 31, 2017 by ajummama

We recently heard a sermon that asked us to ask ourselves what good came out of a dark time, that if it weren’t for that struggle or storm, we would not have been able to receive the good or learned that lesson.

A few years ago, Kevin and I were fighting one night. Nothing new during that era. Lotta fighting after the kids would go to bed. Our church tries to equip us with marriage tools so that we don’t fight dirty but when I would get upset, the last thing I would think about were them tools.

Not that I forgot about them but I would scream, “F*CK those tools! How am I gonna talk like a robot and speak in the MF ‘I’ when I can tell that I am NOT being heard!?! And just so you know, we ain’t getting away with sh*t just cuz the kids are ‘sleep. They can absorb this toxicity even in their dreams. We hurting them but we keep doing this. I hate us.”

Kevin would try to fix things by resorting to logic, coming up with solutions and that would, of course, enrage me even more. Looking back, I think I just wanted him to say, “I hear you. You are hurt. I really hear you.” (He may have even said that but oof, my fury burns hot.)

One particular night, we escalated ’til our throats were hoarse and he had to take a walk. While walking, he prayed, “I just can’t do this. It’s too hard. It’s not getting better, Lord.”

He came home and seemed different.

He told me, “It makes absolutely no sense and you’re gonna laugh at me or get furious when I tell you this. While I was praying outside, God gave me a vision of you sitting in a hospital room with a newborn baby _________ in your arms, smiling. I saw the number 39 and the letters ___ and ___ and I sensed that God was telling me something, that it will get better and this vision of a new baby, even though there is just no way.”

“Lemme ask you something. Did I have a husband in that vision and if so, who was he?! Cuz right now, it SHO don’t seem like it’s gonna be you. We oil and water. That vision be MEAN and maybe something your mind spat out because you Christian and you don’t want to divorce? And how do people divorce anyways, especially in NYC? Pay for TWO homes!?”

Months later and years later: “Dang it, why you gotta tell me about that vision!? I am praying for peace about no more baby but that vision of yours keeps nagging at me! What if it’s supposed to play out and we blocking it?”

Kevin logically explained, “So maybe it wasn’t a vision-VISION but something God just gave me to encourage me in that moment because I just wanted to give up. Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Fast forward to my 40th birthday, when I got official word from peeing on my pregnancy test at my gym (more privacy than in our apartment), I did the calculation and realized that just like in Kevin’s vision with the prominent #39 that caught his eye, I had conceived our child during my last few weeks of being 39.

The dark years of fighting dirty and repeatedly hurting each other gifted us with not only Kevin’s vivid vision of hope but ways to fight better. No counselor, church, book, or friend could have gotten through to me about how I must stop fighting dirty; I had to experience the cost of fighting dirty and how it truly got me nowhere.

Without those dark years, I would have prematurely tried to fanagle one more baby because time was ticking, without learning how to communicate better. Had I been blessed with child a couple years ago, all three kids would have been so young, my hormones barely regulated and our marriage may have fallen apart.

I’m extra grateful with my hands to the heavens and hopeful as the June due date draws near, but I’m also being realistic about tiredness, lack of margins, and being much more worn out nearly five years after our last newborn. Prayers for us, please – to break the old cycle and create new cycles of hope and clear communication even with a new human to care for.

my first two babies in 2013 – sorry for fighting loudly when you went to bed

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older and hopefully wiser mama in 2017, though I wrote “1st tri” instead of “3rd tri” and didn’t notice that the “c” in “coconut” had gotten wiped out and baby labeled as an “oconut”

Pi Day/(Almost)Blizzard Stella/Snow Day

Posted on March 14, 2017 by ajummama

3.14.17 – So the predicted 12-20 inches of snow resulting in a rare early announcement of the following day’s Snow Day ended up being a Cancelled Blizzard as of 8:15 am this morning-doh! Governor Cuomo had even called a state of emergency for New York but the forecast was off and it turned out to be only 4-8 inches of snow, an icy slushy snowstorm with strong winds.

It cost me a day of pay so I was hoping for an epic, record-breaking blizzard with snow mountains we could touch from our third story window. Even though it was anti-climactic, I made sure we at least took some photos. It would have been too dangerous for me to slip and slide, walking to and from the subway to get to work so no regrets.

The boys and I spent some quality time watching a show we can all enjoy (I dislike kid shows and the boys begged me not to watch Wendy Williams). So we watched three episodes of CBS’s “Kevin Can Wait.” I have always had nothing but love for that adorable comedic talent, Kevin James.

Here is the photo dump of our half hour outside. It was too windy and icy to play longer though the boys stayed out to shovel around our minivan. Back to our regular schedules tomorrow!

Like Sands Through the Hourglass…

Posted on March 6, 2017 by ajummama

FullSizeRender (5) FullSizeRender (6) FullSizeRender (7) FullSizeRender (8) FullSizeRender (9) FullSizeRender (10) FullSizeRender (11) When deliberating where to go for our last hurrah vacation as a family of four, we were able to narrow it down to L.A. vs. Orlando. Thankfully, we didn’t have too many options to cull through as our passports have not been renewed and other Florida spots were known for Zika outbreaks. As much as we would have loved to go back to my hometown, we opted for Orlando as Escaping the Cold and Relaxation were our #1 priorities.

You know how we all say, “Where has the time gone!?”? I can recall a few moments from this delightful break where I actually could pinpoint my kids growing up before my very eyes.

As much as our Wild Florida Airboat ride, Gator and Wildlife Park, Legoland, Crayola Experience, and other excursions made the trip fun and memorable, I replayed the precious growth moments over and over in my head during our week together. They may sound mundane but I still recall them vividly:

When we arrived at Crayola Experience on the one rainy day of the week, I immediately looked for a bench to hobble towards as I had been having acute back pain. It was so bad that we looked into renting an Electric Convenience Vehicle at Legoland. Anyways, the boys were dancing in front of some moving crayon images while I watched. Suddenly, a massive group of students on fieldtrip entered the space between the boys and me, while Kevin was in the admissions line. I still had my eye on them but they could not see me. I craned my neck to keep my eye on them and watched as Micah’s face morphed from slight panic to great resolve.

“Ellis, come!” Micah looked ever firstborn in that split second as he grabbed his compliant little bro’s hand and starting walking away from the crowd.

“Micah! Mommy still sees you! Where you going? I never lost sight of you.”

Micah, looking relieved: “I was taking us to the workers to report that we had lost our mom.” (Of course I thought about the movie, “Lion,” all over again. Gulp.)

For some reason, this moment has left a mark on my heart. My boy is growing up. I don’t see the drooly toddler who soaked through 15 bibs a day, no exaggerating, as we watched the big kindergardeners go off to school. This is a bonafide big brother who snatched his cheeky little brother when he thought that this was finally the moment his mom had warned him about, “If you ever get lost, go up to someone who works there OR go up to another mom!”

He is ready to become Big Bro of two.

Second moment: When we hit the pool, Ellis usually asks one of us to hold him as he gets adjusted to the water. I didn’t realize how much I savored that babyish habit until this time, in our Orlando pool, he said, “I don’t need you any more, Mom-oo!”

I paused to take the moment in. “My Pillow Cheeks has grown up so much. You don’t even need Mommy any more!” I sheepishly swam away backwards while facing him to watch him grow before my very eyes. He must have felt this moment too as he added, “I don’t need you. But I still want you.”

And the final moment was at the airport. We were strapped for time as I had kept us another 15 minutes at Disney Springs. Instead of trying to manage with my jacked back, one sleeping Ellis, and too many bags for Kevin and Micah to carry on their own, we flagged down a porter. When I told the porter our flight time, he said, “We have to hurry.”

But I could not hurry. I could hardly walk as I felt stabbing pain on my lower back, even with a belly / back brace on. The rest of my family ran with the porter. I tried my best but I could only walk. My eyes started watering from the pain and I looked up to see my Micah’s concerned face. “My mom…she can’t run. She’s coming. Mommy, you can do it, you can do it!”

Now, my eyes were watering from the love my growing boy had for me as I hobbled to keep up. I always imagine him from a few years back, where I did everything for him. I guess it didn’t dawn on me that as he grows up, he will be the one cheering ME on. I had underestimated the six year old boy before me.

His stricken look didn’t go away until I was able to join them in the elevator to make our flight. I realized that our family being together was just as important to the kids as it was to us.

Thank you, Orlando, the host of our precious moments! Happy 40th Birthday to Kevin, who took care of all of us on the trip!