Category Archives: pregnancy

4 for 7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Few seconds later…

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

“Yes, we’re ready!”

“It’s a boy!”

I started to cry. Kevin got verklempt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marveling in the Mundane

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On the phone with the husband:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Don’t you start, boy!

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

“Supplies!” I Funny!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nekked playdate anyone?

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

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

Only about ten more weeks until Belly Baby arrives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ”

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Had so many things to write down from our trip back home to LA but if they don’t get typed out right quick, hard to capture the essence of the memories. So many pictures still on our camera. Hope to write about them eventually but not holding my breath especially with my recent bout of drowsiness and lethargy. We in Third Trimester Territory now!

A big entry like “LA Trip” is too daunting to write up during a half-hour break but thankfully, venting/tattling flows freely from me like water.

Micah has been to LA three times now. First trip at 11 weeks old after the seven snowstorms in NYC made mama pack up the family and flee. Second trip at around 13.5 months old. Third trip was a few weeks ago at full-fledged toddler age of about 19 months old. Worst flight yet.

Early a.m. flight means he needs to nap while on the plane especially after we woke him up around 5 a.m. Hard to succumb to the much-needed nap due to sensory overload and no place to stretch out since he is still in our laps. We start paying for a seat once he turns two. We brought a bag full of distractions: snacks, toys, books, my phone, our tablet. We are all strapped in but we do not take off. For 90 minutes. Having to restrain him is brutal. He wants to walk up and down the aisles or at least have daddy take him around in his arms but he has to stay seated. We try to distract him with our bag of goodies but they aren’t too helpful. Kevin is exasperated trying to restrain him but I am so worried about getting lightheaded that I still manage to eat a boiled egg during this stressful time. (I am willing to share my bounty but Kevin is having too hard of a time to even think about eating. I eat his egg, too).

Even after we take off, it’s not pleasant. Micah is whining because…who knows why? He’s a toddler. I apologize to the passenger sitting next to me. “I’m sorry about this. It’s gonna be a long flight for all of us [nervous laughter]. It’s hard for us to hear, too.” She was from Brooklyn, young and hip. “Don’t even worry about it. I’m a nanny. I’m gonna sleep the whole way with my earplugs on.” Thank you Jesus. That brings a little relief during this whiny period. Speaking of Jesus…

There is a lovey dovey couple sitting in front of us. The dude is clearly whupped on the gal. They are kissing and smushed up against each other, nuzzling. Direct contrast from the harried, sweaty couple behind them – us. The “Fasten Your Seatbelts” sign keeps lighting up so we have to restrain Micah many times and he is protesting. I have a blanket around my neck, dry cereal all over my body, a few packets of snacks on and under my thighs, fake food toys under my butt. Kevin has crazy eyes under his glasses and whispers, “Ji-yah. It sounded like I was abusing him in the restroom. I’m so embarrassed. Micah screamed and peed all over me as I tried to change his diaper. I’m not gonna lie. If there was an eject button in there to jump out the plane with a parachute, I would not be here right now. I’m sorry to have to tell you.”

We both started laughing because Kevin sounded like me for once. He never complains but this time, he admitted that he would’ve abandoned us by choosing to fall from the sky instead of being where he was now. He started laughing some more when he saw just how much crap was strewn all over me.

“Que bin, I really can’t wait to do this next year with a newborn, too! Just imagine that for a moment.”

Oh, back to Jesus.

Micah started another round of whining as he wanted to nap but couldn’t get his bearings on this packed plane. The gal in front of us stops making out with her boyfriend to exhale dramatically and exclaim, “JESUS CHRIST!” when Micah got going again.

Oh no she didn’t. Did I hear right?

“JESUS CHRIST” again as she adjusted herself on her dude’s shoulders.

“Que bin, you KNOW I’mma have to fight her now!” My body grows hot.

“Ji-yah, don’t! She has every right to be annoyed. His whining is annoying, even to us.” He always play devil’s advocate. To offset my playing the devil.

“OH MY GOD. Of COURSE she has every right to be annoyed but she needs to be a decent, empathetic human and talk trash about us to her friends once we deplane, not passive-aggressively exclaim ‘Jesus Christ’ after each whine. That would be the courteous thing to do! We are doing everything we can and her ‘Jesus Christ’ is so wrong! As if we aren’t stressed enough!” (I start to passive-aggressively talk trash about her loudly, daring her to turn around and respond. Choice words about entitlement, not having enough balls to complain to our faces, and related matters.)

And speaking of my Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ. I never appreciated it when people used his name in substitution for a choice curse word. I would never do that to y’alls gods.

I thought about what would happen if I did tell her off especially in my agitated state. How the air marshall would have to get involved and how I may be banned from future flights. And I did want to return and present my newborn to my loved ones. So I held my tongue.

But when she went to the restroom, I was so tempted to tap her dude and say, “Psssst. Hey. You may think I’m just a crazy lady with a whiny toddler but one day you will recall my words. You may think you in love now with that skinny li’l gal but ohhhh trust me, someone who keeps loudly muttering ‘Jesus Christ’ about a whiny toddler lacks heart. NOT wifey material. You’re gonna want you a woman who maturely and patiently waits to vent until after the flight. I wish her many bad flights with triplet babies about ten years from now. But you. You can change your fate by letting her go.”

I smiled as I fantasized about being able to tell him that. Micah was in better spirits after a short cat nap on our laps. I took him back to the flight attendant area to explore and chat with them. I tattled on the “Jesus Christ” gal because tattling usually makes me feel better. They made him a balloon with their latex gloves. A beautiful mama of four kiddies, flying alone, joined us and presented Micah with a makeshift puppet she had made out of the vomit bag. Now that’s true wifey material.

Our flight back to NYC was just about perfect as it was in the afternoon. He was able to nap at the gate for about 90 minutes before we got on the plane. Many empty seats, too. No whining. No “Jesus Christ.”

John Quinones

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As Micah and I strolled to the library this a.m. for our weekly summer storytime, I had to pause because rivers of sweat had deposited into my right eyeball and it stung. I was fidgeting with my eye, hoping we weren’t running late since I couldn’t walk any faster without overheating in today’s heat of 97 degrees, with a “feels like” of 107 degrees and humidity as high as 67%. Okay, I actually don’t know what the ranges are for humidity percentages but now I know that 67% is nasty.

A lady suddenly appeared by my side in a sports bra, running tank top, and spandex pants. At first, as soon as she started talking, I thought she would surely turn out to be one of those scammers who tell you an elaborate story about their car breaking down just blocks away and how they need exactly $13 to get home and that any amount would be helpful. However, she ended up asking, “Do you know a nearby park…

…for jogging?”

Again, I had had to pause because my sweat was pouring fast and furious just from STROLLING LEISURELY. I felt like John Quinones from ABC’s “What Would You Do?” was going to pop out to judge my reaction so I said, “Are you really trying to jog today!?” Surely Mr. Quinones and his camera crew would give me a pat on the back for at least trying to dissuade her. She smiled and said, “Yes.” I reluctantly told her about a park farther away and a reservoir a bit closer since she was on a mission, but added my two cents again: “I really don’t think it’s safe to jog in this heat but please be careful!” I would hope that Mr. Quinones would still gimme credit for trying to stop her.

I had so many questions for her but couldn’t jog after her to ask them.

After the walk to and from the library and an impromptu, quickie playdate before his nap where I got to replenish with some cranberry juice on the rocks, I am now forced to cancel our plans for the afternoon. As much as I want to meet up with our beloved playdates, it is seriously dangerous for us to trek back and forth again. Both summers before my babies arrived are proving to be extra brutal! Although this heat seems to be my muse for blogging – two posts this week!

p.s. Extra emphatic NYC-hating day as we officially lost Jeremy Lin to the Rockets today. Obbaaahhh! We will miss you!

Know Thyself

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Fourth heat wave of the summer in NYC. Got lots of delicious rest this weekend thanks to the always helpful hubby and almost no commitments (no birthday parties). As I enter my third trimester, I’m feeling more lethargic perhaps due to my growing girth alone. This morning, I woke up wanting to take Micah out to a playground before his nap even though I knew we were in for a “scorchaaa.” I didn’t have time to eat a real breakfast because I wanted to head out as soon as M was done eating and honestly, I can’t eat when he’s awake because he will climb onto my lap or ask me to stop so we can play. The more we dillydallied, the harder it would be to actually get out into the world.

I strapped him into the stroller with some Goldfish and a couple books while I rush rush rushed – quick ponytail and sunscreen application, brush teef, grab his drink, bibs, wipes, extra diaper, my small yogurt drink (which I can’t drink in front of him because he will bogart) and emergency granola bar (which I can’t eat in front of him because he will attack it and sit there with his big innocent eyes ackin’ like he didn’t do nothin’ even with a very guilty chocolatey goatee). The longer he was strapped into stroller, the higher the chances were for the whining to start, especially as he kept dropping his books and wondering why I was taking so long. And it was already getting hotter so I had to make my exit before having to turn on the a/c again, only to turn it off a few minutes later (that whole cycle of not getting out the house – augh!).

I grabbed a green dress I used to wear all the time while dating Kevin. Used to wear it so regularly in the summers that he would call it my uniform. Very flowy and roomy so I tried to slip it on today during my morning rush. Not so flowy or roomy. It almost tore at my broadening rib cage but I kept it on because I knew I would end up a sweaty mess trying to take it off. One of those dresses that will tear some time during the day with any sudden movement. Not “may” tear but WILL tear, just a matter of when. But we had to go.

On our way to the park, it got hotter. Very little shade as we walked for blocks. I drank my small yogurt-on-the-go smoothie in one gulp and even ate my granola bar while I strolled. Got to the park and did our usual: some swing time, going up and down the apparatus with him, including this Indiana Jones type bridge that I’m finding harder to balance on. It’s getting hotter even with some spots of shade. Rivulets of sweat now rolling down my face, neck, and bressesses. I don’t feel too well. I am drinking my water consistently but not feeling stable at all. I grab him from a tunnel he’s enjoying and I strap him back into his stroller after only about 30 minutes. Relieved that he does not protest leaving the park. He says “bye” to the swing, slides, sprinklers, Chinese grandmas. He seems ready to nap too.

On the way back, I feel worse. A familiar feeling. I’ve passed out maybe around ten times in my life, due to period cramps, high altitude, low altitude, dehydration, and more. But I was never with my baby before so I start forcing myself to talk while strolling so that I don’t dare pass out. My knees feel wobbly. I start panting and forcing exaggerated breaths in and out like I’m in labor and M laughs, imitating me while babbling his fave words of the weekend, “Dadddyyyy, Dada, Dadddyyy, Ahppaaah, Dadadada?” Alright already, we know who you love! Talk about kicking a gal while she’s down. I just want to make it home.

Halleluyer, I am SO grateful to get home. I grab a banana for a quick “shot” of potassium and M just as immediately grabs it from me to play telephone before taking a tentative bite himself. I grab it back and take a few quick bites.

Lessons learned (I hope):
1) Be real. For other gals, a small yogurt drink and Kashi bar may suffice as breakfast but for you, that amounts to nothing. You need to at least have a banana, juice and big bowl of cereal because you know you will digest that sh*t in one block of strolling. Yes, what would really nourish is a bowl of meeyukgook and bahb with a fried egg and bahnchan to start the day off SOLID but no time to eat such a feast when M is standing there with his pleading, “UP!? up? Up?”

2) Know thyself: You are prone to passing out! So don’t think, “Oh, being pregnant does not mean I’m disabled. I can do my daily playground run even when NY1 keeps on talking about the Fourth Heat Wave of the Summer.” Stay in and even let him watch some tv! Maybe playground runs aren’t meant to be so daily any more.

Imagine if I had passed out! What would happen to M? I suppose the other mamas/nannies/grandparents would watch him while I came to? Or ’til the paramedics came? They would’ve said, “Wow, she must’ve fainted from high atop the apparatus because her dress is torn in half!”

Stay cool y’all!

6.19.12 Open Door Policy

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I wanted to do a Father’s Day post but the weekend has already slipped on by. Plus I have to learn how to upload pictures more easily onto this blog without dreading it. Also, how do I set up a side panel with links to my previous posts as this blog is getting downright cluttered like my home?

I want to do a tell-all report on the chivalry I have or have not experienced as a pregnant woman with toddler in tow. Perhaps chivalry based on race, since that’s easy to categorize and one of my favorite topics, though my husband may Fahrenheit 451 those findings. Those who know me KNOW that I do not expect the world to bow down to me just because the belly is burgeoning once again. I ain’t no princess and despise that word (and all baby girl clothes labeled “princess”). As far as I know, all gals with gongjoo byung (“princess disease” in Korean, where you expect to be pampered and think you are the sh*t) are not nearly as hot as they delusionally think they are.

Anyways, while I do not expect to be treated like royalty just because I am expecting, I do get so disappointed in humankind when I have my hands full but end up opening the doors for both men and women who enjoy sashaying through after I have the door propped up against my one available hip, while shoving the packed stroller, trying not to crash the stroller handle directly into my belly, making sure my sunglasses didn’t slide off my head, with my sweat mustache turning into a full-on beard. (I always knew about my sweatiness but didn’t know that I would start sweating profusely from the undereye/upper cheekbone area, steaming up my sunglasses).

I think you can tell a lot about folks through their Open Door Policy. A handful of years ago, I was getting chummy with a gal in NYC when I started realizing her spoiled sashay habit. I would always end up holding the door open for her, be it elevator or glass door. She would walk through with her arms crossed, continuing our conversation, while I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on what the hell she was gabbing about because I was too busy wondering when I had signed up to be her man. On the other hand, the people I appreciate in my life are the types to naturally hold doors open FOR EACH OTHER – “go ahead”/”no, you go ahead.” Such a trifling issue but it reveals some heart v. lack of heart/entitlement (another fave topic of mine).

Other globally-impacting topics on my mind:
1. comically secretive people who love to ask about MY business without hesitation, while they won’t even reveal what they had for dinner last night.
2. people who don’t bat an eye while grossly (mis)calculating the bill at meals to their advantage and the awkward-feeling cowards who don’t realize what’s happening (me).
3. people who don’t reciprocate in general (not in general, as I’m hardly ever general, but I’ve yapped too much already).

Hope y’all had a beautiful Father’s Day.

Color Me Beautiful

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Raising my boy has been like watching my own National Geographic channel. I am fascinated to witness my previously scrawny six-pound newborn develop real emotions fit for the bonafide little human that he is. No one taught him to collapse on the ground when he is frustrated and not able to articulate why. Today, Micah threw a real tantrum. He woke up from his nap and could not be consoled. I tried to hold him but he would writhe out of my grasp to cry louder. So I tried to give him his space but he ran towards me to please pay him attention and at least attempt to comfort him. Similarly, no one taught him to point and weep when mama holds another baby, or to climb onto mama’s lap so that she is forced to return the baby to his mama. At our church nursery one Sunday, a younger toddler was wailing for his mama so I tried to go over and hold him to calm him down and M put his hand on my back, tenderly but firm, like he was saying, “Pay him no mind, woman. Mind your own business and just focus on me, YOUR baby.”

This past weekend, we were picking up our friends, A and N, to visit another friend’s new home. As soon as Auntie N stepped into the backseat, M freaked out. He could not even glance in her direction and even used my forearm to shield his eyes so that he could not see her in his peripheral vision! I tried to let go of my arm once he drifted off into his nap, but he would burst out crying so I let him hang onto my arm for security. Sure, he’s had SEPARATION anxiety, but NEVER this type of “stranger” anxiety. N noted that perhaps M associates her with the weekend I was sent to LA for my surprise Mother’s Day gift. That weekend, he saw Auntie N two days in a row. She had become the lady substitute for mama and maybe, just maybe, upon seeing her again for the first time since that weekend, he thought mama was going to go away again. True, it sounds farfetched because it is very advanced psychology for an 18-month old but it also makes so much sense. (Later, he was playful and friendly with her as we ALL played together and he saw that I wasn’t going anywhere.)

I’ve always been fascinated by the topic of Nature v. Nurture. M loves Korean food, particularly rice and meeyukgook and gheem. I thought that was just the way he was born but then I realized, he ate that stuff, at least occasionally while he was in utero, so he may have developed a taste for it. But then there are other things like personality. Ever since I was a toddler, I was not shy. I was a daredevil, asking to go high atop a Ferris wheel or on stage at church or at Czech gymnastics to tell stories. My husband, on the other hand, was so shy, he would hide behind his mama and be silent in public (not as painfully shy now though). For now, M is a bit like how his daddy was, though maybe not as extreme. He does not talk much in public and takes a while to warm up, though he babbles loudly at home. He loves being in the presence of people but loves to take it all in before engaging.

Seeing M freak out like he did with N for the first time made me think of how so many things shape us. Babies are amazing because they are blank canvases. They are born with their natural temperaments like easygoing or fiery. Then thrown onto that are painful life events, like neglect, or parents who are constantly fighting or eventually divorce. Or positive circumstances like a nurturing, joyful family, great friends, or a wonderful school you thrive in. Even inevitable milestones like the arrival of a sibling or transitioning to daycare after being home with mama could affect one’s original essence. Imagine if I had never come back that weekend. Would Auntie N always remind him of my absence? Or even women who look like Auntie N? And how would my abandonment have affected this young morsel? Would it have muted his naturally gentle and jubilant spirit? Maybe made him generally more irritable or aggressive? Or would it not have even registered as it happened at such a young age, too early to recall as one of his first memories?

Many years ago, my girlfriends and I were having brunch and somehow got on the topic of those early childhood photos we took in school. I told them that when I see those photos of young kids, even myself, especially the progression from year to year, I almost feel like weeping because these blank canvases do not know what’s ahead – dysfunctional families, heartbreak, insecurities, feeling unsafe in this crazy world. One of my friends pointed out that she loves baby/childhood pictures even when she knows what they will go through by the time they are adults, because she views it more as what they were able to overcome and grow from.

I know what she means but as a mama to this still-pretty-blank canvas, I will try my best to decorate it with vibrant splashes of paint more than marring it with ugly stains.

worked almost as hard as rajon rondo today

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When I started my first full-time job at a public relations/strategic communications firm in West Hollywood, CA, my (older) girlfriends would ask me how work is going. I would give them the stinkeye and say, “I can’t believe you heffas didn’t tell me to brace myself for working life. You could’ve WARNED me about how FREAKING EVERYDAY it is! How you get home and you have so few hours left in your day but you have to get your ass to bed and repeat it all over again the next day! No wonder people are so much nicer on Fridays!”

So I really appreciate necessary buzzkills. Folks bombarded me with warnings about marriage: how hard it can be and how you HAVE to work at it. My own mama drilled it into my head that marriage is NOT a fairy tale where you turn into a princess. (Although, I could never have thought that growing up, watching my parents in their marriage, as there is no fairy tale starring a princess always having to placate and serve her fiery-tempered, macho, complex prince. But I digress.)

Similarly, I had heard some tidbits about pregnancy, about the nausea and the weird cravings. My mama had two very rough pregnancies, where she threw up daily for the first six months, lost weight instead of gaining the recommended amount (until the final trimester). While carrying me, her doctor actually advised that she abort me because it was too taxing on her health as she could hardly keep liquids down. So I braced myself for the worst and in both cases, with marriage and pregnancies, my reality was a pleasant surprise compared to the buzzkilling warnings I had been equipped with.

So when people ask how hard it is to take care of a toddler while pregnant, I always say something about how it can be hard most days, but not nearly as hard as it will be once the new baby arrives. You know, just bracing myself so that I am not shocked when it is crazy hard. I think I am trying to be my own buzzkill and this somehow helps me put things into perspective when I have a particularly hard day.

LIKE TODAY:

1. Doctor.

I took M to the doctor to check out a lingering cough that has been stubbornly hanging on for a month now. I called this morning and they said to come in 15 minutes from that phone call. I wore the shirt I had slept in and speedwalked 12 blocks to make it on time, all the while calling a couple local mamas to doublecheck their toddlers’ vaccine schedules, against M’s schedule. I get lightheaded and queasy if I don’t eat so I was strolling fast, on the phone with my Bluetooth, and trying to eat a PB&J sandwich with one hand.

As soon as our doctor approached M to examine his ears and take his heartrate, he lost it and wailed loudly into my ear for almost the rest of the appointment. I could hardly hear what the doctor was saying.

I was drenched from sweating through the entire appointment. I looked like I had played a quick game of pick-up basketball in the shirt I had slept in. So of course, right at that moment, I run into someone I know, also there for his baby’s check-up. (I don’t even remember what happened to my PB&J. I hope I don’t find it.)


2. Playground.

On the way home, I decide to give M some playground time though he was very close to his nap, especially after all that energy he expended wailing through the doctor’s appointment. He ran around for a few minutes, while I talked to nannies and mamas. I placed him in the swing. Dude started sleeping right there in the swing, looking like a drowsy puppy. I speedwalked home because I needed him to take a real, fat nap in the crib, for my sake and his. Thankfully, I was able to remove him from stroller to crib successfully, then proceeded to prepare and consume my two lunches while he slept for 90 more minutes.


3. Frypan to the head.

He is starting to get antsy in his high chair. In order to get him to sit in it for lunch, he likes a wrestling match as an appetizer, meaning I have to coax him with a hearty, wrestling match in my bed. We wrestle as he giggles with delight, I hold him upside down, hanging him off of our king bed with his adorable, drooly upside down smile, and we just tumble about before he agrees to sit in his highchair. Again, I am a hot sweaty mess.

I was so pleased that he ate his bowl full of meeyukgook and rice that I rushed to the kitchen to see if I can get him to eat an orange while still seated. I dropped the orange from its bowl so I bent down to pick it up. Next thing I know, a small frypan falls down to hit me upside the head, like I am Wile E. Coyote. I lurch up to see where the hell it came from so that I can properly blame my husband for its lethal placement on the counter, when the bowl that was holding the orange, shatters onto the floor. SHATTERS. Meanwhile M is in the living room, starting to get annoyed in his chair. He starts imitating me loudly, “Uh-OHHHH, Uh-OHHHH, Uh-Ohhhhhh!”

I sweep the shards. I go down on my knees to wipe up every last shard. I am panting. My belly feels uncomfortable. I just wanna sit for a bit in peace. M is getting more upset but I don’t want to release him as he will inevitably come into the kitchen. I clean up everything but I am spent.

(Last week, I was trying to open up a small table to eat off of, lost my bearings and crashed belly first into the wall. Why am I turning into a cartoon character as this pregnancy progresses?)


4. TV intervention.

M starts begging me for some tv and his begging scares me because it is so pleading, like a crack addict. I try to divert his attention by tickling him and wrestling with him to get him to laugh. It works. He is laughing and smiling his Denzel smile, drooling rivers onto his seventh bib of the day. I am laughing at how happy he looks. We both throw our heads back to laugh. Then we connect, as in his forehead connects with my smiling, exposed top row of teeth. He has my toothmark in his forehead, from our laughing collision. He does one of those cries that is eerily silent for many seconds before he starts wailing.

I soothe his toothmarked bruise the only way I know how. We wrestle some more. He rewards me with laughter. All is forgiven.

5. Further diversion.

I still don’t want him to fiend for tv so I take him outside to our courtyard. I stupidly take a ball out with us because I know how balls bring him pure joy and how he always wants to play with another kid’s ball at the playground. Taking the ball out resulted in my playing fetch for one city block’s worth of courtyard, while M asks for “Mah! Mah! Mah!” (More, More More!). Both M and I are drenched in sweat.

And of course, his new thing. He wants to be carried. After our impromptu soccer match, he pleads with me, “Up? Up? Up?” with his clear, wide eyes, to carry him home instead of his usual running ahead of me. I try to get him to chase me instead, to make a fun game out of it, but he sounds like he’s about to cry and pleads again, “Up? Up? Up?” I end up carrying him and the oversized ball home. Of course I drop the ball three times on our way home which means further bending down and picking up, with M happily in my arms.

My belly baby kicks me and sticks his/her head right into my bladder. As a warning.

6. Giving in.

I give into his tv craving by letting him watch some Sesame Street Youtube clips. He especially enjoys the Will.I.Am, Bruno Mars, and Hootie Sesame clips. Note to self: Tell Kevin about the Hootie clip.

7. TWO MORE HOURS ‘TIL DADDY GETS HOME!?

Oh, Lord. There are still two more hours ’til daddy gets home. This is what happens when we don’t have playdates or activities lined up. But I am too scared and tired to take him to the playground lest he ask me to carry him.

Instead, I take us back to our beloved courtyard, my favorite default playground. This time, I take a picnic blanket though I doubt he will rest with me. M surprises me by actually lying down on the blanket with me for a few seconds, looking at the sky. I am so in love all over again, looking at the sky with him. I am so blessed. The sky is so beautiful. My hormones kick in. I want to cry. How am I so blessed to lie here with this tender morsel?

He’s had it with the sky after about seven seconds. He grabs my wallet and takes out all of its contents. I later find my library card near a tree root, my credit card by a squirrel.

“Up? Up? Up?” I am a sucker. I cannot resist though I no longer feel comfortable carrying my 23-lb boy around for more than a few seconds. But I carry him home once again. Doorman adds to my load by handing me a big package. By now, I think I heard Belly Baby mutter, “Bitch!”

8. More Youtube clips. But M is so picky like his mama, that he grabs my hand for each clip that bores him, for me to click onto the next one. He is going through a phase where he will not let me rest at all. Even when I’m on the toilet, he grabs my hand to come follow him. And he strong!

9. Daddy comes home.

Anti-climactic. I ask him to please let me just act like I’m not home for a bit. I write this blog post. I hope I can stay up to watch the Celtics game, Game 5 against the Heat. I’m not gonna edit this. Just wanna share it now. And THIS is easier than what life will be like come October. At least I’ve been warned.