Category Archives: pregnancy

Memorial Weekend 2012 – just the 3.5 of us

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Time capsule post:

Our holiday weekend was delightful in that we were able to have LOTS of family time, by resting and feasting together. Micah gets extra joyful when all three of us are together and he squeals, “dada, dada, dada!” all day. Even when dada steps away to take out the trash or move the car, he asks, “Dada? Dada!?” on the days he is home. We had to take it easy because Micah had a powerful cough and cold but it was short-lived. So was my copycat cold. We had to cancel our visits to our newborn friends since they are more susceptible to catching wicked colds but for the most part, Micah got better pretty quickly. The doctor even advised that we take him outside since the fresh air makes li’l ones feel better.

It was dangerously hot so our plans to go to Central Park and the beach were rerouted as I asked for naeng-myun and superior mall air-conditioning instead. I rarely want naeng-myun but this weekend I needed it.

Most of our weekend revolved around good food and staying cool. I thought about (and envied) my two local mama friends who gave birth to their second babies, one week before this heat hit. Great timing. But still grateful for these next four months with just my firstborn.

On Memorial Day, we braved the hipsters and sweat-dripping humidity to go to Williamsburg (Brooklyn) for brunch. I told Kevin, “Wow, I didn’t expect the hipsters to sport American flags on their t-shirts! How patriotic and festive today!” He responded with, “They’re being ironic.”

Micah was not into eating much this weekend but he was into beverages, maybe because of his cold coupled with the heat. He downed all of his daddy’s mango lassi on Saturday and here he is enjoying his first(?) milkshake:

Sampling mama’s peanut butter milkshake. Here’s the approach…

the discovery and enjoyment…

“step away from me all y’all. don’t make me stick my head into this here cup” aka the devouring

fried devil eggs, steak and eggs with cheese grits, chicken and waffles. M was fine with just the milkshake.

What a difference a year makes:

cheeks for dinner – 5.18.11

This year, M was at the park, running around and cautiously approaching the sprinklers, but not yet running through them since he likes to observe first. Grateful for a beautiful long weekend!

factoid intolerance

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When friends back home in CA view my many Facebook photos of Micah on his playdates and outings with his adorable little friends, they remark on how different it is from what they are used to. They are talking about how I made these friends “from scratch” – just by virtue of being new mamas living in the same city. I had never even met these women before having a baby. I think the common, more expected course is having long-time girlfriends and having those friendships only deepen by raising your kids together. But as a transplant in NYC from LA, I didn’t have the luxury of raising my kid with the girlfriends I had already known.

After choosing to stay at home with my kid for at least the first year (and now indefinitely?), I actively sought out other mamas as being isolated would lead to very, very bad things, especially for me, an extrovert with an acute need to externally process almost everything. At first, just being around other new mamas was enough. “You’re a new mama, I’m a new mama! You can come over. My cross streets are…” I’d meet mamas at the library, at the park and through mama meet-ups. I never had a problem striking up a conversation with strangers but it was extra easy to start talking to mamas because of our obvious commonality.

But just like it was in law school, at first, everyone is “friends” with everyone. As the weeks progress, you find out who you feel safe with, more yourself with. Coming out of law school, I ended up with many acquaintances but only a few friends. That was fine. Quality, not quantity. Actually, that was preferred. As we get older with our busy lives and responsibilities, who wants to make time for a sea of acquaintances?

I realize that for me, making friends at my age, based almost purely on my life stage, is both a necessity and a challenge. Meeting potential mama friends is the easy part. Progressing to the “next level” of enjoying each other beyond our babies playing together because they’re around the same age is trickier. Much like a dating relationship. First few dates are easy to score – but let’s see where this takes us.

I found out that I have an acute case of factoid intolerance. Perhaps due to there being SO many baby products out there, new mamas tend to talk a LOT about strollers, diapers, toys, sales, deals, sunscreen, food, and more. WITH A LOT OF DETAIL. All of which is so very helpful to know, along with baby’s feeding and sleeping habits, but if the conversation and subsequent dealings, only end up discussing more FACTS, my factoid intolerance kicks in. My lack of pokerface also kicks in and my eyes glaze over. Can we talk about something else? What makes you tick? What’s your story? What do you love and why? What do you get hurt by? What are your pet peeves? Who are your closest friends and why? WHO ARE YOU beyond this helpful fact dispenser?

This is coming from a woman who had to get tricked into starting my baby registry. My husband said that we’d only pop in to our local “Babies R Us” in Astoria, just so we can pick up some good sunscreen for my growing, pregnant body. He nearly promised because he knew that the idea of starting a registry was more than intimidating for me. Once we were in the store, he slowly guided me to the registry gun/scanner while I literally started to breathe fast towards an adult tantrum as I did NOT want to be in the vicinity of THAT many baby products and choices. I can hardly choose a cereal or toothpaste these days because there are too many choices.

The mamas I have been attracted to and have progressed a bit more with are those I have other connections with. Be it sense of humor, spirituality, natural flow to conversation, generous hearts – just folks I ENJOY. This makes sense as other stay-at-homes are like your co-workers at the office. You prefer some but not others.

So for new mamas: Don’t isolate yourself! Like one of my dearest friends said, motherhood can be a wilderness, so seek out some support. Factoid intolerance may hit when trying to make new friends, but you just remind yourself that you don’t have to progress with each mama you meet!

belly baby is 20 weeks and (fermented) bean curd memories

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While waiting for my 20-week sonogram, I looked around the room at all the comfy shoes on the other expectant mamas. My own distressed gold leather Clarks flip-flops (thongs?) from my surprise trip to LA were serving me quite well, though my toenails were quite a sight. Behind me was a lady dressed in a pretty floral (still stylish) dress, holding her husband’s hand, exclaiming, “I am so excited, I am so excited!” She was very thin, not showing yet, visiting the water cooler multiple times to fill her bladder for the appointment. How precious – first time parents. Scrubs! Camcorders and suped up cameras all ready. I, on the other hand, was thinking, “I hope they KNOW the top of my water bottle that I just refilled SO didn’t go anywhere near the tip of the water dispenser spout! I wouldn’t do that!”

I also had time to reminisce a bit more about my first stroll down pregnancy lane. How we had arrived at the hospital shortly after midnight on Thanksgiving 2010 and immediately sent to triage. They gathered that I was, indeed, having contractions about five minutes apart. The medical student (I forget whether they are interns or residents) had to ask me a bunch of questions, as my contractions only intensified.

“Did you eat anything?”

“Yes. Dinner. A few hours ago. Wait, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

“What did you eat?”

(Catching my breath. Eyes closed.) “Um, bean curd. I guess it’s called fermented bean curd? With bits of potato, zucchini, mushroom, and AHHHHHHHHH anchovies. Also a side of fried zucchini in egg and flour batter. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! OH MY GOD! AHHHHHHH! SOME PERILLA LEAVES TOOOOOOO!” (I had had dwenjang jigae, hobak-jun, and gget-neep, y’all. I have a fear of going hungry, even before what turned out to be labor and delivery).

“Oh, wow,” (looking at Kevin), “You gotta love her details!”

Kevin: “Yes, she is VERY detailed.”

Now I was about to go in and see my Belly Baby at 20 weeks along. Halfway mark. Feeling so very blessed that I get to do this all over again. I met my sonographer, a sweet, informative lady, who led me to my room. She began to check out the baby’s heart, abdomen, and limbs when I said, “Uh-oh. I’m so sorry but something is wrong with me.” I started sweating profusely, more than my usual.

“Are you going to be sick? Do you feel nauseous?”

“Not nauseous but like I’m getting stabbed in my lower back? I have a really bad back. It feels like it’s all tangled up in a weird kink.”

She let me shift about just a bit, but not too much because she had a really good angle to take pictures of the baby.

“Aww, I’m so sorry. I’ll turn on the A/C for you.”

I stopped sweating from the pain and my back worked itself out after shifting a bit.

“My back is better. Thanks so much for cooling down the room. Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I feel weird again.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry. Is it your back again?” (She was so sweet. She kept cooing “aww” and “sorry” during the visit even though I’m sure she’s seen so many mamas and their belly babies.)

“I’m not sure what it is. I…Ow, my stomach hurts now. OMG, I know. I think I have to jump off and do a big poo, actually!”

Thankfully, the moment passed and I was able to stay put. I was able to see my baby playing with his/her umbilical cord and pat its head with a small fist. Also play with his/her knees. (Micah was mostly playing with his feet in Happy Baby Yoga Pose from what I recall.) The baby was VERY active, even more so than Micah. Moved around a lot like it’s his/her JOB! (This having to say “his/her” is annoying.)

For the reveal of the baby’s sex, the sonographer warned me and I looked away, very dramatically. I was SO very tempted to just say, “OH JUST TELL ME! This is crazy that YOU know and I don’t!” She had to leave the room for a second and I really had to keep myself from looking at her electronic report in touchable distance from my face!

She told me that I may have to come in the next week if the baby doesn’t get in a certain angle for some money shots. Oh no, I rarely have childcare. Please, please baby, spare me another visit. I only had five more minutes left in the appointment as the hospital tries to be very punctual to the other patients who had appointments after mine. She gave me a small box of cranberry juice and told me to cough a few times to get the baby to cooperate. Just in the nick of time, the baby rolled over to the side we needed and also unclenched his/her right fist so that the sonographer could get the last pictures she needed of the right hand and other parts.

Of course, after my sonogram and subsequent doctor’s visit, I read into everything as a sign revealing the sex of the baby. Hmm…whaddid I see when I got home? My Asian-American neighbor in her 30s walking the courtyard with her toddler boy and newborn boy, exactly 23 months apart JUST LIKE MINE WILL BE? Is that a sign? But really, truly…I am SO zen about not finding out. Gotta logout now so I can do the Needle Gender Predicting Test to see if the sex has changed since yesterday’s Needle Test. Google it.

Most Reviled

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A few months ago, my husband asked me to save the dates, the weekend before Mother’s Day.

“Schedule nothing – no playdates, no kiddie birthday parties.”

He knows how much I savor (good) surprises, the build-up of anticipation even MORE than the actual event sometimes.  So when I learned that he was going to take 1.5 precious vacation days off for this surprise, I knew what was gonna go down.

Obviously, only one possibility.  To visit his groomsman and his family in his new home in Portland, Maine. Totally made sense – quick plane ride, close enough to spend only three days there, a place to stay, and we had been talking about visiting ever since they moved there last year. I didn’t bother to guess any more until the actual day of our trip, as I was completely sure of myself.

No brainstorming necessary.

One thing that threw me off was that said groomsman was posting pictures of his family in Disney World. Either this was an elaborate ploy to throw me off (which I squashed right away as his family is on his Facebook and he wouldn’t want to confuse them) or aha! I got it. We were going to meet them in Florida and stay at E’s father’s condo. I even teased Kevin, “Hey, can I write ‘see you soon’ on E’s Wall before our flight so that he knows that I already know. Why am I your fave wrestler right now? Just call me Triple H because I am that damn good!”

Kevin just smiled. Oh, I knew that smile. I’d embarrassed the poor guy by guessing the whole weekend correctly in one fell swoop, after all his efforts to surprise me!

Kevin came home from a half-day, with a kale/apple/lemon juice on the rocks from a juice stand by his office to healthily kick off my early Mother’s Day adventure. He impressed me by showing me all of Micah’s clothes he had packed for the trip. He asked me not to look through his own suitcase as some clues might get revealed. He packed a lot of my stuff, including my hideous bathing suit and a couple dresses. I added some staples like maternity pants and cardigans. I asked him if he had told our doorman that we will be away for the weekend and he said he had taken care of it a while back (I confess that Nervous Nelly me snuck away to remind him even after Kevin had assured me).

It was game time – we had to raise up out of our apartment and get to JFK.

But M was not dressed in his “public clothes” as he was wearing some worn hand-me-downs that should not be handed down to one more generation of babies. I asked K to please change M’s outfit but K said, “Just let him wear this. It’s comfortable.” I said, “We really need to stop choosing comfort over everything. He can still be presentable while comfy!” So K relented and changed M.

We got to JFK two hours before our flight. We wheeled all of our belongings while K carried M who was excitedly looking around in the parking lot. I ended up strolling K’s suitcase as I told him to just watch out for M, I can totally handle strolling their stuff at the very least. K also assured me that leaving our car in the parking lot over the weekend was not going to be too pricey. He also assured me that someone would be arriving at our destination with a carseat for M. I said, “Of course. E or E’s dad will be picking us up then? How sweet of them!”

Once we got inside JFK, K looked around for seats. I said I don’t need to sit but he can go ahead and catch his breath before security. He said, “No, let’s all sit together as a family.” OH SH*T. I started to feel weird and less cocky about my certainty that we were going to Maine/Florida that day.

We sat down and he handed me a pink envelope. “Jihee-yah. First, just read the card, then you can look at what’s inside.”

OH SH*T, OH SH*T, OH SH*T. Weird feeling. Not so cocky now.

I opened the envelope and read the sweet Mother’s Day card inside. Then I opened up a folded up piece of paper inside. Tears started flowing down my cheeks like the drool from my boy’s drooliest mouth.

ONE boarding pass for ONE Jihee Lee from JFK to LAX from Thurs night to Sunday redeye.

“No, no, no…I don’t need a break. Really. Don’t send me away. Dontsendmeaway! I’m good right here.”

“And wait, how!? I just talked to my parents today and they knew something but…but not this!? They couldn’t have kept THIS to themselves, their big mouths! And I’ve been emailing with J and S. J even asked me where I was going on FB today. I’ve never been apart from Micah – EVER! Go from zero to FOUR nights away!?” He assured me that he had already planned a fun-filled weekend with his boy and that I need not worry about a thing…that I should just savor my last moments with M here before I walked through security.

He had planned this since the moment our second pregnancy test said “PREGNANT” (with baby #2). SINCE FEBRUARY! My girls were in on it since then, too!

UTTER SHOCK. (AT THAT MOMENT AND FOR ABOUT A WEEK AFTER).

Once I started getting used to the idea that in about six hours, I would be back home in LA, on a flight all by myself again like back in 2010, maybe even reading trashy magazines instead of wrangling in my boy in the aisles of the plane, I told K not to prolong the inevitable. We should just say goodbye right then or else it will be too hard for me to go through with. Let’s just rip off the band-aid.

All this time, M was just running around the airport and excitedly exploring. He did reach out for me as we said goodbye but I hugged him lots, made only one U-turn before security lines to give one more hug and kiss.

Then I was off for one night with my parents and the rest of the weekend with my girls. I was in shock while I waited in the security lines. Everything was falling into place. K’s fake luggage turned out to be filled with a bag full of M’s old clothes that we needed to put away for storage. K had never talked to our doorman because there was no need. He didn’t want to change M out of his tore-up clothes because he knew he ain’t going nowhere! My girls, too, were suspect, now that I think about it. They didn’t ask their usual million follow-up questions about K’s surprise project. They too easily said, “Alright, then, have fun!” instead of gushing about K and how they liked him more than they liked my crazy ass.

The weekend was legendary. For both me and my boys. Sure I thought about my boys constantly, like a movie I couldn’t turn off in my head, but I was incredibly gifted with this last hurrah before baby #2 to recharge and exhale and remember me, myself, and I once again. My boys went to the Hall of Science, the park, a Mets game with our friends, and more.

When they visited some friends on Long Island that Saturday, the men, all fathers of toddlers, tried to deny entrance to K as they claimed that he had lost his man card for sending me away for that long and giving their wives some funny ideas. So, this is the story of how my husband, for one weekend in May, became the Most Reviled Husband in NYC (or as much as I could crank out during M’s nap!).

moments after being surprised!

5.6.12 my boys holding it down at Mets game while mama away (pic by Uncle AO)

5.15.12 – You is beloved.

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Tuesday. It was going to be a rainy day all day so my nearly 18 month morsel and I skipped our morning constitutional, which usually consists of walking around our green courtyard, admiring the sky and trees, looking for small creatures, then my begging him to go back inside. This morning, I did remember to make sure I affirmed him with the mantra from “The Help,” along with my own additions: “You is kind. You is smart. You is important. You is worthy. You is wanted. You is a child of God. You is beloved.”

Micah didn’t give a crap about these affirmations that his silly mama was repeating and instead asked for some tv by handing me the remote with wide, hopeful eyes, imploring, “mah? mah? mah?” (his favorite word of the week – “MORE!”). “No, Micah, maybe later but no tv in the morning. Morning is story time!” I pulled out the Will Smith book, “Just the Two of Us” which M enjoys not because it is written in the form of a rap which is a bit awkward for me and a li’l too fun for my husband, but because he gets to repeat another one of his favorite words throughout the tale. There is an illustration of Will Smith without his shirt on as he cradles his newborn. M likes to point with sheer glee at Mr. Smith’s pecs and scream, “Jjee-jjee!” then at every other characters’ chest area, man or woman, boy or girl, and yell, “Jjee-jjee!” (BOOBS! in Korean). Apparently, he has become a protege of the creator of “Game of Thrones” – jjee jjee, jjee jjee, and more jjee jjee.

Speaking of morning constitutional, mama had a stomachache and had to go sit on her throne while M ran from bedroom to kitchen to living room and back, sometimes stopping by the bathroom to visit, giving me high fives and giggles (he is so encouraging while potty training his mama). All this running in our small place had actually worked him up into a sweat. I was still doing my thang when I heard some silence followed by some whimpers and grunts. Uh-oh. I felt helpless. I couldn’t get to him. Er, not right then. I kept trying to keep the dialogue going just to hear him, “Micah!? Micah!? What’s wrong? Did you get stuck somewhere? Come to mommy. Come visit me again please.” Silence. More whimpers and grunts.

Next thing I know, dude passes by me riding a beat-up, hand-me-down giraffe-head-trike we had been given a few weeks ago. He looked so proud. I was stunned. We had hidden that bigger toy in our bedroom so that we can go for a ride in the courtyard yet here he was just cruising by like The Fonz!

Oh, how I savor these next five-plus months of M being the Only Child Until October (my OCUO). My boy and I chase each other in the courtyard while the squirrels and robins probably watch US. When he wants to take a break by sitting on one of the weathered wooden chairs, I plop him down next to me, pick a small baby fly out of his fine hair while he gleefully thumps by boobs and screams, “Jjee-jjee!” We are our own Forest Hills Zoo exhibit and I hang onto every moment because soon, sooner than we can fully grasp, we will go from Just the Three of Us to a Bonafide Family of Four. Now that is just too grown up for me! My best friends have said, “YOU!? Eh-ghee ummah of TWO? That’s freaking crazy.”

My husband makes fun of me because I tend to get a little too excited for events. When one of my best friends was getting married this past January, I woke up almost throwing up from the sheer anticipation and joy. Even when meeting one of my college friends while she was on business here in NYC, I couldn’t contain myself while waiting for her and her family at the Chinese restaurant. I had to keep going to the bathroom. Special events do this to me ever since I was a little girl. Fieldtrips? Forget about it!

In a very opposite way, I am now relishing the mundane mama moments with my OCUO. The more mundane, the more cherished. No special events needed.

As I stroll him around our usual spots in the neighborhood and I pause to show him a doggie and he mouths a small, shy bark. As he picks dandelions from our courtyard while drooling rivers into his ubiquitous bib. As he carries around his teddy bear a little too much for my liking (the germs!). As a trio of silver-haired senior citizens delight in him when he goes up to them to clap hands, clap hands. His dancing to ONLY John Mayer at least a dozen times a day in his crib/stage. His “helping” me as I wipe down the kitchen floors, him bent over, squashed in a mini-kimchee squat and going over one tile, over and over again with one square of wipes I had entrusted to him. I want to record every moment in my heart. The more mundane, the better. I carry you in my heart. Mama and Micah, Summer of 2012.

4.17.12 legendary

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

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

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

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

4.16.12 a Cosi vacation for $6.99

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

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

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

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

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

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

reminisce bliss

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Micah, I owe you your official birth story. It is branded in my head and heart but I still need to get it down on paper to preserve it forever. I am sure I emailed myself some snippets, even from the hospital, but I’m talking about a complete, flowing story. As we approach your first birthday, I’ve made the story such a significant assignment that it will have to wait. I also want your dad to chime in so that we don’t forget a single detail. But for now, here is a preview:

I remember how about one year ago, my doctor had told me that you were gonna be a quick and possibly early delivery because you had already descended into my pelvis. He was right. He was also amazed I hadn’t felt any pain and discomfort as I walked around with a bowling ball lying low in my pelvis. I kept emailing my girls back home about the final doctor visits as your arrival drew near. I tried to get folks to place bets on the actual date. Your auntie NK’s guess was the closest, I think.

Your dad the sports nut remembers most things in relation to sports. So this is what he says as we reminisce, reminisce over you (that sounds like Pete Rock and Cl Smooth’s rap): “Dear Micah, On Thanksgiving Eve, UConn was playing Kentucky in the finals of the Maui Invitational. I was excited to see this game and was relieved when your mom went to take a shower so I could watch the game in peace. I thought the contractions were subsiding since she was able to hit the shower. Kemba Walker was on fire and led UConn to a blowout victory. Good thing the second half wasn’t that close because I had to miss it going to the hospital. Uncle Twiggy texted me the final score while I was at the hospital. If I had known that UConn would go on to win the National Championship in April, your name might’ve been Kemba.”

Though we knew you could come early, we never imagined you’d arrive on Thanksgiving morning. It is so fitting now that we’ve gotten to know you. You always make me so grateful to be your mama. Your smooth, cool cheek smushing against mine. How you literally LEAP into my arms because I am your one and only mama, even when I have yet to wash my greasy face or change into a clean shirt. You are our delight, my toothy David Letterman. You make us Jubilant (another name contender to Micah and Kemba though vehemently vetoed by your dad).

Growing up, Thanksgiving was a tough holiday. I felt so lonely because it was usually our immediate family – just the four of us – with a small turkey and a couple sides. Yes, I was counting my blessings to have our family intact and healthy, but I also felt like I was looking over my shoulder to see other families gather with much more oomph in their holiday, with more relatives and more holiday merriment. I wanted it to be a big celebration. Maybe this child of immigrants watched too many Nancy Meyers movies where the holidays were glorious, decor and all, with white folks hugging each other and sipping on holiday beverages in their palatial homes. Cue perfect soundtrack. Ours felt a bit melancholy, as if we were following tradition just because it was what the rest of the country was doing.

Thanks to you, you have made Thanksgiving exponentially more celebratory. We will always reminisce about your arrival and wherever we are or whoever we’re with, we will be gushing with joy because we received you for Thanksgiving. Thank you so much. And yeah, I still owe you your full birth story. (And I hope you will always spend Thanksgiving with us even when you get a girlfriend your junior year in college. No pressure though because I am so understanding and not high maintenance.)