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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H90tzyG2rZU

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

update:  have been on the fence about whether to write more on this here blog because i am thinking about so much lately yet i fear that i will regret sharing my innerworld on the dang worldwideweb YET i truly want to connect with others and maybe what i’m saying can resonate with other women…here is a quickie letter i wrote to micah while in LA:

25 feb 2011

it’s hard to keep record of your progress since u change everyday, sometimes throughout the day.
you slept most of the time during your first plane ride ever, and it was a big one – from jfk to lax.  u were in the moby wrap that was all kinds of long-loopy nonsense but mama figured that the fabric would be better for you than the stuffy bjorn.  mama’s friend was kind enough to send me her barely used one in time for our family’s flight on 2.11.11.
 
lately, you have become so aware, it’s astonishing!  you always had SOME vision but you seem like val kilmer in that awful movie where his vision is restored after being a blind masseuse.  you watch mama and california gramma intently.  you seem to be more emotional when we disappear from your line of vision.  i’m not trying to knock you down but you do seem needier this week than you were before your vision sharpened.  before your gradual Awakening.  you Avatar baby – You See Me.
 
yesterday at the Topanga Plaza, a mall mama used to visit regularly during her high school days, an abuela commented by asking mama if she also has another baby on the way because of my extra padding.  and in true mama fashion, instead of walking away in a huff, i ended up practicing spanish with her while i finished my Toasted Coconut L.A. Creamery ice cream (where i called myself Just a Housewife to my dismay).  the abuela’s hija gordita said, “well, if you’re not the type to work out hard, you’ll lose it slowly then.  it’s okay.”  she was so fat herself, not just ___ lbs. extra like me, but she said that and proceeded to ask me a lotta personal questions WHICH I KEPT ON ANSWERING!  because i am effusive and open, i seem to give off a vibe to ppl that says, “Yes, please go there.  Ask away about my life!”
 
you will soon know that unlike mama, your papa is very private.  my nature is to be open but always end up kicking myself for giving away too much – even with this blog i may or may not continue.  i wonder how you’ll be.  on a positive note, the abuela did say, “que lindo, que bello!  que limpio!  mira los brazitos!” about you.  i dunno how ppl don’t stop to gasp at your olive-skinned, bright-eyed, perfect eyebrowed, juicily plump form.  even if you weren’t mine, i would stop to gasp at your cuteness that is not adequately captured in photos.  but then again, i’ve always been a worshipper of babies and even seek them out on subways and planes.
 
mama has had a strange week.  i’ve longed to come back Home for so long, esp. since the seven snowstorms hit nyc in jan.  but here, my heart aches in a different way.  i think it’s not a good place to be when i can’t seem to see my blessings CLEARLY the way i was able to during pregnancy.  now i keep envying folks for having rich or financially stable parents or even Auntie _____ who is in a brand new relationship where her fiance’s friends have welcomed her with open arms immediately.  mama can’t help but reflect on how hard it was when i would visit your pops across the country when we were only boyfriend/girlfriend, and ________ were all so cold and unwelcoming.  i don’t wanna boo-hoo but currently mama is in a weepy state to match the rainy weekend we have ahead.  i KNOW i am so blessed but sometimes, when i’m hurting, i don’t SEE clearly and i just see other ppl having “easier” paths EVEN if i know they have their big struggles. 
 
anyways, that was a big tangent mostly so that i can write about it later in some form and also because i don’t mind or think it’s bad if you get to see my inner life, warts and all.  i wanna keep a record of everything for you because time is just slipping by.
 
you are about as tall as the portable changing pad that my striped Le Sport Sac diaper bag came with.  you look to drool and gnaw on your fists.  you are sleeping on a blanket on gramma and grampa’s living room floor.  i didn’t dare drop you off in the pack n play since you seemed so upset to not be held or see me next to you.  i should remind you of that if/when you tell me to drive away from the mall before your friends get there.
your smile.  oh, your smile.  it is so radiant and transforms your serious handsome CEO lookin’ face that doesn’t quite seem like an unformed baby face.  words cannot describe your smile.  it just breaks open your entire face – your whole face smiles, not just smizing.  you are so beautiful – your skin, your perfectly shaped and colored lips, your nose and profile exactly like your dad’s, your perfect chin (maybe mama’s?), your apple, non-droopy spillage of cheeks, your rolls of plush skin that i now have to aquaphor in between as the folds got chafed.
 
you are so good when in the car and at the mall.  you just observe EVERYTHING, esp. lights and ceilings.  you prefer that to toys.  you love to inspect everything and you look so dang wise.  i was watching a dumb show called The Bachelor, where this one dude dates on tv to find his wife.  he was walking along the beach with his shirt off, displaying golden pecs and washboard abs.
 
you already have pecs on a broad chest, my little man!  but one day when you are a grown man, walking around with your choice of ladies to court, i will still see the little boy that i see before me right now, taking a nap, not yet knowing about poor vs. rich, winners vs. losers, la vs. nyc, fat vs. fit…the idea of you as a grown man should make me look fwd to the future but there is a part of mama that wishes she could freeze you right now, where you are most comforted in my bosom and where there is no Me separate from you.  our breaths are intermingled and you find warmth against my body, get startled when i cough, and all you need is my touch to be restored to peace.  i wish i could freeze the simplicity of your needs and i’m scared of when you find out how imperfect and how ugly i can be.
 
i love you micah – so much that i can’t capture it with words.

The doc’s office ran out of HiB vaccines during your 2-month shots so we made an appointment for the week after but the SEVENTH snowstorm of the month hit and shut down the office.  So we went in yesterday.  The receptionist who sounds like Tracy Morgan said, “Last name, Kim?  Yo baby Malachi, right?”  I said, “No, it’s Micah, but hey, both are Biblical!”  She said, “Aw, my bad.  I totally tore your baby’s name UP!”  Malachi sounds nice, too – maybe “Kai” for short like your play cousin, Kai Callen (shout-out).

Mama was less nervous because you were so brave with the first batch of shots and knew that this time, there would only be one.  Unfortunately, we were gonna get the doctor we did NOT want in this big practice.  I guess his schedule and our early morning schedule just works out though and we were asked, “Is it okay if you get Dr. _____?”  We said it was fine because we knew it was just a quickie visit for that one shot.  Mama wanted to be proven wrong but again, he got on her nerves by rushing us, “Hi, Hi, youhaveanyquestionsno?  Good.”  “ACTUALLY, doctor, we have a couple questions.”  Papa was amused because he thought maybe Mama would fight the doctor.  The doctor is a spazz, didn’t even give you a band-aid, and for some reason, stabbed the leather exam console with the used syringe after he was done with you.  He rushed off like he was moonlighting at the Jersey Shore t-shirt store and needed to get back before Bossman Danny noticed he had disappeared for a two-hour coffee break.  Hopefully, we won’t deal with him again.  (He was the one who talked way too much about nonsense like Koreans eating dogs, while not paying you enough attention during the visit, and roughly placing you on the exam console WITHOUT A HYGIENIC TISSUE COVER.  The very exam console that other babies crap and pee on, and the same one he stabbed with a used syringe.)

This time you hardly even cried!  You were so over it already.  You didn’t even need to breastfeed for soothing.