Sometimes we role play. Evelyn would be the little mermaid, and I would be Flounder/King Triton/Ursula/Prince Eric - depending on which part of the story we are reenacting.
Today, she wanted to be me, and told me to be her. Sure thing. I was so ready to throw a tantrum at her to let her have a taste of her medicine. But her performances halted me in my track:
"[mumble mumble] only mama can [mumble mumble] give you a time out!"
With a finger pointed at me and her eyes opened wide to portray a stern look "[mumble mumble] I will take it away!"
"Don't touch [mumble mumble] or I will give you a time out!"
Yeah, so for the next ten minutes or so, I sat there listening to her telling me to behave, threatening to give me time outs or taking my things away.
Dear me, is that all I am to her?
What about the times I spent playing two-people duck, duck goose with her, while holding baby Lauren in my arms?
Or the times when I sat on the little stool across from you in our tiny half bath per your request to keep you company while you go potty?
I know being a parent does not equate to being a good play mate, and often times not a good friend. There is necessarily rule settings and lots of no's. I just hope that the fun times leave as strong impressions as the not so fun times.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Oh little girl...
It will be hell for me if we ever have to use the cry it out method with Lauren.
The father of the children once said to me "and you thought Evelyn was clingy..."
This little girl recognizes her mother, and would continue to cry and cry and cry when her father holds her at night.
On the nights when it's my turn to put her sister to bed and her father's turn to take care of her, she would cry persistently in his arms, no matter what he does. He'd walk her, rock her, sing to her, talk to her, all to no avail. She would cry out tears (not an easy feat for a two months old), cry herself hoarse, cry until she coughs, and finally tire herself out and cry herself to sleep. That could easily take an hour.
Upstairs, I'd be struggling to read stories with the usual embellishments and high spirits for the older one while feeling dragged down by the cries of the little one. It tears at me even though I know she's in good hands. The cries pull at me, and I have to force myself to focus only on the older one who also needs my full attention and love.
Stubborn, determined, and only two months old. Wonder what the future holds.
The father of the children once said to me "and you thought Evelyn was clingy..."
This little girl recognizes her mother, and would continue to cry and cry and cry when her father holds her at night.
On the nights when it's my turn to put her sister to bed and her father's turn to take care of her, she would cry persistently in his arms, no matter what he does. He'd walk her, rock her, sing to her, talk to her, all to no avail. She would cry out tears (not an easy feat for a two months old), cry herself hoarse, cry until she coughs, and finally tire herself out and cry herself to sleep. That could easily take an hour.
Upstairs, I'd be struggling to read stories with the usual embellishments and high spirits for the older one while feeling dragged down by the cries of the little one. It tears at me even though I know she's in good hands. The cries pull at me, and I have to force myself to focus only on the older one who also needs my full attention and love.
Stubborn, determined, and only two months old. Wonder what the future holds.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Toddlers and tantrums
Evelyn seldom screams. Bad tantrums that brings up headaches occurs rarely. Last week, she gave me one that is quite unforgettable.
It happened because of something really trivial. All memorable tantrums start that way, it seems. Then the situation got more and more heated as she ups her volume and refuses to listen. Oh, she told me she wants to listen many, many times. But after I repeated my instruction, she would continue to insist on going against it. So, more time outs. Except the execution of the time outs became more and more difficult. She began to scream "don't leave me alone, mommy", and cling to me like an octopus. I need to peel her of off me before I can run out of her room to leave her in it. The screams drive me nuts but the "don't leave me alone" and the desperation with which she grab on to me break my heart. I cannot stand my children feeling that they were abandoned by me. Yes, I may be too dramatic here, but it is one of my worst fears. But I digress. I was amazed by her screams, by how she does it with her whole being. As if it's from the very root of her soul. As if her life depended on it. There was no holding back. It was pure emotion, pure desire. We all want our children to behave, be reasonable and civil, and be calm when facing distressing situations. But that afternoon, standing in her room, hauling her back to her room for the nth time out by her arms, feeling exhausted by this fight, I found myself also mourning the time when she would loose this freedom to let it all out as she grow up, when the restraints will be put in place. It's a price we all pay in order to mature and make the world a livable place, I suppose.
It happened because of something really trivial. All memorable tantrums start that way, it seems. Then the situation got more and more heated as she ups her volume and refuses to listen. Oh, she told me she wants to listen many, many times. But after I repeated my instruction, she would continue to insist on going against it. So, more time outs. Except the execution of the time outs became more and more difficult. She began to scream "don't leave me alone, mommy", and cling to me like an octopus. I need to peel her of off me before I can run out of her room to leave her in it. The screams drive me nuts but the "don't leave me alone" and the desperation with which she grab on to me break my heart. I cannot stand my children feeling that they were abandoned by me. Yes, I may be too dramatic here, but it is one of my worst fears. But I digress. I was amazed by her screams, by how she does it with her whole being. As if it's from the very root of her soul. As if her life depended on it. There was no holding back. It was pure emotion, pure desire. We all want our children to behave, be reasonable and civil, and be calm when facing distressing situations. But that afternoon, standing in her room, hauling her back to her room for the nth time out by her arms, feeling exhausted by this fight, I found myself also mourning the time when she would loose this freedom to let it all out as she grow up, when the restraints will be put in place. It's a price we all pay in order to mature and make the world a livable place, I suppose.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
How do you get an almost three year old to understand that...
A secret is something that you don't want to tell the person that you are keeping the secret from. If you seek out and run up to tell the person what surprise you just prepared them, it is a surprise no more. ("We got a cake!" she told her surprise-birthday-party-girl-auntie.)
There is no eating the gingerbread house before it is even assembled. And no, there is no negotiating. ("Four bites?" she pleaded with a hopeful expression.)
It is not polite to ask "what's that?" after the noises from next stall in a public restroom. Even more so, it is extremely inappropriate to bend over to check on the person in the next stall through the crack between the wall and the door.
Repeating a request over and over and over and over again would not let it happen faster, if it happens at all.
It is great to explore things and I encourage that, but it doesn't mean I won't get grossed out by certain explorating actions. (Evelyn explored her poop the other day while I was away nursing the tiny one.)
There is no eating the gingerbread house before it is even assembled. And no, there is no negotiating. ("Four bites?" she pleaded with a hopeful expression.)
It is not polite to ask "what's that?" after the noises from next stall in a public restroom. Even more so, it is extremely inappropriate to bend over to check on the person in the next stall through the crack between the wall and the door.
Repeating a request over and over and over and over again would not let it happen faster, if it happens at all.
It is great to explore things and I encourage that, but it doesn't mean I won't get grossed out by certain explorating actions. (Evelyn explored her poop the other day while I was away nursing the tiny one.)
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
"Because I love you"
One night at bed time, Evelyn started to cry for no reason. Her father asked her why she was sad, she replied "because I love you!" It's very sweet, but after a half an hour of such crying, I realized that she's forcing the cries just so she can stay sad. I can't help but wonder: seriously, child, must you be so dramatic.
Last night, she asked me to read Snow White to her. The story, like many princess stories, began with Snow White's biological mom dying to make way for the evil step mom. And of course Evelyn has to ask "why?" I told her sometimes mommies die because they get sick or get in an accident.
"So you'll die?" she asked.
"Not for a very, very, very long time, I hope," I told her.
She was quiet for a few seconds. Then, just when I continued with the story again, she began to cry.
"Don't die! I love you! Don't die!" This time, she cried real tears, and it broke my heart.
Oh child, my biggest fear is to not be able to be there when you need me. I will try my best to stay with you forever and ever.
Last night, she asked me to read Snow White to her. The story, like many princess stories, began with Snow White's biological mom dying to make way for the evil step mom. And of course Evelyn has to ask "why?" I told her sometimes mommies die because they get sick or get in an accident.
"So you'll die?" she asked.
"Not for a very, very, very long time, I hope," I told her.
She was quiet for a few seconds. Then, just when I continued with the story again, she began to cry.
"Don't die! I love you! Don't die!" This time, she cried real tears, and it broke my heart.
Oh child, my biggest fear is to not be able to be there when you need me. I will try my best to stay with you forever and ever.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Memory
How much could a child remember?
Two Christmases ago, when Evelyn was nearly one, I accidentally knocked down a green candle holder when dusting and broke it. I cleaned it up, and as it was not valuable or important, it was never brought up again. A few weeks ago, for some reason, Evelyn noticed the green candle holder's red companion, and mentioned how I had knocked down the green one and shattered it. I was very surprised. She was not yet one at that time, could she really remembered it? Perhaps because it was the first time she saw glass break? I wonder what else can she recall...
Two Christmases ago, when Evelyn was nearly one, I accidentally knocked down a green candle holder when dusting and broke it. I cleaned it up, and as it was not valuable or important, it was never brought up again. A few weeks ago, for some reason, Evelyn noticed the green candle holder's red companion, and mentioned how I had knocked down the green one and shattered it. I was very surprised. She was not yet one at that time, could she really remembered it? Perhaps because it was the first time she saw glass break? I wonder what else can she recall...
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Surviving the first day
It's late. I should be asleep in bed, instead, I'm replaying the day in my head over and over again, wondering if I did good enough as a parent.
Today is the first day I spent alone with my two little girls. By the end of the day, though the beds were left unmade, and the laundries are still in the drier waiting to be folded, the house was other wise miraculously intact. The girls were both fed and clean, their physical needs tended to as best I can. Lauren only had one poopy diaper that I did not get to immediately, and Evelyn only had one potty accident that occured when I was busy changing Lauren. And, I got to take a three minute shower! So all in all, it should be a pretty good day, except that I feel like I've cheated Evelyn out of a lot of mommy attention. When Lauren was awake, I was only able to lay her down for a few minutes before she demands to be picked up again. When Lauren is asleep in her crib, I'm busy taking Evelyn to the potty (or pursuading her to go), cleaning up behind her, making lunch for her, and, finally, fit in a few minutes to sit with her. I try to be a part of everything she's doing, but it seems that I'm doing so by constantly nagging her. "Pick that up", "put that down", "wash your hands... and nothing else", "eat your lunch", "go to sleep", "hurry up", "slow down", "come on over", "get out now"... it seems that I am full of commands and negative statements. There are times when she would come to me with a book, and I would try to read to her holding the book in one hand, and rock Lauren with my other arm. Then the baby would begin to cry and fuss, and I would have to stand and march. Evelyn was left with my appologies and a promise that we'd resume reading once Lauren calms down. But when I was finally able to put Lauren down, Evelyn may be off to something else, and I've missed that golden moment for some quiet cuddling. There were other times when Evelyn would ask for hugs, such as after she completed a time-out, or when she bumped her leg, and all I could give her was a half sided, one-arm hug because Lauren is taking up half of me. I try to make those hugs as full as possible, try to convey how much I love her by squeezing her tight, but I don't know if that's enough to make up for what I wasn't able to give her.
I know adding a second child to the family means a whole lot more work, I know Evelyn would not be able to get mommy fully as she used to, and I expected the challenge of making myself euqally available to both girls. But I don't think I fully understood what it entailed before Lauren was finally in my arms. I know I can only try my best. I just hope that my best is good enough, and that both girls would know, and feel, how much I love them.
Today is the first day I spent alone with my two little girls. By the end of the day, though the beds were left unmade, and the laundries are still in the drier waiting to be folded, the house was other wise miraculously intact. The girls were both fed and clean, their physical needs tended to as best I can. Lauren only had one poopy diaper that I did not get to immediately, and Evelyn only had one potty accident that occured when I was busy changing Lauren. And, I got to take a three minute shower! So all in all, it should be a pretty good day, except that I feel like I've cheated Evelyn out of a lot of mommy attention. When Lauren was awake, I was only able to lay her down for a few minutes before she demands to be picked up again. When Lauren is asleep in her crib, I'm busy taking Evelyn to the potty (or pursuading her to go), cleaning up behind her, making lunch for her, and, finally, fit in a few minutes to sit with her. I try to be a part of everything she's doing, but it seems that I'm doing so by constantly nagging her. "Pick that up", "put that down", "wash your hands... and nothing else", "eat your lunch", "go to sleep", "hurry up", "slow down", "come on over", "get out now"... it seems that I am full of commands and negative statements. There are times when she would come to me with a book, and I would try to read to her holding the book in one hand, and rock Lauren with my other arm. Then the baby would begin to cry and fuss, and I would have to stand and march. Evelyn was left with my appologies and a promise that we'd resume reading once Lauren calms down. But when I was finally able to put Lauren down, Evelyn may be off to something else, and I've missed that golden moment for some quiet cuddling. There were other times when Evelyn would ask for hugs, such as after she completed a time-out, or when she bumped her leg, and all I could give her was a half sided, one-arm hug because Lauren is taking up half of me. I try to make those hugs as full as possible, try to convey how much I love her by squeezing her tight, but I don't know if that's enough to make up for what I wasn't able to give her.
I know adding a second child to the family means a whole lot more work, I know Evelyn would not be able to get mommy fully as she used to, and I expected the challenge of making myself euqally available to both girls. But I don't think I fully understood what it entailed before Lauren was finally in my arms. I know I can only try my best. I just hope that my best is good enough, and that both girls would know, and feel, how much I love them.
Monday, November 02, 2009
It's all about bodily functions these days
Yes, I am an experienced parent with a healthy and happy (most times, when she's not busy refusing food or resisting potty training) two and an half year old. I've gone through the change, feed, burp, walk to sleep routines of taking care of a new born aplenty. But three-weeks-old Lauren is reminding me of the amazing effects a baby have on one's daily life that I've conveniently forgotten when awaiting her.
Such as the amount of laundry I need to do. One little person, and all of a sudden, our laundry has tripled due to, say, the four-shirt night during which her spit up soaked through four T-shirts of mine. Or the morning that I had to launder every piece of fabric in the bathroom because, after an "Oh my gosh did she just shoot poop that far?" incident, I found myself saying "Holly Batman! How did the poop get there?" at every turn in the bathroom.
There's also the number of wipes and diapers that we consume. I think new diapers evokes, in a baby, the urge to go. Numerous times would I be putting a fresh diaper on Lauren when all of a sudden, liquids and more surge forth. If I'm lucky, I'd have contained it within that wasted diaper. If not, here's another reason why the laundry pile keep growing. Speaking of diaper changing, I cannot help but have to mention the time when, stripped naked and poised over her bath water, she managed to pee on and on and on and on, pulling a Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own, creating a little puddle at my feet. And that is after getting half of my shirt and jeans wet. How much water can a little baby hold? Apparently a lot.
Little baby Lauren, she never seizes to amaze me. Most amazing of all is how she, like her sister, makes my heart ache with love simply by being here. She need not do much, but just gaze up with her big eyes, a little frown upon her brows, and I melt. Such is the power of a child.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Bringing Lauren here
How did I ever forget the pain of delivering a baby? How could the memory of contractions that threatens to overwhelm one's body and will, or the terrible burning sensation that promises to rip your body apart if you push any iota more become so vague and distant until it is time to do it all over again?
10/14/2009, we checked into the hospital at 8am to induce baby Lauren.
It took 3 tries for the nurses to get an IV catheter into my supposedly delicate and tiny yet useless when it comes to catheters vein, and the Pictocin drip was finally started around 10:30am.
The contractions never build up much from the Pitocin. I keep waiting for the contraction to intensify, telling my body that I could take more, just BRING IT ON ALREADY, but it never did. At 7:30pm, I was still at 4cm, 80% effaced, and +1 station, only 1cm more dilated before the drip. The doctor broke my water.
At 8:30pm, all ability to control facial muscle through the pain was lost. On the pain scale of 0 to 10, it's a 10, no question about it. If there's any pain beyond what I was feeling, I pray no one needs to feel it. The doctor and the nurse were called in to consult on medical options to ease the suffering. The anesthesiologist was in a surgery, I was told, so epidural was out. How about something to take off the edge? I was at the peak of the transitional period, but still have 2cm to go. "Would it get any worse?" I asked the doctor in a puny voice. Probably not from the contraction, she said, but pushing would be a different kind of pain. Would I want anything to help me through the delivery? Um... Yes, please. The doctor discussed with nurse on what I should be given. The nurse turned to go, and I halted everyone by uttering the magic word "pressure!" That was 8:35pm. I was ready to give birth.
8:59pm, Lauren was born. The little girl came fast and furious. For all the waiting and anticipating, it's still hard to believe that she is now finally here. It is hard to believe how such a big change in all our lives could arrive so swiftly and happen so matter-of-fact-ly. The earth of my world quaked and restructured itself, mountains moved and oceans surged, but no one outside the hospital room noticed. And now after the searing pain, I have a little sticky, bloody, and wondrous little human being so tiny and fragile in my arms finally here for us to love. The adventure of life continues.
Note: The doctor and nurses commented on how great I did, which I don't understand. Was there a different way to do it? The baby was coming, I couldn't stop it. There was no "let's all take five"; no "here Michael, it's your turn, take over"; no "I quit". I had to push, and so I did. What other options were there? Yes, I did it all naturally. But don't forget, I really didn't have a choice. Any mother would need to go through what I had gone through in order to become a mother, no? More power to the mothers!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Snow White
Nanny bought Evelyn a Snow White costume for Halloween.
Last night, she put it on and we play acted the story, oh I don't know, ten thousand times?
At one point, it went like this:
Snow White (Evelyn) directed the Evil Queen (me) on how to make the poison apple while cleaning the little dwarfs house. After that, she waited for me to come tempt her with it.
Evil Queen: Oh dear lady, I'm a poor old lady who is so thirsty. Could you please spare me some water to drink?
Snow White: Which one you want? (Pointing behind her) There is chocolate milk, juice, soda, milk, water...
Evil Queen: (a bit stunned at the choices) ... ugh.... how about some milk?
Snow White: Milk is too high (pointing at high beyond her head), I'm too little, I can't reach (showing regret on her face).
Evil Queen: ....
So, the Evil Queen got her water, and gave the apple to Snow White. She took a bite of the apple, looked around a bit dazed, then...
Snow White: I pick a spot. Oh, here.
Snow White moved to the appropriate location, carefully sat down, laid out her dress, ask for a flower to hold in front of her chest, and then slowly laid down to wait for the prince.
That, is how Evelyn's Snow White works.
Last night, she put it on and we play acted the story, oh I don't know, ten thousand times?
At one point, it went like this:
Snow White (Evelyn) directed the Evil Queen (me) on how to make the poison apple while cleaning the little dwarfs house. After that, she waited for me to come tempt her with it.
Evil Queen: Oh dear lady, I'm a poor old lady who is so thirsty. Could you please spare me some water to drink?
Snow White: Which one you want? (Pointing behind her) There is chocolate milk, juice, soda, milk, water...
Evil Queen: (a bit stunned at the choices) ... ugh.... how about some milk?
Snow White: Milk is too high (pointing at high beyond her head), I'm too little, I can't reach (showing regret on her face).
Evil Queen: ....
So, the Evil Queen got her water, and gave the apple to Snow White. She took a bite of the apple, looked around a bit dazed, then...
Snow White: I pick a spot. Oh, here.
Snow White moved to the appropriate location, carefully sat down, laid out her dress, ask for a flower to hold in front of her chest, and then slowly laid down to wait for the prince.
That, is how Evelyn's Snow White works.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Still waiting
38 weeks and still going. Still waiting. Still wondering.
Evelyn was induced at 37th week because of my high blood pressure and a mildly elevated protein level in my urine. At 37th week and a few days this time, I was sent over to the hospital for more blood work and a non-stress test because of the exact same issues. But this time, even though the 24 hour urine collection test (3rd such test I did during this pregnancy) showed that the protein level is again mildly elevated, I only received a stricter bed rest order and more "we'll keep a close eye on you" answers. We're suspended in uncertainties of what is to come, going from check up to check up. Unknowing is a hard position to be in.
Bed rest is hard. Only a few days in and I feel like my left ear is permanently mushed into my head, my hair will forever have a flat lopsided look, and my left hip would never be rid of the soreness that comes from supporting my weight hour after hour. I have no idea how other moms do it. As much as I complain, I must be honest and admit that lying down is indeed the most comfortable position for me right now. It makes my irregular contractions (Braxton-Hicks still) little less uncomfortable, and takes the pressure from the baby's weight off some.
Checking the calendar, we have but 2 more weeks to go before the due date. Dear baby #2, I'll leave it up to you. Come when you are ready. But please, don't dally!
Evelyn was induced at 37th week because of my high blood pressure and a mildly elevated protein level in my urine. At 37th week and a few days this time, I was sent over to the hospital for more blood work and a non-stress test because of the exact same issues. But this time, even though the 24 hour urine collection test (3rd such test I did during this pregnancy) showed that the protein level is again mildly elevated, I only received a stricter bed rest order and more "we'll keep a close eye on you" answers. We're suspended in uncertainties of what is to come, going from check up to check up. Unknowing is a hard position to be in.
Bed rest is hard. Only a few days in and I feel like my left ear is permanently mushed into my head, my hair will forever have a flat lopsided look, and my left hip would never be rid of the soreness that comes from supporting my weight hour after hour. I have no idea how other moms do it. As much as I complain, I must be honest and admit that lying down is indeed the most comfortable position for me right now. It makes my irregular contractions (Braxton-Hicks still) little less uncomfortable, and takes the pressure from the baby's weight off some.
Checking the calendar, we have but 2 more weeks to go before the due date. Dear baby #2, I'll leave it up to you. Come when you are ready. But please, don't dally!
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Marrying
"I want to marry." Evelyn declared quietly after another story with a happily-ever-after ending.
"Who do you want to marry?" I asked.
She pointed at me a bit shyly but determinedly, "mommy," making me laugh.
I've heard of stories of little boys or girls saying that they want to marry their mommy or daddy, but hearing it from my own daughter still touches and trickles me tremendously.
"You'll grow up one day, fall in love with a boy, and marry him," I told her after I caught my breath.
"First mommy, then boy," was her solution.
For the rest of the afternoon, whenever I asked her to come hold my hand, be it going down stairs or walking into the parking lot, she'd run over crying "I wanna marry you!" before she takes my hand.
And I love you, too, little girl.
"Who do you want to marry?" I asked.
She pointed at me a bit shyly but determinedly, "mommy," making me laugh.
I've heard of stories of little boys or girls saying that they want to marry their mommy or daddy, but hearing it from my own daughter still touches and trickles me tremendously.
"You'll grow up one day, fall in love with a boy, and marry him," I told her after I caught my breath.
"First mommy, then boy," was her solution.
For the rest of the afternoon, whenever I asked her to come hold my hand, be it going down stairs or walking into the parking lot, she'd run over crying "I wanna marry you!" before she takes my hand.
And I love you, too, little girl.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Falling asleep...
Many times did the little girl fall asleep between bites at meal time. Her teacher even had a story of her seemingly fine at lunch one minute but nodding and falling off her chair the next. Last month her father called me upstairs to see the child curled up on the diaper changing station with her arm outstretched for nail clipping and completely asleep. None of this, though, compared to last night.
Evelyn skipped nap yesterday. No matter how many stories I told, she would not fall asleep at nap time. But as the day wears on, her energy level began to drop quickly. Temper became shorter, and tears came easier. Seeing how tired she was, I rushed her and her father upstairs for a bath as soon as she finished the last bite of her dinner. As I was cleaning up the dishes, the little girl's father hollered from upstairs for help. I stepped into the bathroom to find the little girl sitting in her bath with her head tilted back for her father to pour water over, and her eyes closed. Hearing me, she opened her sleepy eyes for a lazy glance, closed them again, and commenced to nod off, right there, in her bath water. "Oh dear!" I exclaimed, as we hurriedly maneuvered the sleeping girl so we could finish soaping and rinsing her off. When her father lifted her out of the bath, she snuggled into his shoulder and thoroughly gave herself up to a deep sleep. The loud blast and hot air of the hair dryer could not even stir her. Apparently, this is one little girl who refuses to sleep until she could no longer hold it off, and then she surrenders to it no mater the circumstance.
Evelyn skipped nap yesterday. No matter how many stories I told, she would not fall asleep at nap time. But as the day wears on, her energy level began to drop quickly. Temper became shorter, and tears came easier. Seeing how tired she was, I rushed her and her father upstairs for a bath as soon as she finished the last bite of her dinner. As I was cleaning up the dishes, the little girl's father hollered from upstairs for help. I stepped into the bathroom to find the little girl sitting in her bath with her head tilted back for her father to pour water over, and her eyes closed. Hearing me, she opened her sleepy eyes for a lazy glance, closed them again, and commenced to nod off, right there, in her bath water. "Oh dear!" I exclaimed, as we hurriedly maneuvered the sleeping girl so we could finish soaping and rinsing her off. When her father lifted her out of the bath, she snuggled into his shoulder and thoroughly gave herself up to a deep sleep. The loud blast and hot air of the hair dryer could not even stir her. Apparently, this is one little girl who refuses to sleep until she could no longer hold it off, and then she surrenders to it no mater the circumstance.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
A family of four
When I went to pick the little girl up on Monday, the teacher showed me the family portrait that Evelyn made. On a sheet of paper, she glued on four paper cut out figures to depict her family: one woman, one man, and two children on the side one right next to the other, as if holding hands. The teacher asked her to identify the figures, and, after much prompting because she's not voluntarily speaking to the adults yet, Evelyn told the teacher that the second children is "my sister." "Is it really a girl?" the teacher asked me. "Yes," I answered as I stood mesmerized by this simple, plain picture. The inclusion of her little sister made me incredibly proud and happy. It shows how well Evelyn understands what is to come. My growing belly is not just an at times inconvenient phenomenon, and baby sister is not just a noun in conversations or a kiss/hug on my belly. She knows that baby sister is about to come into the world, stay, and be a the newest member of our family. That she will have a new person to care and love, play and fight with. That we will go from a family of three to a family of four. Seeing how she already perceives baby sister as an integral part of our family touches me so. I have an amazing daughter.
To Dear Baby - We're almost there
How are you doing in there? I got to see you again this Monday when we had our ultrasound to check on your growth. Looks like you are doing pretty well. Despite how small I may look on the outside (trust me, I don't feel it), you are actually measuring large. Besides the numeric measurements, you also demonstrated how nicely you are readying yourself for the outside world by showing me how you practice the motion of breathing. You further showcased your athletic abilities by stretching and kicking as best as you can in the cramped space. Oh, little one, you are not the only one who is feeling squeezed and squashed. Your little bottom is situated right between my rib cage. Your heart is beating under my bellybutton, and your little head is in my pelvis. To sum it up, there is no more room for my lungs, heart, or other organs anymore.
I've long forgo grace in my movements. So what if I waddle? As long as I can get across a room, I'm happy. Bending is another motion that I can no longer perform. The feeling of having an agile body is but a distant memory. "I'm ready to give birth," I'd tell people with a hand on this solid lump that is you. But then, yesterday, the doctor found out that he's about this close to declaring that I have preeclampsia. Your sister was induced three weeks early because of a trace of it. If I have it this time, you might follow her foot step and arrive early as well. As early as say in two weeks. TWO WEEKS! All of a sudden, I realized that I'm not prepared yet! Yes, your cloths are washed, folded, and put away. And yes, your carseat is all prepped to be set into the car. But... can one really be ready to welcome a new baby? Be ready for the changes that a little new life brings into one's current life? How would you change our family dynamic? How would we continue with the house planning? How would I manage school and your sister and you? I know everything will turn out okay somehow. But I am still nervous and a little scared. Nervous, scared, but sure of one thing, and that is you will be welcomed to this world with plenty of love.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Imaginative play
Evelyn loves to pretend play. Not just with toys, but with imaginary items or characters as well. For example, she is very fond of the step mother and step sisters of Cinderella. Sometimes, she would pretend that these beloved characters are right here visiting. She would pointed to a corner of the room and tell me "look, mommy, my step mother and step sisters are over there". Right... her step mom, so... where does that place me? Never mind that. To her, step mothers are a part of fairy tales. Besides, when she assigns us roles to play I'm either the prince or the princess. I gratefully take this as an indication that she sees me as an equal play mate instead of a powerful, but very scary wicked witch. See, I am usually the one that, when she is clearly tired but wired to play, insists she leaves the fun behind and stay in bed for quiet naps. I have held her down physically disregarding her screaming protests in the past, until she tiredly falls asleep. I am also the one that would wage a battle of will with her, such as refusing to pick her up, and insisting that she walk by herself no matter how she whines; or call her on her antics and drag the child-turned-boneless-jellyfish back to her time out corner time and again until the required time was served. In those times, I see myself as a stubborn, merciless dictator. And yet, she still generously let's me play the heroic prince or the beautiful princess. How cool is that?
Once, though, the role play became a bit freaky. She was the prince and I was either Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, so I lay there as still as I can as she gave me the kiss to revive me. Only that the kiss lasted and... lasted...
Once, though, the role play became a bit freaky. She was the prince and I was either Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, so I lay there as still as I can as she gave me the kiss to revive me. Only that the kiss lasted and... lasted...
Sink (Disney)
Upon spotting the child-height sink in the public restroom in our hotel, Evelyn just about came aglow. "Look, mommy, look! It's for me!" she exclaimed, excitement radiating from every syllable. She ran to the sink and immediately began to wash her own hands. "I do it all by myself! I don't need mommy's help! Evelyn wash my hands by myself!" This sink that she can reach without a stool, without help, became the single most significant item in the whole hotel. Such a little detail, such a big impact on the child. Watching her happily scrubbing away, reminding me time and again of this little sink that is "just for me", makes me happier then I ever imagined a sink would make me.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Table manner
We've been teaching the little girl that she must ask for permission before she leaves the dinner table.
At the end of dinner tonight, I could well tell that the thought of pooping was forming in her head. "Let's go poopy," said her dad as he walked around the table to help her off her booster, and I hurriedly took her crumb filled bib.
"Come on, down the front, down the front," her father urged her. She crabbed tight to the booster's side and won't let go. "Wait a minute, wait a minute," she said.
"Come on, let's go to the bathroom," her father encouraged.
"I want to talk," she said firmly.
Then, she turned over to me, looked at me calmly and asked "may I get off, please?"
"Yes, you may," a surprised me replied with a heart filled with pride and joy.
At the end of dinner tonight, I could well tell that the thought of pooping was forming in her head. "Let's go poopy," said her dad as he walked around the table to help her off her booster, and I hurriedly took her crumb filled bib.
"Come on, down the front, down the front," her father urged her. She crabbed tight to the booster's side and won't let go. "Wait a minute, wait a minute," she said.
"Come on, let's go to the bathroom," her father encouraged.
"I want to talk," she said firmly.
Then, she turned over to me, looked at me calmly and asked "may I get off, please?"
"Yes, you may," a surprised me replied with a heart filled with pride and joy.
Monday, August 24, 2009
In order to have a fairy tale ending...
So, while introducing Evelyn to Disney version of fairy tales, I came to realize that except for Sleep Beauty, most princesses or girls who became princesses have lost their potentially loving and caring biological mom at a very young age. Almost every story begins with the young girl losing her mother. What's up with that? I'm starting to think that the stories are telling their audiences to get rid of their moms if they want a "happily ever after" ending.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Two year olds are hard to understand.
I don't know if all two-year-olds are like this, but mine loves princess stories and Star War, and is torn between being a Yoda or Snow White this Halloween. Mine likes to say she's a bad guy or wicked witch, cast a spell or roar at you, and then hurry over to comfort you if you showed any signs of being afraid. She wants to capture any insect she spotted, loves animals, but also can't wait to bite into the lobster that is still waving its claws at her. While she does not like to watch sports, she is mesmerized by track competitions ("I want to see them run"). She adores adventure movies, loves to pretend fight, but would also cry over a sad song. In fact, after watching Dumbo today, she climbed into my lap, asked me to sing Baby Mine so she can bury her face into my embrace, and shed real tears over the emotions the song evoked. And here I thought girls won't get so emotional until the hormones start raging around puberty. Silly me...
Monday, August 10, 2009
What does it mean when the little girl is quiet...
Some times, when the house is quiet, it's because the little girl is either asleep, or engrossed in a book. But some times, the quietness hints to various levels of mess awaiting me to clean up.
Example 1.
Even before she hit two, Evelyn has learned that applying lotion is good for the skin. She loves to gently smooth any and all lotion she could find onto her face. Therefore, if the child disappeared into my room and was quiet for a few seconds, I could always expect her to reappear with her hands still smoothing some kind of lotion she found on my dresser onto her cheeks. Once, however, she did get carried away and treated her skin to something a little more unusual...
Example 2.
One afternoon, while I was busy in the kitchen and her dad on the computer, I realized that I had not heard her for a few minutes. Poking out onto the hall way, I saw her sitting serenely on the bottom step of the stairs, a tube of Desitin (from my diaper bag) in her hand, and herself covered in a thick, thick layer of the diaper rash ointment. Oh she did not cover herself randomly, the bottom half of her face was coated evenly as if she was getting herself ready for a shave, her hands were think with the ointment from front to back, and she was in the process of also applying the ointment to the bottom of her feet. Yes, even the bottom of her feet needs some loving. It took a lot of wet heavy duty paper towels and a shower to clean her off completely.
Example 3.
Evelyn was washed and set free after an hour at the pool the other day while the adults take our turns to shower. Drying my hair, I noticed the little girl who was supposed to be playing in her room was very quiet, in fact, so quiet, it was clear she was not upstairs any more. Wringing my hair dry, I started my way downstairs while calling out her name. The crinkle of plastic bags in the kitchen told me all I needed to know. Sure enough, the little girl in her wet hair and diaper was trying to put a bag of candy away. While we were busy, she'd slipped into the kitchen, moved a couple of boxes over to serve as steps, and got into the candy jar on the counter. "What did you have?" I asked. "Jelly beans, gummy bears, and CHOCOLATE!" she replied happily and proudly, with chocolate stain still around her mouth. Time to find another storing place for the candies.
Example 1.
Even before she hit two, Evelyn has learned that applying lotion is good for the skin. She loves to gently smooth any and all lotion she could find onto her face. Therefore, if the child disappeared into my room and was quiet for a few seconds, I could always expect her to reappear with her hands still smoothing some kind of lotion she found on my dresser onto her cheeks. Once, however, she did get carried away and treated her skin to something a little more unusual...
Example 2.
One afternoon, while I was busy in the kitchen and her dad on the computer, I realized that I had not heard her for a few minutes. Poking out onto the hall way, I saw her sitting serenely on the bottom step of the stairs, a tube of Desitin (from my diaper bag) in her hand, and herself covered in a thick, thick layer of the diaper rash ointment. Oh she did not cover herself randomly, the bottom half of her face was coated evenly as if she was getting herself ready for a shave, her hands were think with the ointment from front to back, and she was in the process of also applying the ointment to the bottom of her feet. Yes, even the bottom of her feet needs some loving. It took a lot of wet heavy duty paper towels and a shower to clean her off completely.
Example 3.
Evelyn was washed and set free after an hour at the pool the other day while the adults take our turns to shower. Drying my hair, I noticed the little girl who was supposed to be playing in her room was very quiet, in fact, so quiet, it was clear she was not upstairs any more. Wringing my hair dry, I started my way downstairs while calling out her name. The crinkle of plastic bags in the kitchen told me all I needed to know. Sure enough, the little girl in her wet hair and diaper was trying to put a bag of candy away. While we were busy, she'd slipped into the kitchen, moved a couple of boxes over to serve as steps, and got into the candy jar on the counter. "What did you have?" I asked. "Jelly beans, gummy bears, and CHOCOLATE!" she replied happily and proudly, with chocolate stain still around her mouth. Time to find another storing place for the candies.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Tickling baby
Only if I can bottle up physical feelings to relive them in the future. I vaguely remembers what was like to feel Evelyn in me. But the memories that stood out were of the last few weeks. By then, the space in me was so tight, I could tell she was stretching out a limb to push outward. I'd rub this little hard spot of a hand or a feet, and she would slowly retract it. It was as if I was touching her through a thin veneer of skin and muscle. Baby number 2 hasn't grown that big yet, and I keep thinking that she moved differently then her older sister. But with little memory but my previous journal entries to rely on, I really can't say.
How can I describe how baby number 2 has been tickling me these days? It's like she's drumming her little fingers or wiggling her toes on my inside of my waist. Sometimes, she'd tickle both sides of my waist at the same time, making me jump and squirm and laugh out loud. Since our last ultrasound (done last Thursday) showed that she is already in a head down position, it's more likely that she's working a foot on me to produce such a strong sensation. Wonder what she's really doing. Wonder what it felt like for her, tickling me like this. 11 more weeks to go before we reach full term.
How can I describe how baby number 2 has been tickling me these days? It's like she's drumming her little fingers or wiggling her toes on my inside of my waist. Sometimes, she'd tickle both sides of my waist at the same time, making me jump and squirm and laugh out loud. Since our last ultrasound (done last Thursday) showed that she is already in a head down position, it's more likely that she's working a foot on me to produce such a strong sensation. Wonder what she's really doing. Wonder what it felt like for her, tickling me like this. 11 more weeks to go before we reach full term.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
"You do Chinese?"
I came to a simple but startling realization the other day: I'm the only one shaping Evelyn's Chinese abilities, including her accent, the size of her vocabulary, and her word choices. This realization was recalled once again when the little girl asked her visiting auntie, my sister, "A-Yi (auntie), you do Chinese?", as if it is an interesting fact she just observed.
It reminded me of how much responsibility rests on my shoulders, aside from loving her and taking care of her physical needs. I've given her the Taiwanese blood, and the duty of providing her with the cultural heritage to go along with it rests solely on my shoulders. I'm currently the only person who speaks Chinese to her on a daily basis. She only gets as much as I can offer; my quirks, my preferences and my tone would be accepted by her as the norm and standard, be it good or bad. What I say and however I say it, is IT. What I teach her would be largely what she goes by. I have the power and responsibility to mold her. Goodness gracious, I, am the sky! In truth, this is a terrifying thought. Even though I am a born Taiwanese and has been speaking Chinese my entire life, how much can I be sure that my handle of the language is apt? That my knowledge of it is sound? How could I be sure that I am showing her how beautiful and deep this one language can be? No matter. I can only try my best. For the love of her, and of where I am from.
It reminded me of how much responsibility rests on my shoulders, aside from loving her and taking care of her physical needs. I've given her the Taiwanese blood, and the duty of providing her with the cultural heritage to go along with it rests solely on my shoulders. I'm currently the only person who speaks Chinese to her on a daily basis. She only gets as much as I can offer; my quirks, my preferences and my tone would be accepted by her as the norm and standard, be it good or bad. What I say and however I say it, is IT. What I teach her would be largely what she goes by. I have the power and responsibility to mold her. Goodness gracious, I, am the sky! In truth, this is a terrifying thought. Even though I am a born Taiwanese and has been speaking Chinese my entire life, how much can I be sure that my handle of the language is apt? That my knowledge of it is sound? How could I be sure that I am showing her how beautiful and deep this one language can be? No matter. I can only try my best. For the love of her, and of where I am from.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Aliens and vocanos
When I was pregnant with the little girl, often times would I feel like a host with an alien life form in me trying to break out. Her head, butt, or limbs would push and stretch and make this visible lump on my belly that is quiet impressive to behold.
This time, I feel like I have a mud volcano sitting in me. Rather then a kick or a punch, I have gigantic bubbles burst in me, sending reverberations to the deepest corners of my being. Instead of a stretch, I feel rumbles. Honey baby darling, what are you doing in me?
This time, I feel like I have a mud volcano sitting in me. Rather then a kick or a punch, I have gigantic bubbles burst in me, sending reverberations to the deepest corners of my being. Instead of a stretch, I feel rumbles. Honey baby darling, what are you doing in me?
No, this is not just a beer pouch, my dear
"That's a cute top, where did you get it?"
I looked back at the bunch of students whom I only met a few minutes ago, and found that the question was directed at me.
I searched out the question issuer; fresh faced, slim, young, not an expecting mom.
"Um, this is a maternity shirt," I said quietly, suppressing mirth and the urge to gesticulate, like the girls in those afternoon game shows, in front of me while narrating at the same time "note the protruding abdominal section, the thickness of which has surpassed the chest, note how she waddles just very slightly and how she sits and stands up with a groan about her back... you guessed it! She's pregnant!" I might also flash the number 26 at times during the presentation as in "she is in her 26th weeks!"
"Oh," the student replied, and we continued the walk in a bit of an awkward silence.
I looked back at the bunch of students whom I only met a few minutes ago, and found that the question was directed at me.
I searched out the question issuer; fresh faced, slim, young, not an expecting mom.
"Um, this is a maternity shirt," I said quietly, suppressing mirth and the urge to gesticulate, like the girls in those afternoon game shows, in front of me while narrating at the same time "note the protruding abdominal section, the thickness of which has surpassed the chest, note how she waddles just very slightly and how she sits and stands up with a groan about her back... you guessed it! She's pregnant!" I might also flash the number 26 at times during the presentation as in "she is in her 26th weeks!"
"Oh," the student replied, and we continued the walk in a bit of an awkward silence.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Sandwich
Bedtime. The little girl and her father lay side by side on her narrow twin bed for a bedtime story. I sat on the nearby rocker, and settled down for a few minutes of rest with this very enjoyable view.
"Mommy, come here," the little girl demanded. I very reasonably pointed out that there was no more room on the bed. She thought about it for a second.
"Make a sandwich!" she exclaimed, and wiggled herself to stack on top of her father. Sure enough, now there's space beside her just enough for me to squeeze in and layer on top of her to form the sandwich.
I laughed. There was just no escaping, was there?
"Mommy, come here," the little girl demanded. I very reasonably pointed out that there was no more room on the bed. She thought about it for a second.
"Make a sandwich!" she exclaimed, and wiggled herself to stack on top of her father. Sure enough, now there's space beside her just enough for me to squeeze in and layer on top of her to form the sandwich.
I laughed. There was just no escaping, was there?
Monday, July 06, 2009
All by myself!
This summer has yet to be real summer like. There was too much rain, and too many cool days. But whenever the sun shines, we'd change into our swim suites and head to the pool. So what if the water is still bitterly cold, we've got to make summer happen. This afternoon was no exception.
I blew up the floating ring, and we marched to the pool with it. The little girl spared no time stepping into the ring and got herself floating. Inexperienced as she was with the device, she sometimes struggled to maintain balance. But all in all, she managed to stay afloat and travel a few inches at a time by wiggling her whole body. If we reach out to help, she'd wave our hands away with a determined "I do it!" So be it. We'd retract our hands, but stay close to her as discreetly as we could, just to make sure there are no accidents. Then, it happened.
I was sitting at one end of the kiddie pool, my legs dangling in the cool, cool water, watching her play with her dad, and listening to her bright laughter erupting from time to time to hang over the pool like the golden sunlight. Her father was right beside her, helping her toss a soft ball back and forth with another little girl. At the end of their game, he told the little girl to "swim to mommy" and turned around to put the ball away. Right at the split second when he turned, the little girl launched herself almost out of the float, and plunged into the water, completely submerging into it.
I called her father, and rushed over to rescue her. Lifted out of the water, she was not coughing or choking, but did got some water in her eyes (the goggles she wore was more decorative then practical). "I need towel! I need a tissue!" she cried. I brought her out of the pool and bundled her up in the toasty blanket, mumbling mumble jumbles to calm her down. Except that she didn't need to be calmed down.
When she eventually stopped rubbing her eyes and showed her face, she had only one thing to say "Evelyn went under the water ALL BY MYSELF!", all proud like. As her mother, I could not be more proud and tickled by that statement. My brave little girl.
I blew up the floating ring, and we marched to the pool with it. The little girl spared no time stepping into the ring and got herself floating. Inexperienced as she was with the device, she sometimes struggled to maintain balance. But all in all, she managed to stay afloat and travel a few inches at a time by wiggling her whole body. If we reach out to help, she'd wave our hands away with a determined "I do it!" So be it. We'd retract our hands, but stay close to her as discreetly as we could, just to make sure there are no accidents. Then, it happened.
I was sitting at one end of the kiddie pool, my legs dangling in the cool, cool water, watching her play with her dad, and listening to her bright laughter erupting from time to time to hang over the pool like the golden sunlight. Her father was right beside her, helping her toss a soft ball back and forth with another little girl. At the end of their game, he told the little girl to "swim to mommy" and turned around to put the ball away. Right at the split second when he turned, the little girl launched herself almost out of the float, and plunged into the water, completely submerging into it.
I called her father, and rushed over to rescue her. Lifted out of the water, she was not coughing or choking, but did got some water in her eyes (the goggles she wore was more decorative then practical). "I need towel! I need a tissue!" she cried. I brought her out of the pool and bundled her up in the toasty blanket, mumbling mumble jumbles to calm her down. Except that she didn't need to be calmed down.
When she eventually stopped rubbing her eyes and showed her face, she had only one thing to say "Evelyn went under the water ALL BY MYSELF!", all proud like. As her mother, I could not be more proud and tickled by that statement. My brave little girl.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Parade
After dinner, there was a rainbow hanging before the clouds due to the rain that came to visit and the sun that refused to hide away. The little girl announced that a walk is in need, so we set out in the settling dusk. As we walked along, the little girl started going "Dong! Dong! Dong!" and drummed her fists on her thighs as if she's wearing a marching drum. After a few seconds, she pointed at me and said "you, boo-boo-boo-boo-boo", while putting a hand in front of her mouth as if she's blowing at a horn; then she pointed at her daddy and said "you, bee-bee-bee-bee-bee" with pursed lips, as if she's playing some other invisible instrument. What else could we do but to comply. Thus the three of us marched in a row, one playing a drum, one blowing a horn, and one doing a funky version of a trumpet, like a paired down version of New Orleans jazz band, having a grand old time.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
The Becoming of Darth Vadar: as told by a two year old
Describing how Anakin Skywalker became Darth Vadar, the two and a half year old told me: "Anakin has red eyes, big boo-boos, put mask on."
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Time flies even faster the second time around
The nurse walked in with a bottle of bright orange sugar solution to be drank before the glucose screening test. I couldn't believe my eyes. Isn't that for much later in the pregnancy? Oh My Gosh, am I already at that late in the pregnancy?
As if to reaffirm how far we've come along, the little one in my belly kicked and moved and stretched and punched vigorously, leaving me to go "oomph, ah, urgh" inwardly. Even when the midwife was listening in to the heartbeat with a doppler, we'd hear the regular "whuanks" of heartbeat being interrupted by the high screeches triggered by fetus movements. Yes, yes, someone's having a little party in there, and big enough to make mommy's belly dance with the movements. At the end of the appointment, I was also told that the next checkup would be the last 4-week one. After that, I'd be going in every 2 weeks until the 36th week. Doing a little math in my head, I realized that this is the last month in the second trimester. How did that come to be? I was told by several been-there-don-that moms that the second time around, time flies at a even scarier pace. They were right. When I was pregnant with the little girl, I marked the passing of every day. Ask me how far along I was and I would be able to rattle out the precise week and day without thinking. With this little one, though I am celebrating and cherishing every moment the baby is in me, I have only a vague idea of what week this is. I suppose with the little girl there was so much unknown and so little distraction to detract me from wondering about the unknown. With this little one, there is still a lot of unknown, but I have the little girl to keep me grounded, and I am also more confident in my ability to handle what may come.
I must say, the passing of time makes me wary. I do not want to miss out any important milestones or developments of the new one simply because my life is now a bit more full, a bit more hectic. Only if I could make sure every minute of my little ones lives are pressed and seared and preserved forever in my mind.
As if to reaffirm how far we've come along, the little one in my belly kicked and moved and stretched and punched vigorously, leaving me to go "oomph, ah, urgh" inwardly. Even when the midwife was listening in to the heartbeat with a doppler, we'd hear the regular "whuanks" of heartbeat being interrupted by the high screeches triggered by fetus movements. Yes, yes, someone's having a little party in there, and big enough to make mommy's belly dance with the movements. At the end of the appointment, I was also told that the next checkup would be the last 4-week one. After that, I'd be going in every 2 weeks until the 36th week. Doing a little math in my head, I realized that this is the last month in the second trimester. How did that come to be? I was told by several been-there-don-that moms that the second time around, time flies at a even scarier pace. They were right. When I was pregnant with the little girl, I marked the passing of every day. Ask me how far along I was and I would be able to rattle out the precise week and day without thinking. With this little one, though I am celebrating and cherishing every moment the baby is in me, I have only a vague idea of what week this is. I suppose with the little girl there was so much unknown and so little distraction to detract me from wondering about the unknown. With this little one, there is still a lot of unknown, but I have the little girl to keep me grounded, and I am also more confident in my ability to handle what may come.
I must say, the passing of time makes me wary. I do not want to miss out any important milestones or developments of the new one simply because my life is now a bit more full, a bit more hectic. Only if I could make sure every minute of my little ones lives are pressed and seared and preserved forever in my mind.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I Read
Do know that the little girl is currently 2 and a half years old.
The only alphabet she recognizes is "E".
When we're with the little girl's aunties, mommy is no longer the most important person in the world. No matter what she does, the "A-Yi's" have to be near. When she was getting ready for bed, it was A-Yi she wants as the person to brush her teeth. I had to tease her and open the can of worms that should have been left undisturbed.
"You want A-Yi?" I asked.
"Yes." She said.
"So mommy can leave you here and you'll be fine?" I asked.
"Yes." She said.
"How about if mommy go home and you live here with A-Yi's by your self?" I just had to ask."
"Okay." She said, actually not too surprisingly.
I could only laugh, and kick myself for even having to go there.
Then, during bedtime story, the little one of course only wants A-Yi to read it.
A-Yi said she wants to hear it, too, as this is a new story to her. So, I opened the book and began reading.
"No, no. Don't speak, don't read!" the little girl protested, and covered my mouth with her hand.
"You don't want me to read?" I asked.
"Yes. I read." She replied.
"Okay, you read." I held the book and stayed quiet, letting her take the rein.
We all stayed still and waited for her to pick up where I left off.
She stared at the page for a minute, as if mulling things over, then, she turned over to me and said, if a bit sheepishly, "I can't read."
"You can't read?"
"I can't read." She admitted quietly. "I can't read. You read."
Well, at least she knows her limits.
The only alphabet she recognizes is "E".
When we're with the little girl's aunties, mommy is no longer the most important person in the world. No matter what she does, the "A-Yi's" have to be near. When she was getting ready for bed, it was A-Yi she wants as the person to brush her teeth. I had to tease her and open the can of worms that should have been left undisturbed.
"You want A-Yi?" I asked.
"Yes." She said.
"So mommy can leave you here and you'll be fine?" I asked.
"Yes." She said.
"How about if mommy go home and you live here with A-Yi's by your self?" I just had to ask."
"Okay." She said, actually not too surprisingly.
I could only laugh, and kick myself for even having to go there.
Then, during bedtime story, the little one of course only wants A-Yi to read it.
A-Yi said she wants to hear it, too, as this is a new story to her. So, I opened the book and began reading.
"No, no. Don't speak, don't read!" the little girl protested, and covered my mouth with her hand.
"You don't want me to read?" I asked.
"Yes. I read." She replied.
"Okay, you read." I held the book and stayed quiet, letting her take the rein.
We all stayed still and waited for her to pick up where I left off.
She stared at the page for a minute, as if mulling things over, then, she turned over to me and said, if a bit sheepishly, "I can't read."
"You can't read?"
"I can't read." She admitted quietly. "I can't read. You read."
Well, at least she knows her limits.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Sometimes Big Girl
The little girl's father and I rotate bed time duty.
On Daddy Nights, the little girl insists that she is a big girl, old enough to sleep on her own. She'd snuggle up with her doll (which is freakish looking as all life-like dolls are), and ask her dad to stay outside of her room until she falls asleep. Just in case there's something scary lurking in the dark.
On Mommy Nights though, she is a big girl no more. She needs mommy to lie beside her, sharing her pillow and within arm's reach. Whenever the mood struck her, she'd hook me over until my face is squarely buried in her chest, and she has her chin rested nicely on my head. Last night, I dozed off for a couple of minutes and woke to find her a mere inches from my nose. Though she was blurry in my vision from being so close, I could see her wide open eyes watching me. "Why aren't your eyes closed?" I asked her. She flashed me a big, bright smile.
These are the times that makes my heart melt, and make it so very difficult for me to insist on a strict bedtime ritual that does not involve me getting into bed with her. These are also moments when I wonder what makes her need me so much, and if I am doing enough to deserve it.
There will come a day when she won't need me to tuck her into bed anymore. Then, I'll look back and wonder where time has gone and how come she had grown so fast. But before then, let me enjoy this closeness she's granting me.
On Daddy Nights, the little girl insists that she is a big girl, old enough to sleep on her own. She'd snuggle up with her doll (which is freakish looking as all life-like dolls are), and ask her dad to stay outside of her room until she falls asleep. Just in case there's something scary lurking in the dark.
On Mommy Nights though, she is a big girl no more. She needs mommy to lie beside her, sharing her pillow and within arm's reach. Whenever the mood struck her, she'd hook me over until my face is squarely buried in her chest, and she has her chin rested nicely on my head. Last night, I dozed off for a couple of minutes and woke to find her a mere inches from my nose. Though she was blurry in my vision from being so close, I could see her wide open eyes watching me. "Why aren't your eyes closed?" I asked her. She flashed me a big, bright smile.
These are the times that makes my heart melt, and make it so very difficult for me to insist on a strict bedtime ritual that does not involve me getting into bed with her. These are also moments when I wonder what makes her need me so much, and if I am doing enough to deserve it.
There will come a day when she won't need me to tuck her into bed anymore. Then, I'll look back and wonder where time has gone and how come she had grown so fast. But before then, let me enjoy this closeness she's granting me.
Monday, June 08, 2009
"Finger is better"
"Finger is better!" says a serious Evelyn when her dad asked her to stop picking her nose and go get a tissue instead.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
"No carrots please"
One of Evie's most read book is the "Tawny Scrawny Lion" who became "fat as butter and sleek as silk" eating carrot stew.
"I want carrot soup" she said one day, after a reading.
I just about jumped with joy at the proclamation. For the next meal, I eagerly and lovingly and made a big pot of chicken noodle soup with oodles of carrots.
When it was time for dinner, we sat the little girl down, I presented her the soup with a flourish, and waited to see her response like any new chef facing their first critical review.
She looked at it, merely looked at it, and said, very politely and calmly, "no, thank you."
Behind her, my pent up breath became a sigh, and I just about slid to the floor in frustration like a deflated balloon.
"But it's carrot soup! There's chicken and noodle, and you like them!" I said, trying not to plead yet, and hoping to entice her with a spoonful of a bit of everything (that I spent so much time bending over the cutting board to chop up finely). The red and green and creamy white of the ingredients look so lovely together. The little girl turned her head aside, closed her eyes, and said firmly "I don't like it."
So what was supposed to be a peaceful meal in which she discovers the wonders of vegetable became the typical battle with me insisting that she must at least try one bite before she pushes the bowl away, and her with her mouth pressed firmly into a firm line.
Threats were issued, bribes were considered, and tears flowed. In the end, I had to deliberately keep my voice low, or else I knew I'd be flying off the roof. In the end, the little girl's stubbornness won out, and she was sent to bed without supper or dessert. (Before anyone calls child service, you must know that she is of healthy weight, well fed when she deigns to eat, and is in no way malnourished.)
Dejected as I was with her refusal to eat, I managed to see the bright side of things: at least her manner was intact, even when she's being difficult.
Days later, I shared the story with my mom, who lives in Taiwan, over the phone.
This is not the first of the little girl's picky eater stories. This time, my mother couldn't take it anymore, and, with good intentions, admonished me for not trying harder. "You should at least half force-feed her," she said.
Force feeding a child is not uncommon among Taiwanese families. The goal is to get the child to be healthy and plump. I still remembered clearly how my mom would chase my sister or brother around the house to get a spoon of food into their mouth for more then an hour. I've also seen a friend forcing food into her daughter's mouth so much so that her baby girl threw it all up afterward.
With my history of issues with weight and eating, I especially want my child to have a healthy relationship with food. I want her to discover the joy of eating and the fun of trying new foods because she wants to, not because I'm breathing over her shoulder brandishing threats or dangling baits. I don't want food to become another power struggle either between us, or within her. All I can do now is to hold on to my "one bite, then tell me you don't like it" rule, and continue to redirect conversations with my mom when it touches upon eating. Just another act of juggling, no?
"I want carrot soup" she said one day, after a reading.
I just about jumped with joy at the proclamation. For the next meal, I eagerly and lovingly and made a big pot of chicken noodle soup with oodles of carrots.
When it was time for dinner, we sat the little girl down, I presented her the soup with a flourish, and waited to see her response like any new chef facing their first critical review.
She looked at it, merely looked at it, and said, very politely and calmly, "no, thank you."
Behind her, my pent up breath became a sigh, and I just about slid to the floor in frustration like a deflated balloon.
"But it's carrot soup! There's chicken and noodle, and you like them!" I said, trying not to plead yet, and hoping to entice her with a spoonful of a bit of everything (that I spent so much time bending over the cutting board to chop up finely). The red and green and creamy white of the ingredients look so lovely together. The little girl turned her head aside, closed her eyes, and said firmly "I don't like it."
So what was supposed to be a peaceful meal in which she discovers the wonders of vegetable became the typical battle with me insisting that she must at least try one bite before she pushes the bowl away, and her with her mouth pressed firmly into a firm line.
Threats were issued, bribes were considered, and tears flowed. In the end, I had to deliberately keep my voice low, or else I knew I'd be flying off the roof. In the end, the little girl's stubbornness won out, and she was sent to bed without supper or dessert. (Before anyone calls child service, you must know that she is of healthy weight, well fed when she deigns to eat, and is in no way malnourished.)
Dejected as I was with her refusal to eat, I managed to see the bright side of things: at least her manner was intact, even when she's being difficult.
Days later, I shared the story with my mom, who lives in Taiwan, over the phone.
This is not the first of the little girl's picky eater stories. This time, my mother couldn't take it anymore, and, with good intentions, admonished me for not trying harder. "You should at least half force-feed her," she said.
Force feeding a child is not uncommon among Taiwanese families. The goal is to get the child to be healthy and plump. I still remembered clearly how my mom would chase my sister or brother around the house to get a spoon of food into their mouth for more then an hour. I've also seen a friend forcing food into her daughter's mouth so much so that her baby girl threw it all up afterward.
With my history of issues with weight and eating, I especially want my child to have a healthy relationship with food. I want her to discover the joy of eating and the fun of trying new foods because she wants to, not because I'm breathing over her shoulder brandishing threats or dangling baits. I don't want food to become another power struggle either between us, or within her. All I can do now is to hold on to my "one bite, then tell me you don't like it" rule, and continue to redirect conversations with my mom when it touches upon eating. Just another act of juggling, no?
Monday, April 13, 2009
Spiderman?
It's been more than a month since I last wrote you. It's not that I haven't think about you. Oh, no, you occupy my thoughts constantly, if not in the forefront, then taking up a large corner of my mind. Even your vigorous sister who fills the house with laughter, songs, and joy couldn't completely distract me from thinking of you, the quiet little one hiding in my belly.
Before last week, when we ask your sister what mommy has in my belly, she'd reply "baby sister." Following up that question by asking what she has in her belly, and she'd reply "baby brother." So there. I guess it's hard to decide whether a baby sister is better or a baby brother, so she came up a way to cover both bases. Starting last week, ask your sister what I have in my belly, she'd reply "Superman." And ask her what she has in her belly, she'd reply "Spiderman." Hm.... what is she trying to tell me of the future?
Today, you somewhat proved that your sister was right.
Today was a big day. It was supposed to be the day that we see you for the first time on the prenatal screening ultrasound, and listen in to your heartbeat. I've been just about kept on the edge of my seat waiting for these two appointments of utmost importance for weeks. For until now, I only had that six little white sticks (seven counting the one they did at the clinic) with that additional positive line telling me that you are here. (I do have an expanding midsection that hints at a baby bump, but that could also be from bloating or a cookie too many. It does not indicate your well being.) I was (and still am) really looking forward to some concrete evidence of your existence and to learn how you are. But as I was racing back from school for the ultrasound, I got a call from the ultrasound department telling me that two of their three machines broke down, and I will have to wait some more before we could finally see you. That's okay, I thought to myself, we still get to hear your heartbeat for the first time at our regular checkup. Not so. The midwife got right down to the business when she saw me, gooped up the doppler and went in search for your heartbeat. She searched, and searched, and searched. We heard a lot of mommy's heartbeat, strong and fast because of how anxious I was, but not yours. The midwife, however, told us she did hear you in passing, but you must be hiding in the back, and she couldn't get a clear spot to capture your heartbeat. So, Superman or Spiderman? I guess you are playing to be Spiderman today, hanging somewhere on the side of my uterus. I left the examination room without any release from my high level of stress (and high blood pressure). But I did carry home with me a glimmer of hope. The midwife said she heard you. I have no idea whether she was telling the truth or not, but I don't care. It was not much, but I will hold on to it as proof of you.
In a few more days, we get to try the ultrasound again. Please, little one, please, let me see you hail and well swiming about, and a strong heartbeat with a rythm of the galloping of a fine horse. That, is all I ask of you.
Before last week, when we ask your sister what mommy has in my belly, she'd reply "baby sister." Following up that question by asking what she has in her belly, and she'd reply "baby brother." So there. I guess it's hard to decide whether a baby sister is better or a baby brother, so she came up a way to cover both bases. Starting last week, ask your sister what I have in my belly, she'd reply "Superman." And ask her what she has in her belly, she'd reply "Spiderman." Hm.... what is she trying to tell me of the future?
Today, you somewhat proved that your sister was right.
Today was a big day. It was supposed to be the day that we see you for the first time on the prenatal screening ultrasound, and listen in to your heartbeat. I've been just about kept on the edge of my seat waiting for these two appointments of utmost importance for weeks. For until now, I only had that six little white sticks (seven counting the one they did at the clinic) with that additional positive line telling me that you are here. (I do have an expanding midsection that hints at a baby bump, but that could also be from bloating or a cookie too many. It does not indicate your well being.) I was (and still am) really looking forward to some concrete evidence of your existence and to learn how you are. But as I was racing back from school for the ultrasound, I got a call from the ultrasound department telling me that two of their three machines broke down, and I will have to wait some more before we could finally see you. That's okay, I thought to myself, we still get to hear your heartbeat for the first time at our regular checkup. Not so. The midwife got right down to the business when she saw me, gooped up the doppler and went in search for your heartbeat. She searched, and searched, and searched. We heard a lot of mommy's heartbeat, strong and fast because of how anxious I was, but not yours. The midwife, however, told us she did hear you in passing, but you must be hiding in the back, and she couldn't get a clear spot to capture your heartbeat. So, Superman or Spiderman? I guess you are playing to be Spiderman today, hanging somewhere on the side of my uterus. I left the examination room without any release from my high level of stress (and high blood pressure). But I did carry home with me a glimmer of hope. The midwife said she heard you. I have no idea whether she was telling the truth or not, but I don't care. It was not much, but I will hold on to it as proof of you.
In a few more days, we get to try the ultrasound again. Please, little one, please, let me see you hail and well swiming about, and a strong heartbeat with a rythm of the galloping of a fine horse. That, is all I ask of you.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Hello there
Writing to you now makes you a little more real. You are there in me, right? Can you hear my thoughts?
Nausea, tiredness, restless nights, and extreme gas pains. All the glories of being pregnant. All the joyful glories, and I'm not being sarcastic. Being at so early a stage, there's little for me to tell how you are doing, except for these discomforts that come with being pregnant. So, any symptom, big or small, as uncomfortable as it makes me, is welcomed, and I suffer through them gladly.
You should be about a couple of days shy of seven weeks along. Perhaps the size of a grain of rice? Just the size of a grain of rice, but it seems like I've grown already. My belly bulges out a bit, just under my bellybutton, where the womb should be. The little bulge may be invisible to others, but knowing my body, I'm quite certain of its existence, of your existence. How are you doing in there? Are you getting enough nutrient? Am I rested enough for you? Have I prepared a nice enough environment for you to be in? I must confess that I have not really thought of you as a baby much, mostly out of the fear of losing you. I am also less obsessed about being pregnant. This time, I didn't hover on pregnancy boards, didn't even dare start a pregnancy counter until today. This time, I'm also much more patient and able to hold you as a secret. As if keeping the secret close to my heart would help you stay and grow and claim your place in the world. As if by keeping you a secret, I'll be able to keep us both strong and ward off, as Chinese saying goes, jealously from heaven and ill luck. When I was carrying your sister, I counted days and felt like each day dragged by. With you, though I'm still counting days, it's mostly to track how time has progressed, and am just content to go one more day with everything seemingly happening as it should.
Dear one, with your sister to distract you and my school work hovering over my shoulders, I might not be able to devote all my thoughts to you, but know that you are constantly on my mind, like a little seed that's been planted deep in my heart.
Nausea, tiredness, restless nights, and extreme gas pains. All the glories of being pregnant. All the joyful glories, and I'm not being sarcastic. Being at so early a stage, there's little for me to tell how you are doing, except for these discomforts that come with being pregnant. So, any symptom, big or small, as uncomfortable as it makes me, is welcomed, and I suffer through them gladly.
You should be about a couple of days shy of seven weeks along. Perhaps the size of a grain of rice? Just the size of a grain of rice, but it seems like I've grown already. My belly bulges out a bit, just under my bellybutton, where the womb should be. The little bulge may be invisible to others, but knowing my body, I'm quite certain of its existence, of your existence. How are you doing in there? Are you getting enough nutrient? Am I rested enough for you? Have I prepared a nice enough environment for you to be in? I must confess that I have not really thought of you as a baby much, mostly out of the fear of losing you. I am also less obsessed about being pregnant. This time, I didn't hover on pregnancy boards, didn't even dare start a pregnancy counter until today. This time, I'm also much more patient and able to hold you as a secret. As if keeping the secret close to my heart would help you stay and grow and claim your place in the world. As if by keeping you a secret, I'll be able to keep us both strong and ward off, as Chinese saying goes, jealously from heaven and ill luck. When I was carrying your sister, I counted days and felt like each day dragged by. With you, though I'm still counting days, it's mostly to track how time has progressed, and am just content to go one more day with everything seemingly happening as it should.
Dear one, with your sister to distract you and my school work hovering over my shoulders, I might not be able to devote all my thoughts to you, but know that you are constantly on my mind, like a little seed that's been planted deep in my heart.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Staying pregnant
I took the last pregnancy test a few days ago. With the positive line bold, bright, and even more prominent than the default line, I've left it on the bathroom counter like a good talisman. I stare at the brash positive line, and found myself thinking of it as a good omen, or even a protection that would ward of ill fortunes. I feel like I could slay dragons and fend off monsters wielding this short, white, plastic stick with a window showing two obvious lines as sword. All I need now is for lines to remain strong and true.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
The appearance of the second line.
Valentine's day morning, after days of internal debate on whether I should wait an extra day or not, I did the test while the little girl played on the bath mat. As the test area dampens and the default line appears, a second line so very slowly materialized. A faint but unmistakable second line. Needing a bit more confirmation, I directed the little girl's attention to the stick, "look honey, can you count how many lines there are?" "One, two, three, four, five, six..." she counted on, not surprisingly, and made me smile.
It's been a few more days and two more positive tests since then, but I've only allowed myself to be very cautiously optimistic about it. I'm still carefully examining everything my body is feeling or going through, and constantly update my mental scoreboard of good and bad symptoms. Pimples? Negative one. Funky feeling in legs? Negative one. Lack of appetite? Could happen in both cases, a wash out. The problem is, how can you score the absence of something if it could occur at any point of time to dash every bit of hope?
Last time, I let myself to be overly confident of things to come. I believed that everything in life would unfold as I wanted it to, and was reminded of how little control I have over life. This time, I'll wait some more before I start to celebrate.
It's been a few more days and two more positive tests since then, but I've only allowed myself to be very cautiously optimistic about it. I'm still carefully examining everything my body is feeling or going through, and constantly update my mental scoreboard of good and bad symptoms. Pimples? Negative one. Funky feeling in legs? Negative one. Lack of appetite? Could happen in both cases, a wash out. The problem is, how can you score the absence of something if it could occur at any point of time to dash every bit of hope?
Last time, I let myself to be overly confident of things to come. I believed that everything in life would unfold as I wanted it to, and was reminded of how little control I have over life. This time, I'll wait some more before I start to celebrate.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Please
It's like an unspeakable itch that can't be fully scratched, this desire for a second child.
Like a a broken faucet drip-dropping in the back of my head but cannot be stopped.
Everywhere I look, there are either family with multiple children closely set in age, or a pregnant mom with a belly big and round in front and a toddler no older than my own following her.
When I had the false positive a while back, it was not a sense of excitement that went through me, but a serenity. I was fulfilled. A missing piece was found. I was whole. I was content. I could let go of my baby making obsession. Everything was as it should be. Yes, the house still needs cleaning, work still needs to be done, and the laundry that's been sitting in the baskets since Sunday still needs to be folded. But, a second child was coming, and the world was all right.
The sense of completeness went down the toilet, figuratively and in actuality within two weeks.
Here I am, again, tilted. Weighed to the side by the burning want to bear a sister/brother for my oldest.
Calendars were consulted. Actions were taken. Omens were sought. If only it would happen.
Like a a broken faucet drip-dropping in the back of my head but cannot be stopped.
Everywhere I look, there are either family with multiple children closely set in age, or a pregnant mom with a belly big and round in front and a toddler no older than my own following her.
When I had the false positive a while back, it was not a sense of excitement that went through me, but a serenity. I was fulfilled. A missing piece was found. I was whole. I was content. I could let go of my baby making obsession. Everything was as it should be. Yes, the house still needs cleaning, work still needs to be done, and the laundry that's been sitting in the baskets since Sunday still needs to be folded. But, a second child was coming, and the world was all right.
The sense of completeness went down the toilet, figuratively and in actuality within two weeks.
Here I am, again, tilted. Weighed to the side by the burning want to bear a sister/brother for my oldest.
Calendars were consulted. Actions were taken. Omens were sought. If only it would happen.
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