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.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
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?
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