Hello

Hello baby, I think I felt you again just then. And this time, it was definitely you, not gas. Little, tiny thumps on the lower half of my abdomen. Almost like a hiccup. Could it be though? At this early stage?
We saw you this afternoon, me and your daddy. At 16 weeks and 3 days according to the chart or 17 weeks and 5 days according to the ultrasound, you are still small enough to have room to move around. We saw your open hands, your curled up legs, your little heart pumping strong and beautiful at 157 beats per minute, and what could be the indication of you being a boy. Today, you looked healthy and strong. Growing steadily and meeting the doctor's expectations. Seeing you doing so wonderfully eased my mind, if just a bit. Two weeks ago, mommy caught fifth disease (Parvovirus), and now the fear of it passing through the placenta to impact you hangs constantly over my head. That is why we got to see you this one extra time before the big 18 weeks ultrasound. And that is also why we will be seeing you once a week for the next 10-12 weeks afterward. We need to make sure your bone marrow is consistently producing healthy blood cells as it should be, and that there is no sign of you being anemic. Because of this worry, I have been holding on to every news about you tightly, sharing it only sparsely with the world, as if doing so could safe guard you somehow. Silly thoughts, I know. But when there's so little I can do but provide you a place to exist and grow, there is so little in my control that I have to hold on to every bit of it. Your sisters are enthusiastically learning everything about you though. We told them that they should be expecting a baby brother, but that you are still tiny and needs time to grow in my belly. Since that little piece of information was given, every time Lauren sees me, she reconfirms the fact that you are growing in my belly, and that you still need time to grow some more before you can come out. She can't wait for you to be out so she can hug you, hold you, take care of you, and play with you. In fact, you were the number one item on her Christmas list. We had to tell her that you are out of Santa's jurisdiction. So funny, the third time around and the thought of a little life living inside of me is still such a curious one that seems incredulous and amazing. Since the second trimester, I've been feeling a lot better in terms of morning sickness. It almost feel like my body is back to be my own, but it's not. For there's you. Yet for the longest time I have yet to grow big nor feel you. Now there's that little thump. I am so glad you are actively reminding me of your existence. I can't wait to have a big belly and feel you straining against my skin, poking and elbowing and kicking and ready to be free. Feeling your sister's body snuggling close to me at bed time, I wondered what you would be like. Would it be completely different from having little girls? Would you like to snuggle as much as your sisters? What would I need to do differently? Would you be okay with so much pink stuff around? How am I suppose to potty train you? I hope I will do you go. I know I will try. For now, stay and grow. I will try my best to keep you safe and healthy. Know that I love you. We all do.

You climbed into our bed last night scratching furiously at the bug bite on the back of your hand. It was swollen and inflamed. A nasty sight. Groggy and desperate of sleep, I asked you to bring over the medicine on your bathroom counter, and you did without complaint, even though the hallways were dark and the house was quiet. Even though you are often scared of the night. I listened to your quick, four-year-old sized footsteps as you raced down the hall, switched on the light, used the bathroom and then rushed back, medicine and Q-tip clutched in your hand. Medicine applied, you snuggled close beside me and went back to sleep.
A typical night of a mother; interrupted sleep that is dotted with the pride felt for a well behaved child, and the sweetness of being loved.

Swing

At your request, we stopped by the play ground on our way home from dropping your sister off at school.
All you wanted to do there was swing, and so swing we did.
You started off on the baby bucket swing. After a few minutes, you pointed at the normal swing and told me you want to be on the "big swing". "With mommy?" I asked. "Yes," you answered. Off we we went swinging on the big swing, you snugly in my lap, me a bit uncomfortably on the almost-too-small swing, arms looped around the chains and fingers laced in front of your chest. Every time I kick forward, your body would sway towards me. When we rock forward, my arms act as safety belt to keep you securely within my lap.
The sun shone golden on the soft, new leaves above our heads. The wind, brisk as it was, tickled. Front and back we swung, listening to birds sing, pointing out airplanes in the sky, and watched as trees danced in the wind. Sometimes we swung in silent, sometimes I sing a little tune, until I felt your body relaxing against mine, and your head leaning against my arm. A quick peak found you comfortably asleep as I continued to swing, back and forth, back and forth.
I slowed down, stopped, carried a sleeping you back into the car, and hope that I would never, ever forget the simple joy and love that was this morning.

"He's autistic"

It was only 1:30pm when I found myself glancing at the clock every few minutes or so and wishing that it's really much later then it was. Preferably around 5:30 when soon we would hear the key turn in the door, and the girls' father comes home to share the joy of parenting that seems like a lie people tells to get you to reproduce. Sure signs of a rough afternoon. Rather than stay at home where emotional land minds are everywhere and tantrum triggers hide in wait at every corner, I packed up the girls and escaped to an indoor play area that will distract us all.

What with the wet weather and a scheduled birthday party, the place was packed with kids and parents. Though quite chaotic, everyone seemed to be playing nicely enough for me to set the girls free (with supervision, of course). The girls soon claimed two Tiny Tikes cars (you know, the kind that you drive Flintstones-style with your feet) and drove around town until a boy of perhaps 5 approached Evelyn's car. Judging by his body language, I knew he was ready to try something for the car. I stayed away to see how Evelyn would respond. (We're working on getting her to stand her own ground.)

The boy used no words. He pulled at the car door. Evelyn tensed up but did nothing but looked at him blankly. Seeing that she did not budge, he went and sat on the back of her car. She cried to me for help and that scared him away.

I went and spoke briefly with Evelyn to offer her some comfort and tell her what to do in these occasions. After I left, the boy came back and upped the level of attack. He held on to the car door, shook it hard, and tried to grab Evelyn while she, again, shut down and endured in silence. This time I rushed over before it got out of hand, and told him to stop in my "if you don't listen to me you will be in big trouble, buddy" voice. That sent him running away with a squeal to a corner of the little cafe where two women were thoroughly engaged in conversation. Maybe one of them is his mother, I thought, and would do something to stop him. But no one paid him any mind. While I was talking Evelyn through what just happened, I saw the boy inching back towards us. His eyes were on me and the hand holding a toy was raised. He came near and tried to struck me. ME! An adult who is, what, 1.5 times his size! What the heck! Where's the respect?

The attempt was aborted when I turned towards him to ask him where his parent was. He ran away like before to the same corner. And then, and then, he rush back to tentatively poke my shoulder when I had my back turned. A puny attempt. Such a pathetic, cowardly thing to do. What, you can't even be a proper bully and had to wait until I had my back turned to act? And even then you can only deliver such a sad little poke?

Any way, his mother finally showed up and gave chase as he ran away to hide in a play house. Turns out she was one of the conversing women! While her son was bullying my daughter and then tried to bully me, she was only a few feet away and did nothing! Furthermore, she did nothing about what she just witnessed except offering him the car that Evelyn finally gave up! No stern talking to. No time out. No "go apologize". Nothing.

My blood began to boil. As soon as she sat back with her friend, I went over and told her that her son was physically antagonizing my child, hoping to get some response out of her. She gave a noncommittal answer that was little better than a shrug, and turned her attention back to her friend. What? WHAT? Did you not hear what I just told you? Did you not see what went on? Oh, I'm sorry, is my topic not as fun as what your conversation is about? Are you blind to what's going on here? Your son is only five, probably 3.5 feet tall and already destructive and harmful. What would happen if he continues to get his way? What would happen when he hits adolescence when he grew to his full height and weight? Who would be his targets? Who would not be?

Her lack of reaction made my face flush and my heart pound with anger, but also completely confused. Can any parent really be so indifferent to their child's behavior and upbringing? Was the boy's well being not at all important?

Her ambivalent threw me off. Rather than continue my half-ass confrontation (never good at it), I went back to the girls and proceed to watch the boy like a hawk in case he dare come near us again. The thing was, the play ground was so busy, he never lacked kids to pick on. He followed a 2-year-old girl around with a toy pointing at her as if its a weapon. Then, he joined two boys' rough housing, and carried it too far by hitting one of the boys' head with his toy, repeatedly. His mother chased him as he ran away again, and gave him a few words. A few words, that's it! After he bang someone's head intentionally and repeatedly! As I was watching it unfold, her friend appeared beside me and apologized for what had happened earlier.

"He's autistic," she explained, "it's been difficult..."

Autistic. The word was like a bucket of cold water dousing over my head. The rage that was burning in me? Disappeared with a puff of smoke. The hawk that was watching the boy? Turned into a little dung beetle and scuttled away. Everything that I've read about autism ran through my head. The temper tantrums, the dissociation with other people, and the communication obstacles. It must be difficult, I thought, and came up with some excuses for the boy and the mother. Maybe this was the first day they've gone out in a long while. Maybe the mother really needed a break. Maybe it has been a long time since she had a chance to catch up with a friend. Maybe... Yet hard as I try, none of the maybe's justify how she handled the boy's transgressions.

If the boy's behavior towards others was nothing new, should the mother not be monitoring him even more diligently? The crowds and sounds in the play ground may overwhelm any child, never mind a sensory sensitive autistic child. There were so many possible provocations to outbursts, and so many potentially harmful situations to him and others, should she not be paying closer attention?

I understand a mother's need (especially a stay-at-home mom's) to step out of the house and socialize with another adult, just to verify that there is still a living, thinking individual underneath the hubbub that is also called motherhood. There were times when I was tempted to drag the girls out for a play date, by their hair if need by, even if they kick and scream all the way, because of how much I craved for conversations that does not involve princesses or had to be spoken in mock cheerfulness or include words like "I'm going to count to three...". But you are never relieved of your parenting responsibilities when the child is with you no matter how lively your company, or how engaging the conversation you were having. Is it not our job to make sure that our children grow up to be proper human beings? Even with autism, the boy should still be taught about proper behavior, about boundaries, about right and wrong. Today, him still being just a boy, his actions and the consequences of them are his mother's to bear. What he had done at the play ground was no fault of his. The fault lies squarely on his mother's shoulders. This time, no one was injured and no one made any fuss. What happens if someone was really hurt?

I don't think I will ever forget the boy and his mother. In case you can't tell from this chapter I just wrote, I was quite shaken by the mother's handling of the situation. I sincerely hope that this was an off-day for an usually attentive and thoughtful mother, and that the boy will grow up okay. Or else... or else I wish the boy all the luck he needs to navigate through life unharmed and to do no harm to others.

Part-time? Full-time?

At Lauren's new play group yesterday, a mom asked me if I am a full-time mom. The assumption was that since I'm there on a Wednesday morning, I must be.
Surprisingly, I did not know how to answer her.
Am I a full-time mother when I rely on my mother-in-law to care for my children two days a week while I try to work towards a potential future career?
Am I only half-time then when motherhood is the main responsibilities and duties I perform?
Is it decided by the hours I put in into them? Or could it be measured by how much thought I put into each category?
Neither is never far from my mind. When I am working, the images of the little girls may be reduced to two little bean-like figures crouching at the edge of my mind, but they are never dispersed. When I am with them, the questions and issues I have towards work may be muted, but they never cease to nibble at my consciousness.
If you put school work and motherhood on the table and ask me to prioritize, motherhood definitely wins out. I will never render the primary care taker position of my girls to any one else. When I have the girls, we play, bake, read, sing, dance. I at most sneak a couple of minutes to check my email if I know something important is coming in (or if I am having a minor panic attack about my school work). On those days, I am not physically engaged with the academics. Does this make me a lesser would-be scholar?
But I've also handed a feverish child to her grandmother in order to attend class before. Does this make me a lesser mom?
I know I can't have it all. I am already lucky to have the support of my family to be on my quest for this degree. I dare not ask more of others but of myself to continue and try. Try and reach and pray that the carrot dangling in front of me is not fixed at arm's length, but would finally be within my grasp. More importantly, I pray that the carrot is as tasty and satisfying as I imagine it to be.

Loss

A childhood friend died suddenly of an illness last week.
She was one of my best friends in elementary school. I recall, easily, her smile, her voice, the way she talked. I remembered going to her house for a birthday get together (not many kids have birthday parties back then in Taiwan), and being in the band together. Last I saw her was probably on our graduation day over 20 years ago. And I didn't think of her much until last year, when we were all swept into a torrent of friend requests from long lost elementary school classmates. It was on a bright, sunny day when I saw my email account filled with friend requests from these long lost connections. Grown adult whose faces or postures carried hints of days of yore, but whose English names may give little clue as to who they were. I spent a good deal of time squinting at the tiny thumbnail profile pictures on my computer screen, trying to gather as many clues from the unfamiliar face in front of me to match up with the dusty images of children buried deep in my memory. Brows furrowed and eyes tearing up from hard use, there were many Eureka moments when a name was suddenly recalled, memories were polished and brought forth, and a face given context. Her face though, was not one that needed much effort to place. Even with an unfamiliar English name and a tiny thumbprint, I was able to recognize her in a glance. Still, with a gap of 20 years between us, the flow of old friend being known anew, and both not active status updaters, we never made direct contact. To know that we are connected by FB was somehow enough for me. I shouldn't have felt that way.
While whiling away the time nursing a flu-stricken child, I went online and was shocked to see RIP messages left on her wall. RIP, rest in peace. How? When? Not possible. No. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea of an old friend passed away. And yet it was real. I did not even know that she was sick. I obsessively went through her profile, read every message, scrutinized every photo, trying to make up for the chance that I missed to get to know a grown her. Where did she work? What was she like? How tall did she eventually grow to be? Did she still slouch like we both did when we were little girls? Was that picture taken in Boston Commons? Had she ever been in my neighborhood? I never get to hear her grown up voice, see her grown up feature, hear any story of hers. Now I never will. It was my own fault.
Carpe Diem, people say. Seize the day. Treasure those around you. Cherish health. Why does it always take a loss in such magnitude to shake people up?
Seize the day? Sure. To do what? Build new friendships? Reconnect with old ones? Hug your children a little more? Work a little harder toward a potentially fulfilling career? Enjoy life as if there is no tomorrow?
There are only 24 hours a day, and I am but one person with no answers. I make choices, and hopefully not ones that I will regret much later. These days though, I am regretting a choice I did not make, the choice of reaching out to her while I still had the chance. Now she is gone, and all I can do is think of her, and leave her messages on her wall, hoping that it would mean something.

"I'm in love"

Evelyn saw a boy asking a girl out on a date on TV the other day, and asked me what a "date" is. I told her it's how a boy and a girl spend time doing something together, getting to know each other, and they might eventually fall into love. She took this in, gave me a big smile, and told me that "I'm in love with Ryan," her best friend at school.
"Oh," I said, not fully sure how to react to this news.
"I'm going to marry him," she continued.
"Ah, really!" So many thoughts and feelings rushed through my head that I was at a lost for words.
"I'm going to marry him when I grow up," she fallowed up, giving me something to heave a big sigh of relief about.
"How old is 'grown up', Evelyn?" I asked. "16," she said.
"How about 26?" I suggested.

Evelyn's Valentine

Last week, we got a notice from Evelyn's teacher about Valentine's Day. The children will be making a Valentine's Day bag to be hung outside of the classroom. Whoever wishes to hand out Valentines to their friends are free to do so, but must give every children in the class one. Of course Evelyn would love to give out Valentines. That means Valentines for all 21 of her classmates. Now, one disadvantage of not growing up in the same culture and system that I am now raising my daughters in is that I have no experience in these things. I did not know that there are punch out Valentines that you can get in batches to be separated, signed, folded, and given out. My instinct was to make them. All 21 of them. So I went online and Googled Valentine's card ideas (no one mentioned punch out cards there, either), and picked one that I think should be easy to execute. It involves using a cookie cutter to cut out potato stamps to stamp out pretty pictures. It took us two days to complete the cards. Two days of frantic but restrained "Evelyn! Don't smear it!" and "Evelyn! Don't move until I get there!" and "Evelyn! Think before you do something!" By 8:30pm on Sunday night, we had all 21 cards made, signed (all by Evelyn) and ready to go. Evelyn had a blast stamping, making pictures, and signing her name. Her sister had a blast trying to taste painted potato stamps and getting her hands on paint brushes. And I survived with still some hair on my head.

These cards are by no means perfect; there are runny inks, water stains, and innovative word placements, but I can proudly say that Evelyn did most of the work. Not only that, but she did it without screaming, fussing, or giving up. I sincerely hope that her friends know to appreciate the effort that went into these cards!