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.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
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.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Mother's day and motherhood
As we stepped into the ice cream shop after our long walk on the trail, I noticed the little sign plastered on the counter. "Mother's Eat Free" it says, and with a jolt, I realized that includes me.
Now this is silly, for I embraced motherhood the minute I was allowed onto its golden path. It was my dream come true, and I never gave a second thought when referring to myself as mommy when talking to and caring for my little one. But somehow, I must have thought of being a mom a special treat, and I only get to play one in certain places among certain people, like at home or in the mothers group that I go to, but not necessarily among strangers in the outside world. Then, as I stood in the busy ice cream parlor where other moms, confident and sure of what they are doing, herded kids in and out, I was recognized as a mom, too, at the counter by people who don't know me, and offered the free serving. Holding the ice cream cup, I felt like I was given a badge of honor, was told that yes, my membership is valid, and I am not only allowed in the sacred club, but can will stay a member throughout my life time. I, am a mother. And I, get to eat free ice cream on mother's day. How cool is that?
Now this is silly, for I embraced motherhood the minute I was allowed onto its golden path. It was my dream come true, and I never gave a second thought when referring to myself as mommy when talking to and caring for my little one. But somehow, I must have thought of being a mom a special treat, and I only get to play one in certain places among certain people, like at home or in the mothers group that I go to, but not necessarily among strangers in the outside world. Then, as I stood in the busy ice cream parlor where other moms, confident and sure of what they are doing, herded kids in and out, I was recognized as a mom, too, at the counter by people who don't know me, and offered the free serving. Holding the ice cream cup, I felt like I was given a badge of honor, was told that yes, my membership is valid, and I am not only allowed in the sacred club, but can will stay a member throughout my life time. I, am a mother. And I, get to eat free ice cream on mother's day. How cool is that?
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Saturday morning before Mother's day
I forgot that it's commencement at the College today. No wonder the Library is closed this morning. There's a wind pipe going. Are we a Scotish school? Lights are all dimmed except for the hall ways that I need to walk through. There were talks about the Library being haunted by the spirit of a sister. I am not going to think about that. I will focus on the bright blue sky and the lush green leaves of the maple tree right outside my window instead.
I am not in work mode. Found a bit of Macro code that I could use for an Excel sheet, applied that to my file, felt greatly accomplished, and am ready for a nap. Can't help it, little girl woke at 5:17am for some milk and play time. I was supposed to operate in silence, avoid eye contact, and put her down to bed with minimal interaction with her so she'd know it's not time to get up yet. But how could I not smile back and respond to her when she flashes the big, toothless smile at me that bespoke how glade she was to see me? So instead of crawling back in bed for some more needed rest, I read stories, changed diapers (two, she wet one and pooped in the other), pumped milk, and dozed a tiny bit while feeding her one more time before she fell asleep again. And now I'm at work. My eyes feel half their normal size, and my brain cries that it wants me to go sit under the big maple tree, gaze up at the swaying leaves under the bright blue sky and think of nothing. No, can't think of nothing, there is always my little girl to think of. That's what being a mother is like to me. My head my heart is always filled with the image of my little girl, the smell of her scent, the feel of her weight in my arms, and the warmth of her skin against mine. Maybe she's taking a nap now, and the sight of her sleeping angelically in her swing with her arms resting on her thighs comes to mind. Maybe she's playing with her daddy, and the sound of her cooing and images of her waving her small hands, exploring stuffed animals with her delicate fingers while her legs kicked strongly fill my head.
It is almost exactly one year since the pregnancy test showed positive of her. I remembered how I climbed back to bed to share the news with her daddy, and afterwards, we lay there in silence, both awashed in waves of emotion. I trembled as a quiet joy swelled in and filled my heart, as the realization of the tremendous responsibility of motherhood that I would soon take on dawned on me, as excitement and nervousness warred themselves into silly giddiness. And then, my belly started showing. And then, the baby started kicking. And then, we were in the hospital and this tiny little person came out of me and she looked at us and ate from my breast and I became a bona fide mommy. Never would I have imagined how beautiful our little girl is, how wonderful she makes life, and how amazing caring for her and watching her grow can be. I've always wanted to be a mother, and I didn't even know how great being a mother truly is.
Day after mother's day last year, she let us know of her existence. I've been thankful for it ever since. I don't need mother's day to celebrate motherhood. Being a mother is rewarding enough in itself. Sure I'm sleep deprived so much so that I couldn't think straight most of the times, and my memory has gaps as big as teathing rings; sure my hair is always a mess and chances are I smell like spit-up; sure the house is in disarray and the number of things that need organizing is too great to even start a list for them; but the little girl makes it all worth while. She makes it mother's day every day.
I am not in work mode. Found a bit of Macro code that I could use for an Excel sheet, applied that to my file, felt greatly accomplished, and am ready for a nap. Can't help it, little girl woke at 5:17am for some milk and play time. I was supposed to operate in silence, avoid eye contact, and put her down to bed with minimal interaction with her so she'd know it's not time to get up yet. But how could I not smile back and respond to her when she flashes the big, toothless smile at me that bespoke how glade she was to see me? So instead of crawling back in bed for some more needed rest, I read stories, changed diapers (two, she wet one and pooped in the other), pumped milk, and dozed a tiny bit while feeding her one more time before she fell asleep again. And now I'm at work. My eyes feel half their normal size, and my brain cries that it wants me to go sit under the big maple tree, gaze up at the swaying leaves under the bright blue sky and think of nothing. No, can't think of nothing, there is always my little girl to think of. That's what being a mother is like to me. My head my heart is always filled with the image of my little girl, the smell of her scent, the feel of her weight in my arms, and the warmth of her skin against mine. Maybe she's taking a nap now, and the sight of her sleeping angelically in her swing with her arms resting on her thighs comes to mind. Maybe she's playing with her daddy, and the sound of her cooing and images of her waving her small hands, exploring stuffed animals with her delicate fingers while her legs kicked strongly fill my head.
It is almost exactly one year since the pregnancy test showed positive of her. I remembered how I climbed back to bed to share the news with her daddy, and afterwards, we lay there in silence, both awashed in waves of emotion. I trembled as a quiet joy swelled in and filled my heart, as the realization of the tremendous responsibility of motherhood that I would soon take on dawned on me, as excitement and nervousness warred themselves into silly giddiness. And then, my belly started showing. And then, the baby started kicking. And then, we were in the hospital and this tiny little person came out of me and she looked at us and ate from my breast and I became a bona fide mommy. Never would I have imagined how beautiful our little girl is, how wonderful she makes life, and how amazing caring for her and watching her grow can be. I've always wanted to be a mother, and I didn't even know how great being a mother truly is.
Day after mother's day last year, she let us know of her existence. I've been thankful for it ever since. I don't need mother's day to celebrate motherhood. Being a mother is rewarding enough in itself. Sure I'm sleep deprived so much so that I couldn't think straight most of the times, and my memory has gaps as big as teathing rings; sure my hair is always a mess and chances are I smell like spit-up; sure the house is in disarray and the number of things that need organizing is too great to even start a list for them; but the little girl makes it all worth while. She makes it mother's day every day.
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