Wednesday, March 12, 2014

How to Stop Cursing, or, I Speak So Much Less Now

My kid cannot speak yet. He has no words. He has grunts and babbles and this weird throat growl that is actually pretty creepy. 

But one day, possibly soon, he will have words, and I will be kicking myself for not stopping the flow of obscenities that so naturally come to me in times of panic. 

The husband says I should stop saying words that I do not want him to say. That is much easier said than done. My saint-like husband has cursed exactly seven times in his life, and twice that word was 'crap.' 

He is right, though. The boy is pretty smart, and I'm fairly certain he will go straight past one-word exclamations to full on sentences. And then I will be in trouble. Lots and lots of trouble. 

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Empty Hearts

I try not to make things on Facebook bother me, but every once in awhile, I get really, really annoyed. 

This is what set me off this week.

I mean, I get it, people love their kids. I love my kid. And, I understand that this is not an intentional judgement on people without kids. But, seriously, SERIOUSLY. 

Maybe I'm too quick find suspicion in these cutesy little pictures with words on it that are not meant to be harmful or shaming. It is nice. It is cute. It is the feeling that certain people have. 

I, however, do not have these feelings. 

Again, I love my kid. He is inquisitive and funny and smiley and smart and I am thankful for him. But I am not happy because of him. I am happy with him. My heart was full before him, and it is full still. 

The thing I dislike about this so much is not that whoever came up with this thinks that all child-free people have clean homes or full wallets (as someone who was married and child-free for 10 years, I laugh at that), it is that there is the assumption that child-free people have empty (insert cold, barren, unfeeling) hearts. 

Wednesday, October 16, 2013


I get a text message from the husband yesterday that says:

We have gotten into a situation where the boy is in the bedroom and I am in the living room and he's on his knees pushing the door closed and fussing because he can't get out



I feel guilty a lot.

Shocker, I know, especially if you know me and my family and the fact that one of my mottos is "Asian Guilt Runs Deep." 

My mom is great at the guilt-trip, not necessarily because she tries to, but because I think she thinks she is showing love. Example: "I hate that you live so far away. I just miss you so much. What did I do to make both my children move away?" 

I get that one several times a year.

My mom, of course, is a natural at guilt, because she also feels guilty most of the time. This comes from my grandma, the queen of guilting, and who also feels lots and lots of remorse over many, many things she cannot change. It's a vicious cycle.

It isn't just my family that makes me feel guilty. Inanimate objects, including our car seat, certain pieces of clothing, his pack n play, and especially the baby book, make me feel like a failure.

Oh, the baby book. Some friends even did me a favor and bought me one where all you have to do is fill in the blanks. Date of birth. Write it in. Weight. Write it in. Favorite food. What the hell? How am I supposed to know what his favorite food is? Everything. Everything is his favorite food. Peas. Prunes. Paper. The carpet. The cat. And now I feel guilty that I don't know what his favorite food is.

This has become my life. 

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Non-Recap Recap

Hello friends. It's been a long time. Apparently, taking care of another person really takes up a bit of time. Who knew?

Not a ton happening around here. The boy is currently 6 1/2 months old. I consistently forget to make his 6 month well child visit appointment, and remember right around... 6:41 pm. When the doctor's office is closed. Cool. So, no stats of weight or head size or length. Sorry.

What I can tell you is that my boy has taken to solid (well, pureed) foods with a vigor he never had for the boob. He dives towards it, mouth wide open, ready for whatever we can fit on his little plastic spoon. He doesn't care what it tastes like, he just knows he wants it, and is willing to strangle the cat to get to it. It's ok, he hasn't yet.

He has also had his first official road trip -- a full 8 hours down to Maryland -- and was perfect the whole way, except for the last 10 minutes when he went crazy. It was the opposite on the way back, when he was a screaming siren in the back seat for a full 4 hours, from somewhere in New Jersey to 15 minutes away from home when he fell asleep, exhausted and sweaty. That was fun.

On that trip to Maryland, the husband's family did their best to ruin the amazing schedule we had set for him, and that he was adhering to rather well. With us, he eats four times a day. On the grandparents watch, it was a free for all. He ate for as long or as little as he wanted to, as many times as he wanted, with many, many breaks in between. And, he turned into a monster.

I'd like to blame the family for that horrible car ride.

Thankfully, he is back to being the ridiculously easy baby that has become a weird source of pride for me, like I did anything to cause this to happen. But, still, I feel all superior and mother-of-the-year when people tell me how great he is. I know, I say, attempting to look like I'm just thankful he has all his appendages. But, on the inside, I'm all like, heck yeah, he's awesome. That's my overachiever.

I spend a lot of time, actually, moving from anxiety to guilty to grateful to superior. It's not healthy (except the grateful part) but I can't help it.

And, that's a rambling, not-so-recappy recap of the past two months.

Saturday, June 22, 2013


The boy and I went for a run the other day, and I realized something: My town is full of nannies. More specifically, my town is full of households that can afford nannies. 

It's a wonder, really. 

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Well-Baby Exam 4

Little Ferris Drooler had his four month check up last week.

I think we are all a bit traumatized by it.

He got his immunizations, which made him scream so bad it reminded me of the time he fell off the couch. (Yes, that happened. I nearly peed my pants I was so scared. Can we not talk about it anymore, please?) He had to be naked for a little too long in his opinion. He got his head measured by that scary nurse. He had to be put on that old-school scale with the weights. (Seriously? What happened to the digital scales? I mean, this is why he has both pooped and peed on the scale at different times. Archaic.)

Good news, though. He is a giant, who is about double his birth weight, with a gigantic head and a tall body. Perfect. He has my round head and his pop's tall body. Like a golfball on a tee. Cute.

Sunday, June 16, 2013


I want to tell you a little secret.

It's a secret that has saved me many a time during this first part of new parenthood. And, it is a secret that may just save you.

Sometimes it is way easier to lie.


I know, generally, in life, lying can be easier than telling the truth. It is easier not to take the blame, or disappoint, or confront. I try my best not to lie in real life, because I have a super guilty conscience, and I am always afraid I will get found out and get in trouble. So I don't do it.

But, I find myself lying more and more lately when it comes to parenthood.

I lie to complete strangers who ask me if he's hit some obscure milestone. (What I say: Yes, of course he has started sitting up by himself and rolling over. What I think: Oh God, he is developmentally delayed. Must read more. Should have played baby Mozart in the womb. Bad Mommy.)

I lie when a very nice coworker asks me if I miss him terribly. (What I say: Oh, every minute. It seems like an eternity until I get home. What I think: I kind of forgot I have a kid. Extra bad Mommy.)

Or, when someone asks me if I just love being a mom. (What I say: Yeah, of course I do. It's the best job in the world. What I think: Most of the time. I like it most of the time. Except when he won't stop crying. That part sucks.)

Or, when a person exclaims, Don't you just love that baby smell? (What I say: Uh huh. What I think: He smells like sweat and has the worst farts ever. Like dog. Or garbage. Or, a dog who ate garbage.)

I lie when people ask me if I'm getting sleep, because I know they kind of want to hear I'm not because they can be sympathetic and relive their own hellish newborn days. So I say it's sporadic, though, really, he is a pretty impressive sleeper.

It isn't good to lie. Really. But, I'm in survival mode. I'm allowed.

Thursday, June 06, 2013

Boob Hate

My kid hates the boob.

I mean, he wasn't really a fan of it from the beginning, but seemed to tolerate it after awhile. But, now that I'm back at work, he really prefers the bottle filled with cold, refreshing breast milk or formula.

It isn't that I have not been trying. I was putting him on the boob at least once a day, then, suddenly, he decided he hates it. Like, he actually sticks his tongue out and says, 'bleh,' and has a disgusted look on his face. It is actually pretty funny, in a sad and offending kind of way. But he's four months old. I'll get over it.

Tuesday, June 04, 2013

Working Mama

Well, this reluctant parent is back at work full time now. And it is kind of great.

Can I say that?

People are constantly asking me if I miss him, or wish I could be at home with him, or if I'm sad.

Short answer: No.

Long answer: Sometimes.

I mean, if he walked into my workplace, I would of course be happy to see him. And, thankfully, husband likes to drive me in to work every once in awhile, which means little Ferris Drooler comes in and drools all over my work clothes and the clothes of my coworkers. And we all like it.

But do I wish I stay home with him all the time? No. And, I think that's all right.

I give much respect to the moms and dads out there who stay at home full time. I am so thankful I have a spouse who can take care of our kid while I'm at work. I'm also so thankful to the fact that he can supplement our income by working with friends, or using his mad graphic design skills, or just being awesome and finding things to do that will make money.

We don't have the most typical standard of living. But we like it. It suits us.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Ferris Drooler

Darth Maul is getting a new nickname. He doesn't look anything like that ultrasound / scary sith-lord apprentice anymore, and I don't think of him like that, so out with the DM references.

New nickname: Ferris Drooler. Because he drools all the time. Yeah.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

X-Ray Machines

Before leaving home for Florida, I was checking out the TSA website for info about flying with kids. 

I came across this little gem:

Passengers cannot leave babies in an infant carrier and attempt to put it through the X-ray machine. Babies should be carried through a walk through metal detector by a parent or guardian.

Do people really ask about doing this? I mean, really, unprocessed film can't go through those machines. You really want your kid going through?

Tuesday, April 09, 2013

10 Tips For Flying With a Newborn

Husband and I decided to take DM to Florida to visit the new grandparents a few days after he turned six weeks old and could get his first set of immunizations.

We had contemplated going earlier, at around four weeks, but I didn't want to be the parent who puts my un-immunized kid on a plane for three hours with all that recycled air. I wouldn't forgive myself if he caught something. Plus, we were going to take him to Disney, and there are A LOT of people around. So we waited.

Let me say, I was terrified of taking a newborn on a flight. If he went all ballistic then it would be three hours of hell. I was not super worried about other people's annoyance, though I did put us all the way at the back. And, I was not too concerned about taking him out in public, contrary to the immunization thing. I just tend to get a little anxious about new situations, and this was the newest.

Thankfully, he barely made a sound the entire flight, and husband held him the whole time. Plus, one of the flight attendants handed me a little pair of Jetblue wings "for the baby." They are my most favorite airline.

There are a few things that really helped us travel with a six week old.

1. I used a Moby wrap and wore him from the time we got out of the car, to when we got on the plane. I tied the Moby on when I was at home, so it would drag on the ground of the dirty airport and I was ready to shove him in there as soon as we got out of the car. I was also able to wear him through security, and TSA agents are really nice to tired looking parents with a child tied on.

2. We flew with Jetblue, which, as I said earlier, is my most favorite airline ever. It's nice to be able to check a bag and not pay extra for it. Especially when this small human seems to need so much stuff. Booking online is super easy, we could put DM's name right on the ticket as a 'lap infant,' and there really is no hassle at the airport. I've flown many other airlines. None come as close to awesome as Jetblue.

3. We made up all his formula and bottled breast milk ahead of time, so that when he did get cranky, we could just pop the bottle in his mouth. I understand that many parents have this 'babies cry' mentality, which seems to imply that they really don't care whether other people are bothered, but I would at least like to do my best to keep the crying at a minimum. Especially when I'm out in public or in a small enclosed metal bullet. I mean, really, if there is any time to over indulge your kid, it is when people are trapped with you.

4. We fed him while we took off, so that his little ears could more easily adjust to the altitude. Seemed to work. No screaming = winning.

5. Travel with basically nothing. It is wonderful to have family willing to get you a car seat, pack n play, diapers, wipes, a stroller, and pretty much anything you think you'll need. Not lugging a giant car seat and stroller combo was fantastic.

6. Be really, really good natured about the whole thing. I think people are more willing to be nice to you and tolerate you and your kid when you aren't being a tyrant or a demanding a-hole.

7. Pack the diapers, wipes, and food at the top of your carry on. You do not want to be digging through clothes and books when your kid is screaming for something.

8. Change the kid before you get on the plane. It is hard enough to get in those tiny airplane bathrooms when you are alone. Just imagine doing it with a writhing, crying, kicking kid. Newborns are surprisingly strong.

9. Bring a change of clothes. Include shirt, pants, socks, and underthings. I didn't need it on the plane, but DM just peed straight out of his diaper today onto my lap, and I was actually sitting in his pee. I really did not expect that. So, bring a change of clothes for you, the kid, and anyone traveling with you that may hold the baby for even a moment. That is enough time to have a pee / poop / puke storm.

10. Make sure you are well fed before getting on the plane. It will make you a nicer, more tolerant person.

Let's see how the return flight goes....

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Missed a Few Things

While reading through my blog, I realized I missed some stuff.

Like, I went to the doctor / hospital at least twice a week in January because, again, my stupid body was rebelling against me. Every time I went to my doctor, they would take my blood pressure and tell me it was dangerously high and that I needed to go to the hospital.

The first time this happened, we rushed to the hospital. I cried because I was scared and I didn't know what it all meant and I felt like a failure (this feeling is pretty common for me). By the sixth hour there, though, I started getting antsy and bored watching that episode of Friends where Rachel has Ross's baby. The nurses would glance up at the tv and say, "Yeah, it doesn't happen like that." Too bad.

The second time it happened, we were a bit slower to head to the hospital. We still went, but stopped for food on the way. That trip was only three hours.

The remaining times, we would go do our other errands and head to the hospital when we ran out of things to do. 

I also didn't write about the fact that I worked a lot, especially through the holidays, and was hellbent on not looking like I was slacking off because of my new, ginormous body. I'm not a fan of being all, 'I'm so awesome,' but, looking back, I have no idea how I managed to push through.

There were baby showers thrown by people who love me and put up with my very bratty demands. Maybe I would be less annoying about the whole thing and more grateful if I could do it all over again (apparently I am getting soft in my old age). And, yet, they still want to come visit and hold my boy and  not think too badly of me (as far as I know).

I also walked into a lot of things with that belly. When I turned around in the shower, my stomach would brush against the wall. That's how I knew I was huge. I walked into countless doorknobs and knocked things over and got stuck once trying to squeeze through a doorway blocked by some boxes. Thankfully, I had that nice layer of cushiony fat that protected the kid, and also caused my belly button to stay indented.

I stopped playing my guitar because I couldn't get my arm around my stomach and the guitar at the same time. Perhaps I should have invested in a lap harp.

Sometimes I miss being pregnant. Which is weird. And so not like me.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013


The alarm I set for DM's eating / sleeping / eating schedule has been a duck quacking since the beginning of his life.

Any time I need to wake him up for his next feeding, the duck quacks. And, now, when I forget to reset the alarm, I see him stir slightly.

I fear I have created an eating monster, who gets hungry every time a duck quacks. At the the park...when watching Donald Duck....

Monday, March 18, 2013


The Boy, also known as Darth Maul, will be 6 weeks old this week.

Some people say time just flies, but I think it is mostly from the fact that days just blur together, without any real marker to distinguish one from the next. When I think about his birth, that stay in the hospital, and that hellish first week home, it feels so long ago. However, when I think about my last day at work, it feels like last week.

We are heading to Florida this week to hang out with our families for a few weeks. I am a bit terrified of the travel, that he will go ballistic on the flight and there will be nothing we can do to stop it. Hopefully all that white noise and vibration from the plane with soothe him right to sleep. And if that doesn't work, I am not against feeding him for the entire three hours.

God help us all.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

An Abridged Birth Story

Well, it has happened. I have a kid. He's amazing.

Long story short, a little over two weeks ago I had a c-section to have this kid. Not in my plan at all, but, let me tell you, was the best thing for me. Seriously, I think I could have another kid that way. No pushing or terribleness of the other way. Just a clean cut, amazing painkillers, and four days of being catered to by nurses and food service people. It was wonderful.

I also feel like a badass, as I worked the entire day before my water broke. I also got a cold, which really sucked for my recovery, because I was coughing all over the place and it hurt like a mother.

So, yeah, my water broke the day before I actually had him, around 9 am, as I was crawling back into bed after going to pee. I felt a nice little whoosh, and headed straight back to the bathroom. Thankfully, I had laid out towels and a garbage bag under my sheets just in case the water broke in bed, though I really didn't need them. It made me feel better, just to be safe.

Then, half an hour later came the 'bloody show' which is super gross, though it really does sound worse than it is. I'm glad we watched a childbirth video, or else I would have freaked. I had already called the doctor, as my cool and calm husband started getting hilariously frantic. I can remember him getting all panicky and talking a little bit in circles. I tend to get into crisis mode when things happen, so I got to be the person asking if he was ok, and letting him know that all was well.

Then, we packed or repacked our bags, grabbed our pillows, took a few last pregnancy photos, and headed off to the hospital, where we spent roughly 30 hours before DM made his appearance.

Most of the time was spent virtually pain-free, first because I didn't have contractions for the first 7 hours, and then because epidurals are magical, magical things (husband later told me that he watched them take it out, and they just kept pulling and pulling the wire out of my back...eew). The most pain I felt was when we were walking the halls, going around and around while the contractions were getting stronger (I now think I could have waited longer to get the epidural, but I loved the c-section so much, it really doesn't matter now). Also, much pain from the pressure of DM on my bladder with that hateful catheter in. Not a fan.

Anyway, he was born around 3 pm the next day, after a c-section was strongly suggested because I had a pretty bad fever and DM's heart rate kept going up. I didn't necessarily want to do it that way, but I also had a little stint 'pushing,' and that sucked. I never want to do that again. Ever.

He is in his third week of life now, and he is pretty amazing. And, my husband is also pretty amazing. I'm still a reluctant parent. I'm just less reluctant now.

Monday, February 04, 2013

Sheer Terror

Here is the God's honest truth: I'm terrified. And the things I'm terrified of changes every day. It is exhausting.

I am scared of childbirth and pain and the not knowing when it is all going to start. I am scared of motherhood and parenting and actually being responsible for a life that is not my own. I am nervous about not knowing if I am in labor, or if it is a fake-out, or when the best time to go to the hospital is.

I am also not a huge fan of people prodding me down there, or losing control, or pooping on the table.

Actually, pooping on the table is the least of my concerns. It can be a poop-storm for all I care.

Sunday, February 03, 2013

Meat Hands

The amount of weight I have gained almost puts me into Biggest Loser territory.

Granted, I think the majority of my recent weight gain has come from all the water I'm retaining. My hands and feet are puffy. I like to call them 'meat hands' and 'sausage toes.' It's gross, but accurate.

I don't know how my heart can take it anymore.

Saturday, February 02, 2013

My Grandfather

I wrote this on January 1, but didn't publish, because it just seemed so sad. However, it is still something I want to say. So here it is.

Today is my granddad's birthday. He would have been 81.

This is the first year I did not call him at midnight, right after the ball drop in Times Square. This is the first year I did not call again during the day on New Year's Day, to hear what he did, where he went, and what he ate for his birthday. This is the first year my grandmother did not need to wrestle the phone from him so she could tell me all about what they have been up to.

I miss my grandfather. I hate that he will not know my son, or be in any of these new memories.

Death sucks.