The 12 Month-Diet of Humble Pie: Our First Year as New Parents

As usual, this is a blog post that most people should skip, as it is pretty boring and mainly serves to remind me of what life was like during this season. However, at my lowest points (which weren't very low compared to what other people experience and overcome), various other mothers came out of the woodwork to tell me that they went through similar things. I considered these gestures of great compassion. Here's my story:

Birth: My personal birth plan: Don't be a hero, get the epidural. I am overdue and induced, and spend 21 of the next 22 hours of labor in the hospital bed answering text messages, responding to LinkedIn messages explaining that I am currently on maternity leave, and chatting with the nurses. M spends most of that time enjoying the hospital's air conditioning in the middle of a San Diego heat wave. He sleeps through a lot, and wakes up when it is time to push.

Baby C arrives and our world changes in an instant. I cry involuntarily, staring at him. M, as usual, shows his emotion by smiling. He is pleased that our son's birthday falls on International Surfing Day, which he'd pointed out to me between contractions.

Meanwhile, M's parents, who are staying with us, fill our fridge with food, help M set up nursery, and clean our house. They are heroic and of more pragmatic help than I would have dared to ask for. My parents come see us, along with my grandmother. They cuddle the baby and drop off gifts, including trail mix from Costco, because Chinese parents count random things as presents. My parents also follow up with a large check, which we tacitly understand will go toward computer camp/ Harvard for Baby C.

Month 1: The first night we bring Baby C home is excruciating. He cries all night, and I accept this as our new fate for the next several months. My engineer husband, however, treats everything, including our baby, as a problem that can and must be solved. The next morning, M goes to Buy Buy Baby and sweeps everything sleep-related off the shelves and into the shopping cart. He comes home with a Rock 'n Play, white noise machine, and eighty-two pacifiers. Baby C calms down somewhat, and we breathe a sigh of relief.

Everything in the first few weeks of Baby C's life consumes me with anxiety: unwashed hands stretched toward the baby, the grunting noises he makes when he's sleeping (is he able to breathe??), when he's not grunting and sleeping silently (is he not breathing at all??), taking a shower and coming out to find a hapless M and a wailing, hungry infant. etc. I feel tethered to this newborn and under house arrest. He just. Needs. Me. So. Much. And he seems so delicate and helpless, and I feel so incompetent. I find myself muttering often under my breath: "Please stay healthy. If anything happens to you, Mommy and Daddy go to jail."

Also, Heidi Klum's return to the runway shortly after giving birth has filled me with false hope. It's been four weeks, and strangers are still congratulating me when I'm out alone in public, asking when the baby is due.

BUT. We have a son! He's barely out of the womb, and already the smartest and most gifted human being we've ever seen, even though he says and does mostly nothing. I immediately begin posting too many things on social media about him, so that other people can see what he doesn't say or do.

Month 2: I am a lightning rod for well-meaning advice from people, mostly people I don't know well, about everything, from the amount of clothes I put on him to how often I hold him. I'm spoiling him, I'm neglecting him, I'm doing too much of both. I thought that the newborn phase was supposed to be easy: as long as there are 8-9 wet diapers a day and he is gaining weight, everything should be fine. How am I already screwing up?

I eat my feelings with the meals that my over-generous friends and family are STILL bringing over. Meals that are far better than anything I can cook. When I start finally feeling comfortable enough to get around and bring the baby with me to the grocery store, I reluctantly put an end to the meal train. I am sad, and M is even sadder.

Right Before Month 3: Baby's first trip to Georgia. He is very good on the plane. He also becomes a sudden politician, making eye contact, smiling, even chatting with his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, when there was very little social interaction before. (I am also extremely touched by how well-loved he is by his entire extended Southern family, especially his oldest cousin Kailyn who wants to hold him every second). I am constantly tense, expecting my son to start fussing at any given time. Prior to this trip, whenever he was awake, he was crying. But no, he is fine. We go home, reveling in our newly low-maintenance baby.

Month 3: Baby C immediately starts throwing huge, unstoppable wailing sessions before every nap/ bedtime. I feel thankful that my sister and her husband live in San Diego too, with their two young sons. I am a lot less scared and alone with her close by. Even when she labels me a paranoid first time helicopter mom, I take it as a compliment, because it's better than "grossly negligent mom."

Month 4: I finally get a handle on Baby's nap schedule. Sometime in the past month he has started giggling and babbling, and I feel hugely grateful to be able to stay home with him while working part-time. My boss, a benevolent Christian CEO who just wants us all to be happy, is the best.

Month 5: Baby's first trip to Sacramento to see my brother's family. Still doesn't sit up on his own, but enjoys watching his cousins. Jordyn, the oldest cousin, is always able to get a smile out of him. Something about the older ladies appeals to him. We fawn over my brother's newborn, his fourth child. I marvel at his wife, who handles all of us descending on her home (my parents, M, Baby C and me, plus my sister's family) plus her own four children, with grace and efficiency. I will never reach her level of competence. The President of the United States will never reach her level of competence.

Month 6: Baby's second trip to Georgia. He's done great on every plane ride so far. Our goal is always to not be the worst baby on the plane, and so far we're succeeding, without having to buy ear plugs and drink vouchers for everyone around us. Baby experiences his first Christmas with the Jordans, complete with all kinds of presents and Christmas jammies. I practically throw him toward any outstretched hands and sneak off to M's parents' hot tub on the back porch every chance I get. His oldest cousin Kailyn makes him laugh for forty-five minutes straight. Baby C gets his first taste of solids while in Georgia. Sadly, it is not Cracker Barrel, but strained peas.

We come home and my sister throws a family reunion at their house. We get to see our cousins for the first time in a couple of years, and their children look gigantic to me, though most of them are only in elementary school. I wonder gloomily whether they're sleeping through the night yet, as my own tunnel is so dark with no light in sight. My cousin Tim is a baby whisperer and manages to keep Baby C asleep in his arms. I consider hiring him as a night nanny. My parents enjoy spending time with their San Diego-based grandchildren. My mom gives us a beautiful handmade quilt. My dad inexplicably gives us more trail mix from Costco, and a giant jar of chocolates for M, because he likes chocolate.

Month 7: Baby C experiences Big Bear and Hawaii. He has the same passive, stoic face for both trips as we attempt to show him new worlds. But the important thing is, he continues his good behavior streak on airplanes. I enjoy the opportunity to go snowboarding/ relax on the beach with friends and start to feel a little like myself again.

People describe Baby C as a very "chill" baby, which is fairly true in public. He smiles politely for strangers and is amiable, but it takes a lot of work to get a full grin or laugh, and he prefers to hang back and observe the group dynamic before engaging. In other words, he is his dad's son.

Month 8: Baby C has been sitting up on his own for a few weeks now, but he's not at all interested in crawling or standing. It seems like every other baby I know his age is running 5K's. He's also not super interested in food (did he get ANY of my genes??), and is a pretty skinny baby compared to the chunk-a-monks I'm seeing on Instagram. Worst of all, he is still not sleeping well at night, which I suspect is related to the not eating well part. I can't bear to leave him to cry in hunger when he nurses so much at night, and so I still get up 2, 3 sometimes 4 times a night.

At this point, eight months into sleep deprivation, I feel worn down. I turn to M one night in bed and cheerfully say "good night." Then I promptly burst into tears and sob for ten minutes, which is a very long time when no one's saying anything. M is bewildered. I am bewildered. I think that maybe being tied to a baby 24/7, doing the laundry, cleaning, cooking, shopping, and working from home without childcare, are possibly catching up with me. (I could let M pitch in more, but he already works long, stressful days at the office and does a lot of big projects around the house in his free time, and I want him to spend time with the baby in the few slivers of the day when Baby C is awake and M is home. Anyway. Moving on.)  It is not the first time I feel overwhelmed to the point of tears, but it is the first time I cry to the point of near dehydration.

Eventually, I stop crying and draw strength by thinking of air traffic controllers, Navy Seals, parents of multiple kids, and single parents with multiple kids. If they can do what they can do, I can handle our ONE. BABY.

But, I think it's safe to say that my insistence on doing All The Things plus Everything Else has allowed our marriage and family to suffer needlessly. We don't spend much money and strictly speaking, we don't need more than what M makes. In the coming days, I gather my courage and ask my CEO if I can cut back on the number of assignments I take on as a recruiter, even though I am already part-time as it is. He agrees immediately, because he is the best boss on earth. I feel at once both a giant sense of relief and failure.

This should probably have been a separate blog post.

Month 9: At his well-baby check-up, our pediatrician confirms what I suspected. Baby C's weight is on the low side, and she would like to see us put more calories in him. I stop messing around with the offering of this and that and get down to business. Baby C gets organic yogurt mixed with banana. He gets organic chicken with sweet potatoes. He gets finger foods. And he rejects nearly everything. This is no surprise. Everyday, in response to my best, well-researched efforts at parenting, my son hands me defeat and resignation on a platter.

Luckily, the good parts of parenthood are awesome. For a couple of months now, Baby C has gotten exponentially more fun. He babbles like he's trying to tell us something, he shows interest in whatever we're doing, and he has actual preferences: he laughs at my jokes and cries at my singing.

Month 10: Tummy time has finally paid off and Baby C goes very quickly from belly crawling to hands-and-knees crawling. Of course, the bebes on my Instagram feed are taking their first steps and handling silverware with aplomb, but no matter. Our son is finally mobile! I come downstairs one morning after showering, and M informs me, "The baby took a little tour of the living room today. We need to dust under the piano."

Month 11: Baby C has learned to crawl very quickly, and he wants to do everything I feared: crawl into the fireplace, go to the kitchen and open and slam kitchen drawers on his own fingers, move bar stools around, show interest in our open, slatted stairs. M "babyproofs" our living room with a kitchen chair, laying sideways, blocking the exit and another sideways kitchen chair blocking the fireplace, along with our sofa pillows blocking our Internet router and other wires. We are a living meme of subpar parenting hacks. All that is missing is block letters over the entire scene spelling out "NAILED IT."

1 Year: We have survived the first year, and everyone is still alive! We take a trip out to Florida and Georgia to spend time with Matt's parents, grandmother, Aunt Kay, and Matt's sister's family. I've long since abandoned my paranoid helicopter parenting and swing too far in the other direction, handing off Baby C to his 4-year-old cousin to baby-sit while I check Facebook on my phone. Luckily, this 4-year-old and her sisters are excellent caretakers, playing peekaboo and catch with his toy rubber ball. He is enamored with them.

Baby C still doesn't sleep, and still doesn't walk without help, and throws his smashcake to the floor. But he remains everything we hoped for: a pretty happy, if somewhat stoic, curious, loving little being. M and I pray all the time that the Lord blesses the road ahead of him, and that he both finds and offers joy and peace through his faith and community.

A final note: I thought that being a parent would bring out the best in me: a testimony to my ability for sacrificial and unconditional love, my body being a monument to my superhuman mom powers, etc. etc. etc. In truth, I am all too aware of my own shortcomings, and have had to learn to trust in God like never before.

I also attribute any success I have in motherhood to the love and support of Baby C's community: his affectionate grandparents on both sides, his aunts and uncles who have vastly more experience and wisdom when it comes to child-rearing than M and myself, co-workers who dote on him whenever I stop by the office, our friends who have not dropped us despite our being considerably more inconvenient to hang out with, other fellow mommies that keep me from spiraling into a life of isolation, and the friends who do not yet have but long for a child of their own, or who have experienced deeply painful loss, who show an incredible tenderness toward Baby C.

Most of all, I cannot imagine what life would be like without M, who works long days and comes home to build blanket forts and read to our son and change him into PJ's, and who takes him first thing in the morning to let me sleep. I often come downstairs to find Baby C in his high chair eating string cheese and bananas while M sleepily sips from his mug of coffee. And finally, when the continued sleep deprivation pushes me into yet another tearful meltdown, M creates a schedule on weekends whereby he takes Baby C for the afternoon and gives me a regular break. For there is no problem that can't be solved, including his wife. And for this, and for M, I am hugely grateful.

Hawaii with a Baby is Different From Honeymoon Hawaii

If anything was a marker for how things have changed for our family, it was a trip to Hawaii (for a similar theme, see last post about Big Bear). The last time we'd gone, it was to Maui for our honeymoon. M and I snorkeled, ziplined, went horseback riding, relaxed in hot tubs, and went out to restaurants every night. We had no one to look out for but ourselves, and our lives stretched out in front of us unmarked by worry or care.

This time, our friends Jenn and John, brave souls that they were, joined us and our new addition. This was going to be a trip to Oahu, the North Shore, and it was very clear to me that the week would be largely separated into two categories: surf for M and John, and eating for Jenn and me. And that is pretty much what happened. M and John met up with John's friends and experienced scary waves amid even scarier reefs...and Jenn and I ate our weight in poke, spam masubi, and shaved ice while talking about everything under the sun. We also kept a finger ready to dial 911 while we looked for our men from the safety of the beach.

I was also happy to see John and Jenn maximize their child-free time by getting up to see the sunrise, snorkeling at whim, going bike riding, and enjoying sunsets, while M and I...did not do that stuff. We did couple up at appropriate times, such as for Valentine's Day and for M's and my anniversary, so things worked out for everyone.

Oh! And we also had a baby with us, one with whom I inadvertently practiced attachment parenting. Baby C screamed bloody murder the first night I attempted to put him in the Pack 'N Play crib, so we co-slept with him all week to ensure our friends were able to sleep. We left the stroller at home in lieu of surfboards, so Baby C was Ergo'ed up everywhere we went, and slept peacefully in my lap at restaurants. We got about as much cooperation as we could expect from a teething 7.5-month-old. He kept his crying to only a couple car rides alone with M and me, luckily, and saved his one giant diaper blowout for an outing at Hanauma Bay toward the end of the trip.

The view from our AirBnB. The landlord's name was Love, because of course it was.

Unsuspecting travel nanny #1

Unsuspecting travel nanny #2

The giant, messy waves that Jenn and I gazed upon with fear as we searched for our men, who were usually in a completely different spot than we thought to look.

Jenn and I, supporting the local economy, one spam masubi purchase at a time.

A post-surf, pre-shaved ice lunch break with poke bowls from the deli at Foodland, our gourmet culinary choice on most days.

My first public postpartum pic in a bikini. I am so brave.

On Sunday, we went to Harbor Church North Shore with John's friends Dustin and Britt. I should mention here that they are a husband and wife team who are both hardcore surfers with giant hearts and no fear. It was humbling to be welcomed so warmly into their local community.

That sheen on my forehead would be the sweat from carrying a giant baby all week and keeping him from swiping my shaved ice.

As you can see, Baby C could not be more excited about being in Hawaii.

In hindsight, everything went fairly smoothly, but it is just...different (less liberating? like being sandbagged?) to vacation with a baby. Every activity was weighted in my mind by factors such as convenience and accessibility, whether it was during naptime, and whether I would be able to nurse or change Baby C's diaper. Jenn at some point mentioned the possibility of a helicopter ride over the island, and my first thought was, "I don't think we've taken out enough life insurance."

I will say this, though: on our honeymoon, M and I uttered lovey dovey words and gazed into each other's eyes with adoration. But I don't think I really understood adoration until I watched M lug a heavy (and largely useless) Pack 'n Play through the giant Honolulu airport. Or until I observed him gently cradle his son in one arm as he gazed out at Pipe, the break he'd been dying to see for the last decade. Or until he held down Baby C's hands so I could change his blown out diaper at the beach without fear of our son contracting Hand Foot Mouth disease. And then calmly watched as said son peed all over his beach towel.

At Hanauma Bay, I tried lowering Baby C into the water, and he started whimpering in fear. When M heard about it, he took his son back out to the water himself and tried to gently introduce positive associations with the water. I don't know if it worked or not, but I figure we have the rest of his life to make him do things he doesn't want to do. Ha! #tigermom

Come to think of it, he didn't super love his first experience with sand either. We may have to accept his future as an indoor mathlete.

Hawaii? Eh. Waves, sun and sand? Eh. Teething rings? Best things ever!!!!!!

All in all, it was a good trip. And the best part? When the passenger in front of me on the plane ride home turned around and said, "You have a really good baby." Mahalo!

And then our really good baby cried in the car all the way home from the airport. 

P.S. Thank you to our friend Deron for the ride to and from the airport. In return, we will make you unsuspecting travel nanny #3 for the next trip.

A Weekend in Big Bear = Unpleasant Reminder of Time's Relentless March

For my birthday, I thought it would be fun to book a weekend in Big Bear with my sister's family and a few close friends. I haven't been snowboarding in three years, I thought, and it would be nifty to do it again!

It turns out, turning 34, having a baby, and never working out will culminate in feeling like death while on the slopes. During my very first run of the weekend, I had a lot of regrets about my decision to get a two-day pass. My legs ached from just putting on heavy boots. I snowboarded skurred for most of the first day and felt like I couldn't gain any speed no matter how hard I worked. Young, lean girls in glittery tank tops and GoPro'ed helmets whizzed by me, and I paused to think the worst of them.

My sister and me, and behind us, the Trail of Tears.

The second day, I realized that making my boot laces substantially tighter helps a lot. With age, comes wisdom.

Also? Having kids along for a Big Bear trip is a huge game changer. When I organized this trip years ago, M and I were just dating, and none of our 10+ friends who were there had kids. We happily slept on air mattresses or shared beds, four or five to a room, and stayed out on the slopes pretty much all day, coming and going as we pleased, since the cabin I rented was so close. It was fun, it was communal, it was easy.

Our carefree, silly-hat wearing days three years ago. We could stay up all night and be fine snowboarding all day the next.

This year: our group passes the time pleasantly playing a card game, while M tries to coax the baby to eat more strained bananas.

This year, our rental was a 10-minute walk away. Not a big deal, I thought. WRONG. The men and women had to switch off snowboarding, so that the other half could take care of the three kids (my two nephews and Baby C), and we had to stuff as many runs as we could into a couple of hours or so, because the cabin was just far away enough that going in and out was not an option. The walk was hard and exhausting and there were hungry babies to nurse. The second day, when I came in from snowboarding at 3 p.m., M handed over our intermittently wailing son so that he could finally get a bite of lunch to eat (was I secretly pleased that M now had a taste of my everyday life? A little.).

Our stupid house, that I wished was a half mile closer to the chair lifts.

Also? Everyone in our group this year was close to their thirties, or well into them. People our age have by now decided how we like to spend our time, and doing things just for novelty's sake is so five years ago. That means that some of us went snowboarding, and others went hiking, or fishing, or on walks by the lake. I was pleased that everyone could do their own thing and have a great time, but I'll admit that it was an adjustment to not move like a school of fish, as we did when we rolled out together in our twenties. It's a different, less raucous, more sincere kind of fun. Like we're all growing up or something.

Also? Babies do not care if you have to snowboard the next day, or if there are non-family members present. They will cry at night when everyone else is trying to sleep, loudly, multiple times. And I am thankful for the understanding, gracious friends who were with us, who willingly took the babies from us so that we could go to the bathroom or grab our third cup of coffee. Our friends Holly and Jared are expecting their son in March, and given their patient and gentle handling of the kids this past weekend, they are ready. More ready than I feel today.

Holly, lovingly holding my son. Not pictured: me, taking advantage of two free hands to double fist birthday brownies.

As for Sean and Abby, our other friends who so gladly took on baby-sitting duties as well, I have decided that I will pay them to come live with us.

I will say, it was great for the kids to socialize with our friends. Baby C loved being held by different people, my one-year-old nephew Jack stayed busy toddling around to every person and smiling, and when everyone left to do their respective activities, my three-year-old nephew Donovan asked plaintively, "Where did all the people go, Mama?" As much as my sister and I were scrambling to keep the littles from crying, it was good for them to see that there was more to life than what revolved around them.

And, as always, M is due a shout-out for somehow hiding a delicious birthday cheesecake in a cooler under all our bags and bringing it to the mountain, for taking pains to make sure I had as much snowboarding and hot tubbing time as I wanted, and for cheerfully being the driver both ways.

All in all, this past weekend was fun and enjoyable, but my aching body and the fact that M and I packed a diaper pail alongside our board bags were troubling signs that life will never be again as it once was. But also? It's impossible to imagine wanting to go back to life back then. Happy birthday to me!

If you give an Asian a smartphone

...She's going to take a lot of pictures of her baby. And her mediocre cooking. Let's just get the #sorrynotsorry for my Instagram feed out of the way.

An example of the extremely interesting pictures I like to take of our baby.

The real title of this post is actually "Long overdue acknowledgements since I've had a baby":

- First, a huge, sincere #sorrybutforrealverysorry to all the parents I gave advice to when I didn't have children. Maybe I didn't even mean to give advice. Maybe I was just sharing a blog post or TEDTalk that I thought was interesting and decided to be helpful. Or maybe I was just drawing on my "vast" experience, having done "a lot" of baby-sitting when I was younger. Whatever. I didn't know anything about anything, and I'm sorry for thinking otherwise and thank you for not defriending me.

-On the other hand, thank you to everyone whose advice was insightful, including from childless friends. I didn't know that honey could kill my baby. Or that newborns were so delicate and could die from a fever and that's why you make everyone wash their hands. I didn't realize they made 12-hour diapers. I didn't know what a crawl ball was, or that Sophie the Giraffe was basically an institution for teething babies, or that putting a carseat on the top of a grocery cart (I never did this, for the record) wasn't dangerous only because it could fall, but because it ruined the latching system under the carseat so that my baby could fly through the rear window in a bad collision. I honestly just didn't know. Thank you for keeping my firsborn alive.

-Also, thank you to all the friends and family who brought over meals the first few months of our baby's life. You were clutch. Thank you for supplying us with so many diapers we didn't need to buy any until he was 10 weeks old, and he went through a lot. Thank you for spoiling our baby with clothes, toys, and endless supplies. We've used every single thing, except for the clothes Baby C has yet to grow into. Thank you for your words of encouragement, and "liking" all of my baby-related posts on social media with grace, and for loving our son so much. Your generosity of spirit is astounding.

-I am also very grateful that my sister and her husband chose to move to San Diego upon their return from New Zealand. Thank you for giving us all of your sons' hand-me-downs, and for baby-sitting, and for being our main support system. Thank you for showing me the amount of patience it takes to raise respectful little boys. I'm very sorry (again) that our son peed on your couch.

-To my brother and his wife, who have four very well-behaved, extremely intelligent children who have been trained to say, "Mommy, when you are done washing the dishes, can you help me with my hair?": you guys should have your own television show. For that matter, same to M's sister and her husband, with their three very well-behaved, extremely intelligent children.

-To my friends: I'm sorry we haven't seen each other in months. My baby currently wakes up every hour/ two hours at night, despite having a bedtime routine, waiting a few minutes before I go in to soothe him, introducing him to a lovey, being vigilant about his naps, etc. M tries to help but is currently soundly rejected at night, because M doesn't lactate. The kid just doesn't want to sleep. Also, I'm still recruiting from home part-time. I am a zombie, and only writing this blog post because M is out surfing and our son is napping and I've just had a cup of coffee. Expect the next post sometime in 2017.

-To our parents: thank you for loving Baby C so unconditionally. Thank you to M's parents for hosting us in Georgia and letting us sleep in while we hand over our kid in the morning, or when we want to go in your hot tub, or when we want to have fun on the lake. (For that matter, thank you to M's sister for being willing to hold our baby all the time too!) Thank you to my parents coming down to San Diego to spend time with your grandkids, and for making Baby C a beautiful quilt, and for taking the time to give him a Chinese name, and for basically being the only one to lend him any cultural heritage from the Asian side, because I only speak English and German.

Also, to both sets of parents: thank you for taking the trouble to raise us. We didn't know, and now we're starting to know.

-Thank you to Lauren White of Lauren Alisse Photography for taking the time to patiently capture our entire family over Thanksgiving. I'm grateful to have your work before you get famous and too busy booking celebrities.

-Finally, thank you to M for saving my sanity by taking the baby with you while drinking your morning cup of coffee so I can sleep in a little. Thank you for changing out the diaper pails, and for rushing home from work to help put our son to bed by changing him into PJ's and reading to him. Thank you for being willing to be the main breadwinner so that I can stay home and raise our baby in my sweatpants. Thank you for never saying anything about my sweatpants.

All the cliche things that you hear parents say are true. Life has changed for us in countless ways, and we're overwhelmed by the love our baby inspires, and I don't feel like I deserve this kind of happiness. Even when I'm feeling desperately tired or am busy throwing myself a pity party when times with him are rough-ish, I never take a day with Baby C for granted.

The third trimester: even putting on pants is a victory

...except I no longer fit into pants either. They sit crumpled in a corner of our bedroom, thrown there in frustration about a week ago. I'm currently writing this blog post while M lays curled in our bed, sound asleep. Must be nice. I keep looking forward to postpartum and the time I'll finally get to sleep too, until I remember that we're having a baby.

I can't complain though. So far, I've had a very easy pregnancy, with zero morning sickness and no health scares (aside from using Google images to anxiously self-diagnose what was going on in my own ultrasound pictures, because Kaiser was taking too long to call me with test results. Yes, I'm a horrifying person, but we already knew this). Our baby moves and kicks a lot, which has generated all the feelings of wonder and amazement that everyone told me about. All the downsides happening now - the waddling, the scales reading numbers I'd never seen heretofore, the constant trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night - all fall within the standard deviation of suffering I've expected from the beginning. My friends, family, and co-workers have all been very loving and supportive, which, knowing them, isn't surprising either.

The only thing that has taken me aback is the feeling of helplessness and occasional bouts of sudden crying. Usually, when one thinks, "If only I weren't pregnant...", one ends the sentence with something like, "I would sit in a hot tub right now, while eating sushi." In contrast, my irrational pregnant mind will end the sentence with something like, "...I could prevent all the terrible things from happening in this world." M has found me lying in bed three or four times now (and for being almost 34 weeks along, I think that's pretty good), with all the lights out, sobbing my little heart out. It usually starts with something like a bad week at work, which will grow into the crushing weight of feeling like a failure in life, which will spread into overarching sadness about the terrible things that have happened to people I know, and will finally end with hopelessness about the current events I've read that day on CNN.com, the kidnapping of those poor Nigerian girls being a good example. I guess one could call it prenatal depression, but does it count if it only lasts a couple hours and ends in a pragmatic getting on with life and emptying of the dishwasher?

Maybe these little crying spells are my body's way of forcing me to slow down and consider what kind of world our baby will grow up in. They force me to reflect on the things happening around me, and the responsibility M and I will have in teaching our son how to make choices, be compassionate, pray for others, deal with things outside of his control. I could go on reflecting this way forever, letting my mind wander through the many possible life paths our children could take someday, and where we'll all end up as a family in ten or twenty years. And I will feel my eyes tearing up again and think about lying back down and staying there for another three or four hours.

And then I'll remember we still have no crib mattress and the nursery still looks like a storage closet and the popcorn ceilings need to be scraped, and I will get out of bed again and waddle my way back into life.

Financial Advice to My 20-Something Year-Old Self

My friend Holly and I used to gchat a lot about what we would do if we were billionaires. Her answer was to gather up all the gun owners in Texas and fly them out to sex trafficking hotspots to carry out vigilante justice. My answer was to go into all the failing small businesses, buy up their inventory, then donate it to shelters for abused women, and to military families. Then we would say, "That was a good Tuesday, let's go grab dinner." Etc.

Part of getting older is realizing that the "If I were a billionaire"-related scenarios that I thought up in my youth will (probably) never happen. That I am nowhere close. And that even in small, mediocre ways, I missed a lot of opportunities in my twenties that would have been very helpful later in life, financially speaking.

Any financial blessing I currently have is due to God's mercy, the generosity (to the point of enabling?) of the parents, family (including in-laws) and friends I inherited as life has gone on, and the fact that M and I are both too lazy to be spendthrifts. I wish I could point to a bunch of evidence of my own financial prudence in my twenties, but I can't. I was, as so many young people are, simply someone who took her circumstances for granted.

Anyway. I have it pretty good, but I do have a ready list of things I would tell my younger self, if I could go back. In order of priority, here they are:

1) Learn generosity early. When I was young and working in minor league baseball, every dollar felt like the difference between eating and not eating. Every fixed cost (rent, transportation, etc.) felt like a matter of survival. "I'm giving what I can afford to give," I thought, when I would hand over a pitifully small tithe on an infrequent basis. In retrospect, I would pound into my own head that my money is God's money, so learn to give it away as instructed in the Bible, as it teaches trust, sacrificial love, and budgeting. Then I'd get a roommate and make more sandwiches.

2) Don't make snap decisions. I don't know why, but I am not in the habit of exploring and evaluating my options. I love making decisions quickly, even bad ones, if only to get them over with and move on in life. I am thankful, in retrospect, for every opportunity I was given, but I know that I made the following decisions in my twenties very, very quickly, without thinking: college major, career, where to live, furniture and clothing purchases, the list goes on. It is a list riddled with both blessings and regret, and to minimize the regret, all I had to do at the time was maybe take more than a few minutes to evaluate a decision before sealing my own fate.

3) Learn to be grateful. My current self is phenomenally good at identifying things to complain about (or, as I tell myself, "things that are unnecessarily sub-optimal"). I'm working on this, but I wish I'd started the habit early of naming people and things I'm grateful for. It probably would have helped protect me from emotional splurges, like that 200-euro leather jacket I bought in Germany when I was twenty-four, that is now in my parents' coat closet, unused by anyone.

4) Automate savings. Every financial expert tells us to do this. There is no downside to building an emergency cash fund and preventing a debt spiral. Even in my past, "but seriously, I have NO money" days, I wish I'd gotten in the habit of saving even a tiny amount of money automatically, and then ideally increasing that amount over time and adding larger surpluses whenever I could. Also, I wish I'd been more acutely aware that being broke never was, and never will be, cute.

Poignant, to-the-point photo courtesy of Flickr

5) Open a Vanguard account and start investing in index funds. For a twenty-something who didn't know how to invest--I still don't--this would have been the easiest option to start taking advantage of compound interest, with any extra cash lying around (see #4). The series in this blog post was a fun little read for me. The principles outlined here would have been great as a starting point when I was in my twenties. (As a caveat, I ideally would have started doing this post-2008 market crash.) Those years to take advantage of compound interest are gone now, and if I were acting alone, I'd have to work twice as hard to make it up.

6) Remember that whatever financial burdens you decide not to take care of, is a burden to someone else. Every moment we are financially dependent on someone else, we drain their resources. It might be our family, or our friends, or a collective body of taxpayers. In my twenties, I'm pretty sure I subconsciously thought of my parents as a safety net. If I'd thought about the fact that THEY don't have a money-growing tree either, I'd have worked harder to build the financial cushions around myself to be completely independent. Maybe learned a new skill and taken on freelance work in my spare time. Maybe automated savings. Maybe used more negotiation tactics on my car. I dunno. The list of alternative options is endless. It was tempting to think of my parents as the ones who would take care of me forever, but that's probably why people think our generation has been slow to grow up.

Again, I can't say I regret where life has taken me. After all, it led me to a man who has always saved diligently for retirement and who prioritizes providing for his household. And we were both blessed to enter marriage with no debt, besides the mortgage on my townhouse. But if I had followed my own advice above, I would have had that much more to contribute to our marriage. And I can't get that time back.

We're having a boy! And other terrifying thoughts I have lately

Since I'm not one of those modest "Oh, let's protect our privacy" Facebook users, most of our friends and family know by now that M and I are expecting a baby in June, and that it's a boy(!) Which is exciting! But also, for me, terrifying (for M, it's a secret sigh of relief, plus a good excuse to start preordering Legos on Amazon Prime). We have yet to do practical things, like set up a nursery, or take birthing/ parenting classes. Most of my current preparation comprises reading all the books that my sisters-in-law on both sides have given me, plus every parenting blog that exists, before letting my mind spin into a vortex of anxiety-filled thoughts. I see it as a type of emotional rehearsal, to let my mind wander through different parenting scenarios.

Here are the kinds of thoughts that float through my mind as a preggo, because I'm horrifying:

-Little girls play quietly in the corner with dolls and crayons. Boys do things like throw rocks in the air and try to catch them with their face. M and I have no training on how to prevent this from happening.

-At least on the upside, I don't have to worry about our firstborn posting a YouTube video of himself, with the title "Am I ugly?", as I hear that is one of the things insecure teenage girls have learned to do with the internet. Thanks, CNN, for the updates.

-I really hope our kid isn't bullied. If he is, we're enrolling him in Krav Maga classes. And then we're going to encourage him to join a (very geeky, academic) gang that helps protect other victims through hacking code and reverse social -media bullying. Or something.

-I really hope our kid isn't a bully. If he is, he's going to be spending his Saturdays putting together care packages for underprivileged families and learning real life lessons of compassion. Until he's eighteen.

-How long can I dress my kid like one of those hipster babies on Pinterest before he cuts me off from any decision-making for his wardrobe?

-I hope our son doesn't inherit my driving genes. (Asian + female = good luck everyone!)

-If our baby looks way more like M than like me, everyone is going to think I'm the nanny. I better get the Encinitas Mom Uniform -- a chevron-patterned maxi dress and/ or extra expensive Lululemon yoga pants, so they know that I'm the rightful owner of this kid.

-I hope our son doesn't inherit my temperament of spoiled bratty-ness and general ingratitude. Note to self: apologize to Mom and Dad for the last thirty-plus years.

-I hope that colleges and universities don't look the same 18 years from now. I hope we're enrolling our kids in think tanks and incubators, and that they do summer code camps and tech apprenticeships by the time they're young adults. I don't want my kids to graduate from college like me -the winning combination of a moron with no practical skills, but a completely intact sense of entitlement.

-No more watching birthing videos before dinner.

So, those are my thoughts lately. I think focusing on the abstract future helps keep me from more real, sobering, and emotionally-crippling thoughts about the things that can go wrong during pregnancy and birth. M and I spend a lot of time in prayer lately for our friends' and families' babies as well as for the health and well-being of our own. We've discussed parenting styles, and schedules, and the state of fatigue we'll probably be in. And we know we'll never feel prepared, but by the time this baby is born, I'll at least have THOUGHT of everything. Wish us luck!

P.S. I am now double this size.