A few pics from last night's Samsung GSG Holiday Party, where the evening's theme was James Bond (but also included Gangnam-style horses, Suwon hip hop dancers, and seriously impressive talent in the GSG Idol sing-off):
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
34 weeks
Life is good. I'm sitting here in my new favorite french bakery in Seoul (Gontran Cherrier in Itaewon), munching on a mid-morning chocolate scone and sipping a honey lemon ginger tea, listening to jazzy renditions of Christmas carols. So why am I so happy? Well, so many reasons, but top of mind right now is: I was clinically instructed to eat more sugar this week! Ever since starting my "no sugar cleanse" at the beginning of third trimester, I've had quite a complicated relationship to sugar -- on one hand, craving it insanely (a direct quote from Tyler when we stopped at a convenience store on Sunday: "Trish...back away from the ice cream... just back away..."), and on the other, knowing on so many levels how sugar can easily spiral into a negative cycle (leading to eczema breakouts for me, and also realizing that what I eat now (especially in the third trimester) can fundamentally impact Gracie's health moving forward -- including influencing his own preferences and cravings later on in life (if I could only recommend one book to read about pregnancy and prenatal health to pregnant and non-pregnant folks alike, it would have to be Annie Murphy Paul's book on prenatal cognitive development, Origins: How the Nine Months Before Birth Shape the Rest of Our Lives). To be fair, she does cite new studies that show that pregnant women who eat chocolate every day during pregnancy have babies who show less fear, as well as smile and laugh more often at six months. But for me, a big takeaway was how nutritional choices made now (which the baby tastes through the amniotic fluid) set the stage for choices in life ahead. And while my "no sugar cleanse" has basically come now under the more feasible 80-20 rule (with cheat days for Thanksgiving and Christmas), I've generally been trying to stick with it.
This past Saturday, we had my big 34 week checkup. It was our second time at Yeon and Nature, but our first getting an ultrasound there. What struck me most, compared to our first hospital (Miraewa) was how non-clinical it all felt: rather than a clinical/hospital bed of plastic, I laid on what felt like a normal twin size bed with blankets and pillows for the ultrasound, as well as when Dr. Park took a pelvic swab (where are the stirrups and other clinical items?) All in all, I feel incredibly grateful for all the amazing resources we have access to here. I absolutely loved Miraewa; our doctor was the medical director there, who is incredibly kind, patient, and optimistic; compared to him, our Yeon and Nature doctor is fiesty and fast-talking, and we love her too, particularly her general view of seeing pregnancy and childbirth as something that's "not a disease" (hence, the non-clinical nature of the clinic). That said, I do admit that the artwork decorating the halls was a bit "out there" for us -- paintings made from placentas and umbilical cords of women who had delivered there (it's actually not as bad as it sounds -- some are really pretty pictures of trees and roots...)
But much more importantly, the 34 week checkup went incredibly well! Shockingly, though I've now gained 39 pounds in 34 weeks (and am now 136 pounds, or 140% of my pre-pregnancy weight!), this doesn't seem to concern the doctor (which goes against everything I've heard around Korean pregnancies and clinical advice to keep the baby small to ensure an easy delivery). Baby Gracie Oliver (I've spontaneously added his second name this week) himself is no little guy. He now weighs 5.8 pounds (average weight for 34 weeks seems to be around 4.7 pounds); healthy and strong heartbeat (I could seriously listen to a recording of that heartbeat all day -- which right now sounds like racing horses at 145 beats per minute); all ten figures and toes. It's really amazing how detailed these ultrasounds are, showing his vertebrae and even his heart ventricles (including blood in red and blue indicating blood leaving and entering his heart). As our doula indicated, he covered his eyes (babies don't like the light!) -- prompting Tyler to tell the sonologist not to take any photos and to make this as fast as possible (resulting in a glare from me)... though he did yawn -- prompting a big collective "aw" from all of us watching on the big screen. The big relief for us was that my amniotic fluid level was very much in the "normal" range at 10 (I'm sure it helped that I drank literally about 4-5 liters of water that morning in preparation for this check-up). So all good things!
The one not-so-great part was that Gracie Oliver's head is up, instead of down. Granted, this was also the case at my last ultrasound one month ago -- though then everyone told me not to worry about it. This time, while I was still told not to worry about it, Dr Park also talked about physically manipulating the baby to turn head down if he was still in this position in a week and a half (the beginning of 36 weeks). While this seemed like a fair enough plan (with success rates being highest at the beginning of 36 weeks), the more I read up on this after, the less this intervention resonated with us. For one thing, maybe there's a reason his head is up -- for instance, maybe the umbilical cord is short or something around the shape of the uterus. And I get really freaked out thinking about moving him around from the outside and the cord getting stuck around his neck or body in the process.
And soooo....the last three days have been interesting ones, to say the least -- as I embark on lots of do-it-yourself options for turning little Gracie around. Here have been some highlights... it feels like some sort of "Into the Looking Glass" fantastical adventure -- all aimed at loosening my pelvic muscles and giving Gracie the chance to turn himself around:
(1) Meditations and "self-hypnosis" rooted in the hypnobirthing classes we're currently taking. While I feel they certainly need a new name and re-branding, I very much agree with the concept. At the core of it all is fear. Fear (both known and repressed) constricts our muscles, including those in the reproductive system, leading to lots of bad things, like pain in childbirth and constrictions leading to breech positioning. Hence the theory is by addressing these fears and learning to relax, there's more room for the baby to get to optimal positioning.
(2) Inversions, taught to us by Dr Park, as well as my new midwife (Jin from Yeon and Nature, who we also just met this past Saturday) and doula, Miriam. Anyone who comes into our house now must wonder what kind of weird things go on, seeing the pillow and yoga mat at the foot of our guest bed (where I hang down three times a day now), and even funnier still, the ironing board propped against our couch (where I hang feet up, head down for 20 minutes at a time). I'm eternally grateful to Tyler, who came back from a busy day at work and a tough workout at jujitsu last night, and without batting an eye, got to work when I shoved this picture on my iphone in his face and said: "Please help me do this."
(3) Acupuncture and moxibustion. If the lying down on an ironing board isn't weird enough, moxibustion is a totally different level. I don't understand it myself, but the general idea is to "warm the uterus" through the use of Chinese fire sticks, leveraging acupuncture points. Lots of blogs I read warned about making sure that the practitioner doesn't burn you. Of course, this being Korea, I should have figured they'd have a more high-tech option. This consisted of some sort of "electrical" knobs the acupuncturist placed on my legs, following acupuncture. The funny thing here is that (as I've learned about other Korean clinics), there tends to be unlikely pairing (a friend told me about going to a dentist, who also happened to be a urologist, sitting with lots of sad-looking men in the waiting room -- each confused on why the other was there). This time, I saw an acupuncturist who was also a pediatrician. All the doctors there were dressed in an orange lab coat with polar bears; here's how the acupuncture room looks:
(4) Osteopathy: And finally, what brought me to Itaewon this morning and perhaps what's top on my list when I say I'm absolutely grateful and feel lucky to be pregnant in Korea: Create Wellness and Dr Joseph. Ever since first finding out I was pregnant, I've been seeing Dr. Joseph (an osteopath here), as well as getting weekly massages (love love our insurance!) And while Korea certainly gives special attention to pregnant women (given its low birth rates, pregnancy is quite a national priority here), these weekly massages are not limited to pregnancy. Tyler's been getting them as well, and our Saturdays in Itaewon have become weekly dates for us. This picture (created by the clinic's manager for Dr Joseph's birthday) pretty much sums up my thoughts about him:
Korean and trained in London, he became really passionate about osteopathy as a tool for healthy pregnancy through his own wife's pregnancies. While she was told she'd need a c-section for their second child, due to their experiences with their first, Dr. Joseph worked on her and she ended up having a normal delivery. When I told him the situation this morning, he sat me at his desk, took out his skeleton model, and cheerily told me about what needed to happen, reassuring me that we this wouldn't be a problem. As we worked on loosening my hip and pelvic muscles, he also suggested various holistic measures to address the situation: breathing deeply and often; talking to the baby; and keeping him more awake this week to increase his chances of moving down -- through things like music, dancing (both for me and Gracie), and yes -- sugar!!
One of my favorite quotes is "Once you set your intention, the universe conspires with you to achieve this." (I had to laugh when I recently talked to Tyler about career stuff, and he responded with -- "you know, it's like the whole universe thing") While so many people (Koreans and Americans alike) seem shocked that I'm delivering our baby here, I feel so incredibly supported. Stay tuned, let's see what happens at our next appointment next Thursday and hopefully seeing our little guy turning himself around on his own!
(And in the meantime, some photos of me back in October with Dr. Joseph for their new website... can you tell we're pretty much regulars at this place?!)
This past Saturday, we had my big 34 week checkup. It was our second time at Yeon and Nature, but our first getting an ultrasound there. What struck me most, compared to our first hospital (Miraewa) was how non-clinical it all felt: rather than a clinical/hospital bed of plastic, I laid on what felt like a normal twin size bed with blankets and pillows for the ultrasound, as well as when Dr. Park took a pelvic swab (where are the stirrups and other clinical items?) All in all, I feel incredibly grateful for all the amazing resources we have access to here. I absolutely loved Miraewa; our doctor was the medical director there, who is incredibly kind, patient, and optimistic; compared to him, our Yeon and Nature doctor is fiesty and fast-talking, and we love her too, particularly her general view of seeing pregnancy and childbirth as something that's "not a disease" (hence, the non-clinical nature of the clinic). That said, I do admit that the artwork decorating the halls was a bit "out there" for us -- paintings made from placentas and umbilical cords of women who had delivered there (it's actually not as bad as it sounds -- some are really pretty pictures of trees and roots...)
But much more importantly, the 34 week checkup went incredibly well! Shockingly, though I've now gained 39 pounds in 34 weeks (and am now 136 pounds, or 140% of my pre-pregnancy weight!), this doesn't seem to concern the doctor (which goes against everything I've heard around Korean pregnancies and clinical advice to keep the baby small to ensure an easy delivery). Baby Gracie Oliver (I've spontaneously added his second name this week) himself is no little guy. He now weighs 5.8 pounds (average weight for 34 weeks seems to be around 4.7 pounds); healthy and strong heartbeat (I could seriously listen to a recording of that heartbeat all day -- which right now sounds like racing horses at 145 beats per minute); all ten figures and toes. It's really amazing how detailed these ultrasounds are, showing his vertebrae and even his heart ventricles (including blood in red and blue indicating blood leaving and entering his heart). As our doula indicated, he covered his eyes (babies don't like the light!) -- prompting Tyler to tell the sonologist not to take any photos and to make this as fast as possible (resulting in a glare from me)... though he did yawn -- prompting a big collective "aw" from all of us watching on the big screen. The big relief for us was that my amniotic fluid level was very much in the "normal" range at 10 (I'm sure it helped that I drank literally about 4-5 liters of water that morning in preparation for this check-up). So all good things!
The one not-so-great part was that Gracie Oliver's head is up, instead of down. Granted, this was also the case at my last ultrasound one month ago -- though then everyone told me not to worry about it. This time, while I was still told not to worry about it, Dr Park also talked about physically manipulating the baby to turn head down if he was still in this position in a week and a half (the beginning of 36 weeks). While this seemed like a fair enough plan (with success rates being highest at the beginning of 36 weeks), the more I read up on this after, the less this intervention resonated with us. For one thing, maybe there's a reason his head is up -- for instance, maybe the umbilical cord is short or something around the shape of the uterus. And I get really freaked out thinking about moving him around from the outside and the cord getting stuck around his neck or body in the process.
And soooo....the last three days have been interesting ones, to say the least -- as I embark on lots of do-it-yourself options for turning little Gracie around. Here have been some highlights... it feels like some sort of "Into the Looking Glass" fantastical adventure -- all aimed at loosening my pelvic muscles and giving Gracie the chance to turn himself around:
(1) Meditations and "self-hypnosis" rooted in the hypnobirthing classes we're currently taking. While I feel they certainly need a new name and re-branding, I very much agree with the concept. At the core of it all is fear. Fear (both known and repressed) constricts our muscles, including those in the reproductive system, leading to lots of bad things, like pain in childbirth and constrictions leading to breech positioning. Hence the theory is by addressing these fears and learning to relax, there's more room for the baby to get to optimal positioning.
(2) Inversions, taught to us by Dr Park, as well as my new midwife (Jin from Yeon and Nature, who we also just met this past Saturday) and doula, Miriam. Anyone who comes into our house now must wonder what kind of weird things go on, seeing the pillow and yoga mat at the foot of our guest bed (where I hang down three times a day now), and even funnier still, the ironing board propped against our couch (where I hang feet up, head down for 20 minutes at a time). I'm eternally grateful to Tyler, who came back from a busy day at work and a tough workout at jujitsu last night, and without batting an eye, got to work when I shoved this picture on my iphone in his face and said: "Please help me do this."
(3) Acupuncture and moxibustion. If the lying down on an ironing board isn't weird enough, moxibustion is a totally different level. I don't understand it myself, but the general idea is to "warm the uterus" through the use of Chinese fire sticks, leveraging acupuncture points. Lots of blogs I read warned about making sure that the practitioner doesn't burn you. Of course, this being Korea, I should have figured they'd have a more high-tech option. This consisted of some sort of "electrical" knobs the acupuncturist placed on my legs, following acupuncture. The funny thing here is that (as I've learned about other Korean clinics), there tends to be unlikely pairing (a friend told me about going to a dentist, who also happened to be a urologist, sitting with lots of sad-looking men in the waiting room -- each confused on why the other was there). This time, I saw an acupuncturist who was also a pediatrician. All the doctors there were dressed in an orange lab coat with polar bears; here's how the acupuncture room looks:
(4) Osteopathy: And finally, what brought me to Itaewon this morning and perhaps what's top on my list when I say I'm absolutely grateful and feel lucky to be pregnant in Korea: Create Wellness and Dr Joseph. Ever since first finding out I was pregnant, I've been seeing Dr. Joseph (an osteopath here), as well as getting weekly massages (love love our insurance!) And while Korea certainly gives special attention to pregnant women (given its low birth rates, pregnancy is quite a national priority here), these weekly massages are not limited to pregnancy. Tyler's been getting them as well, and our Saturdays in Itaewon have become weekly dates for us. This picture (created by the clinic's manager for Dr Joseph's birthday) pretty much sums up my thoughts about him:
Korean and trained in London, he became really passionate about osteopathy as a tool for healthy pregnancy through his own wife's pregnancies. While she was told she'd need a c-section for their second child, due to their experiences with their first, Dr. Joseph worked on her and she ended up having a normal delivery. When I told him the situation this morning, he sat me at his desk, took out his skeleton model, and cheerily told me about what needed to happen, reassuring me that we this wouldn't be a problem. As we worked on loosening my hip and pelvic muscles, he also suggested various holistic measures to address the situation: breathing deeply and often; talking to the baby; and keeping him more awake this week to increase his chances of moving down -- through things like music, dancing (both for me and Gracie), and yes -- sugar!!
One of my favorite quotes is "Once you set your intention, the universe conspires with you to achieve this." (I had to laugh when I recently talked to Tyler about career stuff, and he responded with -- "you know, it's like the whole universe thing") While so many people (Koreans and Americans alike) seem shocked that I'm delivering our baby here, I feel so incredibly supported. Stay tuned, let's see what happens at our next appointment next Thursday and hopefully seeing our little guy turning himself around on his own!
(And in the meantime, some photos of me back in October with Dr. Joseph for their new website... can you tell we're pretty much regulars at this place?!)
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
What a difference a few months makes...
At some point during the summer, Tyler started (lovingly) saying: "I know you will, but I just can't imagine you getting any bigger!" This was one of our mutual "whoa" moments, back in mid-July, when I was 12 weeks pregnant:
We just came across this photo while going through my computer this past weekend and laughed at how "BIG" we both thought I was!!
Here's me over the weekend, now at 33 weeks pregnant:
Still gearing up for Gracie's growth spurt from week 36 - 39. Clearly we ain't seen nothing yet!
We just came across this photo while going through my computer this past weekend and laughed at how "BIG" we both thought I was!!
Here's me over the weekend, now at 33 weeks pregnant:
Still gearing up for Gracie's growth spurt from week 36 - 39. Clearly we ain't seen nothing yet!
33 weeks
Considering my dad just emailed me a 34-week-birthday wish to whisper to Gracie tomorrow morning, I figured it was time to stop procrastinating on my 33 week blog post...
It's definitely been an interesting couple of weeks. First, winter has officially started in Seoul. Not that I can complain... New York may have Indian summers, with high temperatures lasting through September, but Seoul has the longest (and dare I say, most beautiful) autumns -- with dramatic reds and deep oranges, and crisp cool weather -- requiring only a light warm coat -- through late November. Here are a few photos from playing tourist in Bukchon in early November:
And then, just as I remember from last year -- bam! The beginning of winter and frigid cold, right around Thanksgiving. This year, it happened on Thanksgiving Day itself -- the temperature dipped suddenly, and I had the most magical prenatal yoga class, watching huge snow flakes falling outside. Of course, since India basically trained me to stop looking up the weather, I generally dress for whatever the weather was the previous day. Thanksgiving was not a good day to do that, and I found myself fighting the good fight against a sore throat and cold for a good week after the wrong wardrobe choice.
So now I happily sport my size large Uniqlo winter coat -- it's bright white and my Korean teacher calls me 눈사람 ("noon saram", or snowman). I don't mind, since it keeps me warm and somehow even though I'm all bundled up, I'm still able to get subway seats (this is a very new phenomenon and only started happening around the same time that our guy friends started saying things like: "WHOA! You look like you're due tomorrow!" or "Wow, I knew you were pregnant, but I didn't know you were THIS pregnant!")
And while it's usually easy for me to complain about being sick, it's amazing to have friends that remind me what's important. Last night, I got an email from my friend Robert, organizing a night of meditative reflection of the past year and setting intentions for the year ahead (this is in NY... I don't yet have friends like this in Seoul.... yet!) I wrote him back saying what a year it's been for both of us; I remember skyping with him in January -- he was just telling me about this awesome girl he met just before the holidays, and I talked about our excitement to start a family. He got engaged the day before Thanksgiving.
His email response to me was a one-liner: "It's been a year! :-) we are so fucking lucky."
Cheers to that. So what comes to mind now, especially reflecting on the last couple of weeks, is around community. It's something that those close to me know I've been complaining about and generally frustrated by since I moved here. But something shifted once I got pregnant in the spring. It was like this parallel universe opened up, where generally things were still the same on the outside, yet there emerged this sense of understanding, belonging, and community (I remember I also felt this way when I got engaged -- it was as though I entered this "secret club" where people just started treating and relating to me differently -- especially my parents' generation).
And that's when I realize how lucky I am to be... well, right where I am. In the high-rise complex I live in, there are at least five other expats who are pregnant and/or just had a baby over the last year. One recently organized a weekly playgroup in our building (which feels more like the moms playing, as usually the babies generally seem to sleep), and another had families over to her place last weekend to teach baby massage (is that a thing in the US? -- it's huge here!). Last week when I was feeling icky and sick, my friend Anna, who lives three floors above me, came over with a giant pot of chicken soup and small oranges for Vitamin C (nothing like that comes close to neighborly care in NYC!) Tyler and I babysat for another friend her first weekend home with their new baby (his older brother, however, wanted nothing to do with us; a direct quote between the 2-year old's angry tears were: "We can tell our new friends to go BYE-BYE!!"); while another friend and I constantly text about our doctor's visits and just about everything else. As I headed to Anna's apartment in my yoga pants and slippers to return her pot, it occurred to me that this feels a bit like college -- with all of us going through big life changes together (though staying up all night clearly has a different connotation these days!)
The interesting thing about Korean culture, though, is that there's an enormous divide between strangers and friends. There is absolutely no such thing as "friendly strangers" here. In New York City, the band is much more narrow. Sure, I've never had a neighbor bring me chicken soup. But neighbors (whose names you surely don't know) also hold the elevator door open for you and offer to lend a hand when you're carrying heavy groceries. Not so in Korea. Elevators are silent as libraries, and no one makes eye contact (a common fight I hear between couples where one is Korean and the other is American is how the American keeps striking up conversations in the elevator or generally talks too loudly in them). Once you somehow become friends (which I must say, seems extremely rare), you are truly friends -- we met one of our neighbors, and we've since been to her daughter's wedding, over to each other's apartments numerous times -- her daughter even worked with Tyler to get us our TV from the US -- no small feat, which took literally a month because we kept accidentally returning the TV on the Korean-only website...
But until then, even though you live in the same building and therefore share something in common, you are a stranger, and the "friendly stranger" rules I'm used to from the States no longer apply. For instance, no one holds doors open for anyone else here -- whether this is an elevator door or the main door when you're carrying lots of groceries (or as my friends tell me, pushing a stroller). In fact, I often see neighbors pushing "door close" on the elevators as soon as the elevators open on our floor -- even though we are standing right outside to get in!! Alas, silly me thought this might change with pregnancy. I was in our lobby and the elevator door opened; there was one man inside, who looked at my belly and then made eye contact, as he pushed a button. Given our eye contact, I assumed he was holding the door open for me. As the elevator doors closed directly on my belly, I realized I had made the wrong assumption of which button he was pressing. Of course, when I told this to my pregnant friends here, all of them had the same story!
One of my friends -- who incidentally is one of the most laid-back, confident, and chill moms I know (which is a huge compliment in my book), tells the story of how she literally broke down in tears going to her doctors appointment, 38 weeks pregnant and carrying her toddler's stroller up the subway stairs, with everyone stopping to stare but no one offering to lend a hand. The extremes are much more stark here than in a place like NYC -- where I can't imagine a neighbor helping us procure a TV for one month, but where there's also no lack of friendly strangers to help carry a stroller up subway stairs. My friend Selene from NYC told me that she realized she's starting to show because strangers smile at her on the street. Even when I was barely showing in September, as soon as I stepped onto a subway car, someone would immediately offer me their seat. Here, well... they say a picture is worth a thousand words (as context, these "pink" seats are actually meant for pregnant women):
So what I'm realizing is here in Korea (and I suppose everywhere else too), "micro"-communities matter. Perhaps because we're outsiders to this culture, community is what you make of it. And with the holiday season kicking off, I'm realizing that as much as I still feel like an outsider here in many ways, I'm also starting to feel like an insider too, in the ways that seem to most matter -- those involving friends, starting a family, and creating a tribe. A big part of that has been entering this community of moms and will-be-moms (which, as I'm learning, is far from one defined group -- a recent Facebook post I sent inquiring about night nurses sparked lots of debate and dissension -- one can see how mommy wars begin!)
So with that, I'll end with a few pictures of our community here and holiday celebrations from the last couple of weeks -- first, an incredible expat Thanksgiving feast hosted by our pastry-chef friend, Alana and her husband, Dan; and this past weekend, an ugly Christmas sweater party (with the most amazing mulled wine and hot chocolate) hosted by Agnes and Michal -- also expecting their first baby in 2016! Here's to community, new traditions, and the start of an incredible holiday season!
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
32 weeks
I found a note this morning from my younger, sometimes wiser self, stuffed into a hidden pocket of a wallet I no longer use. It's a list of values, of choices I hoped to make when at the cross-roads of choosing fear or love. It's stuffed somewhere with my 2014 resolutions (top of that list: have a baby). It's all the reminder I need on a grey day that our outlook is a choice; and that these repeated choices become habits, which form the basis of our character. There's a Gandhi quote I've always loved, which essentially boils down to: choose your beliefs and thoughts wisely.
"Your beliefs become your thoughts,
Your thoughts become your words,
Your words become your actions,
Your actions become your habits,
Your habits become your values,
Your values become your destiny." - Mahatma Gandhi
In this week (and season) of giving thanks, I found myself this morning dusting off my gratitude journal and sitting down with a cup of strong tea in the baby's nursery. Earlier in the morning, I had hastily written down questions to ponder on my iphone. One that I underlined: what matters most to me? Even as I write that now, I can feel a swirl of thoughts competing for attention in my brain. Yet sitting down on the floor of the nursery, the answer moves easily from my brain to my heart.
You see, getting pregnant wasn't easy for us. It's something that high school taught us to fear could happen at any time, and then suddenly when we finally wanted it, we learned it doesn't quite happen on-demand. When we first moved into our apartment in Seoul fourteen months ago, there was this really funny room that stemmed from the master bedroom. The tenants before us used it for one gigantic closet -- and I mean, gigantic! This room had its own window and air conditioning unit, yet was only accessible through the master bedroom itself. When one of my best friends came to Seoul to visit and saw this empty room, she excitedly suggested we use this room as an exercise room. Something within me physically stirred because there was only one thing I envisioned for this room: our baby's nursery.
Over the last year, I ended up meditating quite a bit in the empty room. On good days, I saw possibility and hope. On bad days, it was a visible, physical reminder of an unspeakable emptiness, even shame. We'd joke to friends about this "random" empty room we had in our house, and the doors, for the most part, stayed closed.
Even after we joyfully got pregnant this past spring, there was something about the nursery that kept me from going "all in". It was as though starting to build the nursery would somehow tempt fate and allow the worst that could happen to happen. Even after we started announcing we were pregnant (which we didn't even do on social media until close to 20 weeks), there was something that prevented me from writing definitively: "We're having a boy in January!" -- I kept wanting to do what a mentor of mine did when she was pregnant, and writing "inshallah" after the sentence (I finally largely settled on "expecting"). As though somehow not 100% fully embracing this would shield me from any heartbreak. In this, I'm reminded of Brene Brown's book, "The Gifts of Imperfection" -- which I've already mentally noted to re-read at least once a year. In her book, she talks about finding the courage to be vulnerable enough to openly celebrate those intensely joyful moments, in spite of being fearful that savoring happiness is inviting disaster.
This also reminds me of a Nelson Mandela quote I love: "May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears." And so with that, shortly after my return to Seoul from my month in the States, the doors of the nursery came down (quite literally: Tyler removed the nails and the doors, much to the concern of other parents who keep warning us, "Um, maybe you want to be able to shut the doors?"). We made a trek to IKEA, opened all the shipped boxes and stuffed suitcases from the amazingly thoughtful baby showers thrown for me in LA and NYC, and got to work. Over the last three weekends, we've finally finished doing all the baby's laundry (he easily has more clothes than Tyler and I combined), and put on the finishing touches:
The Wall Street Journal published an amazing piece last month called, "Adventures in Fertility" (link here). The writer, Jason Gay, a sports columnist for the WSJ, talks about losing all perspective on their adventures in fertility, now that their oldest son is three. But how at night, when the kids are asleep -- that's when he feels it:
"I'll be walking down the hallway to our bedroom, and I'll have my mind on something silly like a basketball game, and I will pass their little room. For a long time, it was this sad, unused room that we never were quite sure what to do with. Is it an office? A guest room? A storage room for unnecessary crap?
'That's going to be the baby's room,' we would say. But there were a lot of long, gray years when it belonged to nobody.
Now it's getting late, and as I pass by, I see the kids, asleep. They're still new, still a mystery.
That room belongs to somebody.
That's when I know how lucky we are."
And so, with great awe and humility in how things somehow always magically work out in the end ("If it's not okay, it's not end"), I open up my gratitude journal this morning, surrounded by all the baby animal decals we lovingly put up floor-height, and begin to write...
"Your beliefs become your thoughts,
Your thoughts become your words,
Your words become your actions,
Your actions become your habits,
Your habits become your values,
Your values become your destiny." - Mahatma Gandhi
In this week (and season) of giving thanks, I found myself this morning dusting off my gratitude journal and sitting down with a cup of strong tea in the baby's nursery. Earlier in the morning, I had hastily written down questions to ponder on my iphone. One that I underlined: what matters most to me? Even as I write that now, I can feel a swirl of thoughts competing for attention in my brain. Yet sitting down on the floor of the nursery, the answer moves easily from my brain to my heart.
You see, getting pregnant wasn't easy for us. It's something that high school taught us to fear could happen at any time, and then suddenly when we finally wanted it, we learned it doesn't quite happen on-demand. When we first moved into our apartment in Seoul fourteen months ago, there was this really funny room that stemmed from the master bedroom. The tenants before us used it for one gigantic closet -- and I mean, gigantic! This room had its own window and air conditioning unit, yet was only accessible through the master bedroom itself. When one of my best friends came to Seoul to visit and saw this empty room, she excitedly suggested we use this room as an exercise room. Something within me physically stirred because there was only one thing I envisioned for this room: our baby's nursery.
Over the last year, I ended up meditating quite a bit in the empty room. On good days, I saw possibility and hope. On bad days, it was a visible, physical reminder of an unspeakable emptiness, even shame. We'd joke to friends about this "random" empty room we had in our house, and the doors, for the most part, stayed closed.
Even after we joyfully got pregnant this past spring, there was something about the nursery that kept me from going "all in". It was as though starting to build the nursery would somehow tempt fate and allow the worst that could happen to happen. Even after we started announcing we were pregnant (which we didn't even do on social media until close to 20 weeks), there was something that prevented me from writing definitively: "We're having a boy in January!" -- I kept wanting to do what a mentor of mine did when she was pregnant, and writing "inshallah" after the sentence (I finally largely settled on "expecting"). As though somehow not 100% fully embracing this would shield me from any heartbreak. In this, I'm reminded of Brene Brown's book, "The Gifts of Imperfection" -- which I've already mentally noted to re-read at least once a year. In her book, she talks about finding the courage to be vulnerable enough to openly celebrate those intensely joyful moments, in spite of being fearful that savoring happiness is inviting disaster.
This also reminds me of a Nelson Mandela quote I love: "May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears." And so with that, shortly after my return to Seoul from my month in the States, the doors of the nursery came down (quite literally: Tyler removed the nails and the doors, much to the concern of other parents who keep warning us, "Um, maybe you want to be able to shut the doors?"). We made a trek to IKEA, opened all the shipped boxes and stuffed suitcases from the amazingly thoughtful baby showers thrown for me in LA and NYC, and got to work. Over the last three weekends, we've finally finished doing all the baby's laundry (he easily has more clothes than Tyler and I combined), and put on the finishing touches:
The Wall Street Journal published an amazing piece last month called, "Adventures in Fertility" (link here). The writer, Jason Gay, a sports columnist for the WSJ, talks about losing all perspective on their adventures in fertility, now that their oldest son is three. But how at night, when the kids are asleep -- that's when he feels it:
"I'll be walking down the hallway to our bedroom, and I'll have my mind on something silly like a basketball game, and I will pass their little room. For a long time, it was this sad, unused room that we never were quite sure what to do with. Is it an office? A guest room? A storage room for unnecessary crap?
'That's going to be the baby's room,' we would say. But there were a lot of long, gray years when it belonged to nobody.
Now it's getting late, and as I pass by, I see the kids, asleep. They're still new, still a mystery.
That room belongs to somebody.
That's when I know how lucky we are."
And so, with great awe and humility in how things somehow always magically work out in the end ("If it's not okay, it's not end"), I open up my gratitude journal this morning, surrounded by all the baby animal decals we lovingly put up floor-height, and begin to write...
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
31 weeks
I laugh envisioning how posts for the next 7-9 weeks will go... Yup, got bigger this past week...
Seriously though, Tyler and I joke that when he comes home from work, I'm bigger than when he left in the morning. I bump into things with my stomach so often and so regularly that this is no longer newsworthy (the biggest is still constantly bumping up against the sink when I do dishes... every day, I have to stand farther and farther back! What is new, however, is now I'm dropping things all the time, especially doing dishes -- it's apparently all the relaxin hormones loosening my muscles in preparation for delivery).
Reading "this week in your pregnancy"-type articles was always so amazing during the first trimester -- it's just remarkable how early things like heart and spinal cord develop (fifth week of pregnancy; or only three weeks after conception!). And somehow by the third trimester, a little baby is there, nearly all in tact -- with the third trimester focused almost entirely on growth (one of my mentors is a pediatrician, and she said she would always breathe a sigh of relief after a baby progressed beyond 27 weeks -- after that, it's all about growing and thriving).
So, if you're wondering, at 31 weeks, our baby is now the size of a pineapple and almost 4 pounds (well, The Bump says 2.5 - 3.8 pounds, but ever since they started measuring weight, this little guy has been above the range... I'm always petrified my care team will tell me I need to stop eating so much, but thankfully that hasn't yet happened).
With all the nesting we've been doing over the last few weeks, we've now settled into a bedtime routine at home with the little guy (who we've been calling Gracie since the first trimester... long story, perhaps a blog post at some point). Each night, we read Gracie two books: I read On the Night You Were Born (which brought tears to my eyes the first time I read it, remembering I bought it for a friend a couple years ago when we first started trying ourselves), and Tyler reads -- or rather, raps, Little Blue Truck. I sing back-up to Tyler's raps, sometimes giving a beat, but more often playing the sound of the little truck honking ("beep beep beep"). I'm not quite sure any of this is doing anything to stimulate the neural development of little Gracie, but certainly a way that we feel connected to him.
What does provoke a response is when Tyler then sings "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" to him (something Tyler started since reading "The Birth Partner" book on the plane back from NYC to Seoul in late September). Since I started feeling Gracie move in August, music seems to always elicit a response: top of the little guy's list appear to be Ave Maria (from my cousin's wedding), anything by the Viennese Boys Choir (my osteopath says that babies like hearing the voices of children), Bob Dylan (this is recent), and Tyler's nightly rendition of "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." If Gracie were asleep before, this never fails to wake him up. Of course, we joke that we don't actually know whether there's a correlation between movement and happiness -- he's either kicking around, dancing with joy, or putting his hands to his ears and kicking at us to stop (as I learned this morning: all his senses are now developed!) We'll need to test this after he's born.
Until then, we're still memorizing all the verses...
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
I looked over Jordan, and what did I see?
Coming for to carry me home,
A band of angels coming after me,
Coming for to carry me home.
Chorus.
If you get there before I do,
Coming for to carry me home,
Tell all my friends I'm coming, too,
Coming for to carry me home.
Chorus.
I'm sometimes up and sometimes down,
Coming for to carry me home,
But still my soul feels heavenly bound,
Coming for to carry me home.
Chorus.
The brightest day that I can say,
Coming for to carry me home,
When Jesus washed my sins away,
Coming for to carry me home.
Chorus.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
I looked over Jordan, and what did I see?
Coming for to carry me home,
A band of angels coming after me,
Coming for to carry me home.
Chorus.
If you get there before I do,
Coming for to carry me home,
Tell all my friends I'm coming, too,
Coming for to carry me home.
Chorus.
I'm sometimes up and sometimes down,
Coming for to carry me home,
But still my soul feels heavenly bound,
Coming for to carry me home.
Chorus.
The brightest day that I can say,
Coming for to carry me home,
When Jesus washed my sins away,
Coming for to carry me home.
Chorus.
Friday, November 13, 2015
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
"I was going to write a book, but then I got pregnant."
Before I got pregnant, I had this awesome idea for a book I would write. It stems from a book I had heard about a few years ago -- about an American man with back pain, who went all around the world getting treated for it, along the way stumbling upon insights and lessons from health care systems much different from ours.
I was going to do the same thing, in a way, but for maternity. Through the course of my nine month pregnancy, I would write about the care I was receiving in Korea, as well as anywhere else in the world I happened to travel for work or for pleasure -- the US, India, Sub-Saharan Africa, Europe...
When I was back in New York City this past September, I saw my friend Blake, who is one of those rare friends who not only pushes you to be your best self, but calls you out on it when you're not. He asks, "So how's your book coming?" I respond: "Well, I was going to write a book, but then I got pregnant." His response: "Great! - Sounds like an awesome title for your new book."
The takeaway for me here is that there's a vast difference between what I think I'm going to do around pregnancy and birth; and then the reality of what does happen (while I still get excited about that book and think it's an impactful way to shed light on the state of maternal health around the world, the reality is that actually, I don't want to travel to areas of the world with awful maternal health outcomes (the whole reason Gates has funded us to work there in the first place!) while I'm pregnant; I suppose this must have been obvious to everyone but me.)
... All of which is prompting me to get back on the horse and start blogging again regularly -- before I forget all of this in the haze of new motherhood (on that subject, one of my college roommates -- one of the most articulate and introspective people I know -- wrote an article in The Atlantic about this very thing, called "Before I Forget: What Nobody Remembers About New Motherhood": http://www.theatlantic.com/sexes/archive/2013/04/before-i-forget-what-nobody-remembers-about-new-motherhood/274981/)
So what's happening in my world right now? Well, today is Veteran's Day in the US, Diwali in India, Singles' Day in China (google it, it's really a thing), and Pepero Day in Korea (in case you're wondering, it's like Valentine's Day, but instead of chocolate, you give your love a Pepero stick -- an evolution of the supposed origin of Pepero Day on 11/11: exchanging tall, thin Peperos in the hopes of becoming taller and thinner yourself -- ah, Korea).
But in the Morente-Bolender family, this day is significant because I'm now 30 weeks pregnant; ten more weeks to go!!
Time's a funny thing. We all know it's relative. One week in the first trimester was a wholly different psychological length than one week now. For me, the first trimester dragged on and on... each individual week was momentous (you could have asked either of us what size fruit the baby was and we'd know instantly -- growing from sesame seed to watermelon seed to an actual real fruit size... now when you ask us, we shrug and look at the other person to see if they know!).
Then the second trimester came, and with it, what I'm now realizing to be the glory days of pregnancy: so much energy, so much appetite (absolutely everything tasted just so delicious!!); that illusive "glow" you keep hearing about and then somehow realize you have yourself!
And now I'm learning that the third trimester is a whole new category all on its own. Week 27 came as a bit of a shock to us both -- suddenly, it was here (I remember doing pregnancy meditations in week 7 and looking longingly to month 7, thinking -- that's SO far away!!!). And with the transition to third trimester, both of us realizing we had done next to nothing around actual planning for the birth and delivery.
So began a flurry of weekend activity, all focused around birth preparation: shopping (and finding!) a facility to deliver in; finding a post-natal center to be pampered in after birth (certainly a future blog topic); finding a nanny to help us next year; finding a prenatal yoga center in Seoul; buying and preparing our nursery... Our Wunderlist became a list of all-things baby and delivery.
After spending the last seven months focused on being centered, present, and calm -- the last few weeks have brought my Type A personality out with a roar. So now it's about finding balance: being the mama bear ready to do whatever is needed, but also being here and present to these last incredible ten weeks.
As the quote hanging in my room reminds me daily: "These are the magic years... and therefore magic days... and therefore magic moments." (and as if on cue, the baby inside me is now kicking enthusiastically to concur).
I was going to do the same thing, in a way, but for maternity. Through the course of my nine month pregnancy, I would write about the care I was receiving in Korea, as well as anywhere else in the world I happened to travel for work or for pleasure -- the US, India, Sub-Saharan Africa, Europe...
When I was back in New York City this past September, I saw my friend Blake, who is one of those rare friends who not only pushes you to be your best self, but calls you out on it when you're not. He asks, "So how's your book coming?" I respond: "Well, I was going to write a book, but then I got pregnant." His response: "Great! - Sounds like an awesome title for your new book."
The takeaway for me here is that there's a vast difference between what I think I'm going to do around pregnancy and birth; and then the reality of what does happen (while I still get excited about that book and think it's an impactful way to shed light on the state of maternal health around the world, the reality is that actually, I don't want to travel to areas of the world with awful maternal health outcomes (the whole reason Gates has funded us to work there in the first place!) while I'm pregnant; I suppose this must have been obvious to everyone but me.)
... All of which is prompting me to get back on the horse and start blogging again regularly -- before I forget all of this in the haze of new motherhood (on that subject, one of my college roommates -- one of the most articulate and introspective people I know -- wrote an article in The Atlantic about this very thing, called "Before I Forget: What Nobody Remembers About New Motherhood": http://www.theatlantic.com/sexes/archive/2013/04/before-i-forget-what-nobody-remembers-about-new-motherhood/274981/)
So what's happening in my world right now? Well, today is Veteran's Day in the US, Diwali in India, Singles' Day in China (google it, it's really a thing), and Pepero Day in Korea (in case you're wondering, it's like Valentine's Day, but instead of chocolate, you give your love a Pepero stick -- an evolution of the supposed origin of Pepero Day on 11/11: exchanging tall, thin Peperos in the hopes of becoming taller and thinner yourself -- ah, Korea).
But in the Morente-Bolender family, this day is significant because I'm now 30 weeks pregnant; ten more weeks to go!!
Time's a funny thing. We all know it's relative. One week in the first trimester was a wholly different psychological length than one week now. For me, the first trimester dragged on and on... each individual week was momentous (you could have asked either of us what size fruit the baby was and we'd know instantly -- growing from sesame seed to watermelon seed to an actual real fruit size... now when you ask us, we shrug and look at the other person to see if they know!).
Then the second trimester came, and with it, what I'm now realizing to be the glory days of pregnancy: so much energy, so much appetite (absolutely everything tasted just so delicious!!); that illusive "glow" you keep hearing about and then somehow realize you have yourself!
And now I'm learning that the third trimester is a whole new category all on its own. Week 27 came as a bit of a shock to us both -- suddenly, it was here (I remember doing pregnancy meditations in week 7 and looking longingly to month 7, thinking -- that's SO far away!!!). And with the transition to third trimester, both of us realizing we had done next to nothing around actual planning for the birth and delivery.
So began a flurry of weekend activity, all focused around birth preparation: shopping (and finding!) a facility to deliver in; finding a post-natal center to be pampered in after birth (certainly a future blog topic); finding a nanny to help us next year; finding a prenatal yoga center in Seoul; buying and preparing our nursery... Our Wunderlist became a list of all-things baby and delivery.
After spending the last seven months focused on being centered, present, and calm -- the last few weeks have brought my Type A personality out with a roar. So now it's about finding balance: being the mama bear ready to do whatever is needed, but also being here and present to these last incredible ten weeks.
As the quote hanging in my room reminds me daily: "These are the magic years... and therefore magic days... and therefore magic moments." (and as if on cue, the baby inside me is now kicking enthusiastically to concur).
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Beyond the unknown
A good friend sent me this poem this morning. As I sit here sipping my pregnancy red raspberry leaf tea, watching the sun set over the mountains on an unusually clear Seoul evening, I thought I'd share:
"In a mother’s womb were two babies. One asked the other: “Do you believe in life after delivery?” The other replied, “Why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later.”“Nonsense” said the first. “There is no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?”The second said, “I don’t know, but there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths. Maybe we will have other senses that we can’t understand now.”The first replied, “That is absurd. Walking is impossible. And eating with our mouths? Ridiculous! The umbilical cord supplies nutrition and everything we need. But the umbilical cord is so short. Life after delivery is to be logically excluded.”The second insisted, “Well I think there is something and maybe it’s different than it is here. Maybe we won’t need this physical cord anymore.”The first replied, “Nonsense. And moreover if there is life, then why has no one has ever come back from there? Delivery is the end of life, and in the after-delivery there is nothing but darkness and silence and oblivion. It takes us nowhere.”“Well, I don’t know,” said the second, “but certainly we will meet Mother and she will take care of us.”The first replied “Mother? You actually believe in Mother? That’s laughable. If Mother exists then where is She now?”The second said, “She is all around us. We are surrounded by her. We are of Her. It is in Her that we live. Without Her this world would not and could not exist.”Said the first: “Well I don’t see Her, so it is only logical that She doesn’t exist.”To which the second replied, “Sometimes, when you’re in silence and you focus and you really listen, you can perceive Her presence, and you can hear Her loving voice, calling down from above.”"
- Útmutató a Léleknek
"In a mother’s womb were two babies. One asked the other: “Do you believe in life after delivery?” The other replied, “Why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later.”“Nonsense” said the first. “There is no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?”The second said, “I don’t know, but there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths. Maybe we will have other senses that we can’t understand now.”The first replied, “That is absurd. Walking is impossible. And eating with our mouths? Ridiculous! The umbilical cord supplies nutrition and everything we need. But the umbilical cord is so short. Life after delivery is to be logically excluded.”The second insisted, “Well I think there is something and maybe it’s different than it is here. Maybe we won’t need this physical cord anymore.”The first replied, “Nonsense. And moreover if there is life, then why has no one has ever come back from there? Delivery is the end of life, and in the after-delivery there is nothing but darkness and silence and oblivion. It takes us nowhere.”“Well, I don’t know,” said the second, “but certainly we will meet Mother and she will take care of us.”The first replied “Mother? You actually believe in Mother? That’s laughable. If Mother exists then where is She now?”The second said, “She is all around us. We are surrounded by her. We are of Her. It is in Her that we live. Without Her this world would not and could not exist.”Said the first: “Well I don’t see Her, so it is only logical that She doesn’t exist.”To which the second replied, “Sometimes, when you’re in silence and you focus and you really listen, you can perceive Her presence, and you can hear Her loving voice, calling down from above.”"
- Útmutató a Léleknek
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
A Celebration
It's a momentous day for me. Today I'm 20 weeks pregnant! Literally at the half-way mark. There's much to celebrate -- particularly since getting pregnant wasn't easy for us.
It's funny though. Celebration doesn't come naturally for me. I once took a women's professional development class about putting passion into practice. One of the core tenets was to "celebrate". I literally raised my hand and asked the instructor what she meant by that.
There's a voice in my head that tells me not to get too happy -- that getting too happy means just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's like some invisible glass ceiling when I start to get too joyful -- a nagging voice that says this joy can be taken away at any second (our engagement was a constant stream of acute anxiety for me -- equal parts fearing I would lose my individuality, at the same time fearing Tyler could die every time he got on his motorcycle... good thing I was never melodramatic).
And forget about actually sharing this feeling of happiness with others. That brings a certain vulnerability, letting others know what you want so badly. Because what if it doesn't work out? (I remember a good friend not telling me she was applying to business school until after she already got in -- even though I was already in b-school and could have helped with her application. I told this to another friend who said, "What's weird about that? It would have been so embarrassing if she hadn't gotten in!").
So is it embarrassment? Maybe. There have been loads of great articles written about the 12 week "communication hold" and keeping silent about your pregnancy throughout the first trimester (this article in "Medium" is one of my favorites). The basic gist of the general argument is that miscarriages are so common during the first trimester (as high as 50%, though that also includes the mom not even knowing she was pregnant -- just seeming like a late period) -- so it basically just sucks to tell everyone you're pregnant, only to have to tell everyone you then had a miscarriage.
But why is that the case? As the author of the article in "Medium" writes:
"I wonder whose anxiety we're trying to protect in concealing these first few difficult months. Is this supposed to be for my sake? Are we trying to protect me from the embarrassment of admitting that I can't go 45 minutes without eating and am gaining weight at a rapid clip? That I spend most of the day crying and moaning on the couch, Alicia Florrick my fictional companion? That I'm afraid of losing the pregnancy but can't fathom that this debilitating state of being has anything to do with an actual baby? Are we really trying to save me from having to share the news if I have a miscarriage? Or are we trying to protect our culture from admitting that not all pregnancies are beautiful and easy and make it to term, and that the loss can be absolutely devastating?"
I argue it's something even deeper than anxiety and even embarrassment, which I'm only starting to fully realize now. It's around shame. Shame of having to tell people you love and admire that you had a miscarriage... or that it's hard to get pregnant... or [insert issue here] -- especially when the outside self you seek to cultivate is, well, perfect.
As a recovering perfectionist myself, I recently devoured the book, "The Gifts of Imperfection," by Brene Brown (her TED talk on vulnerability is amazing; link here). She argues that the gifts of imperfection are courage, compassion, and connection -- and that practicing these daily is how we cultivate worthiness (this is now on a sticky note on my computer). In her book, she talks about finding the courage to celebrate those intensely joyful moments even though we've convinced ourselves that savoring happiness is inviting disaster.
The deeper I get into self-reflection and wholehearted living, the more I realize how flawed my black/white - either/or thinking is. Rather, I'm finding it much more useful to think about the world in terms of juxtapositions and "and's". I am joyful to be at 20 weeks and I am nervous that something may go wrong (am I drinking enough water? eating enough protein? getting enough sleep?) Negating or downplaying the joy doesn't reduce the fear -- it makes us numb. And keeping these fears a secret doesn't keep me safe. As I'm learning, it's this vulnerability to open up and admit we're not perfect that allows us to really connect -- with those we love, as well as even strangers (I think back to a post I read about a woman who was convinced even up to her 20 week check-up that the doctor was going to say, "Sorry, just kidding! You're not really pregnant! -- We messed up."; thank goodness for this post -- it has kept me grounded and laughing more than that woman can possibly know.)
So maybe that's why I've been so quiet on this blog for so long. At first, I chalked it up to sheer laziness, tiredness, and nausea from the first trimester, combined with the "in-authenticity" of writing but not being able to share what was truly on my mind. So perhaps this is all a cop-out, writing this halfway into the pregnancy (as the author in the "Medium" article admits as well).
Perhaps. Part of it is that I'm also finally yielding to "the voice" -- that voice in my head that narrates and introspects on my life and urges me to write it all down. Bono once said that he doesn't think about the process of writing songs. He'll just hear notes in his head -- and it's so nagging and annoying, he'll write it down so that he can just go to sleep. I don't think this blog will win any Grammy's, but there's something to be said about yielding to our desires to express ourselves authentically -- letting the voices or notes in our head flow through us, without blocking their way with fear of what others think.
And so with that, let's celebrate!! Before I left for Korea, one of my closest friends and "twin" got me these awesome cards on happiness that you open each day. A few now hang on my closet; this is one of my favorites: "These are the magic years... and therefore magic days... and therefore magic moments." Cheers to that.
It's funny though. Celebration doesn't come naturally for me. I once took a women's professional development class about putting passion into practice. One of the core tenets was to "celebrate". I literally raised my hand and asked the instructor what she meant by that.
There's a voice in my head that tells me not to get too happy -- that getting too happy means just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's like some invisible glass ceiling when I start to get too joyful -- a nagging voice that says this joy can be taken away at any second (our engagement was a constant stream of acute anxiety for me -- equal parts fearing I would lose my individuality, at the same time fearing Tyler could die every time he got on his motorcycle... good thing I was never melodramatic).
And forget about actually sharing this feeling of happiness with others. That brings a certain vulnerability, letting others know what you want so badly. Because what if it doesn't work out? (I remember a good friend not telling me she was applying to business school until after she already got in -- even though I was already in b-school and could have helped with her application. I told this to another friend who said, "What's weird about that? It would have been so embarrassing if she hadn't gotten in!").
So is it embarrassment? Maybe. There have been loads of great articles written about the 12 week "communication hold" and keeping silent about your pregnancy throughout the first trimester (this article in "Medium" is one of my favorites). The basic gist of the general argument is that miscarriages are so common during the first trimester (as high as 50%, though that also includes the mom not even knowing she was pregnant -- just seeming like a late period) -- so it basically just sucks to tell everyone you're pregnant, only to have to tell everyone you then had a miscarriage.
But why is that the case? As the author of the article in "Medium" writes:
"I wonder whose anxiety we're trying to protect in concealing these first few difficult months. Is this supposed to be for my sake? Are we trying to protect me from the embarrassment of admitting that I can't go 45 minutes without eating and am gaining weight at a rapid clip? That I spend most of the day crying and moaning on the couch, Alicia Florrick my fictional companion? That I'm afraid of losing the pregnancy but can't fathom that this debilitating state of being has anything to do with an actual baby? Are we really trying to save me from having to share the news if I have a miscarriage? Or are we trying to protect our culture from admitting that not all pregnancies are beautiful and easy and make it to term, and that the loss can be absolutely devastating?"
I argue it's something even deeper than anxiety and even embarrassment, which I'm only starting to fully realize now. It's around shame. Shame of having to tell people you love and admire that you had a miscarriage... or that it's hard to get pregnant... or [insert issue here] -- especially when the outside self you seek to cultivate is, well, perfect.
As a recovering perfectionist myself, I recently devoured the book, "The Gifts of Imperfection," by Brene Brown (her TED talk on vulnerability is amazing; link here). She argues that the gifts of imperfection are courage, compassion, and connection -- and that practicing these daily is how we cultivate worthiness (this is now on a sticky note on my computer). In her book, she talks about finding the courage to celebrate those intensely joyful moments even though we've convinced ourselves that savoring happiness is inviting disaster.
The deeper I get into self-reflection and wholehearted living, the more I realize how flawed my black/white - either/or thinking is. Rather, I'm finding it much more useful to think about the world in terms of juxtapositions and "and's". I am joyful to be at 20 weeks and I am nervous that something may go wrong (am I drinking enough water? eating enough protein? getting enough sleep?) Negating or downplaying the joy doesn't reduce the fear -- it makes us numb. And keeping these fears a secret doesn't keep me safe. As I'm learning, it's this vulnerability to open up and admit we're not perfect that allows us to really connect -- with those we love, as well as even strangers (I think back to a post I read about a woman who was convinced even up to her 20 week check-up that the doctor was going to say, "Sorry, just kidding! You're not really pregnant! -- We messed up."; thank goodness for this post -- it has kept me grounded and laughing more than that woman can possibly know.)
So maybe that's why I've been so quiet on this blog for so long. At first, I chalked it up to sheer laziness, tiredness, and nausea from the first trimester, combined with the "in-authenticity" of writing but not being able to share what was truly on my mind. So perhaps this is all a cop-out, writing this halfway into the pregnancy (as the author in the "Medium" article admits as well).
Perhaps. Part of it is that I'm also finally yielding to "the voice" -- that voice in my head that narrates and introspects on my life and urges me to write it all down. Bono once said that he doesn't think about the process of writing songs. He'll just hear notes in his head -- and it's so nagging and annoying, he'll write it down so that he can just go to sleep. I don't think this blog will win any Grammy's, but there's something to be said about yielding to our desires to express ourselves authentically -- letting the voices or notes in our head flow through us, without blocking their way with fear of what others think.
And so with that, let's celebrate!! Before I left for Korea, one of my closest friends and "twin" got me these awesome cards on happiness that you open each day. A few now hang on my closet; this is one of my favorites: "These are the magic years... and therefore magic days... and therefore magic moments." Cheers to that.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Back!!!
A mentor of mine used to say that "How you do anything is how you do everything." So I suppose that's the way with blogs as well. There have been about fifty blog posts written in my head since my last post way back in the beginning of April, just before going into silent meditation.
Since resuming the world of the talking, much has happened. I discovered my happy place (perhaps not surprisingly, on a beach in Bali)...Good friends visited from the US...Cherry blossom season has come and gone in Seoul (in seemingly the blink of an eye)...Tyler's parents were here for an incredible two weeks. And I've learned to celebrate every day and every small miracle.
Of course, being a recovering perfectionist, none of these have made its way onto the page. "It better be really good for you to post that after two months of not writing!"
So I'm bypassing my perfectionist inner critic by showing, not telling. Here's a small sampling of the last eight weeks in pictures...
My happy place:
John and Michelle visiting from Chicago:
Cherry Blossoms!!!!!
Dan and Kris's visit:
And if there's one thing I've learned over the last month...
Since resuming the world of the talking, much has happened. I discovered my happy place (perhaps not surprisingly, on a beach in Bali)...Good friends visited from the US...Cherry blossom season has come and gone in Seoul (in seemingly the blink of an eye)...Tyler's parents were here for an incredible two weeks. And I've learned to celebrate every day and every small miracle.
Of course, being a recovering perfectionist, none of these have made its way onto the page. "It better be really good for you to post that after two months of not writing!"
So I'm bypassing my perfectionist inner critic by showing, not telling. Here's a small sampling of the last eight weeks in pictures...
My happy place:
John and Michelle visiting from Chicago:
Cherry Blossoms!!!!!
Dan and Kris's visit:
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Speaking of which...
BAM!!
Oh, so this is what zero inbox feels like...
(and in case you're wondering, no, I'm not cheating! Silence starts tonight...)
Oh, so this is what zero inbox feels like...
(and in case you're wondering, no, I'm not cheating! Silence starts tonight...)
Into the Abyss
As I walked along the beach from my hotel room to breakfast, I thought about my friend who did Peace Corps in Mongolia. He has crazy stories of his host family going hunting in the fall and burying the carcasses, creating their own natural outdoor freezer with the quick coming of winter. When we did a micro-finance project in the Philippines together years later, conducting focus groups on the beach huddled under the palm shade, he asked incredulously, You mean I could've gone here for Peace Corps?!
I had a similar thought this morning, comparing this environment with the austere nature of my first silent meditation back in Hyderabad, and then thinking of myself shivering and wearing my North Face to sleep during my second silent retreat outside Delhi a few years later. You mean I could've gone to paradise to meditate?!
You would think I'd be relaxed as anything this morning, but that's the farthest from the truth. The Buddhists call it "monkey mind" and this morning, it is particularly going ape sh*t. I'm antsy and quick to annoyance and anger (turns out professional meditators aren't particularly organized). But so I usually am before any kind of intense meditation. It's either nervous energy and/or all of my neuroses coming up for the sole purpose of getting purged over the coming days.
Today, my inner voice has been particularly snarky, seeing all the signs not only for Art of Living (the silent meditation I'll be doing with 500+ others), but also its cousin, Transcendental Meditation (TM) -- which I learned only last night has its basis in Hinduism and focuses on concentration (slightly different flavor from the meditation I'm used to like Vipassana, which has roots in Buddhism and focuses on mindfulness). Whenever I'm with folks who don't meditate, I wax poetic about the benefits of meditation. But when I'm with too many hard core meditators, my inner critic comes out to play. And so it is this morning. The whole hotel complex is like Happiness, Inc... Meditators of the world, unite!
My morning goal has been characteristically un-spiritual: get to inbox zero. Kinda a bit random, since I really haven't cared about an empty inbox since I decided to focus on my larger goals of 2015. Yet here I find myself in my three-star hotel room in Bali manically purging email (instead of, say, walking on the beach).
I suppose it's the physical manifestation for what I hope and expect will happen to my mind over the next five days: achieve some sort of gloriously emptiness (and I imagine I'll have more than enough time to walk the beach in silent once we begin). When I did my first ten day silent meditation in Hyderabad, someone referred to Vipassana (the hard-core meditation I threw myself into) as a sort of mental lobotomy. But instead of going under anesthesia, you are painfully, excruciatingly aware of every thought as it swirls through your brain and eventually leaves your head.
Sometimes these thoughts are life-changing, such as deciding I would stay in India after my ten month fellowship. Some are deep yet seemingly out of nowhere, like realizing my intense fear of disappointing others whom I love and respect, which most strongly took the form of my ex-boyfriend's parents. And some are just so dumb that it's embarrassing how much mind share they take: like the time I spent the majority of my day in silence contemplating the finer points of Twilight (I'm Team Edward in case you were wondering).
On my flight over from Seoul, I read 10% Happier by Dan Harris -- which, for his description of his own ten day silent meditation alone is worth the read. Subtitled, "How I tamed the voice in my head, reduced stress without losing my edge, and found self-help that actually works -- a true story," it's the story of one unlikely man's journey into meditation. Harris is the co-anchor of Nightline and basically had a nervous breakdown/panic attack on national television (which he talks about here), stemming from his cocaine and ecstasy habit, which in turn was a result of his "addiction" to reporting from dangerous war zones. His journey into mindfulness and meditation (which he basically goes into kicking and screaming) is hilarious; he describes his inner monologue of watching his breath as: In. Out. I wonder if they'll have more of that fresh bread at dinner? Damn, dude. In. (before then describing his ten day silence retreat as the "longest, most exquisite high of my life.")
I've earmarked so many pages for reference that all I can say is if you're slightly intrigued, read it! It cuts through a lot of the new age hippie mumbo jumbo and says it all in plain-speak. For instance: "As best I could understand it, the Buddha's main thesis was that in a world where everything is constantly changing, we suffer because we cling to things that won't last." He traces meditation to mainstream, such as Silicon Valley ("where meditation is now increasingly being viewed as a software upgrade for the brain"), corporations (Wired magazine has apparently referred to meditation as the "new caffeine") and even the Marine Corps (apparently some old-school meditation gurus are upset that meditation is being used to make capitalists richer and the army more effective at killing).
But that's the thing though. The edges are dimmed. On my flight back to Bali, I reflected how I've gone from seemingly one end of the universe (NYC) to another (Bali), with barely a 24 hour stop back home to Seoul. Yet as I looked around to all the travelers carrying their yoga mats and gear, it occurred to me that sometimes these two worlds aren't so different after all. The same people who sometimes see themselves as "more enlightened" than Wall Street ambitious types often still compete with one another, albeit in more "spiritual" ways. Once we break our silence, my experience has been that a common intro is: "What's your name and how many of these have you done?" It's like being back in NYC, with the ubiquitous, "What's your name and what do you do?" -- similarly casting you in some sort of mental social hierarchy in whatever it is that that society happens to most value.
People ask if it's hard to be silent for so long. Truthfully, the silence is the easy part. It's sitting alone with your thoughts for 18 hours a day that's brutal.
But without fail, every time I emerge from silence, there's always some insight into myself and into life that makes it all worth it. And except for the first time, where I emerged still deer in headlights (as Tyler puts it), after every other silent meditation retreat, I emerge feeling like I've acquired some new super power: all of my senses are heightened (maybe that's what inspired all the Twilight thoughts?? -ha!) and anything I put my mind to becomes shockingly easy: whether it's running for an hour or cranking out work that I know would have taken days.
It's like a drug and part of the spiritual game is not allowing yourself to get hooked -- to practice what the yogis and the Buddhists call "non-attachment."
It's like a drug and part of the spiritual game is not allowing yourself to get hooked -- to practice what the yogis and the Buddhists call "non-attachment."
But I think this is probably enough talk and soliloquy for one day. So here goes!! The leap into what's been called the last frontier: exploring all that's within. See you on the other side!
Monday, March 16, 2015
And so I write...
Woke up this morning feeling numb and blue. Don't worry, everything is fine. But in this journey of detoxing that I've been on since the New Year (detoxing from physical clutter, from mental clutter, from time clutter, from foods and thoughts that's don't serve me), I find myself feeling my feelings more. And not knowing entirely what to do with them, I find myself writing.
And reading. This morning, in one two-hour sitting, I read a book cover to cover. I was riveted. Called Chasing Daylight, it's ultimately about a 100-day project that makes my 100-day projects look like child's play. It's a last memoir about the writer's 100 day "project" -- his deep intention -- to die well and on his own terms. Still in his prime at 53 and the CEO of KPMG, the writer was told he had terminal cancer and three months to live. While he set out to write a book about dying, his incredible story is ultimately one with lessons for living... well worth the read.
Of course, spending my morning reading a book that I hadn't even yet downloaded was not on my to do list. But I got an email from my brother-in-law who had read the book yesterday, and I found myself drawn. So instead of working, I found myself curled up with a cup of tea and reading instead.
Last week, in the midst of crazy grant proposal writing, I found myself doing something entirely uncharacteristic as well. I stood up, stretched... and proceeded to take a luxurious hot bath. In college, I used to take paper-writing breaks to take a shower (in the middle of the day or night -- whenever I happened to be writing), but this was much more for productivity than indulging in leisure. Like many people, I tend to have creative and "a-ha!" thoughts in the shower, so this became an almost-ritual through my college years. And sure enough, with hot water pouring around me (at my second or third shower of the day), I'd get an epiphany that would give me the creative jolt to tie the paper together in some meaningful, thoughtful way. Yet last week's bath was not for that reason. Hunched over my computer for hours working on a grant proposal, I could feel the stress rising in my body. And while the old me yearned to hunker through until I finished, the new (or "emerging") me knew this was the perfect time for a break.
You see, I'm not behaving much like myself these days. Eight years ago, I underlined a sentence in a book that I recently picked up again once I moved to Korea. It reads: "You're either losing your mind -- or gaining your soul." In the margins, I had scribbled, "Friends asking about a mid-life crisis" and in all-caps: BRILLIANT!
There's a famous episode of Seinfeld where George spends a day doing the exact opposite of everything he would have done normally. And the gags start when this ends up making him terrifically successful in just about everything: he gets his dream job working with the NY Yankees, he asks girls out, he becomes confident and respected.
Sometimes this is what I feel like my experiments -- my own 100 day projects -- make me do. Not that I think my "old" self was so bad. It wasn't. It isn't. I'm incredibly proud of all that I've achieved.
But I started to get a nagging question: Does it have to feel this hard? Is all the stress (and self-doubt) really necessary?
As it turns out, it's not. Because right after that deliciously warm bath last week, I cranked out a pretty great proposal (if I do say so myself). But I did it without wearing myself out, and with a lit candle, fun music, and a hot mug of tea beside me. What I'm learning is that things don't have to be a trade-off (work vs fun). It can be both. And that more fun also can mean better (and more creative) work.
Alas, this new frame of mind is a journey and not a destination. And sometimes it's easy for me to get derailed. That's why I started a new photo project (those of you on Instagram already know this) called #365 pleasures. Starting last Saturday on my birthday, I began posting a "pleasure" from each day... this could be a gorgeous avocado for breakfast or silk pajamas or walking barefoot in the park near our house (it's inspired from the amazing global project, #365grateful). It's a daily reminder to step away -- to consciously and purposefully inject more joy, fun, celebration, and play into my life.
And I'm learning that by taking the time to do that, my world doesn't crash around me. Maybe my inbox is fuller than usual, but maybe zero inbox is no longer the game I want to play. There's a yearning within to play bigger -- and while I don't yet know that this means yet, I know how I'll get there. Intense self-care (I'm still sleeping over 8 hours a night), simplying life, and yes -- a healthy dose of pleasure, play, and fun.
Anyone wanna go roller skating when I'm in NYC next week?
And reading. This morning, in one two-hour sitting, I read a book cover to cover. I was riveted. Called Chasing Daylight, it's ultimately about a 100-day project that makes my 100-day projects look like child's play. It's a last memoir about the writer's 100 day "project" -- his deep intention -- to die well and on his own terms. Still in his prime at 53 and the CEO of KPMG, the writer was told he had terminal cancer and three months to live. While he set out to write a book about dying, his incredible story is ultimately one with lessons for living... well worth the read.
Of course, spending my morning reading a book that I hadn't even yet downloaded was not on my to do list. But I got an email from my brother-in-law who had read the book yesterday, and I found myself drawn. So instead of working, I found myself curled up with a cup of tea and reading instead.
Last week, in the midst of crazy grant proposal writing, I found myself doing something entirely uncharacteristic as well. I stood up, stretched... and proceeded to take a luxurious hot bath. In college, I used to take paper-writing breaks to take a shower (in the middle of the day or night -- whenever I happened to be writing), but this was much more for productivity than indulging in leisure. Like many people, I tend to have creative and "a-ha!" thoughts in the shower, so this became an almost-ritual through my college years. And sure enough, with hot water pouring around me (at my second or third shower of the day), I'd get an epiphany that would give me the creative jolt to tie the paper together in some meaningful, thoughtful way. Yet last week's bath was not for that reason. Hunched over my computer for hours working on a grant proposal, I could feel the stress rising in my body. And while the old me yearned to hunker through until I finished, the new (or "emerging") me knew this was the perfect time for a break.
You see, I'm not behaving much like myself these days. Eight years ago, I underlined a sentence in a book that I recently picked up again once I moved to Korea. It reads: "You're either losing your mind -- or gaining your soul." In the margins, I had scribbled, "Friends asking about a mid-life crisis" and in all-caps: BRILLIANT!
There's a famous episode of Seinfeld where George spends a day doing the exact opposite of everything he would have done normally. And the gags start when this ends up making him terrifically successful in just about everything: he gets his dream job working with the NY Yankees, he asks girls out, he becomes confident and respected.
Sometimes this is what I feel like my experiments -- my own 100 day projects -- make me do. Not that I think my "old" self was so bad. It wasn't. It isn't. I'm incredibly proud of all that I've achieved.
But I started to get a nagging question: Does it have to feel this hard? Is all the stress (and self-doubt) really necessary?
As it turns out, it's not. Because right after that deliciously warm bath last week, I cranked out a pretty great proposal (if I do say so myself). But I did it without wearing myself out, and with a lit candle, fun music, and a hot mug of tea beside me. What I'm learning is that things don't have to be a trade-off (work vs fun). It can be both. And that more fun also can mean better (and more creative) work.
Alas, this new frame of mind is a journey and not a destination. And sometimes it's easy for me to get derailed. That's why I started a new photo project (those of you on Instagram already know this) called #365 pleasures. Starting last Saturday on my birthday, I began posting a "pleasure" from each day... this could be a gorgeous avocado for breakfast or silk pajamas or walking barefoot in the park near our house (it's inspired from the amazing global project, #365grateful). It's a daily reminder to step away -- to consciously and purposefully inject more joy, fun, celebration, and play into my life.
And I'm learning that by taking the time to do that, my world doesn't crash around me. Maybe my inbox is fuller than usual, but maybe zero inbox is no longer the game I want to play. There's a yearning within to play bigger -- and while I don't yet know that this means yet, I know how I'll get there. Intense self-care (I'm still sleeping over 8 hours a night), simplying life, and yes -- a healthy dose of pleasure, play, and fun.
Anyone wanna go roller skating when I'm in NYC next week?
Monday, March 9, 2015
Let's celebrate and have a good time
I love birthdays. They're such a fun reminder of all the goodness in life (though Tyler and I joke that his favorite day of the year is March 8th).
This past Saturday, I woke up "early" to watch the sun rise (lucky for me, the sun rises at 7am in Seoul!) and to admire all the birthday decorations around our apartment.
In Korea, when babies are born, they are already considered 1 year old (the time in the womb apparently counts... abortions are therefore unsurprisingly illegal in South Korea, though the country has one of the highest abortion rates in in the world). Additionally, on January 1st, everyone in the country officially turns one year older. (My Korean friends get around this inter-continental age confusion by directly asking me what year I was born in). So this past Saturday, my American age started catching up with my Korean age.
After a birthday toast of Lindemans framboise (my favorite beer because it tastes just like a delicious raspberry smoothie -- yes, really), Tyler and I headed north to Itaewon for my birthday brunch at my favorite brunch places, the Flying Pan. On the way, it occurred to me that this weekend marked my six month anniversary in Seoul (though who's counting??). So my birthday brunch with friends was as much a celebration for the day itself, as well as a celebration for the community we've started to develop during our time here.
You know it's a good day when the only items on the agenda are: brunch; green juice; massage; dinner. It was the most relaxed (but full) birthday I've had in recent memory! The massage at the W was one of the best massages I've had... well, ever. It was a "Korean cup" massage... which hooked me with the "Korean" in the name (must be authentic even though it's at the W, right?) -- but the receptionist kept trying to talk me out of it: "It's a very hard massage. You may have bruises tomorrow."
Needless to say, I reconsidered, but decided to go ahead anyway. The whole experience was a bit surreal (the decor was space ship themed), but sooooo deliciously nice (and no bruises to speak of!).
Feeling like jello and floating on clouds, I headed southwest from the W on Walker Hill to meet Tyler at Apgujeong, the fancy part of town that reminds me of London's Knightsbridge or Madison Avenue in NYC. We met at Chef Lim's Jung Sik, a "New Korean" restaurant, whose New York branch has two Michelin stars. With Tyler's own good news from the day (more to come!), we splurged on a celebratory 8-course tasting menu with wine pairing. My mouth is watering just thinking about the night... It's become easily my favorite restaurant in Seoul: amazing ambiance, great service, inventive cuisine. Definite must try!
It's Korean tradition to eat seaweed soup, or miyeokguk, on your birthday. This is because the mother-to-be is fed lots of seaweed soup prior to delivery (as it's been explained to me: "seaweed is slippery, so it's thought to help the baby come out more easily") and traditionally eats seaweed soup as the first meal post-delivery. After doing a bit of research, it's actually more scientific than one would think! The seaweed soup is made up of a type of seaweed called "miyeok" or brown laver. Not only is this seaweed smooth, rubbery, and slimy -- but it is also rich in iron and iodine (important given all the blood loss during birth!)
After hearing it was my birthday, Jung Sik gave me an extra course during the meal. In true "New Korean" style, it wasn't soup though -- they had created a type of pesto from the seaweed and served a dish that I can only call "Korean risotto."
It was an amazing meal and a wonderful night. Looking up at some point between our three courses of dessert, we realized that we were among the last two tables still there. Felt like a true date night!
Tummies full, we headed out and turned a corner to find a jazz club called "Once in a Blue Moon." What a fun night to an amazing day.
True to form, we were in bed by 11:30pm though. I am 36 now after all.
This past Saturday, I woke up "early" to watch the sun rise (lucky for me, the sun rises at 7am in Seoul!) and to admire all the birthday decorations around our apartment.
In Korea, when babies are born, they are already considered 1 year old (the time in the womb apparently counts... abortions are therefore unsurprisingly illegal in South Korea, though the country has one of the highest abortion rates in in the world). Additionally, on January 1st, everyone in the country officially turns one year older. (My Korean friends get around this inter-continental age confusion by directly asking me what year I was born in). So this past Saturday, my American age started catching up with my Korean age.
After a birthday toast of Lindemans framboise (my favorite beer because it tastes just like a delicious raspberry smoothie -- yes, really), Tyler and I headed north to Itaewon for my birthday brunch at my favorite brunch places, the Flying Pan. On the way, it occurred to me that this weekend marked my six month anniversary in Seoul (though who's counting??). So my birthday brunch with friends was as much a celebration for the day itself, as well as a celebration for the community we've started to develop during our time here.
You know it's a good day when the only items on the agenda are: brunch; green juice; massage; dinner. It was the most relaxed (but full) birthday I've had in recent memory! The massage at the W was one of the best massages I've had... well, ever. It was a "Korean cup" massage... which hooked me with the "Korean" in the name (must be authentic even though it's at the W, right?) -- but the receptionist kept trying to talk me out of it: "It's a very hard massage. You may have bruises tomorrow."
Needless to say, I reconsidered, but decided to go ahead anyway. The whole experience was a bit surreal (the decor was space ship themed), but sooooo deliciously nice (and no bruises to speak of!).
Feeling like jello and floating on clouds, I headed southwest from the W on Walker Hill to meet Tyler at Apgujeong, the fancy part of town that reminds me of London's Knightsbridge or Madison Avenue in NYC. We met at Chef Lim's Jung Sik, a "New Korean" restaurant, whose New York branch has two Michelin stars. With Tyler's own good news from the day (more to come!), we splurged on a celebratory 8-course tasting menu with wine pairing. My mouth is watering just thinking about the night... It's become easily my favorite restaurant in Seoul: amazing ambiance, great service, inventive cuisine. Definite must try!
It's Korean tradition to eat seaweed soup, or miyeokguk, on your birthday. This is because the mother-to-be is fed lots of seaweed soup prior to delivery (as it's been explained to me: "seaweed is slippery, so it's thought to help the baby come out more easily") and traditionally eats seaweed soup as the first meal post-delivery. After doing a bit of research, it's actually more scientific than one would think! The seaweed soup is made up of a type of seaweed called "miyeok" or brown laver. Not only is this seaweed smooth, rubbery, and slimy -- but it is also rich in iron and iodine (important given all the blood loss during birth!)
After hearing it was my birthday, Jung Sik gave me an extra course during the meal. In true "New Korean" style, it wasn't soup though -- they had created a type of pesto from the seaweed and served a dish that I can only call "Korean risotto."
It was an amazing meal and a wonderful night. Looking up at some point between our three courses of dessert, we realized that we were among the last two tables still there. Felt like a true date night!
Tummies full, we headed out and turned a corner to find a jazz club called "Once in a Blue Moon." What a fun night to an amazing day.
True to form, we were in bed by 11:30pm though. I am 36 now after all.
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