Everyday Magic

Lesson #4 from my 2.5 month old little guy:

Start your day with joy and awe, for everyday magic surrounds us (in this case, morning light coming in from the window shades and making patterns of shadow and light on the wall).

Buddha Baby

Last night, I was helping my baby fart at 4:30am.  For like ten minutes.  That's really remarkable when you think about it, on many different levels -- the biggest being how truly helpless babies are.  Baby horses stand up and walk the day they are born.  On the other hand, for months after birth, human babies need help supporting their necks, burping... even sleeping and yes, farting.  Of course, there's a very good evolutionary explanation for this, which essentially ensures that the human baby has the largest head (and therefore brain) as possible, while still being able to be safely born.  Because of this, babies are born "under-developed" compared to other mammals; baby experts call the first three months post-partum as the "fourth trimester", where the baby essentially is still significantly developing outside the womb.

There have been two major implications of learning this in my world.  First, there was a huge a-ha moment somewhere in week four, when Tyler, Elliot and I were finally back in our own home.  Tyler and I would hold Elliot for hours (literally) until he was sound asleep, only to find that as soon as we placed him down, some sensor would go off and he would scream and start crying.  Suffice to say, this was extremely frustrating.  Bouncing on the bouncy ball (aka yoga ball - turned pregnancy ball - now turned "get-the-baby-to-stop-crying" ball) was supposed to be an investment -- extra bounces to put the baby to sleep... not stasis (stop bouncing and a second later, wailing).  But learning more about the fourth trimester put things in greater perspective -- after all, in the womb Elliot was held 24/7.  While we think holding him for 8-10 hours is excessive, from his perspective, this is a major downgrade! 

The second implication is that, of course, Elliot is a helpless baby -- still in his fourth trimester and still needing everything to be done for his basic survival.  And while this is indeed factually true, it also isn't the full story.  I started thinking more about this wide-awake at 4:30am this morning -- as I was pulling his legs up to frog-position for the umpteenth-time.

Because the thing is, even though he's "only" a "helpless" baby, in many ways he's teaching me so much.  And I don't just mean virtues like patience, empathy, and faith that inherently come with caring for a baby (though he's definitely taught me those as well).  I mean, quite literally, that he's become a model and a teacher.

You see, I've been an "aspiring" yogi and meditator for years now.  It doesn't come naturally for me at all, though the practice of returning to the breath -- again and again despite the challenges -- is the practice.  And looking down at him this morning, it struck me how many of the concepts we learn about in meditation and spiritual retreats that this "helpless" baby does just naturally.  For instance:

1. Giving 100%.  This is a core concept of the Art of Living principles and is shocking how difficult it is to do.  There's an old Zen proverb that's remarkably simple in statement, yet challenging in practice: "When you walk, walk.  When you eat, eat."  Even with all the recent studies showing how unproductive and energy-draining multi-tasking can be, focusing on one thing and doing it full-throttle is shockingly hard -- my smartphone is just too enticing with its plethora of fun distractions.

But when I look at Elliot: when he eats, he gives eating his 100%.  When he cries, that too is 100%.  And yes, even farting (which includes engaging his entire body) is 100%.  I remember thinking this back when he was only a few days old and we were still in the hospital.  Inspired by this, for the first time, I started eating my hospital meals and only eating (no smartphone or other distractions).  I've since reverted back to my old multi-tasking ways, but Elliot serves as a good teacher to giving 100% and doing one thing at a time.

2. Belly breathing.  The first time I went to a meditation class (this was in India almost ten years ago), the teacher informed me that I was breathing wrong.  Of course, I was adamant that I was breathing correctly and he was wrong (besides which, how was there a "wrong" way to breathe anyway?!)  Many meditation classes later, I began to concede that I was indeed breathing -- if not "wrongly", then at least "inefficiently" -- with my lungs rising on my exhale, rather than the other way around.  Once I finally mastered that, I was then informed I was still breathing "inefficiently" -- as I was only breathing to my lungs -- not to my belly (and ideally lower belly).  Needless to say, it was a slow process to get me to "proper" belly breathing, which maximizes the relaxation response and getting attuned to one's body.  Of course, anyone who spends time with a baby knows that the way babies breathe is through belly breathing -- and deep belly breathing at that.  

3. Letting things pass like the weather.  I learned a fascinating fact earlier this year: emotions typically flow through one's body in something like 8-10 minutes -- things like anger, fear, anxiety... But it's when our mind "hooks" on these emotions (and starts the seemingly-inevitable cycle of assigning, "this is bad/this is good") that we become "stuck," mulling over that old argument or statement-in-passing years later.  Take something like being sick (which is a timely example since right now all three of us have one of those cold/coughs that refuse to go away): there's the event itself (getting sick); and then there's all the mental "crap" that I often bring to this -- "I can't believe I got sick the week I'm returning to work", "ugh, how will I ever get better if I barely sleep to begin with" -- not to mention blame of who got me sick in the first place and forward-tripping of what this sickness means in the future ("apparently infants with bronchiolitis are more apt to get asthma later in life!").  

Needless to say, I'm not a fun person when I'm sick.  But then I look at Elliot.  He's up all night coughing with bronchiolitis, nose running, sneezing up a storm... but it's almost like he treats this like a passing weather pattern -- not assigning good or bad, just coughing when he needs to cough -- perhaps smiling the next minute or falling back asleep.  My point is, there's no mental "hooking" that keeps him stuck on the "negative" of being sick -- it's simply about letting things flow and pass like the weather.  Sure, it's easy to say he doesn't know better or he simply hasn't developed the mental capacity for that, but that misses the point.

And the point here is this: As someone as focused on "self-improvement" and personal growth as I am, what I'm ultimately realizing is that maybe it's not all about learning and improving.  Maybe instead, it's all about un-learning and re-remembering.  

All of these "existential" spiritual concepts fundamentally boil down to learnings that my two-month old teaches me every day, if I only look out for it... and remember that he's not as helpless as the baby experts make him seem.

(my buddha baby with his buddha belly... day 5 of bronchiolitis)

Fifty Days Young

Elliot turned fifty days old last week (a big deal here in Korea, as a milestone towards the really big deal of 100 days).  There was cake and friends and photos and celebration (of course, it helped that my parents were here, which made everything inherently celebratory!)

And while my mantra over the last year has been "celebrate everything", I'm now fighting ever fiber of me that's making my new mantra: "time flies so fast" by default.

I must have heard a version of this easily a hundred times now -- starting from pregnancy and newborn wishes: "Enjoy him. Time goes by so so fast."  When people ask me how I'm doing and how it's all going, I find myself also parroting, "It's all gone by so fast."  One month... fifty days... "It's sad in a way -- the baby stage moves way too fast," is how one good friend put it.

The thing is, though, does time have to "fly"?  We all know time is malleable; an author I like calls it "Einstein time" -- it's all relative.  This dichotomy is highlighted in the title of a podcast Tyler and I love called "The Longest Shortest Time."  It's a phrase that reflects the oxymoronic nature of parenting -- yes, the time goes by quickly, but in some ways, time has never passed more slowly: "It's only 10:30pm and he's up for another feeding already?! -- the night will never end!"  

Clearly, I'm still feeling my way towards my own answers.  But almost two months in, I think I'm finally starting to work my way there.

For one, the flip side of all the celebration is that there's a milestone (or two!) every week: he turned 7 weeks the day before his 50th... five days later was eight weeks (marked by Elliot's first smiling selfie, below!); two months is coming up on Saturday.  It's like an ever-present ticking clock supported by social media.

But it goes deeper than marking balloons on calendars.  In retrospect, I realize that I was responsible for much of the "forwarding-tripping" myself.  I think back to all those days (especially our first few back at home) where it felt our only goal was to "get through the day" -- particularly those "witching hours" of 6-9pm, where it seemed nothing we did placated his cries...only to have our new goal be to "get through the night."  I remember feeling relief every time it turned 6am, since being up at 6am to feed seemed much more civilized than 3:30am.  I could convince myself that I was still a "productive" individual of society being up at 6am, whereas I just felt like a sleep-deprived new mom who couldn't put her child back to sleep at 3:30am.

And just like that, unbeknownst to me at the time, I was mentally fast-forwarding my life (and the precious first few weeks with my baby) -- like that Adam Sandler movie with the magical remote control that let him fast-forward first minutes, then days, then years of his life (yes, I realize that I am getting philosophical with Adam Sandler).  Well-meaning publications and even friends and family didn't necessarily help.  "Just wait until his second month when he'll be smiling so much" -- my mother said shortly after Elliot's first smile (which happened his first week at the hospital).  "The Happiest Baby on the Block" promised that colic (which thankfully Elliot doesn't have) and the witching hour (which unfortunately he does) would end at the end of three months (and as I write this, I realize it somehow magically has gone away right around weeks 7-8).  Koreans would always say: "Just wait until 100 days -- it gets easier after that."  Friends told me that it was good our parents weren't coming right away because "the baby doesn't do anything fun right away anyway"... ok then, let's skip to the fun!

Perhaps one of the best pieces of advice I got upon childbirth was from my mother-in-law, who said she wished she didn't keep looking forward to the next milestone, but instead really enjoyed the present.  I think about that a lot.

I think about that when I'm nursing him, and all I want to do is reach out for my phone and see what's happening on Instagram or Facebook; or look at my watch and mentally calculate how much sleep I can get if we go to bed in the next five minutes before Tyler's alarm goes off.  Or forward-trip even more, calculating how many more months until he will likely sleep through the entire night and I can get a full eight hours of sleep (while that sounds unattainable right now, I did get seven hours last night!)

Because the thing is, I know these are magic moments.  Never again will I be nursing my first child in quite the same way.  And with this shift in mindset, I find myself noticing more and being more present.  Tyler is naturally better at this than I am -- noticing things like his breathing hole on top of his head, or a hole in his lower back that it seems even our pediatrician had missed (I on the other hand spend thousands of dollars to go on meditation retreats that help me be this observant to the present moment).

With this realization, I've now gone cold-turkey on smart phones while nursing (for one thing, I know a family rule will be no phones while eating meals together, so why not start now?)  Over the last few weeks, I had various "rules" for myself, like only being on my phone to use my baby feeding app (for those who know that I track absolutely everything, this should be no surprise)... then only for music.  But now, it's no phone at all.  And what I've discovered is I now find myself noticing the smallest details... like how much his eyelashes have grown, or how the color of his eyes changes from slate to grey blue to brown... or the cute grunts he makes or how he feeds with his whole body -- arms and legs pumping (and yes, I realize I've now officially become the parent who talks about things like how much her child's eyelashes have grown).

And then there's just language.  I now simply refuse to say: "time has flown by" in my new-found refusal to fast-forward and future-trip.  I have a friend whose father owns a second home in Maine.  The highlight of this father's year is spending his summer there.  As soon as they return home to Massachusetts, he looks forward to the next summer.  Here's the catch though: as soon as he steps foot in the house in Maine, he gets sad that the summer will be over so soon.

My friend told me this story years ago now, but it's stayed with me because it so resonates.  After all, I come from a family who plans where we should go for our next vacation while we're still sitting on the plane on our way to our current vacation destination.

And so when I don't catch myself, I find myself doing the same thing as my friend's father.  The recent moments that have brought me the most joy (like waking up to pump at 5am this morning and hearing my father singing to Elliot in "their" room) also bring me sadness -- that their trip here is almost over and that we live so far away.  Tyler's naturally better at seeing the good than I am, reminding me how much I will see them this year alone (in April, May, August, maybe the fall, and December) -- besides the fact that we still have four whole days together.

Once again, it's all about mindset.  So the next time you ask me how things are, you won't be hearing that "time is flying" (though I promise you won't be hearing about Elliot's growing eyelashes either).

I can't promise that I won't show you pictures of his last milestone though -- that kindda comes with the territory.  Here are some of the little big guy from his 50th last week :)

Lolo and Lola

It's 11:50am and it feels like Rip Van Winkle has cast a spell on the apartment.  Dad is asleep on the easy chair; Elliot is asleep in "their" (meaning Elliot and Dad's) make-shift room; and Mom is asleep in the guest room, recovering from a cold she got from too many all-nighters before leaving for Seoul (turning 77 this year and was up until 1am several nights in a row finishing reports for work!)  

And while I feel my own eyes getting heavy just writing this, the last 24 hours have been so special with Elliot meeting his "Lolo" and "Lola" that it certainly deserves a post.  And perhaps it's just because I've become a parent myself, but I've now come to realize that you never outgrow learning from your parents.

So here goes -- Top 10 things I've (re-) learned from my parents in the last 24 hours:

1. Arriving the morning of a birthday is always a great start to the day.  It felt like Christmas Eve the night before thinking of their arrival, and made me think back to freshman year of college, when they showed up at my dorm room with a cake from my favorite bakery the morning of my birthday (this was after them sending me a singing telegram (seriously!) from one of the a capella groups on campus).

2. First thing's first; understand your priorities (and unless those priorities are people, you should probably rethink your priorities).  Here's my dad and Elliot within five minutes of meeting, with mom lovingly looking on (you can still see the unpacked suitcases in the background)

3. Always come prepared... and with presents. Always the light packer (or at least I like to think I am), I laughed helping them unpack their suitcases... which included soap, shampoo, toothpaste, towels, and bedsheets.  AND two jumbo sized suitcases filled with presents for Elliot!  My meditation room is now officially Elliot's playroom, which "Lolo" has moved into, lining up bed mats on the floor.

4a. Cuddling and staring at their grandchild never gets old.  'Nuff said.

4b. As a corollary to #4a, there is always something to notice or complement about their grandchild. This morning during Elliot's playtime, I could overhear: "What a nice, kind, happy baby! His eyes are so nice! His ears are so nice! His skin is so nice! His nose is so nice! His stomach is so nice!"  When I brought up an earlier Facetime video chat where they said that he was getting too chubby and that I should put him on a baby diet (to which, right on cue, Elliot started crying!) -- they replied, "No! -- the camera just makes him look fat.  You were a fatter baby."  Thanks guys :) 

5. Puzzles are a great way to pass the afternoon (or anytime the baby naps).  How did I never know my dad was into puzzles?! (and perhaps explains my bizarre craving for getting a puzzle during my last few weeks of pregnancy).  Loving this.

6. "One of everything" is a perfectly reasonable answer to: "which cake should we get?"  

7. Expectations are everything.  If you don't plan to sleep at all during the night, then apparently sleeping for two hours at a stretch from 10pm - 6am is getting "a lot" of sleep!  Thanks for playing night nurse, dad!!

8. Breakfast is mandatory.  Preferably all together.  And ideally involving avocados and/or leftover cake (or both).  

9. Celebrate everything.  37 years on March 7th... 7 weeks on March 8th...

10. Family above all else.  When I asked my parents what they wanted to do while they were here (palaces? museums? shopping?) -- they simply stared back.  So I guess we will be doing a whole lot more of this over the next two weeks! -- which, actually, is just fine with me.

PS: In case you're wondering where all the pics of my mom are, she's sick! -- paparazzi have been asked to stay away.  Don't worry, more pics to come soon of Lola...