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...

Photo gazing

Recently got these pics back from Saint Park, the "mama/baby spa" that we stayed in for two weeks after we left the hospital.  Brings such a smile to my face looking at two-week old Elliot and astounds me how much the little guy has already grown and changed since then (quite literally: for one thing, he's now 13.9 pounds at 5.5 weeks old! -- around the 98th% percentile!!)

Good perspective

The Last Time

... You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,
And days will run into days that are exactly the same,
Full of feedings and burping,
Nappy changes and crying,
Whining and fighting,
Naps or a lack of naps,
It might seem like a never-ending cycle.

But don't forget...
There is a last time for everything.
There will come a time when you will feed
your baby for the very last time.
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child.

One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down,
And never pick them up that way again.
You will scrub their hair in the bath one night
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone.
They will hold your hand to cross the road,
Then never reach for it again.
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles,
And it will be the last night you ever wake to this.

One afternoon you will sing "the wheels on the bus"
and do all the actions,
Then never sing them that song again.
They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate,
The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone.
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face.
They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.

The thing is, you won't even know it's the last time
Until there are no more times.
And even then, it will take you a while to realize.

So while you are living in these times,
remember there are only so many of them
and when they are gone, you will yearn for just one more day of them.

For one last time.

- Author unknown.

4 weeks

As I write this, I'm watching Elliot sleeping blissfully on his Fisher-Price swing -- a hand-me down from a good friend in Seoul, which has quickly become Elliot's (and our) best friend.  It's a sleep that I know is precarious... any second he can wake up, realize that he's not being actually being held, and scream bloody murder.  I smile at how long this post will likely take me to write, as I pause after every sentence to watch his cute mouth opening, his eyes making ever so slight movements (dreaming or about to wake up??), hands trying to squirm even inside his swaddle.  Anyone can tell I'm a new mom by how much I look at my baby and just smile.

I wish I could say that four weeks after his birth, I no longer check to see whether he is still breathing.  As a seven-year old, I used to make sure my cat was still breathing when she slept, so I was pretty sure I'd have the compulsion once Elliot was born.  I just didn't expect how many times Tyler and I would actually ask each other this (I can usually count on Tyler to be my voice of reason, but him answering me seriously makes my subconscious feel that this is actually a valid question to ask).  The first night after Elliot was born, we literally took turns sleeping, making sure someone was always watching him and making sure he was still breathing ("I got this round; why don't you go to sleep").

After a particularly fussy night this past Sunday with Elliot screaming and seemingly inconsolable, (after a really fun and nice Valentines Day dinner at home... who says it's hard to date post-baby??), we put on white noise, and then... silence.  We literally laughed out loud because he just froze mid-scream once the white noise was on, like he had been programmed.  When he was still quiet on the bed thirty minutes later, we were both like, "He's still breathing, right??"

So let's see, what's going on in his world?  Lots.  His focus these days seems to be moving from his hands to his feet.  When Elliot was first born, I loved watching his arms move around -- slowly and seemingly beyond his own control.  It was exactly what I used to feel when he was in the womb, and it was amazing to then be able to physically see what he was doing all those months (I called him my little tai chi baby).  He still has the moro reflex (where he feels like he's falling and so extends his arms out suddenly like in a hug... seemingly remnants from our monkey days), but now he also has more control of his hands (unlike in the first couple of weeks, where he couldn't decide whether his hands were his friends or his nemesis... he didn't yet know he could control them, so he would suck on them for comfort but scream when they got in the way of his milk supply, which was fairly often).  Now he kicks as much as he can -- even swaddled up and especially now when getting his diaper change.

Speaking of diaper changes, that's where he met his first best friend... the first aid kit!!  He always cranes his neck to stare and smile at it (Tyler has now started playing the voice of the first aid kit, saying hello to Elliot and giving him a kiss after the diaper change).

Ah, to see through the eyes of a baby, where everything is new and fascinating.  So imagine his delight this morning with... snow!!

And with that, the little guy is stirring awake... more to come!

Introducing...

Elliot Morente Bolender, born in Seoul on Tuesday, January 19th at 4:25pm.  8 pounds, 8 ounces; 22.5 inches.  He loves eating, sleeping, and snuggles.

Feeling grateful and blessed.

39 weeks

Well, it looks like Mr. Gracie Oliver has started to pack his bags, and so have we.

At our 39 week check-up with Dr. Park yesterday, we were shocked to learn that he has now dropped! -- I say "shocked" because all week I had been telling everyone who asked: "Nope, absolutely no labor symptoms yet!"  In fact, later that night back at home, I googled, "what contractions feel like" -- wondering if I'd be one of those women who didn't realize I had gone into labor (I know we will look back on this and laugh... well, I can still hope).

So all good signs at Yeon and Nature: good first pelvic exam, non-stress test went well (which continues to fascinate me... I'm definitely of the belief that my emotions and own level of stress impacts the baby in utero -- until last week, when Tyler and I were literally in the middle of a fight during the non-stress test; and shockingly Gracie's heartbeat was still all within normal range); healthy baby weight at 8.08 pounds (quite a relief he seems to have shifted to the mean after quite a fast rise earlier on in the pregnancy... of course, an ajumma ("grandmother") at the pool yesterday asked me if I was having twins!).

The one slightly worrying aspect was that my blood pressure was high.  After multiple readings (both by machine and manually), we were taken upstairs for observation.  This was when I realized without a doubt we had chosen the right place to deliver.  We basically stayed in the equivalent of a nice hotel room and had a nice "staycation" for a couple of hours yesterday afternoon.  Tyler told the midwife I was hungry, and five minutes later, she emerged with a full Korean feast room-service style: seaweed soup, a bowl of bulgogi beef, sheets of seaweed (gim, which has been comfort food for me since middle school, with my high school  best friend's grandmother making batch after batch, which we would inhale with rice while gossiping about boys), rice, and spinach seasoned with sesame seeds.  After the feast, I meditated and then we napped, with a midwife coming in every so often and checking my blood pressure.  Once it was back to normal, I was free to go -- meanwhile completely rested up and ready to go about my day!

What continues to shock me is the dichotomy between going about our day and doing all our "normal" activities (yesterday included swimming, shopping, catching up with Katie and Andrew over FaceTime, discovering Magnolia Bakery in Seoul (!) and watching Les Mis at home), with also this feeling that wow, this can happen anytime...

And similar to the feelings I shared in my last post, I have mixed feelings about all of this.  Don't get me wrong, I absolutely cannot wait to meet little Mr. Gracie Oliver (Tyler had a talk with him the other night that started, "I know this is kindda confusing, but we're going to name you something different when you are born.  You'll kind-of have a say in what that will be.")

But at the same time, I really kindda love being pregnant.  The mornings when I stir awake and feel him kicking, and it's still dark and quiet and feels like we're the only ones awake, with Tyler softly sleepily breathing next to us... well, it's kindda magical.  I love feeling his kicks (which have gotten pretty strong) and still giggle when he gets the hiccups.  He makes us laugh when my belly isn't quite symmetrical (Tyler tells him that his house-building skills need some work); and it's fun learning his musical tastes (so far: Les Mis, lion songs, and the Viennese boys choir).  Even things that should be annoying (like him kicking my bladder when I pee) makes me laugh because I picture him kicking down to make it go faster and make more room for himself.

When I was reading Amy Cuddy's book, Presence: Bringing Your Boldest Self to Your Biggest Challenges (based on her TED talk, which is easily one of my top five favorites), I couldn't help but think of the relevance to pregnancy.  Her basic thesis (which she has proved through countless experiments and research) is that assuming "power positions" and essentially "making yourself bigger" helps you bring your most authentic self forward.  Contrast the "ladylike" way to sit and carry oneself (crossing your legs, making yourself small, and generally taking up little space) versus how one is forced to carry oneself when pregnant: sitting with legs spread further apart, sitting up straight and generally unapologetically taking up more space by sheer definition of being pregnant.  Over the last nine months, I've found myself being much more "in my body", more comfortable in my skin (despite how non-intuitive that sounds), and less socially anxious and concerned with what others think.  Who knows if there's a relation in terms of inadvertent "power posing", but certainly an intriguing thought.

This whole time, all I've heard was that once I reached 39-40 weeks, I'd feel so miserable that I'd want the baby to come out any way possible (which was how most people seemed to deal with all the society-spread fears of the pain of childbirth).  But somehow, that just hasn't happened.  I've continued to swim and do yoga three times a week and generally feel great (except that putting on my boots has gotten continually harder -- even after buying a pair that had no ties or zippers).  Plus, all I keep reading is how the baby will come out when he wants to -- and how rushing birth by induction can lead to all sorts of complications.

And thus, the mixed feelings I talk about.  On the one hand, I'm just fine waiting -- 41 or even 42 weeks if we have to (not to brag, but I think 3 year old Trish would have rocked the marshmallow test).  I've recently learned that only five percent of babies are actually born on their due date (which for us has shifted from January 17th to January 20th), with first pregnancies particularly prone to "running late" - as is delivering baby boys, for some unknown reason).

But it's also a conundrum about what's best for Gracie.  My amniotic fluid is dropping (which is normal at this stage), but nonetheless, the doctor has brought up the potential of inducing tomorrow (tomorrow!!) if it continues to drop for fear of placing undue stress on the baby.  Needless to say, I have been madly hydrating myself all weekend.

And so has begun a weekend chock full of "home remedies" for natural induction (while Tyler usually chides me for trying ten different things at the same time to solve one problem (and thus never knowing what really solved it), this time he is on board with doing "all the things!!!")    

That said, a little order of operations never hurts.  Eggplant parm or castor oil enema?! -- that's an easy one (though neither of us thought it would take us a full three hours to make!)  This recipe is from a restaurant in Georgia called Scalini's, who offers a free dinner to any woman who gives birth within 24 hours of having the dish -- the restaurant is apparently adorned with hundreds of pictures of happily eggplant-induced babies:

Post-dinner was all about learning how to breast pump (which I outsourced to Tyler, as is usual for all things mechanical)... and today I just came from a massage that specializes in pressure points to help induce labor (both of these resulted in mini-contractions within minutes of starting, which is pretty incredible).  We both laughed at the "pump in style" name brand -- no part of the process felt stylish to me, but it seems to somehow be working!

So all this was a long way of saying.... any day now!!!  We're ready for you, little buddy.

38 weeks

Feeling ready!  What a difference sixteen hours makes.  Just last night as we were going to bed, I was telling Tyler that intellectually, I know we're about to have a baby (I've technically been considered "full term" for the last nine days, since turning 37 weeks), but viscerally, it just hasn't felt that way in my body.  Like the xkcd comic, it just felt like I'd continue at the current rate towards infinity (link here).

Yet somehow, right at this very moment I'm actually feeling ready in my body, mind, and soul for the first time since crossing the "full term" line.  Still no physical signs that this birth will happen imminently, but I'm feeling like the boxer jumping around in his corner before the fight with his trainer pumping him up -- "put me in, put me in, I'm ready!!"

Because here's the secret that I realized: there's part of me that will never be ready.  How can I be?  As much as I've been wanting this, I can't possibly know what it's like to have a baby -- to deliver a baby, to care for a baby... for my life to change as fundamentally as it's about to.  And that's okay.  Today, I discovered the very freeing concept of ambivalence -- which I realized I never actually knew the definition of, much less internalized; Miriam Webster defines it as "the state of having mixed feelings or contradictory feelings about something or someone."

A big part of our birthing class has been to identify our fears around birth -- around which I realized I had many.  Inspired by the ideas of wise friends (starting with my roommate in Hyderabad -- still recall the night we started to "draw" our futures), I began to draw out all of my fears in graphic detail over the last several weeks... something awful happening to the baby, something awful happening to me... the worse pain possible, rusty tools, blood, death, and sadness.  I meditated on these, visualized "throwing" these fears away... only to get disenchanted and hard on myself, realizing that the fears still lingered.

Intellectually, a big piece of the jigsaw puzzle fell into place during our baby CPR class the other weekend -- which I took with Tyler and our new nanny.  As our CPR teacher went through the many ways that something can happen to the baby (SIDS, drowning in the tub, choking on a grape -- a GRAPE!) -- I realized that these fears of death clearly don't stop after the birth and delivery process.  Like the xkcd comic -- they can continue -- maybe even exponentially as the world becomes a place of exponential possibility -- good and bad.  I'm sure 32 years later, Tyler's mom still fears the worst can happen on his motorcycle, even just a bit at the back of her mind.  That thought knocked some sense into my conscious mind.  I could continue to fear the worst -- even things I can do absolutely nothing about (just after entering the third trimester, I kept having a recurring fear that the baby's heart would all of a sudden just stop beating).  OR I could focus on areas I could actually control -- like drinking enough water, eating healthily, and getting exercise (I now swim and do yoga three days a week each).

But being the recovering perfectionist that I am, this new-found intellectual mindset of freeing the fears led me to also feel that I couldn't possibly be ready for birth until all of these fears were fully released.  

Hence, the freedom of ambivalence that I've somehow managed to internalize today: the state of holding contradictory feelings.  And more importantly, the realization that this is at the root of all things -- certainly all human relationships.  Of course, this doesn't mean the mixed feelings are 50-50.  I can be 80% excited for this birth AND 20% scared.  And that's okay.  What I'm coming to realize is that, despite what all the positive psychologists and folks evangelizing the "law of attraction" say, giving voice to my fears isn't a path towards manifesting them and making them come true.  

Rather, it makes me human.

And with that, I say, "Put me in coach! -- I'm ready."

[pics at 38 weeks and 1 day]