you are beautiful

Hi baby,

I often reflect upon my childhood and the struggles I've had, and even still do, with my weight. The societal pressure, especially on women today, to be rail thin or shaped a certain way or to lose the baby weight basically immediately after giving birth is immense. It plagues me that you'll be subjected to this pressure as a young girl, and I'm already preparing myself for how to respond. As you grow older and are exposed to the body shaming and guilt and impossible standards of beauty, I want you to remember this: You are beautiful. You are beautiful and always will be. At almost(!) one-year-old, I love the way you look in the mirror and smile wide at your reflection. That is how it should always be. When the world gets you down or makes you feel ugly, you're the one who knows the truth inside.

Your daddy tells me I'm beautiful all the time, when I haven't showered, when my hair's a mess, when I'm wearing a stained t-shirt. He often reminds me not to put myself down when I'm feeling bad about myself, since one day soon you'll start to understand what the seemingly harmless negativity means. And I want to be a good example for you as a strong and happy woman, secure in her body and sound in her mind. You'll be fed many messages in the future, so keep in mind that you can choose to filter them.  Focus on messages (like the ones below) from positive role models who are comfortable just as they are, as it should be.

YOU get to choose, so let's choose happy, okay?

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/us_57855586e4b03fc3ee4e626f

http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/video/weartheswimsuit-jennifer-weiner-explains-campaign-40364878

Love,

Mommy

a letter to daddy on his first father's day

Dear Sophia,

You're a lucky girl.  I say this because I knew your daddy before he became your daddy, and I thought I'd hit the jackpot then.  Then you came into the picture and he's shown me time and time again what an amazing father he is to you and supportive partner he is to me.

In the evenings when he gets home from a long day's work, the first thing he does is look for his girls.  Usually you're in the chair with me nursing and you'll stop when you hear his voice and give him your trademark smile.  If we're downstairs already, he'll get down on the floor and play with you -- whether it's crawl races or a tickle fest -- and does it even before he's changed out of his work clothes.

He sings to you constantly since you were a newborn, sometimes making up melodies or words in moments of desperation when you stubbornly won't go to sleep.  He likes to play you music from all different genres and often requests that I play piano so he can sit beside me with you in his lap for us to play duets.

On weekend mornings, he gives me a break by feeding you your bottle and breakfast so I can catch a few more minutes of shut-eye.  Often times when I'm up to join you, I find you both giggling as if you have a shared secret.

He loves to take you outside, whether it's in our own yard or the auction and beyond, and he'll let you touch flowers and trees and explore the sights, smells, and textures.  He'll tell you about the animals or the plants he's patiently nurtured, much in the same way he's nurturing you.

He has full conversations with you and will respond like he knows what you're saying -- and in a way he does.  He's always done this, since you were still in my belly, and you've always reacted in turn to his voice and had much to chat about with your daddy.  He'll read anything to you from books to magazines to whatever's on hand, and you're at full attention when you hear him talking.

Your daddy thinks of you often.  I know this because he still wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes afraid you're in bed with us (even though you've never slept with us).  He writes to you.  He rearranges his schedule to take you to appointments and calls the doctor when he's worried.  He dreams about you, and has dreamed about you for long before you were ours.

And what's extra special about your daddy is that he has a big heart.  He's generous and thoughtful, collects memories and stories, and doesn't forget important dates.  He walks you down to see your older sister and brother, and tells you about them, even though they were only with us for a short while.  The thing is, baby, we've often said that if we hadn't had and lost them, we may not have had you -- and of course, we can't imagine life without you!

So you see why you're a lucky girl?  Some day you'll realize how much, but until then I'll tell him for you.

Love,

Mommy

pockets

“Pockets”

Thanksgiving 2015

When I think of Thanksgiving, one of the first words that come to mind is tradition.  I think of how the kitchen is always the warmest place in the house, with the oven going all day and food and people occupying every available space.  I think of my sisters running late, or my mom napping, or my dad finding a quiet place amidst the chaos.  I think of the spread, a mishmash of Asian dishes next to the customary sides, and how I’ve never known a different kind of Thanksgiving.

This Thanksgiving is different though.  Anthony and I have had the most amazing year bringing Sophia into our lives, and I think about what I want her to experience with us as our own family unit – what I want her to see, to learn, to someday pass down to her own little ones.

Yet I also think of all the other days during the year.  The “every” days, the in-betweens, the fillers, the do-overs, the ones burdened by schedules and deadlines and mediocrity.  I think of those days because they so quickly add up to a year, and I only pause when I think about how to summarize that year into a single day.

For someone who thrives on planning around the clock – preparing bottles and presentations and family events and meals and even when I’ll be able to catch a bit of sleep – Sophia has managed to shake up my life in ways I had expected (yet couldn’t have really expected).  She’s effectively thrown a wrench in my best-laid plans, and in the best possible way.  She’s shown me that it’s okay to be loud when others are quiet, to make my voice heard.  To look around and take in the world a day at a time.  She’s taught me to grasp pockets of time, and to cherish them for what they are.  To recognize not only her milestones, but mine too.  She’s made my most ordinary moments extraordinary, opening my heart up in ways I didn’t know could be expanded.  She’s reminded me to slow down when needed, and to give myself a break once in awhile.  To prioritize and to sacrifice, and to not feel guilty about my choices.  To appreciate every smile, every coo, every wiggle, every breath.  To see.  To be.

And most of all, to be thankful.  To be so, so, thankful.

So for someone who used to plan my days from one to the next – here’s to the unforeseen and unexpected.  Here’s to off-roading and discovering sweet surprises in places that wouldn’t have been revealed had I stayed the course.

Happy Thanksgiving to my wonder baby, and my wonderfully adoring family, both present and in heaven.  May the pockets of your lives be boundless and remarkable.

the best time

Hi sweetie,

Your Nai-Nai came for her weekly visit today and asked me if having this time at home with you felt like the best time (as she was remembering the times she had with me and my sisters) -- and it made me stop and realize that yes, it really is! I have less than 2 weeks left in my maternity leave, and it saddens me that it's almost over. Being your primary caregiver has been a life-changing experience, and I've learned so much being your mommy. I can't believe that I'll be turning over that responsibility to daycare soon. In a way I'm afraid I'll miss so much, like your milestones or even the most subtle changes, or spending the day cuddling and lounging like we do, or having that time together where you're my listening buddy. My coworker probably described it best when she said it was like being in her own little bubble, just the two of them, as life kept moving along.

So yes, life does have to move along, and that includes me going back to work. But some things I want to remember now are...

How you wake up in the morning. Sometimes I have to get you up, and I love those few seconds where you're snoozing and I'm speaking to you gently. That first stir, the long full-body stretch, and the opening of your eyes as you're slowly gaining consciousness.

How you can't wait to eat, even as I'm setting you up on the nursing pillow and positioning your body. It's like you know you're about to feast but can't wait another minute, wiggling and fussing until I can get you calm and settled. How you have a "word" for eating and can tell me when it's time. How you grab my hair or shirt or necklace, and kick your leg up high in the air as you breastfeed. How you look around everywhere, the most distracted nurser.

How you smile when I smile! I live for your sweet smiles.

How I can make you dance when we listen to music, or how sometimes we dance together.

How when you're satiated, nursing becomes like a dream state for you. How you sleep best on my lap afterwards, and how I feel stuck, deciding whether to move or not to disturb your peaceful slumber.

How you often go again after I've just changed your diaper not even 2 minutes ago. How you smile after your BMs, every time, like you're proud. It makes me laugh!

How when people visit, they have to be focused on you. If they start talking to Mommy, you start to fuss until the attention is back on you. I mean, people came to visit YOU, didn't they? They shouldn't expect to talk to anyone else!

How you can "talk" back and hold your own in a conversation.

How you hate to be strapped into the car seat but fine once you're in the car and moving. How you look around, like you can see out the windows.

How you're quiet when you're outdoors, taking in the world. You jerk your face toward the sun, eyes closed, when we'd think you'd do the opposite. You look around inquiringly, taking in the sights and sounds.

How you recognize the camera!

How you attach yourself to Daddy when he first comes home. How being on his chest seems so fitting, and how little you look curled up there, content.

How you cry through tummy time, but keep on moving. How we're only able to let you go 5-10 minutes since you sound so distraught.

How you like to "stand up" on the boppy, pushing off with your legs.

How you're constantly moving your limbs -- you are a wiggle worm, after all -- and if I set you down I can hear you by your movements in the pack 'n play.

How you fit perfectly on my shoulder and nestle there. How you like to burrow into my chest when you're sleepy.

How you know bedtime is near and protest when we put you in the sleepsack. How you hate your arms swaddled in. How you fight sleep even when you're drowsy and your lids are closing.

How you often start moving when I check the baby monitor, almost as if you know I'm watching. It reminds me of when you were still in my belly and I'd place my hand there, and you'd touch me from the inside to let me know you were there and okay.

How I peek in on you constantly, because what else would a mommy do?

How you're so snuggly and welcome kisses.

How I love you!

These last 9 weeks have really been the best time with you.

Love,

Mommy

reset button

Dear Sophia,

Nobody said it would be easy. This motherhood thing -- it's tough. It's tough because I care so much about this tiny human (who would be YOU) and doing what's right while not messing up and worrying that I'm missing something and realizing there's bound to be something I'm forgetting. It's a scary venture filled with self-doubt, second guessing, and the need to dig deep and hang on.

Your daddy reminded me yesterday that we all have our days. This would be our crappy, not-so-good days. Yesterday was one of yours -- which started out with you waking throughout the night, nursing on demand every 1-2 hours, refusing to nap at all during the day, and scream-crying in between (roughly 7 of the 11 hours you were up). I tried walking with you, carrying you in the sling, talking/singing to you, playing music and making you dance, lying down with you, snuggling, swaying, shushing, white noise... But you were inconsolable, and it left me with a helplessness I hadn't felt before. At one point I had to put you down so I could have a few minutes to collect myself (as in scream and cry it out). I told myself that I could handle it, up until I really couldn't. So I called in your Daddy at work for back up, and willingly handed you over when he returned from work.

I found refuge in a warm shower where the water swallowed the sound of your cries and until my fingers were nice and wrinkled. That was where I had a chance to regroup. I reminded myself that the only way you can communicate with me is to cry, to tell me that you're not feeling so great or like your silly smiley self, that at your age fussing is normal. And that I can't fix everything, even though I want to so badly.

I know this will probably be a struggle of mine throughout your life -- to protect you from harm; to want to kiss it and make it all better. And I know it's not possible, but it won't stop me from trying. There will come a day when I won't be around to tell you these things, so I want you to remember I'm never, ever giving up while I'm here and present. I just need a reset button once in awhile, and it's okay if you need one too.

Love,

Mommy

a grateful heart

“A Grateful Heart”

Thanksgiving 2014

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be thankful, and not because it’s that time of year again where we often stop, take a much-needed breath in our busy lives, and reflect.  What does it mean to have a grateful heart, not gilded by the need for reason and significance, expected in reciprocation for good deeds, or overshadowed by humbling loss or sacrifice?  How can I have a free and open heart, a peace that comes with trust – trust in oneself, trust in humanity, trust in a higher power?

Frankly, I think it’s easier to be thankful when it comes with parameters.  I am thankful today because, well, it’s Thanksgiving, a day to be thankful.  Or, I’m thankful in spite of… whatever circumstances we’re in at the moment.  And in life, there always are circumstances.  There’s suffering, there’s sadness.  There are the things we want and don’t have.  There’s a whole lot to understand, to gripe about, to push through, to make it to another, hopefully better, day.  Yet even then, I’m thankful that I’m healthier, safer, better off… because how does that saying go?  There’s always someone worse off than you.

But being thankful, with no strings attached… that can take alittle more.  Like a leap of faith.  A liberating proposition, being able to be content without being tied to obligation or supposition.

Our gospel lesson last Sunday was from Matthew 25, the parable of the sheep and goats.  At first glance, it seems that this message is about achieving salvation by doing good works.  Instead, we learn that the path of righteousness is not by keeping score, but by faith and loving one another, treating our neighbors with kindness and compassion, not by what we seek to gain by giving.

This passage reminds me that I am loved, simply and deeply, without attachments.  The thought is comforting because I realize that I can do the same.  To love, to want for nothing, to know that I am already blessed with so, so much.

So today, I am thankful.  I’m thankful for an adoring husband, who loves me like no one can.  I’m thankful for our angel babies, who’ve always been with us.  I’m thankful for my loving, supportive parents, who will forever take care of us, probably when we least expect it and especially when we need it.  I’m thankful for my beautiful sisters, both inside and out, who’ve been my sidekicks since they were born.  I’m thankful for my wonderfully generous in-laws, who really never stop giving or helping or cooking for us.  I’m thankful for my amazing sister-in-law, who’s shown me what it means to have courage and persistence.  I’m thankful for my resourceful brother-in-law who takes care of my sister and our family in his own understated way.  I’m thankful for an incredible grandmother who I can call my own, who manages to still surprise me and who always seeks a smile.

I’m thankful for family.  I’m thankful for those who are like family.

Today, I am thankful.

schooled

A year ago today, my water broke overnight and I was admitted directly to labor & delivery.  I was under careful watch for 48 hours and then sent straight home on bed rest.  A week later, I gave birth to Lily at 21 weeks, and 3 short days thereafter, Lucas followed his big sister to heaven.

It's been a hard week.  As much as I've wanted to delay this day from arriving, it showed up anyway, just as every new day does.  Acknowledging it is heart-wrenching, that an entire year has passed without the sounds of crying or cooing or chaos.  What would our daughter Lily look like now, with features that so distinctly mirrored mine?  Or Lucas, with his long, stringy limbs just like his father's?  I miss them terribly, every day.

I do, however, remember what it was like after we laid our babies to rest.  I couldn't comprehend making it the first year, time stretching impossibly before me.  Moving on felt alittle like leaving them behind, and I was terrified.  Yet I'm here now, walking forward from our loss and sharing some of my lessons learned.

Life is precious.  Well, duh, you're probably thinking.  But I've seen firsthand what a fragile balance it is, how one seemingly innocuous moment is made up of circumstance and consequence.  I can't remember how many times these past few months that I've pushed myself to be present with family and friends.  Not just to show up, but to make that time count.  To hug alittle more and awhile longer.  To send a note just because.  To say, "I love you."  To appreciate this miracle that's been given us.

Motherhood is forever.  I may have only been a mother for a couple of hours, but something innately kicked in when I held Lily's lifeless form in my arms.  When I heard Lucas's first cry, watched his little chest expand and contract until his last breath.  I knew then I was forever changed.  And motherhood doesn't stop because our babies are gone.  That first week after I left the hospital, I'd constantly touch my belly and belatedly realize, with a bone-aching sadness, how empty it felt without an answering flutter from the other side.  When my breast milk came in, being able to provide without actually being able to provide was more painful emotionally than it was physically.  And every day since the very last day with our twins has made me want to be a better person, to be wiser and stronger for our babies and hopefully, for our future kids.  It's because I'm no longer the same as I was before; I'm a mother.

Trust in God's plan.  This has been my biggest challenge to date.  As someone who only feels comfortable planning everything to a tee, you can imagine how difficult it's been accepting life's hurdles.  The thing is, as perfect and packaged as I want everything to be, in the end, it's never been my design.  Even when I struggle to understand, I remind myself that I may not be meant to.  That's what faith, in my opinion, is all about -- giving myself up to be completely free knowing God will show me His way.  And I do believe His way is good.

Love is limitless.  The outpouring of love Anthony and I have received is proof of that.  Love knows no bounds.  It's my mom taking care of me physically so I can be strong in body and mind.  It's my dad christening our babies with Chinese names.  It's my in-laws planting flowers by the twins' graves.  It's my sisters crying gut-wrenching, sloppy tears with me.  It's my sis-in-law sending a note because she knows I need it.  The list goes on and on, because love -- powerful, indestructible love -- never ends.

Be honest with yourself.  Healing comes from within.  Anthony and I needed each other to get through this year, but I had to be willing to dig deep and pull myself out of the abyss to truly start anew.  If that meant avoiding baby showers or giving myself a private moment when I really wasn't in the frame of mind to celebrate, that was okay.  It was learning to forgive myself.  It was trying to shake it off.  And it was taking each day one at a time, the good along with the bad.  Because that's all a part of searching for truth.

Empathize.  We're in this human experience together, so why not share it with each other?  I've always subscribed to the notion that saying something is better than nothing.  Silence, I've found, can be deafening.  This was amplified tenfold after my pregnancy loss.  A simple, "I'm thinking of you," would have been enough.  The unfortunate thing is that it's the wordlessness which sticks and hurts the most.  So whenever someone I know is going through a difficult time, I make sure I'm there.  Even when I don't know what to say, I understand that trying to is what matters.

Other takeaways?  It's okay to edit as I go along.  And despite the hardships and challenges that inevitably turn up, there are always pure, unadulterated glimpses of joy and contentment that shine through.  Do those instances make up for what we've lost?  No.  Do they make our struggles worthwhile?  Probably.  Do they show us life can be indescribably beautiful?  Definitely.