scar tissue

On the afternoon of Sophia's first birthday party, after the last guest had left, the family headed down to the memorial to visit Lily and Lucas.  In a moment of quiet stillness, I snapped this picture.  

It instantly brought tears to my eyes, the rawness of it, the beautiful handiwork of my in-laws who spent hours clearing up the area and planting flowers, the fact that I missed my babies more than anything in that second.  Swiping at the tears running down my face, I said a little sheepishly, "I don't know why I'm crying.  Some days are harder than others." 

After a pregnant pause, my father-in-law responded, "Well, Gloria... Think of all you have now."

It's an honest sentiment.  I think about that all the time, and it's a consistent topic between Anthony and me.  If we hadn't had and lost the twins, we may never have had Sophia... and it's an odd and heartbreaking realization to bear.

The twins would be nearly three now, and with every milestone that Sophia achieves, I can't help but to think of all they didn't have a chance to have.  I vividly remember the first time we discovered there were two heartbeats, crying when we saw the flickers on the screen.  I remember the feel of them inside, carrying them for 21 weeks.  I remember giving birth to Lily at home, of almost being swallowed by panic when I saw her sweet face and still form and jumped into action to perform CPR.  I remember being in labor with Lucas for over 15 hours, pushing him out and hearing his cry, holding him close until his last breath.  I remember us having the hardest time naming our babies because it didn't feel completely right giving them the original names we had picked out.  I remember healing at home with empty arms and engorged breasts, the quiet at some points overwhelming.  

I remember becoming pregnant with Sophia and the close to crippling anxiety, the decision not to tell Anthony's parents the happy news before 20 weeks (and 24 in the case of my parents) because we didn't want to risk breaking their hearts again.

There are times that I think back to all of these things and it becomes hard to breathe... and then Sophia looks at me in a way that speaks volumes of understanding, reaches for my face, and snuggles in, and suddenly the tightness in my chest subsides.

Her existence doesn't replace the void of the babies we've lost, but it's helped to heal our grieving hearts.  It's a little like scar tissue --  the wound has healed but the composition has changed forever.

Our rainbow baby is one.  It's remarkable, and I never, ever forget that.  She'll grow up knowing her sister and brother.  She'll learn how fragile and precious this life is.  She'll recognize how incredibly much she is loved.

Since birth, Sophia has always looked over my shoulder or reached out or waved (and now babbling) to something beside us... and I'm comforted by the thought that she's communicating with her siblings, that they're watching over us, that they're never too far beyond.

ONE

Dear Sophia Grace,

Happy first birthday!  Our baby is ONE!!

As I sit here reflecting on the year we've had as a family, there's no doubt that you've taught me how to navigate though motherhood while getting to know myself better in the process.  We're learning together, and I'm being reintroduced to the world through every milestone and moment.

Tonight you were pushing up from the ground with straight arms and legs, and I thought, It's only a matter of time before you take your first steps.  How can that be?  Wasn't it just yesterday that you were protesting tummy time, giving us gassy smiles, sporting the spiky poof, wiggling out of your swaddle?  Now we have a cruiser who's opening cabinets, tossing toys, clapping on demand, and already giving us the eyebrow raise.

You have somehow found that delicate balance most of us would aim to achieve.  You're funny (sometimes even laughing to yourself) and attentive (watching for our reactions), fearless (wanting to catapult off the bed) but logical (realizing you need Daddy to help you walk with your hands), spirited (always on the go) while well-mannered (at least when you're not getting your diaper changed), tenderhearted (a total sweetheart) and strong (but able to hang with the big kids).  You're giving.  Lately you've been offering your toys to others with a smile and do not seem to mind if they're not returned.  You love to dance, and I hope you'll never stop wanting to.  You light up our world, and in turn, our hearts are full.

On your first birthday I wish you happiness with a slice of wholesomeness, sprinkled with loads of fun, and topped with extra hugs and kisses.

Love you baby,

Mommy

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