Monthly Archives: November 2021

Christmas tree is up again

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Every year when we put up our Christmas tree, I get excited. We don’t have that many Christmas decorations or items since Chris is very anti-clutter, especially considering that we live in a Manhattan apartment. While we do have more space now given we upgraded units, the storage space has quickly been overtaken by the endless baby items we’ve been gifted, handed down, or bought, and so this has increased Chris’s frustration with clutter. But hey, like Marie Kondo says, if an item is seasonal and “sparks joy” the way our collection of specially curated Christmas ornaments do, then they are worth taking up space even though they are only used at one time during the year.

When I look at all our ornaments every year, I remember all the stories and travels behind them: the Pike Place Market handmade ornament I got during my second trip to Seattle with Ed and our cousin; the handmade ornaments my friends have made for me over the years when we had a DIY gift theme; the handmade and hand painted wooden ornaments from Germany, the mouth blown glass nativity scene ornament from Vienna that I guarded with my life in transit back to the U.S.; the $3 hand knit potato ornament we got from the Canadian Potato Museum in Prince Edward Island; the endless Macy’s ornaments that Ed would get 80 to 90 percent off after Christmas for me because he knew I loved ornaments and Christmas so much. Christmas is nostalgic for me, and our tree’s ornaments are symbolic of many happy moments for me. While it would be great to have a fresh, pine-smelling tree every year, it’s not as great for the environment, and plus… they’re a lot harder to maintain and keep the house clean with. So I’m happy to have a fake tree with my lovely ornaments.

Bánh ít trần

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Growing up in a household dominated by my maternal Cantonese Chinese grandma, I mostly ate Chinese and random American/Americanized foods when I was young. But occasionally, we’d get Vietnamese food, whether it was pho or bun at a restaurant, or in San Jose or Westminster when my mom would indulge and eat all the Vietnamese foods that were extremely laborious and time-consuming to make. So instead of making the food, which my mom always hated (she’s never enjoyed cooking even in the slightest and only did it out of necessity), we’d just pay money to buy and eat these things. One of these dishes that I didn’t even know the name of growing up but finally got reacquainted with recently was banh it tran. These little sticky rice dumplings that are stuffed with steamed and mashed mung bean, pork, and shrimp are a truly delicacy. They are also extremely laborious, requiring mung beans to be soaked, steamed, and mashed, then combined with minced pork and shrimp, rolled into balls, then covered with a glutinous rice dough on the outside and steamed or boiled. Finally to serve, they are topped with a pulverized dried shrimp topping, scallion oil, fried shallots, and nuoc cham for dipping and dunking. It’s also good to have them with a slide of pickled carrots and daikon. Yes, that’s right: that’s FOUR different toppings for serving! These were traditionally reserved for banquets and special occasions, but in Western countries that have a decently sized Vietnamese population, you can now find them in counts of 3-5 served and wrapped in plastic on styrofoam trays. This is how I ate them growing up; my mom would come across them at a Vietnamese bakery, bring a couple trays home, and warm them up for both of us to enjoy, as my dad and brother never really cared for them.

I came across them via a YouTube video earlier this year, and I knew I had to make them. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen them served anywhere in New York, which isn’t surprising since this is one of those dishes that isn’t really well known in Vietnamese cuisine. I finally got around to making them yesterday. It took a while, and I had to get used to working with glutinous rice flour dough again, as it’s quite tacky and you need to get it to the right texture for it to roll correctly, but it was so much fun. And when I finally tasted them, I knew it was time worth spent. I individually froze about 32 of them for eating once the baby comes; this will be a tasty part of a quick meal when I’m exhausted and covered in milk and drool. They just need to be steamed on high for about 12 minutes before eating.

This is one of those happy food memories for me growing up, though. My mom never really told me what these were called or their background or how they were made. I didn’t even know what was in them before I’d dive in, and frankly, I didn’t care. She’d just plop them in front of me, and I’d eat with her. That’s the thing about my parents: sometimes, all they’d have to do is eat something in front of me, and that’s all it took for me to want to eat the same thing. I hope I am able to pass on food passion and food traditions to little Pookie Bear when she arrives and as she grows, too.

A different Thanksgiving planned this year

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In the years Chris and I have been together, we’ve traveled every Thanksgiving long weekend. In 2012, we went to Puerto Rico; in 2013, we went to Germany. 2014 was Budapest, Hungary, and Vienna, Austria, 2015 was Switzerland (too many cities to name given we were city hopping with our Golden Rail Pass), 2016 was Madrid, Barcelona, and Valencia, Spain, 2017 was Northern Italy (Milan, Bologna, and Venice, 2018 was Portugal, and 2019 was Amsterdam, The Hague, in The Netherlands, plus Bruges and Brussels, Belgium. So it’s mostly been a European Thanksgiving for us each year, with the exception of 2012. 2020, of course, was different given the pandemic. It was a quiet Thanksgiving here with just the two of us, and our dinner ended up being much later than expected since I was filming a video for the channel on what I made, which was Chinese-style oxtail stew.

Well, this year is also different. Any day now, Pookie Bear will make her arrival, which meant no travel for us at this time of year. Chris is whining about the lack of travel, but honestly, I rather have my little Pookie Bear pending than any world travel. In addition, we’ll be here at home in New York in our own apartment, so I’m hoping Pookie Bear holds off on making an arrival until at least after Thanksgiving day. We invited my best friend over and another friend I met through AFSP fundraising, and some neighbors I befriended at the gym may stop by. Given we have at least two guests coming, I’m trying to devise a menu that isn’t too complicated but isn’t too simple. We will definitely be having a slow-roasted leg of lamb, likely with harissa and a yogurt sauce. One of my friends is pescatarian, so I’ll need to make a fish dish, maybe roasted salmon with orange and pomegranate. I want to make a brussel sprouts slaw with butternut squash and pomegranate seeds since it’s simple and fresh, plus maybe a mushroom-gruyere bread stuffing. Since we have guests, maybe I’ll do my annual challah again, too. I want to make sticky date pudding for dessert, and my friend offered to pick up a pumpkin pie and babka from Breads Bakery because you can never have too many sweet treats on Thanksgiving day.

Thanksgiving is kind of one of those controversial holidays in terms of its origins (mainly Columbus coming and slaughtering all the native Americans yet somehow eating all their food), but for me, I just think of loved ones gathering around delicious food and spending time together. Our early Thanksgiving celebrations with friends were always fun and enjoyable to me, and making food for people I love is always something I look forward to. Growing up in my two-family home in San Francisco, we didn’t have the most gourmet Thanksgiving meals ever: we had Stovetop-brand bread stuffing, cranberry sauce and jelly out of a can, and gravy made from a packet. My uncle would typically make the turkey, which was always quite delicious given he was a line cook by training and profession, and we’d have other things like a generic lettuce and tomato salad, store-bought pumpkin pie, and my dad’s annual German-style cheesecake. But I still loved and looked forward to all of us gathering and eating these foods at the same table every year. The togetherness always made me happy. When I got older, I started contributing to the Thanksgiving table by making homemade everything. It eventually died when my family became extremely dysfunctional and no one wanted to eat together anymore, but that was fine. It just meant I wanted to do this for other loved ones in my life who may not actually be blood family. Now, it’s about chosen family. And that’s all good by me.

When your mom is more anxious than you are about labor

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This work week has been busier than I’d originally assumed it would be. I’m supposed to be offloading all my account work onto my colleagues who are temporarily covering for me while I’m on leave, but some of them are out on PTO this week, which means I still have day to day tasks to do. It’s not that bad because it keeps me busy, but I had told my mom that work would be slowing down this week, so I suppose she took that as a cue that she could call me whenever and I’d be free. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have told her that, but oh well. Now it’s too late.

I was on back to back calls for about two hours this afternoon, and she called three times during that period. I saw three missed calls from her on my phone, and I was wondering what tangent she was on. So I called her back, and she nearly raised her voice at me.

“What is going on?!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you answer the phone?!”

I explained to her that I was on back to back work calls, which is why I didn’t answer the phone. What was wrong?

“You didn’t answer the phone, so I got nervous and thought something was wrong!” she responded. “I thought you could have gone into labor! You need to call me back right away when I call, otherwise I will worry! I need to know that you and the baby are okay!”

Oh, great. Now my mom is on edge because she’s worried about when I’m going into labor, which at this point, could be any time, and she’s more anxious than I am. So now I have to deal with her anxiety on top of my own state of uncertainty….

To be honest, I don’t really have much conscious anxiety around this; when it happens, it will happen. The only thing that has recently heightened my anxiety was the hospitalization and the doctor saying that the baby is small on average, and that the placenta needed to be more closely monitored. I’ve been gradually, mentally preparing myself for labor since around week 30. I’ve certainly done as much research about it as I can. Now, it’s just a matter of whenever Pookie Bear is ready to jail break.

Well, I still have Vietnamese sticky rice dumplings and lactation cookie dough to make for the freezer, so Pookie Bear, as a reminder: don’t come out yet!!

One month away

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We’re about 36 weeks into this pregnancy, so really any day now, Pookie Bear could try to break out of jail and cause me a lot of mess to clean up. While others who have no clue tell me that I still have time, colleagues and friends who are moms tell me that I really should be wrapping up everything I need and want to get done… NOW. “I thought I had a lot of time,” a colleague told me today. “I was 36 weeks and 4 days and was at my OB’s office, and she told me there were no signs the baby was coming soon, so I should just keep working. That night, I woke up at 3am to my bed totally soaked. My water had broken!” Her baby was born about 20 hours later.

I think we have everything we absolutely need; if there’s anything else, the hospital will give it to us, or it’ll be a quick CVS trip or Amazon delivery. I know I need to sort through all of Pookie Bear’s gifts and wash her clothes. I actually don’t think we even have enough newborn onesies and sleepers for her that will fit. I still want to add more food to the freezer that is ready to eat. I was really looking forward to making lactation cookie dough balls for the freezer, as well as padsicles, even though that sounds very not-exciting.

I keep telling Pookie Bear every day that I want her to be a December baby, so keep baking in there and take her time. We have a short pep talk every day. Don’t do anything rash, Pookie Bear! Your mummy has a bunch of things she wants to do before your arrival.

More fetal heart rate monitoring

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I came into my OB’s office this morning for more fetal heart rate monitoring as well as an ultrasound. I originally had an appointment scheduled for this Friday, but we just moved it up to today given what happened this past weekend. Everything still looks good, according to the doctor, but the doctors all seem to be saying that Pookie Bear is measuring a bit small. As of today, her weight estimate according to the ultrasound is 5 lb. 2 oz. Ultrasounds are known to be off, and it’s usually plus or minus 10-15 percent, but the doctor said on average, babies at this stage could be around six pounds. So we don’t know what’s causing her slow down or if she’s just plateauing early. At all my appointments since about 24 weeks, I’ve been keeping track of Pookie Bear’s growth. Since week 28, she’s basically gained about one pound every two weeks, which is normal and healthy. At my week 34 appointment, my doctor said she was about 5 pounds, so to hear that in the last week and a half she has grown only about 2 ounces just didn’t seem right to me. And I couldn’t help but be concerned. But her heart rate is good, her breathing is good, and she’s super active, so what else could we possibly be doing to help her?

“When you become pregnant, that’s the moment you become a mom,” my therapist said. Pretty much every woman and every article or podcast you read/listen to says that. People who have never been pregnant or haven’t had kids think that a mom is born on the day the baby is born. But, frankly, that’s not really the case. The reason for that is that the moment you know you are pergnant, that’s really when your worries begin: are you eating enough? Is the baby growing enough? Is she going to be okay during this scan? Are your prenatal tests all going to come back normal? Am I exerting myself too much and harming my baby? If I get stressed, will it affect my baby negatively? Worrying seems to be part of being a mom; they are almost synonymous. I just have to keep hoping and praying my baby will be healthy and okay… and keep gaining weight.

Hosting a meal for the first time since pre-pandemic

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Obviously, getting hospitalized unexpectedly threw a wrench into my weekend plans. I wasn’t able to see Ronny Chieng at the NY Comedy Festival as planned on Friday night, so I made Chris go without me. We were supposed to have my friend and her husband come over on Saturday for lunch, and they were also supposed to bring over hand-me-down baby items, so that got derailed. But luckily their schedule was flexible enough so that they came today instead. I had to shorten my menu of things I wanted to make and we supplemented with some takeout, but I still made the banh xeo I wanted with all its usual accompaniments, plus the alfajores (already made earlier in the week and just needed to be filled) and the passion fruit, raspberry, almond, and coconut cake I was eager to make.

Chris said that most people, after having been hospitalized unexpectedly, would likely return home from the hospital and lie down, lounge around the house and likely watch TV or do something mindless. Me, on the other hand? I went right into the kitchen and started cooking for several hours into the evening. Cooking and baking are therapeutic for me, and I wanted to make all these things anyway; I don’t really see it as “work” even if it can be perceived that way to most people. It’s what makes me happy. And I love feeding people and seeing their reactions to my food, especially when it’s either new to them or they just really like it. It felt so nice to have my next full day back home with my friends at our place. It actually felt like we weren’t in a pandemic during the afternoon we all spent together here. I miss hosting friends for meals. It’s sad to not have as many people to cook for and other people to have as my taste testing guinea pigs. Chris and I just can’t eat as much food.

I’d never been more grateful to be back in my own kitchen cooking or in my own bed sleeping as last night. And it’s almost as if Pookie Bear knew we were back home because she wasn’t squirming around quite as much as she was in the hospital. I just hope she’s okay. We went back to the hospital this morning for more fetal heart rate monitoring and an ultrasound, and the doctors said she still looks good. I want her to be a full-term baby so she can be as grown as possible. While premie babies will eventually be fine, it still kind of worries me because premies are more likely to have jaundice or to have difficulties latching and breast feeding. They’re also more likely to need assistance breathing, but luckily from what we can see on the ultrasound, Pookie Bear is doing a great job practicing breathing already.

When the resident doctor had mentioned the absolute worst case scenario of potentially having to get induced, I also felt saddened because that was like jabbing at my idealized birth story, where I’d go into labor and have a long early labor in the comfort of my own home, eventually make it to the hospital with Chris and my doula and have a vaginal birth. Instead, if I got induced, I’d be at the hospital the whole time, which would really annoy me. And being there, more interventions would likely be pressured upon me, including a c-section. While I cannot prevent what random circumstances arise during labor, I’ve been mentally very resistant to the idea of a c-section; the idea of surgery terrifies me, and the recovery is arguably even more terrifying from what friends and family have told me. I hate the idea of being dependent on other people for everything, which is likely what would happen if I had to have a c-section. A friend recently gave birth, and she could barely get out of bed without pain, so her husband literally had to do everything. For the first month, she wasn’t even able to change her baby’s diapers, and she felt guilty because of it. But I realize that I need to be a little bit more open minded to prevent myself from getting too traumatized. Birth is unpredictable, and I can’t be too rigid because that will just result in a lot of disappointment and resentment.

American healthcare and all the interventions

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After an annoying night being hospitalized, I had only a few hours of sleep. A nurse came in every few hours to check on my vitals and to ensure that the fetal heart rate monitor was still in the right place. Pookie Bear clearly knew what was up, as she was far more active during the time we were in the hospital than before; it’s like she knew we were in some foreign place and was constantly squirming and kicking around to signal her distaste for the current situation. Because she wouldn’t be still, that also caused the nurses to check up on me more to adjust the fetal heart monitor on my belly.

Early in the morning, the doctor from my OB practice came to check in on me, and she shared that the good news was that not only did the bloodwork come back normal, but overnight there were no heart rate drops detected. So if all continued through this afternoon, I’d be able to be discharged. I was happy to hear this, though I wasn’t sure what they’d actually tell me at a check-in later. Chris eventually came, and he was also there when the doctor came back to tell me that after consulting with the maternal fetal medicine specialist who originally had me come to triage, he insisted that I stay ANOTHER night for monitoring to ensure the baby was really okay. This was despite the fact that no heart rate drops were detected in this entire 24-hour period. This is NOT what we agreed to and discussed yesterday. And that’s when Chris really lost it. I didn’t even have a chance to react until he went nuts on the doctor.

“This is too much!” he insisted. “Why don’t you just monitor her and have her hooked up until she delivers in a few weeks then? The American healthcare system is known for over testing and doing too many interventions, and yet despite all of this, the outcomes are not better here; they are WORSE!”

The doctor asked if he was an OB-GYN; Chris got even more crazy and retorted back, “Don’t patronize me!” I could barely keep a straight face. My eyes were wide open. This was all happening so quickly and I barely even had time to process what was being exchanged and could not even react. I’m too slow.

Eventually, we agreed to a compromise: I would be discharged, but I would need to come into the triage unit again tomorrow morning for about an hour of fetal monitoring. Then on Monday, I’d come in for more fetal monitoring and an ultrasound at the OB’s office. On Wednesday, I’d come back to maternal fetal medicine for monitoring and another ultrasound to ensure the placenta was delivering enough oxygen and blood to the baby. Did this sound like a lot? Yes, but it was a compromise, and I obviously also wanted peace of mind that Pookie Bear was going to be okay and healthy.

It felt really good to finally go home, though. I felt annoyed and anxious at the hospital, and now I don’t even know if my baby is growing enough. So there are so many unknowns now that I’m concerned about, and only time will tell if we will all be okay. The doctor insisted the baby would be fine regardless of what path we took and her life wasn’t in danger, but I can’t help but have that fear in the back of my mind that something else may go wrong.

First hospitalization

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When I went into the hospital for a routine pregnancy ultrasound at the ultrasound/maternal fetal medicine unit today, I was not expecting that I’d have to stay overnight, but that’s exactly what ended up happening.

The ultrasound results all came back normal, so as I was waiting for the doctor to go over it in detail and let me make my next appointment, a nurse came to my room and said that they’d run a “non-stress test” for the baby, which means they’d hook me up to a fetal heart rate monitor for about twenty minutes to see how the baby’s heart rate changes depending on her movements. For the first 15 minutes, everything looked great, the doctor said, as he came in and out to check in on the results of the ebbs and flows of the heart rate, which were being recorded. But suddenly, a random dip occurred, and it apparently lasted for about 3 minutes. They said they weren’t a hundred percent sure if it was an actual dip in heart rate that lasted that long or if it was just that the baby moved out of the range, but they were concerned. So they sent me to the hospital triage unit on the labor and delivery floor for more monitoring that lasted about two hours. I was not super happy with what was happening. No one really explained the dips to me and what they could actually mean. A resident doctor came in, who I frankly was not a fan of, and after more monitoring, they identified another dip, and he said I’d need to stay overnight for continuous monitoring.

I felt terrified. He said that hopefully things would look good via the continuous monitoring, but the worst case scenario if the dips continued would be that they’d need to induce me for labor early, as it may be possible that the baby would be healthier and safer outside of the uterus than inside. And because of that potential worse case scenario, they wanted to give me a steroid shot to get the baby’s lungs to develop faster in case she needed to come out sooner.

They also wanted to hook me up to an IV, and I told him I didn’t want that. “Why?” I asked. “I am perfectly fine to drink water right now.” He said I looked a bit dehydrated. Irritated, I told him that I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in over 5 hours, nor had I been offered, and water through my mouth would be just fine. He said the IV would allow the water to get into my system quicker. I retorted back that I was fine to DRINK the water. Also, would he be able to give me SOMETHING to eat because I was starving…?! If they really did need to quickly stick medication in me, they could just give me a heplock.

“How do you know what a heplock is? Do you work in healthcare?” he asked, smiling and a little curious.

Seriously, people. This isn’t rocket science. I don’t need to work in healthcare to know some healthcare basics. This stuff is all available online as public knowledge!!

He said he’d check with the doctor from my practice about the no-IV and came back with a large jug of ice water, which I proceeded to chug.

Eventually I got admitted into a hospital room, and the doctor from my practice came to check in on me a couple times to explain a few things. She said that they just wanted to be cautious and so that’s what the continuous monitoring was for. If all checked out fine and no more heart rate dips were seen, and if all the blood work and ultrasounds continued to look normal, then I could get discharged tomorrow. Luckily for us, everything else did come back normal, so now they just want to make sure the dips did not continue. They also wanted to do a weekly hospital ultrasound to ensure there was enough blood and oxygen flow between the placenta and the baby so that they could ensure she was getting enough nutrients… as according to them, she is measuring a bit small for this stage.

Pookie Bear had been super active the entire time in the hospital. I was worried she wasn’t getting much rest. I kept looking down at my belly, telling her we’d be just fine. I want her to stay in there as long as possible so she can be full term, but I was genuinely worried at the idea that she may not be getting enough nutrients. At the same time, other than the nurses, I was really unhappy with how I was rarely asked for my consent for anything and just felt like I was being herded off and forced to do things. That resident doctor really needed to slow things down and explain more. This is why I hate the American medical system and all the interventions here. This is why I hired a doula. I can’t really trust that this is all truly in my own best interest or my baby’s, as it feels like interventions for the sake of interventions. And now, I’m in a state of anxiety, wondering if my baby is really going to be okay and if we will have a safe and healthy birth.

Unexpected Facebook direct message

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It was around midday today when I was working at my desk, and a Facebook direct message popped up onto my phone. It was from someone who I was good friends with, perhaps potentially even a little bit more, in high school, who I hadn’t seen since high school graduation in June 2004, so 17+ years now. He said he was in New York for a quick trip and was actually leaving tomorrow and realized I was here, so he asked if he could see me. It was a happy, pleasant surprise, so I checked my calendar and suggested we meet up this early evening for tea.

We met up and chatted for about an hour, and it felt so funny but happy. I have lots of fond memories of hanging out with this old friend from high school. He had feelings for me and expressed them openly, and while we did hang out frequently and even went to a winter ball event together, I never really reciprocated or acted on anything since I knew he wasn’t really a fit for me both emotionally or intellectually. That sounds kind of snooty, but I knew what I wanted, and he was definitely not the person for me. It also didn’t really help that there were plenty of rumors during high school that he was closeted and likely gay (and, well, since then, as an adult, has “come out” and is now openly homosexual). Since graduation, we’d had zero contact. The most “contact” we’d ever had was “liking” or “reacting” to each other’s Facebook posts, and that was really it. So it was a total surprise when he actually reached out to meet up.

It was like a trip down memory lane, as corny as that sounds. We talked high level about things that have happened since high school. He admitted he’d been closely following pretty much ALL my Facebook posts since high school, as he thought about me often and wondered how I was doing. He knew about my boyfriends, my travels, my wedding and current partner, my brother’s passing, all my AFSP fundraising. He knew I was still closely in contact with two of my best friends from high school, who also used to be friends with him.

“When I look back at all the guys and girls I used to date or had a thing for, you always stand out to me,” he said, thoughtfully. “Even though we never really officially dated, you were always special to me, so I think about you often. I just hoped you were doing well.”

It was touching to hear this, but it also felt strange at the same time… to think that someone who was once close to you in the past but has kept quite the distance still thinks about you often, keeping a laser focus on all your social media posts, and still holds you close to their heart. It’s not like he was never able to directly message me or reach out in some way; it would have been so easy to do that given Facebook, but he just chose not to. I barely even knew what to say in response; I just smiled and said I appreciated his thoughts and well wishes.

He said that since his sister is living up in Toronto now that he’d have more opportunities to come to the East Coast, so he’d like to come to New York more often. I couldn’t believe it when he shared that this was not only his first trip to New York, but also his very first time on the east coast of the U.S.! I’m not sure we have much in common, but it would still be nice to see him for old time’s sake moving forward.

If I thought I would see him again, though, I never imagined it would be when I was pregnant. It was pretty hilarious and he seemed pretty happy for me. Everyone is happily looking forward to Pookie Bear’s arrival.