Kaia, the typical toddler

Kaia, since last month, has started exhibiting typical toddler behavior. Sooner than I had hoped, she has already started developing preferences for food, primarily carbs, carbs, more carbs, meat, and fruit. My sweet baby, from age 6 to 11.5 months, loved her greens and always enjoyed teething on the long, thick stalks of yu choy and gai lan Asian greens. Now, she will eat a few bites of them at most and then “sweep” them aside. Each day is a little different though: some days, she eats all her tiny spinach piles and will eat more that is offered. Other days, she will take half a bite and then want nothing more to do with any vegetable. No one in their right mind could possibly tell me that this sudden preference is due to a lack of exposure before this: I was super intentional about always making sure she had at least one green, plus another vegetable, at every single meal, even at breakfast. So now, this new struggle we are encountering is really unnerving me. She will make it seem like she is teething or just overly tired, yet magically, once a noodle or clump of rice is seen, she will be fully consumed by it and eat endless amounts of whatever that carb is once it’s presented.

I have to keep reminding myself that it’s not a single meal and not a single day that defines how “well rounded” her eating is; it’s a week, a month, a quarter. Our nanny has obviously noticed these preferences since we’ve come back from Australia, and she told me that it was inevitable; she was just hoping it would have been later than now for Kaia specifically since she’s been exposed to such a large variety of foods.

“It’s okay, Yvonne,” the nanny said to me yesterday. “Even though you may think Kaia isn’t eating much or enough variety, she’s still eating more and eating more variety than 99 percent of all other kids out there. She really is. I’m not just saying it.”

What she is saying may be true. But I still want the best for Pookster, and rejecting veggies is not what I want for her. I can’t help but want to combat the preferences and keep pushing her vegetable and non-carb exposure as much as possible. I refuse to just serve her beige foods. I will NOT become THAT mom. I will keep pushing with the greens and at least having her see them on her plate or tray.

Baby’s first visit to the dentist

“Experts” recommend that babies see a dentist as soon as their first tooth comes out, or by their first birthday — whichever one comes first. Kaia had a number of teeth come in during November and December, and we had her first dentist appointment today. Chris and our nanny took her, and… as predicted, she cried. While she is happy to watch me brush my teeth and tries to eat my toothbrush, she refuses to have her own teeth brushed. She needs to have her arms and legs restrained and a finger stuck in her mouth in order to have any teeth brushed at all.

The dentist sent Kaia home with a goody bag filled with a little baby toothbrush, baby toothpaste, and a few toys. And Chris said they showed a video at the office showing the best way to “restrain” baby in order to brush the teeth. It still looks like absolute torture to me, but anything to keep Kaia’s dental health on track will be good for her, even if she hates it in the short term. The dentist also suggested using a very thin layer of toothpaste, contrary to what I thought before. A little swallowing at this stage is not supposed to be too much of a worry.

Most kids probably never see a dentist before the age of 4 or 5. I think the first time I ever went was at age 5, and I had three cavities (since I refused toothpaste for that long… very, very bad). We’re sending our kid at age 1. We hope we’re getting our dental insurance premium’s worth out of these visits.

1 pump per day

So the other day, given how much my milk supply had been dwindling, I told myself that I’d officially stop pumping at the 13.5 month mark, which is January 24. But then I started looking at the calendar, and I realized how soon that was, and I honestly don’t think that I was mentally ready to fully wean. It made me feel so sad and conflicted: on the one hand, I’d be completely liberated from my breast pump finally after 13.5 months. I could have full ownership of my body again. I could drink whatever I wanted and use whatever BHA or retinol skin care product again! But then I thought back to the beginning of my journey, which was miserable by anyone’s definition. The first three months were a total struggle both mentally and physically. I hated every single thing about pumping, and I especially hated that it took me physically away from my baby. But then I got used to it and into a routine of cleaning, putting the parts away, putting them all back together again, getting set up. I knew what pump settings worked best for my body. I was increasing my supply. But the one thing keeping me going was knowing my baby was getting the best nutrition for her straight from my body. The months went on. I was mentally at ease and peace with all of this. I had let go of the fact that nursing didn’t work out for us, and that my baby was just never going to develop a strong enough suck. And now, when you’d think I’d be so excited to throw the towel in and wean 100 percent, I am not getting any satisfaction from approaching the date I arbitrarily set. So maybe I’ll go until Feb 10, so we can officially be at a rounder time — 14 months. If I were just producing drops, it may make the most sense to stop, but I’m still doing an ounce or so a day. It’s not the best, but it’s not the absolute worst. It’s winter, and my one pump per day is right before bed, so what am I missing out on, anyway?

See how dysfunctional this thought process is? I should be happy to wean, but I am not. I should be happy to be free of pumping, of an electric nipple sucker, but instead, I am still holding onto this and trying to keep my baby getting some bits of breast milk for as long as possible. In some way, it’s like pumping has given me yet another life purpose: to provide sustenance and feed my baby, if now just a small amount… it’s still not nothing.

Mental energy exertion during in-person meetings

For the next two days, I’ll be onsite with customers for multiple-hours long meetings. Today, I was onsite with a customer for 2.5 hours, and I felt completely, mentally drained after that. First, I was already feeling out of practice with getting ready for the meeting in the superficial sense- deciding what to wear, how to style my hair, etc. Then, while onsite, I realized, in real time, how much more exhausting it is to be in person in real life with customer meetings than to be on the same meeting via a Zoom call. There is something about being in person that feels so exhausting and draining now that it makes me wonder if going back to a regular cadence of in-person meetings is even feasible or enjoyable for me at this point in time. With the world opening up more and companies looking at the current time as an “endemic” rather than a “pandemic,” more in-person meetings will be expected. And well, it’s part of my actual job description — to meet customers and build relationships. But with three years working from home and having very limited in-person customer contact, I feel a bit out of it. It was fun in some ways to be onsite again and have that type of interaction, as having in-person interactions is obviously a lot more real and stimulating, but I can’t help but admit it was just tiring. I passed out pretty quickly this evening and will likely do the same after tomorrow’s all-afternoon long meeting, as well.

This is 37

Every day, we are getting older. Every hour, every minute, every second, we are all getting older. Certainly no one is getting any younger. As Kaia gets older, everyone observes and comments in wonderment, seeing her do things like crawl to walk to run, like holding a ball to actually throwing and catching it. With people of my age, though, in terms of “development,” people just wonder… how old is she against how old she “looks”? Is she getting grey hairs or wrinkles on her face, neck, and other parts of her body? Has she achieved the society-imposed “life milestones” like getting married, having kids, buying a house yet, etc.? “Development” means different things at different stages of life, and the world can sometimes feel like a stage where everyone is watching, waiting to give their opinion about you.

Well, last month, for the first time, I actually noticed wrinkles around my eyes in a photo that was taken of me. I paused for a second when I looked at it and then zoomed in at the corners of my eyes. Are these the beginning of crow’s feet? I thought to myself. Well, crow’s feet manifest a little differently on Asian skin vs. White skin, so I guess this was my version. I’m 37 and noticing these types of wrinkles for the very first time. I’m definitely getting older and approaching middle age. In a lot of ways, I feel very young, almost child like at times when I think about things I like and admire and things I care about. Other times, I feel completely jaded by the experiences I’ve had. I’ve never really quite felt like “my age” if that makes any sense. But now that I’m officially in my late-30s, I feel like at heart, I’m much younger than my numerical age. I’m unsure if that’s a good or bad thing.

Having a child to care for has definitely changed my perspective on life, no doubt. I think it’s made me a better person, someone more cognizant of the challenges that parents and caregivers face every single day without always thinking about it. It’s given me more empathy not just for other parents and caregivers, but for babies and growing toddlers themselves.

I’m not sure what my actual “age” should be if I had to decide what I “felt” like, but I do know one thing for sure: I am grateful for the days I have lived and the experiences I have had, both the good and the bad, because unfortunately, not everyone has been as lucky as I have been to have lived 37+ years on this earth. Ed wasn’t that fortunate. Our friend Raj wasn’t that lucky. And many others will never know what it’s like to be 37. So I celebrate today and am happy for what I have and what hopefully will be. Happy 37th birthday to me.

A day spent in Chinatown, post pandemic

We had the day off today since it was MLK’s birthday, so we spent the afternoon in Chinatown. I wanted to buy some groceries to make some things for Lunar New Year coming up, and we also had a late lunch down there, as well. On our way home, I stopped by one of my favorite bakeries and was surprised to see that they had taken down all of their COVID coverings. Their workers were no longer wearing masks, and I could actually clearly see all of their baked goods once again. I honestly could not remember the last time I was in there before the pandemic, but I almost did a double take around the bakery: it didn’t look or feel like the same bakery to me anymore. It almost felt new and improved even though it was the exact same space! It felt more open, brighter, and like it was more approachable than before, especially if you were unfamiliar with Chinese baked goods before entering. It would be a lot less intimidating, and you could look to see what you wanted and take your time deciding instead of needing to know ahead of time before entering. During the pandemic, it always felt so rushed. Because there was such limited standing space, you really had to come in and out quickly to allow for others to come in and buy their baked goods.

It feels nice to see things more open and seemingly “normal” down there again. I was really worried about a lot of the businesses in Chinatown, especially given all the “China virus” racist nonsense that idiots were spewing. I hope this will make the shops of Chinatown seem more welcoming to those who may be unfamiliar with all their deliciousness once again.

Continuing family dysfunction and passive aggression, with some love somewhere in between

My mom told me over the phone earlier this week that she sent me a letter, and she wanted me to let her know when I received it. She said, “you know I don’t celebrate Christmas or birthdays, but you still get something.” That’s her way of saying…. it’s still a Christmas or birthday gift, but we’re not calling it that, simply because the gift wasn’t given on those days. Okay, whatever you say. I’m not sure what Jehovah Witness loopholes exist, but she certainly takes advantage of all of them, and then some.

So my mom sent me a little note with two checks, one for Kaia and one for me. Kaia’s check was double my amount, not that I really care, but I thought it was funny. And the note began: “Dear Yvonne: How are you and Kaia?”

The note said a few other things, had some good wishes, etc. But for whatever reason, even though she does this all the time, it annoyed me for a second that she asks how Kaia and I are doing, but she doesn’t bother asking how Chris is. What, am I suddenly a single mom now? Why doesn’t she ask about her son-in-law? It reminded me of how whenever we’re in Australia or we come back from Australia, she insists on asking how Chris’s uncle and aunt are doing, but never asks about how Chris’s actual parents are doing. She does this deliberately, and it’s so passive aggressive and petty. Once, she even overtly said, “You know what I say and don’t say, so you can take the hint.”

The truth is: I don’t really care about her hints. I don’t care about who she likes and doesn’t like for whatever irrational reasons she has. I don’t have the time, energy, or desire to care or even ask anymore. I just let it go because the effort is not worth it anymore. It took decades for me to finally grasp this, and now, I truly just do not care. She’s never going to change no matter what I do or say, so I’ve just given up. And that actually has lifted a lot of weight off my chest because finally, I feel okay about it. It’s not ideal, but she just is who she is. And I need to accept her… in the small doses I expose myself to her.

When you exclusively pump, and your primary pump dies

It was Tuesday, January 3, in the evening after Chris had put Kaia to bed in our hotel room. I was doing my second (and last) pump of the day, reading news in the food world, scrolling through Instagram mindlessly while finishing yet another hour-long pump session. And as I approached the end of that pumping session, suddenly, out of nowhere, the suction on the pump stopped, and all I could hear was a sad, faint clicking sound coming from inside the pump. The screen was still on, recording seconds that passed as though the suction was still working, but it was not. My Spectra S1 Plus pump, my primary, battery-operated pump, the one that I had purchased via health insurance about a month before I gave birth to Kaia, had finally died. Nearly 1,400 pumping hours later, my pump’s motor just stopped.

Name: Yvonne’s Spectra S1 Plus: the machine that enabled Kaia Pookie to have breast milk for almost 13 months

Date of birth: Thursday, November 4, 2021 (okay, fine… date of purchase, which is LIKE a birth in some ways)

Date of death: Tuesday, January 3, 2023

(and a mic, somewhere out there… drops)

I was in a hotel in Santa Ana, and I had no idea what to do next. I started panicking. I got emotional. My mind was spinning. This was NOT the way my pumping journey was supposed to end!!!!

My supply was already going down. It plummeted after I weaned down to 3 pumps per day in early November. It started going down even further in the days approaching Kaia’s first birthday, which coincidentally was when I got my second postpartum period. I knew my periods were to blame for my decreasing supply, since when estrogen in your body increases (that’s the hormone that enables your menstrual flow), prolactin, the hormone that enables your body to produce milk, decreases. But there was nothing that could be done about that. I knew that at this point in my journey, just days away from the 13-month mark, that my pump dying while on the road would be like a death sentence for my supply. I needed the stimulation, and even one or two days without any pump stimulation would force me to prematurely wean, whether I wanted to or not. And what’s even more ridiculous: if I didn’t pump and get any stimulation, I could even get another clog, which sounded so awful given how low my supply was at this point, but I’d heard of many weaning mothers having this happen to them. I needed another pump, and I needed it ASAP.

The next morning, I contacted Spectra’s help line. I had a two-year warranty and knew they would send me a new pump. After sending a video showcasing the sad clicking noise and sharing my proof of purchase, they sent me a new pump with new parts… which were supposed to be delivered by UPS 2-day, but instead due to some internal communication error on their side, was received on the following Monday. And in between, for 1.5 days, I borrowed a Spectra pump from a wonderful, selfless mother in Fountain Valley near our hotel, via the Facebook group Modern Asian Moms. I got so many responses in that group from my cry for help. I’d never felt like I belonged to a more inclusive and empathetic village than that day, when endless local “MAMs” as we call ourselves offered to lend or even GIVE me their Spectra pumps.

On Thursday, January 5, we flew back to New York and arrived back in the evening, and that night, I didn’t pump. I was just too tired. Until the evening of January 9, I only used my Baby Buddha breast pump with my Spectra parts. And as frustrating as it was, the Baby Buddha just wasn’t doing it for my body. No one ever warned me that your body gets “used to” a certain pump, and then it just doesn’t work well with other pumps. So the output was never the same, and because I wasn’t removing enough milk, my supply finally went down to the double digits in milliliters. It was so depressing… to see all my hard work over the last 13 months go down to almost nothing in just a matter of days. My output increased with that first pumping session back with my new Spectra, but at that point, it was too late already. My body had gone days without proper stimulation and milk removal, and I was barely pumping a total of 2 oz (60 ml) per day. And then it hit me: I really needed to draw the line there. I need to finally stop.

So I arbitrarily called it: January 24 will be the last day I pump milk for Kaia Pookie. On January 17, I will begin only 1PPD, which will signal to my body to produce even less milk. And I may only get drops, if anything, in the days following. But I need to stop now, as the tiny output just wasn’t justifying being connected to an electric nipple sucker for two hours each day, not to mention the constant measuring and storing of milk, the washing of the bottles, the time spent away from doing other things for the baby, Chris, or for myself. My baby will have had breast milk for the first 13.5 months of her life. My body has done a good job providing for Kaia — I kicked exclusive pumping in the ass. Unfortunately, though I wanted to go to 15 months, my pump made this decision for me, which I hate. But it is what it is. And when I really think about it — when I started this aggressive, exclusive pumping journey, my original goal was to get to six months; when my supply was still doing great at six months, I thought, okay, things are looking good. I have a good cadence, and I’m at peace with pumping, so then I extended my goal to one year. At nine months, when Kaia started consuming less milk and more solids, I saw all the breast milk piling up in the fridge and thought, wow! Maybe I’ll go past 12 months! Let’s do 15 months! And…. well, now, it’s not going to happen. And that’s okay. I need to give myself grace. My periods coming back, my pump dying.. these are forces outside of my control. I exceeded the smaller goals I set out, and 13.5 months it will be. I am proud of the work I have done, the diligence and perseverance and dedication to providing my baby breast milk. My baby is healthy and happy and safe, and that’s all that matters at this point to me.

So this is the beginning of the end to my exclusive pumping journey. It’s been a good, miserable, intense, and exciting ride, but I’m grateful for my pump and the advanced technology behind it, grateful for what my body has done, grateful for all the support I’ve had from my family, friends, colleagues, night nurses, lactation consultant, nanny, and especially to my Chris along the way. More people had to see my nipples than I ever thought. More people had to listen to me banging on collection bottles to ensure I got out every last drop of breast milk, of liquid gold. More people than I ever thought had to see me carrying around an electric device connected to my nipples in lobbies, hotels, restaurants, and different countries. But this all has been worth it. I am a better, more disciplined and learned person for it. I’ve gained a lot of knowledge and humility for this journey. And I have never, ever had more respect and awe than ever before for all the mothers out there who pump milk for their babies… and especially to those who exclusively pump. None of us pump because we love it… but we all pump because we love. And there’s nothing greater in the world than pure love.

Pumping mamas unite. <3

Two in-person meetings back to back next week

Wow. Almost three years after the pandemic began, I actually have two customer meetings, two days in a row, in New York next Wednesday to Thursday. I’m having lunch with colleagues both days before being onsite the rest of the afternoon with customers. I kind of got thrown into this quite quickly, but was fine to go since I haven’t done this in so long. Wednesday’s meeting is also territory I am not quite used to: pre-sales meetings. I rarely attend these, but was happy to be asked to go to this one since I’m local, and it would be good to do something new for once. Also, I cannot even believe some level of normalcy has started with work travel again. The next question I have in my mind is: what the heck am I going to wear, and am I completely out of practice with how to even do in-person customer meetings? Plus, it’s winter, so I have to dress warmly and look good and professional. Talk about all the things I never thought much about pre-pandemic that I actually have to think about now!

Crib aversion and separation anxiety

It’s been about a week being back in New York now, and Kaia still has not slept in her crib for more than 1.5-2 hours at a time. Her morning naps during the weekdays have been on top of our nanny’s chest and stomach; her afternoon naps have been in a stroller. At night, she’s been sleeping on top of our bed. And while everyone loves to be judgmental about this, we need to sleep, too, because we have work, so it’s not like we can just spend all night soothing her in her crib.

We let her “cry it out” over the weekend for a record 1-hour, and it resulted in… absolutely nothing. All she did was stand at the edge of the crib and cry endlessly, the fattest tears you could possibly imagine streaming down her face and all over her sleep sack/onesie.

I spoke with a Cleo “sleep expert” about this issue this afternoon, and she said that the first thing we needed to address was getting her reacquainted and liking her crib again. We need to make her realize that her bedroom and crib are a safe space, so we need to start putting her in it, just a few minutes at a time, when she’s clean, fed and full, and happy, and not needing to sleep yet. We could play peek-a-boo with her in it; sing songs; make faces, and just do it for a few minutes, to five, to ten, to fifteen, until she was fully comfortable being awake in the crib. Once she is happy being in the crib while awake, she will realize that it could be a safe place to fall asleep in.

“She needs to build trust with the crib first,” the sleep expert said.

Okay, well… we’ll try that. Baby steps, right?