In the couple of weeks we spent in Melbourne that overlapped with Chris’s brother Ben being in town, it was really sweet to see him interact with Kaia. After some initial drama in scheduling immediate family events, Ben actually cleared his calendar mostly to maximize time with her. I’m sure he also felt guilty that he had missed her first birthday party, so he probably did this to make up for that, in some way. He helped feed her a couple of times and played and read to her. I loved watching them together. Initially, as with anyone else, she took some time warming up to him, but finally when she did, it was as though no time had passed. I enjoyed watching them play peek-a-boo and make faces together. Listening to her sweet, high pitched giggle at things he’d do to entertain her, like jump up and down and do squats, made me feel really happy.

It’s hard to observe these interactions and not wonder what it could have been like to watch Ed interact with Kaia. While Ed was awkward around adults, he really loved babies and young children. He was really kind and warm when interacting with young children. Who knows — in another life, maybe he could have been an early childhood educator or worked at a toddler educational center or something related. When colleagues and church acquaintances had kids, he’d always give them little gifts and candy. And knowing how much he inundated me with gifts, I know he would have spared little expense to spoil Kaia thoroughly, whether it was with the latest and coolest age-appropriate toy or the most fashionable clothes. Ed always had really good taste in clothing, and he always thought a lot about gifts before he purchased and gifted them.

I don’t know when Kaia will finally understand people who have died and the fact that life will always end in death. But I try to occasionally share anecdotes about her Uncle Ed to her, and eventually, I’ll show her photos of Ed and try to have her “know” him as much as she can. Every now and then when I look at her face, I see Ed in her, and I hope that wherever he is, he is finally at peace with himself and the world. I still miss him and think about him every day, and with Kaia Pookie in my physical life now and him not anymore, sometimes my heart really aches, wishing what could have been.

This morning, we left Melbourne for LA. Chris’s dad took us to the airport, and because the car seat takes so much space in the backseat of the vehicle, Chris’s mom stayed behind. As Chris’s mom hugged and kissed Kaia goodbye, I could already feel myself feeling sad, but what triggered tears was when Chris’s dad did his usual prayer to wish us well on our travels and return back to the U.S., and finally New York. Why does he always have to do that? I don’t even know what about that prayer gets me, but every time, I’m always in this emotional state, wondering, “why do you always have to be so damn loving and kind.. ALL THE TIME?” And then, like I’ve never done before, I was crying on most of the ride to the airport, sitting in the front passenger seat alongside Chris’s dad driving. He is super uncomfortable with any sentimentality or emotion, so he just kept bringing up the most random topics to keep some semblance of a conversation going. Chris told me where the box of tissue was in the front. And that was kind of it.

Now that Kaia is here, more things are triggering to me than ever before. Even just watching how Chris’s parents interact with her, I am reminded of how my parents were not like that with me or Ed when we were little, and how they still aren’t like that with Kaia in the short time they had together last August. It made me really sad to see how much Kaia enjoyed their time together and how it was all coming to an end at that very moment. Doesn’t every good parent want the best people to surround their children?

Anyway, we never talked about it. Chris is just like his dad, emotionally removed and keeps everything to himself. No one wants to hear why anyone cries or feels anything in his family. People just do what they do and feel what they feel and move on. Sometimes, I wonder if that’s what contributes to Chris’s mom always seeming a little dissatisfied with her life in general. She seemingly has everything anyone could ask for: a solid education and a pretty good career, a loving husband, a beautiful home, plenty of money, endless travel, two grown, self-sufficient sons, and now a grandchild. She seems to be lacking deeper emotional connections to the people she is supposed to be closest to. Because what is life without deep, meaningful relationships?

Because Chris’s brother was scheduled to fly back to Sydney tonight, Chris’s parents suggested that we have one last meal out together as a family of six for lunch today. They proposed a trendy modern Indian spot in Melbourne’s CBD that they had visited before and enjoyed called Daughter-in-Law. I thought it sounded really good from the menu, so I said it would be a fun last meal together. Chris’s brother, on the other hand, did not agree.

“I don’t WANT to eat out again!” Chris’s brother whined this morning. “There’s too much food! Eating out is SO BAD for you! I just want to eat at HOME! ALL we have been doing is constantly eating unhealthy food the last several days, and I don’t want to do it anymore! I am NOT going!”

I couldn’t believe it. There I was, sitting at Chris’s parents’ dining table in their lounge with my nipples connected to my breast pump, pumping milk for my baby while my husband’s 37-year-old younger brother was whining like a baby himself.

“The Christmas season is meant for indulging — that’s what people do!” I insisted. “You don’t eat like this all year long. Do you even hear how whiny and over privileged you sound, protesting eating out at a nice restaurant with your family with your parents paying the bill??!! I asked him. Some people would absolutely love to be able to dine out as regularly as he did. Not everyone has the bank account to fund dining out. Not everyone has parents who have provided such a comfortable life for them to come to expect… YES, EXPECT.

First, it was their parents almost allowing Chris’s brother to use one of their two cars for an hour-long gym session just minutes away and foregoing an entire fun day out in wine country. And now today, it’s Chris’s brother’s whining about how he refuses to have one last meal out together, on his parents’ dime, at a nice restaurant. And if I had to count everything in between, I wouldn’t have enough face-palm emojis to thoroughly depict how ridiculous and spoiled he was acting. And the thing was: Chris’s parents, while unhappy with this response, didn’t seem to think this was spoiled behavior at all. I cannot even begin to imagine what it would have been like if that were ME with my own parents.

In the end, though, he ended up going. And in the end, he enjoyed it and even posted photos about how good the food was on Instagram. Of course.

Today, we went to Chris’s mom’s sister’s home for lunch to see her, her husband, their sons, and their son’s wife, plus their corgi. Going to their home is a bit of a good and an annoying thing: it’s good because they usually make delicious food and have a beautiful backyard with lots of fruits, vegetables and flowers growing; it’s annoying because the sister and husband can be a bit too stiff and formal, and it’s always dark in their home. Chris likes to complain that his parents don’t keep the shades open when he’s home and that he needs natural light; well, at this house, the shades ALWAYS seem to be completely drawn regardless of how sunny or grey it may be outside. On top of that, if we want to call my parents’ house or Chris’s parents’ house full of clutter, this house is on the opposite end of the spectrum: there is pretty much nothing hanging on any wall; no adornments are on any tables, countertops, or surfaces; literally nothing that resembles anything decorative, even a single picture frame, has ever, ever been up when I have come to visit. Sometimes, I wonder if this family is on the run from whatever the Australian equivalent of the CIA is and wants to escape at a moment’s notice, and perhaps that’s why their home is so bare bones. If you walked in, you’d think this was some rental property where nomads came and went, not where a real family lived their day-to-day lives.

The one thing that struck me about this visit, though, other than the delicious food overall, was the shrimp curry that the dad made. The curry was absolutely delicious; it was a deep, dark, brownish-red color, spicy, well seasoned, and so, so good, especially with the appams that he made. The shrimp was a bit overcooked and rubbery, though, which seemed uncharacteristic of Chris’s uncle, who was a very particular cook and relished different techniques and being very precise. I remarked to Chris’s aunt how good the shrimp curry was, and she said she was happy I liked it: her husband was actually allergic to shrimp and could not eat it, but he insisted on making it for special occasions because both their sons loved it so much. Because the uncle was allergic, he could never taste test or try the shrimp himself, but he always hoped for the best. Well, that explained why the shrimp was overcooked and he probably didn’t realize.

I was really touched when I heard this. Chris’s aunt and uncle are of my parents’ generation. It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to imagine my dad doing this same thing for Ed or me. If he couldn’t eat it himself or didn’t care for something, there’s really no way he’d ever make it for us. But I suppose this is how Chris’s uncle shows his love through actions for his sons.

Dear Kaia Pookie,

Today, you are one year old, my sweet Kaia Jam baby. Every night before I put you down for sleep, I tell you how much I love you, how you are mummy’s great gift, and how grateful I am to have you in my life. I am so lucky to have you, and my one hope is to always keep you safe, healthy, and happy forever. While that may not always be a realistic wish because you will not be kept under glass and my direct care forever, that is my hope for my sweet Kaia Pookie.

In the last year, while you have certainly caused a lot of stress and anxiety over your growth, getting enough breast milk, and pumping, and while I have definitely not slept or rested as much as I would have liked, I always remember that there could easily have been a life where you did not exist, and that never would have been sufficient for me. I would take all the sleepless (or sleep little) nights, all the cries, all the pumping, and more, twice over, just to have you here with us. They always say to cherish the moments, that the days are long, but the weeks are short. I have truly cherished every moment with you, even when I’ve been frustrated that you wouldn’t eat properly off my boob, even when you’ve refused to sleep, even when you have rejected food that I spent so much time making just for you. In the back of my mind, I always remember you are my miracle baby, my little love. It has been a truly amazing experience watching you grow into this sweet, cheeky, tiny human that you are. I’ve loved watching you evolve and progress from tummy time to rolling over, from crawling to pulling yourself up, from pulling yourself up to cruising along furniture. And well, this comes as no surprise, but I have especially loved watching you explore so many new foods and embrace them across multiple cultures. You have impressed us with your eating skills, and you’ve even proven to your ignorant scoffing nanny that yes, babies ARE capable of eating finger foods, that babies ARE capable of drinking out of straw and open cup from six months onward. Your love for spicy food has made your mummy and daddy so, so proud. We hope you always keep up that adventurous spirit, whether it’s with food or in life in general.

I love you so much, my sweet Kaia Pookie. Mama ai ni. We’re looking forward to another year, which I’m sure will be even more challenging as you assert your independence and opinions, and gradually walk and become more mobile. But I look forward to every second with you, even when you are likely a total pain in the ass :). My one sadness, though, is that time seems to fly by so quickly. Sometimes, I just want to bottle up the moment and freeze time and just stare at your beautiful face. I hope you will still enjoy spending time with your mama and dada even beyond your toddler years. Thank you for teaching me a deeper meaning of love and helping me learn what it’s like to see my heart moving outside my body. Love you muchos and forever.

Love,

your mama Yvonne

Kaia is almost 11 months old, and so I figured at some point soon, she’d start attempting to say real words. I know she knows a lot of what we say just based on her reactions and facial expressions. She knows our tones, like when we don’t want her to touch certain things or go to certain areas of the apartment. When she goes into a room she knows she’s not supposed to enter, she will give a cheeky little smile and look back at us, then make a “run” for it by giggling and crawling as quickly as possible into the room. When I say her name or “Kaia Pookie,” she always looks up at me. When I say “no,” she will hesitate and try to continue what she was doing, even though she can tell I am going to carry her away in another minute. In the last week, though, it really has sounded from her frequent and louder babble that she is truly trying to say real words. I was secretly hoping her first word would be Chinese. So it wasn’t a surprise when today, for the first time, she actually waved at our nanny when she was leaving for the day, and she repeated “buh buh” multiple times while waving her hand up and down. A few hours later, I was changing her diaper and handed her one to hold onto while I was taking off her dirty one, and I said, “I’m changing your diaper now. Can you give me the clean diaper?” And she looked up at me with a huge grin on her face and said, “Dai—paa! Dai-paa!”

I did a double take and looked at her huge smiling face. Did she just say “diaper”??!! She proceeded to repeat it at least 5 or 6 times after that, and I thought, how hilarious: my baby’s first word is “DIAPER”?!

Kaia is getting more expressive and communicative by day. Granted, we could tell from when she was very young when she was happy vs. sad, hungry vs. tired. But now, we can tell even more. I always know when she is coming — the sound of her hands eagerly slapping the hardwood floor as she is crawling towards me, usually in the kitchen or bedroom, always makes me feel happy. I can usually tell her mood depending on how quickly she is crawling and smacking her hands on the floor: when she is slowly slapping the floor, she is cautious and a bit pensive; when she is a little woman on a mission, she slaps the floor quickly and forcefully as she charges forward, usually while babbling away at the same time (and usually trying to go after something she knows I want her to stay away from, like the bug glue trap..). When she wants to be held, she signals that by staring up with eager, happy, or puppy eyes, and then raises her arms towards you, hoping you will oblige.

Usually when that happens, I am pumping. So yeah, pumping still sucks and takes up a lot of my life. Even though I pump only four times a day now vs. 7 in the beginning, I’m connected to a pump for an hour each time, so that’s four hours every single day; that’s like a part-time job in itself. And most of the time because there’s always so much to do, I have to multi-task. But I can’t multi-task by pumping and holding her. So I always feel a little sad when I cannot indulge her while pumping by picking her up. It’s another limitation that is annoying. And this week, I’m also not supposed to be picking her up since I got the steroid shot in my right wrist, so when I do pick her up, the weight has to be in my left arm/hand. So I always end up being a bit of a let down to her, as she probably sits there with her arms reaching out, wondering why mommy is not picking her up…?!

I just love being able to see her be more communicative. And at some point, when she does start walking sometime soon, I know I will miss the happy sound of her eager, purposeful hands slapping and smacking the hardwood floor while crawling on her little missions.

I can’t believe my baby is almost 10 months old. She’s crawling faster and faster and trying to pull up to stand. And her babble is sounding more and more like she’s trying to say real words. What has been really cute is her daily crawl to where I’ve put her books on our TV stand. She goes over there, pulls out all her books, and tries to flip the pages of the more sturdy board books. For the Ditty Bird Chinese nursery rhymes book, she knows where on the page to press the button to play the song, though she does not quite understand that she needs to remove her finger to let the song play… and instead, keeps rubbing the button, causing the song to start from the beginning again and again. 😀

Babies create their own fusion of sounds and “words,” and so when she starts going towards the books, she starts babbling away “bahh bahh bahh,” making me wonder if she is trying to say “book.” How cute it would be if “book” is to be her first word!

Once upon a time, we left Lenox Hill hospital with our baby and a whole ton of supplies that the nurses gave us. Included in the massive suitcase and bags that they packed us were five newborn pacifiers. We also had 4 pacifiers that were gifted to us via our baby registry, so in total, we had 9 pacifiers. At some point, one of them got lost while Kaia was out with her nanny at the park, so then we had eight left. And since that one pacifier went missing, Chris became the pacifier police overnight and started maniacally counting the pacifiers on the kitchen counter every evening after our nanny would go home to ensure that all were accounted for.

“Where is the 8th one?” he’d demand at around 6 or 7pm each evening. “You need to tell the nanny to count them at the end of each day!”

I thought this was ridiculous. Eight pacifiers really wasn’t that much to account for, and there was no reason that I needed to insist to our nanny that she had to keep tabs on every single one of them. And given that our baby is now nearly 9 months old and we managed to only lose one… to me, that just seemed like a miracle. We were either really anal about ensuring the pacifiers were all there, or our baby was just far easier to keep track of than other babies. In parenting forums, you always hear about things like pacifiers, bibs, and burp cloths going missing constantly.

So, I suppose this adds to Chris’s list of job titles: father, milk manager, baby bottle feeder, and pacifier police.