Baby talk

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!

9-month appointment

I took Kaia for her 9-month wellness checkup, and everything is looking pretty good: she’s developing well, has little divots on her bottom front gums, indicating she may have some teeth in the next month, and she’s growing like a little weed: now, she’s jumped up to the 44th percentile for weight (from 25th percentile at her six-month checkup), is at the 88th percentile for length/height (though I do think the medical assistant didn’t straighten out her legs enough to properly measure it, but whatever), and 84th percentile for head circumference. She’s also developing stranger danger more: she was not happy to see the nurse practitioner and was even more unhappy with her handling her and giving her the first dose of her flu shot. But luckily, she cried a lot less at this appointment than in June and calmed down as soon as I picked her up. With all the solids she’s eating, it will be interesting to see where she is at in terms of her weight and height at her 1-year appointment. My baby is happy, healthy, and growing. I felt so proud leaving the doctor’s office today for her.

Pacifier police

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.

Ed turns 43

This may be the first time I’ve been in San Francisco for Ed’s birthday since he passed, and how funny it is that this time when I am in town for his birthday, Kaia is now here with us. Coming back to San Francisco and leaving have never really been easy for me… pretty much since forever. When Ed was around, I always felt guilt that I was leaving him in the abusive environment of my parents. I always wanted to support him more, but never knew how to. Then, he died. I always have lots of conflicting thoughts and feelings around coming and being home– mostly because of Ed and how he should be here but isn’t; my parents’ mental health; the hoarding and clutter and dilapidated state their home is in. To me, the house is cursed. I still occasionally fantasize about burning it down. But I realize it resembles hell to me only downstairs. As soon as you are on the third floor where my aunt and her roommate live, it actually feels warmer both temperature-wise and in terms of its ambiance. It feels brighter; there is more light. She actually decorates and maintains her home so that it feels pleasant to be in.

In my parents’ home, it does not feel welcoming at all. It feels dark, desolate, and there is literally a cold draft running through the house that you can feel if you are walking barefoot. It comes from the sunroom. The level of clutter and hoarding always seems a little worse every time I come home. In my mind, there are a few times when it’s gotten heightened: the first time I really noticed it was my first visit home a year after I graduated from college; every subsequent visit there has been more accumulation of junk. And it really skyrocketed after Ed died. It’s almost like to make up for Ed’s presence, my dad started hoarding more things and having most surfaces of the house that are meant for sitting… not sittable, if that’s even a word (it doesn’t look like a word). The breakfast table seats have perpetually been covered in food stuff, cans, and appliances. My mom said that my bed and Ed’s are always covered with piles of paper and other random things when I am not there. The physical clutter always makes me feel more stressed and annoyed every time I am there. And when I say even the slightest thing about it to my mom, she gets mad and tells me I am causing trouble and to just stop talking about it.

I always hoped that as my parents aged that they would finally do things to enjoy life and be more comfortable: renovate the kitchen and have it be easier to use instead of having all these random tables and stools everywhere with paper bags and old newspapers everywhere; create fixtures in the bathroom that would make it easier to bathe and shower in; actually make use of all the space they have in their house, which actually is a LOT of space for two people. But instead, they do nothing and seem to only make it more uncomfortable as time goes on. The amount of time my parents spend separating out compost and trash is completely insane. My hope is based in just that: hope. It’s not rooted in anything they’ve ever indicated they wanted. I really don’t know what they are doing with their lives. I wonder what Ed thinks looking down at all this, wondering what the hell our parents are doing. I have no idea what they live for. My mom loves to talk about how depressed she is, but she doesn’t do anything to help herself, and this was even before Ed died, so it’s not just because of that.

I wish our parents the best. I really do. I just wish they’d learn to stop and enjoy life and all the privileges they had instead of picking fights about stupid, senseless things. It probably won’t happen, but I still wish it would.

I wonder if Ed were still alive today if he’d still be at home. It would be an even worse hell in many ways if he was still living there with them, likely getting tortured alive. My mom was never going to be at peace with Ed, alive or dead, as awful as it sounds.

Happy 43rd birthday, Ed. I am happy you are free from the hell that is that house on 20th avenue and that you are enjoying yourself truly, somewhere out there. You are free… free from all the pain, suffering, torture of that miserable house. You are free. But our parents are not and likely will never be.

“Nom nom nom”

“You are so obsessed with your baby,” my nanny said to me a couple weeks after she started with us. She had yet to learn this then, but my road to having Kaia was not an easy one, or one I take for granted at all. Every time I look at her, I still can’t believe she’s here, even after over eight months have passed. I still have a “Road to Emmie” folder of all my needles, hazardous waste box, embryo transfer, and ultrasound photos on my phone to remind me of that trying journey. I still can’t believe I had a healthy, complication-free pregnancy, and a relatively easy and smooth birth and recovery. Every day since, I give my thanks every night and tell her how grateful I am that she is here and that I have her. She is truly the greatest gift of my life. Every day, I feel lucky to have her.

My nanny is right, though: I am obsessed with her. Even the littlest things she does I tend to marvel at. Here’s a funny example: I never really quite understood where “nom nom nom” came from when people would write or text that about food they found delicious. People oftentimes call tasty food “noms” or “nomz” on social media. I’m pretty sure there are endless variations of hashtags around “noms.” Then, out of nowhere, while Kaia is eating different solid foods, I literally hear her say’ “nom nom nom nom” between bites and while chewing and digesting her food. I was like, THAT IS IT! That’s where “noms” comes from!! My baby loves her noms!!

Poor with money, rich with love

My nanny is a happy person. When we have moments together when I am cooking or pumping or preparing Kaia’s solids or breast milk, she likes to tell me about how she is still so in love with her husband, who she has been with since high school (she’s 59 and he’s 60 now, so that’s a LONG time), how they still keep the flame going by doing little cute things for each other. She tells me how much she loves her children, her grandson, how close she is to her daughter. She loves to share stories of her sister who lives in Florida and how when they visit and stay with each other, they steal each others’ clothes, jewelry, and handbags, and the other has no idea it’s happened until they’ve already flown off. Then they squabble about it and laugh it off until the next visit. She told me about the time when she and her husband finally bought their own home in Mount Vernon, how dilapidated and unlivable the inside of the house was when they first moved in. But after three months of repairs and renovation with her handyman uncle’s help, the inside of their home is like new and feels comfortable, like a real “home sweet home.” They love to host family and friends at their home often, and she says there is nothing better in life than family.

“We may not have much money,” she says to me often, “but we have so much love in our family. And that’s better than all of Jeff Bezos’s money.”

On the one hand, there’s my nanny, who lives paycheck to paycheck who enjoys life, loves and values her family, and has functional, loving relationships with her family. She has a beautiful, comfortable home that she loves and is proud to bring everyone into. On the other hand, there’s my parents, who have no money concerns at all and could easily live lavishly until they died at age 120, but they are miserable, constantly seeking fault with everyone else, hate their relatives, and willingly choose to live in a dilapidated, cluttered, dirty home, a place where they hate having guests of any kind.

I thought about this for a while today. It really does not have to be an “either / or” situation, but in this case, it is. I’m happy for our nanny. I’m not happy for my parents… not in the least bit.

Tiny foodie baby embraces fish and goes “nom nom nom”

Today, Kaia had salmon for the first time. After seeing how well she did with sardines all week, I wasn’t surprised to see her embrace her steamed salmon with garlic and black pepper. She clearly loves to self feed; the spoon feeding doesn’t always seem to work with her, and she very much prefers to be in control of what goes into her mouth. Sometimes, she gets a bit too aggressive with her big bites, though, and she ends up gagging and spitting the food out. I always wonder what she is thinking when she’s presented new foods and deciding what to eat and how much, if she actually understands what I mean when I am doing exaggerated modeling of chewing and big bites, and telling her to “chew, chew, chew!”

When I started using social media years ago, I always thought it was a bit comical when I’d read about people talking about or making the “nom nom nom” sound while eating something they enjoyed. But then I realized in the last few weekends while feeding Kaia… that it actually sounds like she makes that exact same sound. She goes between “mmmmm” and “maaa maa maaa” as well as “num num num” over and over again while eating something she seemingly enjoys.

So, did “nom nom nom” actually originate from baby sounds while eating?

When your nanny misses you

I figured that my nanny would have been really excited to hear that I’d be away most of yesterday because it would mean I would be completely out of her hair. She wouldn’t have to worry about my lurking around and observing her. She could do what she pleased in the apartment without any watchful eye. But apparently, she told me she wasn’t actually that happy that I was away and missed me. My nanny MISSED me. She must be nuts! She’s the exact opposite of any nanny who posts on the Reddit nanny group!

I asked her today if she enjoyed her freedom with my being away. And she responded, “You know, you’d be surprised. Kaia isn’t the only one who missed you. I missed you, too! I was wondering how your day was going, how your meeting went, and thinking of the things I would have said to you if you were here. So I actually wasn’t happy you were gone. I’ve gotten used to working with mom in the house!”

We get attached to those we spend time with, and I suppose that also applies to hired help and how they feel about their bosses. I guess I’m not so awful to have as a “mom boss” after all. 😀

“Khana Khaya”

I was on a casual Zoom call with my team this afternoon to welcome a new colleague who joined our team. But I realize that most of us hadn’t really been on a call anytime recently to discuss non-work things. So an Indian colleague of mine asked me if the reason we named our daughter Kaia was for the Hindi phrase. I asked her, what Hindi phrase? And she said “khana khaya,” which is a way of greeting someone in Hindi to ask “Have you eaten yet?” So, she said to me, “khaya” in Hindi means “has eaten.”

I cracked up and could not stop smiling. WHAT? A version of the name we chose for our daughter actually means “to eat”??? How did we not know this? Or rather, how did Chris’s mother, who is fluent in Hindi, never tell us this? I was completely mind boggled by all of this new knowledge. This colleague totally made my day.

I hope my sweet baby Kaia grows up to be a voracious eater who explores and embraces all cultures’ foods.

Nine years later.

Dear Ed,

It’s the 9-year anniversary of when you bid farewell to this earthly world and left all of us. I can’t believe this much time has passed since I last heard your voice, since the last time I saw your face… your sad face. Some days, it feels like an eternity since I last saw you. Other days, it feels like just yesterday.

This time last year, I was pregnant with your little niece. And now, she’s over seven months old, thriving more than I ever could have imagined. She’s crawling, rolling, eating solid food, babbling and laughing. Sometimes, I see you when I look at her face. Sometimes, I imagine what your reaction would be to hear that she was born healthy and safe. I imagine what it would have been like to have you meet her in person for the first time, knowing she’s your little niece, your little sister’s baby. And these thoughts crush me. I try not to think about it too much because it gets me emotional and teary, and since she was born, almost everything makes me want to cry. I guess Kaia’s birth has made me even more in touch with my feelings, especially the sad and happy ones. I wish you could meet her and be a part of her earthly life.

I hope to raise her to be curious, thoughtful, empathetic, generous, and kind. I hope to share stories of you with her so that you will still be a part of her life, even if she will never meet you in person. I’m not sure if she will be able to have the privilege of having a sibling as I did with you, which makes me sad because I know I benefited so much from having you as my sibling in my life. Occasionally, I still have moments when I feel extremely lonely knowing you’re gone, knowing I have no living siblings. I don’t know if Kaia will feel that way if she has no siblings. But I think about the future, about our parents slowly growing older and needing care and support. And though money isn’t an issue for them, someone will need to facilitate all of that. And that burden is on my shoulders… my shoulders alone. It would have been more easy to fathom if you were still here so that we could support each other and grow old through life together. But you’re gone.

My heart is heavy. Kaia’s birth and presence every day is a reminder to me of my own mortality. She reminds me how quickly time is passing. Every minute that passes is another minute closer to death. Every minute gone is another minute lost. Sometimes, I just want to freeze time. Sometimes, I just want to go back in time and see you again, say and do other things to and with you. But I can’t. I won’t be here forever, and one day I’ll join you wherever you are.

Did you ever ask… what is this all worth? Why am I still here? Why do I still want to be here? Or were you so deep in your pit that you just stopped asking questions because the hurt was too much? I get it. I get it. Recently, I’ve been asking myself what I’m doing with my own life, or if I’m making the right decisions, or if I’m doing the best I can for baby Kaia. She gives me a new purpose in life, though. I’ve never realized how happy I could be until she arrived. Now I understand what other mothers say when they say that they can see their hearts beating outside their chests. She’s my little heart.

I will do my best to take the very best care of her and to have your spirit live on through the both of us. You will always be a part of our lives, Ed. I love you forever. Kaia will love you, too.

Love,

Yvonne