A letter to my unborn Pookie Bear

Written during week 38 of gestation – beginning 30 November 2021

November 30, 2021

Dear Pookie Bear, 

I am currently 38 weeks pregnant with you, my little love. While you will eventually read this when you are a blossoming, beautiful, and vibrant nearly grown young woman, I wanted to write this letter to you before you were born so you’d know about our journey to have you, and you’d realize exactly how much you are loved and wanted in your daddy’s and my life. 

In the ’90s, there was this popular boy band from Australia called Savage Garden. They wrote this song called “I Knew I Loved You” (before I met you). While your mama is a bit cynical and doesn’t believe in love at first sight (she does believe in lust at first sight, as that makes far more logical sense), she certainly felt this about you. I felt this when I saw the picture of you as a little embryo/blastocyst, a bunch of cells expanding after being thawed out from the freezer. I felt this during my first obstetrical ultrasound, when we saw you as just a little blob on the screen, a small gestational sac floating around the inside of my uterus. And with each subsequent ultrasound, more and more of you was forming and taking shape, and with each printout I got, I kept it close to my desk while working to remind myself how blessed I was to have you growing, slowly and surely, inside me.

My mother, your ba gnoai, always told me that I’d never quite understand how much she loved and worried about me and your late uncle until I had my own children. And while I debate most things your ba gnoai tries to lecture me on, as you yourself know how stubborn your mama is, I will willingly admit that she was right on this point. My worries about you began even before I was pregnant with you. 

Pookie Bear, I’ve thought of you and been wanting you since 2018, though to be honest, your dad got cold feet and stalled until the middle of 2019, much to my annoyance and dismay. Little did he know then that getting pregnant wouldn’t come easily to us.

You see, we didn’t conceive you the “old-fashioned way” as much as I hoped that would’ve been the case. We started our TTC “trying to conceive” journey in the middle of 2019. After about five months of trying and each month ending with my period, I just had a sense something was wrong. I immediately went to my doctor to get tested, and she said everything was normal on my side, so I had your dad get tested, as well. And that was when we found out that things were not ideal there. I went back and told my doctor, and she was still hopeful. “It’s not impossible, but it may just take longer,” she said. She suggested we try for a few more months, and if it still didn’t work, IUI would be a good first step at a fertility clinic.  

When I first entered that fertility clinic she recommended for an initial consultation in September 2020, I felt hopeful, too. IUI didn’t seem that invasive, and if “he just needs a little help” like my doctor said, within a few cycles, we’d get pregnant. But with each subsequent sperm sample, the results just got worse and worse. The second and last IUI, the sperm results were just one level above what they would have suggested to cancel the cycle entirely. I felt physically and mentally crushed as I sat in the room, undressed from the waist down with a covering over me, waiting for insertion, hearing this come out of the reproductive endocrinologist’s mouth. I wanted to scream, but I wasn’t sure who to scream at or blame for this. It just felt so unfair at the time that so many other couples were able to conceive so easily (and even accidentally), yet for us, it felt grueling and nearly impossible as each month passed. At the same time, I felt ungrateful and terrible, knowing full well that many other couples struggled for years if not decades to conceive with far worse prognoses than we had: closed fallopian tubes, poor egg quality, low egg count, azoospermia, completely immotile sperm, far lower sperm counts than what we faced. In total, we tried for about a year before I went to the fertility clinic. And after the second failed IUI cycle, your dad and I decided to forgo a recommended third IUI cycle and to jump right into IVF (in-vitro fertilization) since the success rates were much higher, though the treatment would be far more invasive, painful, and time consuming, not to mention much more emotionally grueling than IUI.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” your dad asked me after the IVF virtual consultation with the reproductive endocrinologist.

To me, all I wanted was you, Pookie Bear. I didn’t care that I’d need to go into the clinic for appointments nearly every other day for constant blood draws and transvaginal ultrasounds. Although I hated needles and the thought of self-administering follicle stimulating hormones into my body via 2-3x daily injections in my stomach scared me, all I thought was: all these other women before me have been strong enough to do this, so if they could get through this, so could I. I was strong enough, right? I could do this… just for the chance to have you. There were no guarantees as we were constantly reminded through this grueling process. But I remained hopeful because at the end, our goal was the same: to have you in our arms. We were also lucky in that your dad’s company at the time had amazing fertility coverage, which was rare for most health insurances and employers at the time in the U.S., so the out of pocket costs to us would be minimal. We had a lot of privilege, as I knew few people who had gone through fertility treatments at the time who had any coverage at all. 

Sure, I felt a lot of anger and resentment: it made me mad that even though nothing was wrong with me specifically based on the endless tests I had to go through that I was the one who had to go through these invasive treatments, which would end in an egg retrieval, which is technically a surgery. I don’t blame your dad; he couldn’t help his situation, but I couldn’t help but feel resentful. I was angry that in all fertility treatments, only women had to go through this and that the hardest thing any man had to do through this process was to masturbate and jizz into a cup (you can handle my language by now, can’t you?). It just felt so unfair. Women already must go through the burdens of pregnancy and childbirth, and just to conceive when there is a problem, we must endure even more. This is what all women share: it is both a burden and a blessing to be able to get pregnant and give birth to a child. 

And so, we went through with one round of IVF to begin. It was 2.5 weeks of daily self-administered injections nightly, with nearly every other day visits to the clinic. Each evening, your dad tried to remain supportive by standing by me as I did the injections into my stomach. He always had a nice treat, usually a dessert or Aussie biscuit, waiting for me when I was done. Your mama was very lucky, as she didn’t experience any of the usual IVF medication side effects, such as bloated stomach (that appears pregnant), mood swings, or nausea. Work at the time was very busy for me, as well, so I was somehow able to compartmentalize IVF and focus on work while at (remote) work. And then after the retrieval, which happened on the last day that I could say I was 34 years old (January 16, 2021), though I had a relatively smooth and quick recovery, I was beyond crushed and broken to find out the initial results on my 35th birthday the next day: twelve eggs were retrieved, but only five were mature and actually viable because one of my hormone levels unexpectedly spiked at the beginning of the cycle, which the RE did not anticipate, and so all the eggs grew out of sync. And in the end, out of five mature eggs, only one after fertiliziation made it to the blastocyst stage for genetic testing. I was angry at literally everyone after this happened: at the RE and the clinic for not seeing this coming and not changing the protocol; at your dad for not having to experience all this physically and not having the burden of doing nearly all the work; at the world for why I had to go through all this for barely a chance for you. I was pretty certain that if multiple lives existed, in a past life, I must have done something pretty bad to deserve this awful karma. But when the results came back and you, my little embryo, were considered a euploid (NORMAL!), I couldn’t help but be a little excited. And I was even more heartened when I found out you were female… because as I immediately thought when I saw the unredacted sex results: Of course, only a girl could have survived all this bullshit. 

We debated doing another cycle, as I was scared we only had you, our one embryo, and if you didn’t “stick,” we’d have to start another IVF cycle all over again, from scratch. But your dad insisted we try with you first. He also did this because he was hell bent on having only one child, and I still wanted two. So, I finally relented because I was too exhausted to argue and debate after all this physical and emotional turmoil. I just wanted to move forward, and so we did that with you, our one survivor embryo. 

So we did more testing, and finally the embryo transfer happened on Monday, March 29, 2021. I felt optimistic about your sticking. I hoped and prayed every day, and as you would know, I rarely pray. On that day, I got a picture of you, my little embryo. You were already expanding after you had been thawed from the freezer. And because your mama loves alliterations, I temporarily named you Emmie the embryo that day. Then a week and a half later, we got the news that you had, in fact, stuck: I was pregnant with you, my tiny survivor, my little embryo that could. Your Auntie Crista was staying with us at the time, and she accompanied me to the clinic to get my pregnancy test done. We walked across the park and had a fancy and indulgent breakfast at Sarabeth’s, then returned home. When the nurse called with the positive pregnancy test results just before midday, we both cried tears of joy and jumped up and down at the news. I was four weeks pregnant. I just couldn’t believe it: I was ACTUALLY PREGNANT. WITH YOU. Your dad, though, was cautiously optimistic: “Upward and onward,” he tentatively said after giving me a kiss on the forehead. He didn’t want me to get too excited in case this pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. And unfortunately, we know too well from too many people we knew how common miscarriage was, so it was dangerous to get too excited. But I felt we had to celebrate the small wins amidst so much waiting and crap we had to go through.

At the 5-week clinic appointment, your Auntie Crista also accompanied me, and that was when I had my first obstetrical ultrasound… which uncovered that there was not just one, but TWO gestational sacs; my little embryo that could SPLIT! We couldn’t believe it; your Auntie Crista and I were squealing with joy and excitement. The sonographer said she wasn’t sure if the second “sac” was just excess fluid buildup or a second sac, so she said we’d have to wait until the next week to confirm for sure if the embryo had split. And then, at the 6-week appointment, which your dad went to, it was confirmed: my little embryo had split into two, and we saw two gestational sacs, two yolk sacs, and two positive flickers — your two heart beats, on the screen. I was in total shock and awe. You would never believe how happy and excited I was; I couldn’t even believe how bursting with joy I was. I almost felt like it was just meant to be that we would have two babies. Your dad, on the other hand, was shocked and terrified. He eventually warmed up to the idea, saying it must have been his “super sperm” that caused the embryo to split. I let him think whatever he wanted. I was just elated. 

In the moment it was confirmed I was carrying twins, this strong wave of protectiveness came over me. I immediately just felt this unwavering urge to shield the both of you from everything awful and ugly in this world. I know how unrealistic and helicopter-parenting that sounded, but I couldn’t help it. It was the Mama Bear in me revealing herself. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. Two weeks later, at my 8-week scan that the RE did, he said that your tiny twin didn’t make it. The words that every pregnant person fears hearing were heard by us that day after a long silence and the doctor constantly zooming in to see closer on the ultrasound screen: “I’m so sorry. I don’t see a heartbeat.” 

In that moment, I truly just wanted to die, to disappear into thin air and away from this cold, hard world that took your identical twin sister away. Just days before, my body was nourishing and growing two little babies, and just like that, one of them had literally vanished, her little heart stopped, and her gestational sac shriveled against the tiny embryo she once was. They call it “vanishing twin syndrome,” and it’s actually quite common according to all the medical professionals we spoke with. Although it’s been known to happen for decades with twins at this stage of gestation, little research has been done on *why* this actually happens. Your dad, always the logical one, got angry that we weren’t warned that this could have happened and how common it was. But I just felt broken, and I couldn’t stop crying. We ended up going to see a maternal fetal medicine specialist the next day to confirm that you were okay, and thankfully, you were just fine, progressing normally as a singleton, as though your twin never existed. The MFM specialist said she had no concerns about you, and you looked healthy and on track for this stage. And thank God for that, Pookie Bear: you were what kept me going during that dark period. If I didn’t have you to live for, I’m not sure how I would have made it out of that awful time in our life. 

Given our journey to getting pregnant, IVF, and losing your twin sister, I remained cautiously optimistic as the weeks went by. But the days moved forward, and I held my breath at each doctor’s appointment, each ultrasound scan. With each week that passed, I was more and more thankful with all the good news that came our way. Other than fatigue and the occasional nausea in the first trimester, I was feeling very good. I felt amazing during my second trimester, and in the third, although I did have a temporary and painful 4-day bout of sciatica because of your position in my uterus, I was still so happy. Each visit, you were progressing well, growing, breathing, moving and kicking like crazy. One of the sonographers called you a “tiny dancer,” who made it difficult to get the still photos needed to evaluate appropriate brain development at times, but who always turned out okay. And as you got bigger and I could feel your movements, I could not believe how happy I was. Each day and night, I gave thanks for our progress, for having you growing in my uterus, happily and healthily. I had no idea I could be this happy, this thankful for my body, which was able to grow and sustain you as a new life. And as I started feeling your movements inside of me, your wiggles and squirms and turns and somersaults and kicks, I discovered a new amazement and new joy. Each movement felt like a blessing, and I imagined honestly being sad when you came out and I could no longer feel your movements so close to me like this. Before being pregnant, I had never known happiness like this one. 

So after we got to around 20 weeks of gestation, I didn’t think calling you “Emmie” fit anymore, even though I did love “Emmie the embryo.” So your name changed to Pookie Bear. Now, you probably hate it when I call you that, but you will always be Pookie Bear, my little baby, in my heart, no matter how old or how big you get. Your dad and I have a lot of hopes and dreams for you, but our greatest wish for you is to grow up to be a happy, healthy, independent, empathetic, and kind human. The world into which you have entered is full of negativity, ugliness, racism, prejudice, injustice, and darkness, and navigating it all will be a challenge. But we hope that we will be able to arm you with the skills to get through it and not just survive, but thrive and make the most of it. I hope you will be quick-witted like your dad; I’m unfortunately too slow with comebacks for the idiots out there. We hope you will embrace your mixed heritage being Chinese, Vietnamese, and Indian, and having two nationalities, both American and Australian. We want you to combat any racist, ignorant crap that anyone tries to say or send your way. You are blessed and privileged to come from cultures so vast and rich, with long-standing histories and influences on the entire earth. You are also extremely privileged to be able to hold two passports from two wealthy countries that have little restrictions when it comes to entering different countries. 

I hope you will be happy to know the story of how you came into the world, of how much your dad and I truly, genuinely wanted you. You have an entire extended family that has literally been waiting for years and years for your arrival (yes, this goes back to window guards on the second floor of your paternal grandparents’ home in Brighton, Victoria, in 2016; ask your dad for that story), and we all have loved you before we have even met you and want what’s best for you. I know there have been and will continue to be times when you will get angry with me, be mad about things I say or do, but I hope you will remember that I love you and always just want what’s best for you. I will always try my best to listen and be empathetic to your needs. I may not always do or say the right thing, but my heart and intention are always in the right place for you; I am human, after all, and humans do make mistakes. I can admit that, at least. I hope you will love and be proud of your parents, who have tried so hard to give you the best life possible, a life that is better and easier than even the lives we had, and magnitudes easier than the lives our parents and grandparents had. 

I love you more than anything else in the entire world. You and your dad are my whole world, my sweet Pookie Bear. As long as I have the two of you, nothing else matters to me. 

Love, 

Your mama Yvonne

The Dream Team strikes again

My calendar has been pretty clear since the middle of November at work, so it’s actually left me with a lot of time to catch up on cleaning things up for organizational purposes for customer work, as well as personal tasks I wanted to get done before Pookie Bear arrives. I was a little befuddled when a colleague on my team sent me a calendar invitation with our names titled: “Last 1:1.” That was weird, I thought. We’d only had maybe one or two 1:1s leading up to my leave since she’s covering for a handful of my accounts, so I thought it was strange. So then I did some investigative work and checked about 10 other team members’ calendars at the same time/date to see what they had. Welp, it looks like they all had a private invite on their calendar for the exact same time. These deceptive fools planned a surprise baby shower for me!

So I got into the Zoom late this afternoon and of course, there are about 15 other people in the Zoom other than the colleague who originally tried to dupe me, and they all laughed and said, “well, we REALLY need to talk about ALL your accounts RIGHT now in case you go into labor!” It was super touching; I was nearly in tears when I got on the video chat. Even virtually, I felt so overwhelmed with love and appreciation. At previous companies, somehow, I had always taken the responsibility of planning things like surprise baby or wedding showers, organizing cash pool gifts for those celebrating the next phase of their lives. It was something I enjoyed because a) I love surprises and b) I like organizing events that make people feel seen and appreciated. The look on their faces when the event is sprung up on them always gets me.

And now, a handful of colleagues I am close to got together to do this… for me. None of us have ever even met face to face given the pandemic, yet somehow, I have felt more loved, appreciated, and seen at this company than any other company before. We talked a lot about babies, partners, changing relationships, sleepless nights, #teamnosleep, and endless cuddles. And they sent me a really generous Amazon gift card, put together a virtual card of well wishes and parenting advice, and said more was on the way.

Pregnancy has really made me feel so grateful for so many things. I can’t even believe how overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude I’ve been all along the way, not only that things have gone so smoothly with everything from pregnancy symptoms to doctor’s appointments and test results to Pookie’s anatomy scans, but even just so overwhelmed with gratitude for the people in my life: my friends, each of whom has been there for me in some shape or form to support me through my IVF and pregnancy journey; my colleagues, who have always checked in on me regarding how I’m feeling, how pregnancy is going, and showered me with gifts to welcome Pookie Bear; my family, and yes, even my mom for being there for me and checking in on me, even when I may not have consciously wanted her to; the professionals ranging from the bond I’ve built with my therapist to my doctors/sonographers/nurses at the fertility clinic and my regular OB-GYN pracice and my doula; and of course, Chris, my rock who keeps me going strong regardless of what obstacles we’ve faced. I have had no shortage of support in some shape or form, and I just feel so blessed to have everything I have in my life.

And I know once Pookie arrives, she will have a similar web of support surrounding her.

Almost 39 weeks

Well, it looks like the daily pep talks with Pookie Bear worked: she has stayed cozy and warm inside my uterus through December, and now we are on the eve of our 39th week of pregnancy together.

I’ve felt and thought this the entire pregnancy, but I am so happy and grateful to have had such an enjoyable and relatively smooth pregnancy to date. I still can’t believe she is coming, and soon we will meet our little Pookie Bear baby. I’ve also enjoyed every single one of her movements, whether they have been kicks, pounds, squirms, wiggles, turns, and even her tiny little hiccups. Even when they have been painful, like when she’s kicked me in my ribs or given me sciatica or piriformis pain, I still love each feeling and just feel so blessed to have gotten this far with her. Sometimes, I just can’t believe how lucky I am, and I rub my belly and remind myself that this is all real, that my little baby is almost here.

In the beginning when I could feel her movements, she would get excited and move a lot after exercise, meals, cold drinks, at bedtime, and in the middle of the night. I still fondly remember waking up feeling startled, just to her little somersaults in my uterus. As time progressed and she got bigger, she’d get excited on plane rides, especially during ascending and descending. She loves being in festive, rambunctious events like Auria’s backyard food and beer event, and she moves a lot during those events, as though saying she wants to be included in the fun. She also kicked a lot during calls and presentations when I did a lot of talking. And she absolutely loves comedy and live theater; she never stopped squirming and turning during those live events.

I hope this is all indicative of the person she will become: someone who is lively and boisterous, loves good conversation, live theater, comedy, music, and events, travel, and delicious food. I’m so excited to meet my little Pookie Bear, and she has a throng of people who already love her and are eagerly waiting to meet her, too.

Cooking frenzy

I pride myself on productivity and efficiency. It’s a little disgusting to think about it, but I do. I have a hard time not doing things, and I know I get it from my mom. Chris calls me out on this all the time, as does my best friend, and this obsession certainly has not let up with Pookie Bear’s pending arrival. In fact, I think her pending arrival has only made the obsession worse with my to-do/checklist.

I was able to get my hair cut and highlighted yesterday, so that ticked off another big thing I wanted to get done before baby’s arrival. So what next? MORE FOOD! This afternoon, I made chicken satay and its accompanying peanut sauce with Sambal Lady’s new spice blends, stir-fried Chinese pea shoots, two mason jars’ worth of XO sauce using Eat Cho Food’s simplified recipe (the entire apartment smells like seafood now in the form of dried scallops and shrimp!), scallion oil noodles mixed with seaweed, and Instant Pot masoor dal. That’s six things in the span of one afternoon. And I still want to make tomato onion masala and potato leek soup (with the remaining leeks from Thanksgiving). The freezer is running out of space for me to add prepared food into, so now I’m going to need to figure out where to put all this tomato onion masala for quick Indian meals once I make it. The nesting instinct has gone on overdrive.

Life-sized teddy bear

A number of packages arrived today, both expected and not expected. I tend to do most of my shopping for staples like skincare/cosmetics/clothes around Black Friday and Cyber Monday, and if I am buying Christmas/birthday gifts for friends or family, I usually use this time to take advantage of all the discounts and deals. What I was not expecting to be delivered today was a huge Amazon box that was gift wrapped and not from our baby registry.

When we opened the box, which was addressed to me, there was a large vacuum-sealed bag. It came with a gift note, which said it was from “the Dream Team.” The label said it was a 55-inch teddy bear… for Pookie. I couldn’t believe it; my team at work had sent me a life-sized teddy bear. I read the reviews, and this guy will need to be unzipped and re-fluffed to be in his full, optimal glory!

“DO NOT take it out of its packaging!” Chris exclaimed, bewildered that someone had sent us such a massively sized stuffed animal. “We have so much clutter! There is stuff everywhere now!”

I’d always wanted a life-sized stuffed animal, just for shits and giggles. In my dreams, it was a Totoro or Snoopy the size of me, but hey, this teddy bear will do. I cannot wait to see how Pookie looks next to this teddy bear in terms of size. It will be too cute.

Visiting friends and mom’s comparisons

When you live in a city as exciting and cosmopolitan as New York, you inevitably will have guests and visitors come from all over the place not just to see you, but to see and experience the city. One of my friends came to visit today with her now husband, and since they were coming over to grace me with their presence, I decided that since I was still feeling good, I’d make one of her favorite childhood cookies, the snickerdoodle, and send her off with some. Unfortunately, the Serious Eats recipe did not come out as I’d hoped (immediately out of the oven and a few hours later they were good, but passed that, they didn’t retain their soft, chewiness the way snickerdoodles are supposed to.

The two of them had been engaged since 2014, around the time Chris and I got engaged, and so my mom used to always say annoying things about how at some point, they would get married, never tell me, and not invite me to the wedding. “You can’t just assume that just because you invited someone to your wedding that they will invite you to theirs,” she started. “Maybe they don’t have the money to invite you, or maybe they just don’t see you as close enough to invite to their wedding.”

I thought about these constant jabs when my friend revealed that the two of them had gotten married about two weeks ago, in her parents’ backyard with just immediate family in attendance. Great, I thought, now my mom will be smug because she was right. Though it wasn’t like some grand affair that I was just left out of as my mother would want to imagine.

Not only did they get married in the last month, but they’ve also bought a home in the Bay Area. Talk about a double whammy in just one month.

I told my mom this later in the evening, which excited her to no end. She wants all my friends (at least, the ones she knows) to get married, have kids, and “settle down.” “Did you know that she’s your prettiest friend? I used to think (insert another friend’s name) was the prettiest. But no, SHE is the prettiest of them all!”

Yes, because I rank all my friends by how good looking they are. My mother really cannot help herself from comparing, as comparing people is one of her absolute favorite things to do, which annoys me to no end. Why can’t someone just be pretty or smart and that’s it? Why do they always need to be compared to someone else….?!

38-week ultrasound

I was at the maternal fetal medicine/ultrasound unit at Lenox Hill yesterday for a weekly deep scan. Since week 35, when I come here, I feel a little on edge because I never know what they will find (or nitpick at). The maternal fetal medicine doctor who has been evaluating the baby’s growth and heart rate is also one of the directors of obstetrics at Lenox Hill, so the practice tends to take his recommendations very seriously. He’s also apparently extremely conservative and cautious as evidenced by not only my recent hospitalization, but the original insistence I stay at least TWO nights, and so I was bracing myself for more fetal monitoring today.

Well, the sonographer told me that the ultrasound all looked good; baby looks healthy and the blood/oxygen flow through the umbilical cord looks perfect. When she walked me to the waiting area to discuss with the doctor, I was surprised to see a new maternal fetal medicine specialist come over to greet me who I’d never met before. They said that they didn’t need to do fetal monitoring today since the last several weeks, everything looked good.

“The baby looks perfect,” she said, “No concerns at all!”

I asked her about the previous specialist’s suggestion of potential induction given the baby’s size, and she looked at me quizzically and reviewed some previous notes on my chart.

“Well, you’re Asian, and Asian babies tend to be smaller on average than Caucasian babies,” she said. “I’m assuming your husband is also of Asian descent, as well? Based on what I can see, I see no concerns as the baby looks very healthy. I see zero reason for inducing.”

Wow, some common sense for once. It was such a relief to hear this and to hear another specialist’s perspective. I hate all the interventions that are unnecessary, and I just want Pookie Bear and me to get out of this alive, healthy, and without endless, non-medically necessary procedures.

Baby’s head low in pelvis

I was at my OB’s office yesterday for my 38-week appointment, where we did a high level ultrasound and she informed me that the baby’s head is very low in my pelvis.

“That means that she’s ready!” my doctor exclaimed, smiling wide and getting excited. “I estimate that based on her position, she could really come anytime in the next week. You have our emergency number on your phone, right?”

Anytime in the next week? WHAT? I was both filled with excitement and terror all at once. Pookie Bear is ready to come out and discover the world? I guess I really shouldn’t have been surprised given that I’m already at 38 weeks, and babies being born about a week or so early is pretty normal and healthy since it’s not like they have a calendar that says, “it’s 40 weeks — time to GET OUT!”

So what did I do, the crazy overdrive person who can’t keep still and is obsessed with productivity? On the way home, I stopped by Whole Foods and purchased a 3-lb container of rolled oats to start making lactation cookie dough balls to get ready for the freezer. I already picked up ground flaxseed and brewer’s yeast the week before, so I had all the core ingredients to make up the “lactation” part of this cookie dough.

I told Chris about what the doctor said, and today, I knew he was on edge regardless of whether he’s willing to admit it. He insisted we organize a lot of the baby items in the second bedroom and start taking things out of the boxes that we were gifted from the baby registry. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, and I also knew it wouldn’t take that much time, but he snapped at me when I said it wasn’t a big deal and that he could take care of a lot of it.

“What if you go into labor tonight or tomorrow?” he snapped. “Then I have to do all this myself! I don’t know what’s in all these boxes!”

Well… the box that says “changing pad” — that has a changing pad in it? None of this is that complicated. He didn’t appreciate my comments and insisted we do this at this second. So we did it all this evening, and it took probably less than 30 minutes. There’s really not THAT much baby stuff, and I don’t think he realizes that because pre-baby, this bedroom was empty, hollow, and had a big echo. There’s not much of an echo anymore, though.

But this is what Chris is like when he gets anxious, and he feels like he’s not in control. I married a loving control freak who wants to be in control of literally everything, and he hates surprises. The second he feels like he’s out of control, he reacts by being a bit short fused and snappy. So I expected this from him at some point.

I don’t think there’s a newborn out there that allows his/her parents to be in control. And that’s what he and I will need to get used to — not feeling like we’re in control at all and just going with the flow of what the baby wants and needs.

First snows of the season

It is technically not winter yet, as it’s officially winter on December 21st here in the northern hemisphere, but it certainly feels like it’s winter given the drop in temperatures. I always know that winter has arrived when my head feels naked without a hat on and my hands either need gloves or to be pushed into my pockets. But another reminder of winter is the tiny little snow flurries that tend to happen in late November and early December. When I am in the comfort of a warm office or home, and I look out the window and see tiny snowflakes fluttering around outside, I know it’s really winter. And that feeling that accompanies those snowflakes is usually a mixed one: a little bit of excitement because I think snow is really beautiful, and quite a bit of dread because I absolutely hate cold weather, and I especially cannot stand navigating the snow, ice, and dangerous black ice on the streets and sidewalks of New York. I will also add that snow is especially beautiful when you are nice and warm inside a cozy, heated apartment, with a nice hot drink in hand. And there, you can admire it from the inside out, and the world feels like your own snow globe.

I started noticing the tiny flurries this past weekend. And this afternoon, I noticed them, as well, a bit more furious than this weekend with more intention, almost as if to say, “yep, autumn is gone, and winter is here. deal with the snow!” It’s a different feeling this year, though, with Pookie Bear in my womb, nice and cozy, squirming around in her limited space in the uterus, just waiting to come out into the world. My baby will be a winter baby in the northern hemisphere and a summer baby in the southern hemisphere. No amount of snow or snow flurries could take away the nice warm feeling I get thinking about her pending arrival.

Registry etiquette

In general, whenever I have been invited to a wedding or baby shower, if the couple has a registry, I will always buy a gift from the registry or give cash. This makes the lives of all of us much easier: we know that the couple will like and appreciate the gift because, well, they themselves chose it. And there’s no guesswork needed, nor is there pressure in terms of how creative you can get with the gift. I recently finished reading Adam Grant’s book Give and Take, and in it, he succinctly says that if you are a giver (in other words, a good human :D), you will buy a gift off a registry or give cash. What you will not do is try to go off registry and buy something else… because in that case, you are thinking about yourself and your own orientation and what you think would be best for them. And in sum, a gift is supposed to be about the recipient, NOT the giver.

So it was weird when I received a long-winded email from my uncle when he wanted to explain that he didn’t get us something off our baby registry and decided to go with something else. While I am always appreciative of gifts and do not expect gifts (I mean, I’m not forcing anyone to get us a gift), this was just odd. He said that given the ongoing pandemic, he wanted to get us something fitting, which ended up being… an automated soap dispenser with soap refill. “This way, both parents and baby will keep safe,” he explained.

A soap dispenser isn’t baby or mama related directly, and his rationale for going with this just seemed so strange and out there. In addition, we already have an automated soap dispenser, so why does he think this is such a superior gift compared to any of the items I had added to our registry? The most absurd part is that he purposely didn’t even check off the “this is a gift” box on Amazon and just had it sent without a tracking or order number (he admitted this when I told him the item came already open/seemingly used), and without the ability to return or exchange it. My uncle has sent me many gifts from Amazon previously over the years, and he had always checked this box off before. So in my head, I wondered if he did this purposely and/or even facetiously.

Regardless, we were able to return it and get Amazon credit for it, but in the back of my mind, I wonder what real rationale he had when he did this and if he was trying to send some weird message to us in doing so.