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?

Paying your way out of responsibility

Our nanny is very opinionated. Initially, I found it a little off putting, especially since she gave zero hint of this during her initial interview or during her trial, but gradually I got used to it. I myself am pretty opinionated, so when she gives me her strong opinions, I’m more than happy to give mine right back to her and counter her if I disagree. Sometimes, she likes to go on small rants about politics, about how Republicans are ruining the country, how “white people” can’t stand black people and people of color. I generally just let her say what she wants if I am there. She’s also made it clear she doesn’t approve of gay marriage for religious reasons (“it’s not what God intended”), but I just let it go because I’m not in a place of insanity to think for a second that I could change her mind. Also, it doesn’t affect how she takes care of Kaia every day, so she can believe or not believe in what she wants.

When I shared the story of the gay couple having twins from yesterday, she immediately had a disapproving look on her face.

“So that’s what they’re going to do? Just pay everyone else to do all the work for them?” she spat out.

Wow, I thought to myself. That seemed so cynical and negative. I wasn’t quite expecting THAT response. For one thing, they’re biologically incapable of having their own children as a gay couple without some outside assistance. Plus, if they can pay to ensure the children are biologically theirs and get breast milk, then why not?

But then I realized that in general, our nanny is resentful of people who are “rich” who generally do not worry about money. She’s repeatedly made disparaging comments about “rich people” and how they throw money around like they don’t care. And I guess this couple, in her eyes, is doing something similar. I didn’t really say much to her about this because again, it doesn’t affect our day to day working relationship, but I don’t think this couple is quite in that same bucket. They want to have children, they want the children to be biologically theirs, and they are paying to ensure they get what they want. I’m not sure what the problem here is?

Building a family in an unconventional way

Every couple of weeks, I quickly scroll through parenting groups I belong to on Facebook, and each time, there is inevitably at least one or two posts asking for night nurse requests/references. And because these posts are SO frequent, I have a little blurb about the two night nurses we hired, their contact information, and how we’d recommend them on my phone so I can just copy and paste the same thing (people do not like to use the “search” function in groups on Facebook, apparently). Well, earlier this week, someone direct messaged me on Facebook to ask if I could speak to him about the night nurses and our experiences with them, so I decided to chat with him today.

He introduced himself and his situation as being “different:” he and his partner are in a gay marriage, and they are currently expecting twins, a boy and a girl, through a surrogate. It would be their first children, they have no family nearby, and are looking for support. Initially I thought… None of this sounded that odd to me; I hear situations like this all the time in liberal cities like San Francisco, Boston, and New York. But what was actually different was how they are starting their family: the babies are both biologically theirs. How is that possible? I thought. Well, this man’s sister did IVF to extract her eggs to then fertilize with his partner’s sperm. So while the children did not come from his sperm, they are technically related to him.

That totally blew my mind. And what a selfless person this man’s sister is to go through the headache and volatility that is IVF stimulation and egg retrieval, all so that her brother could have a child that is still blood related to him. WOW.

And to add to that, the surrogate is this man’s best friend, who lives in Oregon. She will be moving in with them two months before the due date to labor and give birth to the babies here in New York. She also plans to pump milk for the babies… and even freeze and ship it to them every week!

As a pumping mama myself, that completely made me in awe of this friend. That’s a really, really good friend! I made sure to spend a few minutes letting this man know that pumping is NOT for the faint of heart, coming from someone who exclusively pumps, so I hope he realizes the sacrifices his friend is making to do this for his children. I also silently hoped he and his partner are compensating her appropriately for that effort. I’d even say in some ways… pumping is more effort and toil than pregnancy and labor!

Return to splinting my elbow

Since coming back to New York, I started splinting my left elbow again. My cubital tunnel was acting up the whole month we were away, and I regretted not bringing my elbow splint with me. I didn’t think much when packing and only packed my wrist splints. In retrospect, I should have packed the elbow splint, especially knowing that 1) I wasn’t going to have my proper desk setup for work, and 2) I wouldn’t have much childcare help, which meant lifting and carrying Kaia more. But in just a couple nights of splinting my elbow, it’s already feeling much better. I’m thankful I am at a place with my cubital tunnel where I know how to manage the symptoms and don’t need to let them escalate. This may be a life-long condition I have to deal with, and I definitely don’t want it to get worse. So if something minor like splinting overnight needs to be done, even if I feel and look like a robot, then I guess I will need to do it.

If nothing else, I can count for my mom to get mad at something, or anything

I called my mom during the week we were in Southern California. She asked the usual questions, like how we all were doing, how was work, what the weather was like, and if I was planning to see my cousin who lives down here. And then, she said that my aunt who lives upstairs from her knew I was in Australia and asked if I told her.

“I may have told her,” I said nonchalantly. “I really can’t remember who I told.” I genuinely did not remember, nor did I care. This was all inconsequential to me.

“She said that (your cousin) told her,” she said, insistently. “You told him you were going?”

Here we were again, another pointless conversation about a nothing topic that I really did not care about. This is why I didn’t bother to call my mom at all while in Australia. What was the point? She would always find something to get frustrated or angry or jealous about. All we had to do was sit there and vegetate, and she’d find a reason to get mad.

“Yeah, I probably did tell him,” I responded. I still didn’t know where this was going. But the underlying message was: don’t tell anyone where you are going or what you are doing, ever.

“So did you tell her you were going, or did he tell her you were going?” she continued on.

Doesn’t she have anything else better to do with her time than obsess over something so dumb?

“I may have told her, and I definitely told him, but who cares who told what?” I said, getting audibly irritated. “I don’t care!”

If there are trigger phrases to piss my mom off, they include this short list:

“I don’t care.”

“Who cares?”

“No one cares!”

So she immediately launched into attack mode: “You need to talk NICE to me! I told your father the SAME thing. You don’t say ‘who cares’ or use that tone with me! I don’t deserve it! I can’t take it! I won’t take it anymore! I am depressed and have anxiety and am resentful!”

It was her usual rant once again, post Ed’s death. So then I said some brief things to counter her, tried to keep my tone level, and eventually hung up. I’m almost 37 years old. I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with her constant dysfunction, self victimization, or verbal abuse anymore.

Decluttering for the new year

We didn’t leave the apartment at all today. It felt like we were fully unpacked yesterday, but I still had to organize a lot of things today, plus I wanted to declutter and give away/donate a bunch of things. I separated out some baby items I wanted to post in our Buy Nothing group. I got rid of lot of junk and old papers in my drawers. After seeing all the clutter and “stuff” in Chris’s parents’ home, it almost drove me to want to own even fewer things than I already own. And relatively speaking, Chris and I own very few things. We’re confined by space given we live in a New York City apartment with limited storage space. And the less space you have, the less space you have to store and display stuff. But the idea of owning stuff that I not only do not use but am barely aware I even own did not sit well with me.

I tend to give away/throw out stuff almost every year at the beginning of the year to “start the year fresh.” But this time, I really want to cull things I don’t use, even if it’s just half used face masks or shoes I haven’t worn in 3+ years. Less stuff will make me feel better.

Sleep regression at 13 months old

Whether we have been aware of it or not this whole time, Kaia has been an amazing sleeper. She was pretty much sleeping through the night, in her bassinet or crib, at around 3 months of age. She’d been a great eater. She is generally always jovial, curious, and in a good mood. We’ve had a relatively smooth experience as parents to date, and we’ve been extremely lucky and grateful for it. However, during the few nights we were in Orange County at a hotel, she refused to sleep in her pack and play, and instead, we let her sleep on top of our bed between us. We needed her to sleep. We needed to sleep. So we just let it happen and hoped it would be temporary.

Well, we are back now, and she refuses to sleep in the crib. It’s likely separation anxiety related, but it doesn’t matter how tired she is or how late it is. She will NOT sleep in the crib. She either needs to be on the bed with us or in our lap/on our chests. And the nanny is not pleased with us, as she just came back today to help us adjust back.

“This is not the Kaia I let you go to Australia with,” the nanny said sternly to us. “What happened to my Kaia who always sleeps and naps well…?!”

Well, I guess this is a rude awakening to what a baby sleep regression can look like!