too late to apologize

I find myself apologizing for Blake a lot. I say, "Sorry, he's shy" when someone tries to talk to him, and he fusses and hides. But recently, I started wondering why I was apologizing. What is wrong with being shy? Of course as adults, we know that even though we are shy, it's polite to say hello back to someone when they try to engage in conversation. But Blake doesn't know that. All he knows is that he doesn't like it when someone he doesn't know tries to talk to him. He doesn't like when someone gets too close to his personal space. He's an introvert, and he's shy. And that's okay!

I was actually far worse than him at this age with the same things. I turned out alright. But we are trying to work with Blake about how to express how he's feeling. I am trying to teach him words like "overwhelmed" so that when we have a situation like his birthday party where there were just too many people for him, he will be able to tell me that is how he's feeling instead of just screaming. We are doing our best to help him, but it can be tough sometimes. Blake had a tantrum for about 20 minutes or so the other day because I put a bandaid on his cut. He didn't want a bandaid on his cut. He doesn't speak well enough to even say that, so he just screamed and tried to rip it off. Today he had a tantrum because someone handed him a juice box, and it fell to the floor when he refused to hold it himself. Of course toddlers will have random tantrums over absolutely nothing, so oh well.

Being shy and introverted is nothing to apologize for. Blake gets overwhelmed when there are too many people around, especially when they are all trying to talk to him. He has never been one to smile and wave at strangers, and he doesn't like to accept a sticker from the well-intentioned grocery store clerks. It might sound silly, but it was only recently that I understood that Blake is a human with a personality just like me. I guess it didn't occur to me that a child could be introverted.

Now if only I could carry around a sign all the time that said, "Please don't get in my son's face" we would be all good. But since I can't do that, I still find myself telling people that he's shy, but I have taken out the "I'm sorry" part of it because there's nothing wrong with my son. He hasn't done anything wrong, he just doesn't like talking to strangers. That's really not the worst thing ever. Chances are, Blake will not be accepting any candy from strangers.

Q Update - 11 Weeks Old

Malcolm Quang, or Q as I like to call him, will be 11 wks old tomorrow. Wow, where has the time gone? Malcolm is, by far, a much more easy going baby than Blake was. He loves to sleep, which is great because I do too! He has slept some 9 hours stretches already. Blake didn't do that until he was over a year old! It is a huge blessing. Speaking of huge, Malcolm is a bit of a butterball at over 13 lbs. It's adorable.

Blake initially handled the transition well, but i think once he realized that Malcolm was here to stay, he was not happy. He started screaming almost every night. Still does about half of the time. We have been taking him into our bed and loving it actually, but sometimes it gets difficult because he wakes up when we have to get up. TJ and i are just doing what we can to survive and get some rest. Blake also wants to be held a lot when we go out, which can make it impossible to go out sometimes. He had a meltdown in the Chick Fil A parking lot because I tried to hold his hand rather than pick him up. He was grabbing onto my leg and screaming in the middle of the parking lot. In the rain. While I was holding a big diaper bag and heavy carseat. What a mess.

But Spring has finally sprung, and with that comes much excitement and hope for what the future holds. It has been a long winter adjusting to two, and unfortunately, I did not have much help with it, especially in terms of keeping Blake occupied. But we survived. I felt a lot like my family didn't care about Malcolm's arrival. It was tough for me because this little guy is very special. He is just as special as Blake and deserves just as much love. I didn't realize just how much I loved him until he was here. I kind of thought of him as Blake 2.0, but as he grows, I realize he is an individual. I am eager to see who Malcolm will be because he has already proven that he is much different from his brother (thank God for that!).

Speaking of comparison, this is Blake. He is about 7 weeks old in this photo.

And this one is Malcolm at 9 weeks. 

the annoying thing about my husband

My husband is a terrible photographer. He doesn't understand which angles are flattering and which aren't. He doesn't know what to do about lighting. And he just doesn't ever even THINK about taking a photo, so I don't actually end up being in a lot of photos since I always have to take them. I guess it isn't his fault. Not everyone has a value for capturing the beauty of a moment in a photo. But I do, so TJ gets to be in ALL the photos, which is really annoying. How annoying that there is so much beauty in the way that my husband interacts with his sons, am I right? Gosh. If he was a crappy father, maybe I would be in all the photos.

Then again, when my husband takes a photo, he always catches me in a really unflattering pose. Maybe it's my fault for not knowing how to be a model. But it's like he doesn't even notice that the way that I was standing, plus the angle from which he was taking the photo, made me look like I was five months pregnant! He hands me the camera with the photo display on it, and he says, "This one is really good!" What?! How annoying. Can't he see that I am fat in this picture? It's as if my husband doesn't look at me and see a fat lady.

-"TJ, I look really fat here. Why didn't you tell me I was sticking out my stomach like that?"
-"What do you mean? I think you look great!"

Ugh. How annoying.

And then last night, there was the fact that I specifically explained that there was a bottle with breastmilk in it, and there was some formula in the fridge to add to it when Malcolm woke up. Then when I woke up feeling refreshed four hours later, the bottle had been given with the extra container of breastmilk, and the formula was still in the fridge. How annoying that my husband was too busy preparing his midterm tests to understand my specific instructions about the formula. Now we will probably have to throw it away. What a self-absorbed jerk my husband is!

Then again... I suppose there are worse things in life than a husband who always thinks his wife is beautiful and who stays up late to give the baby a bottle so she can rest.

post c-section

Malcolm is finally here! He is so wonderful and was definitely worth all the aches and pains. He weighed in at 8 lbs 8 oz and 20 inches long. I was shocked to hear how big he was because I was guessing he would be just over 7 lbs!

Anyway, I had a much more pleasant experience this time around. The pre-op ritual was annoying because once you get to the hospital, you are just ready to get the show on the road, but it took almost two hours to get ready for surgery. It was very strange to walk into an operating room and lie down on the table! They gave me a spinal epidural, which was VERY painful. I cried. I was so panicky as they were preparing for surgery that I almost started screaming for TJ. I was just really scared. When TJ was finally allowed in, I could hardly speak. I was stuttering, and I just kept repeating, "Afraid. Afraid." (I don't seem to handle anesthesia very well.) I could feel a lot of tugging as they did the surgery, and when they were ready to get Malcolm out, they pushed really hard on my stomach. I don't remember that part being so unpleasant with Blake's birth.

But I said that this time around was more positive than last time, didn't I? Now to the good part! They lowered the drape, and I saw the most beautiful little face! Then I cried again. They cleaned him off, and I was able to hold him for the rest of the surgery. I was a lot more with it than I was with Blake's delivery, so as they wheeled me into the recovery room, I got to keep Malcolm with me. It was so wonderful.

Recovery from c-section is rough. It is hard to take care is your baby when you are hooked up to an iv and cant get out of bed on your own. It's an emotional experience because all you want to do is go pick up your baby when he's crying, and I just couldn't get up. I actually pushed too hard at one point while TJ was away and opened up my incision getting up out of the bed. I have been healing much quicker after this surgery than I did with Blake's though, which is such a blessing. But now that we are home, I am so emotional from missing Blake. TJ has been taking care of him since I can't lift him or get on the floor to play with him. Blake is handling the transition well so far, but I think it is only because he has daddy to play with him. The real test will come when TJ goes back to work next week.

I am so thankful for a much more positive experience this time around. I know that repeat c-sections are controversial in the mommy wars world, but I am so blessed to have two healthy sons, regardless of how they got here.

pre-c-section

Most women push babies out of their who who's. It's the way that God has designed us females. And it's really cool, albeit painful and gross. It wasn't until I was probably about 40 weeks pregnant with Blake that I watched some documentaries about natural childbirth, and I realized that there were options like a birth care center. Not impossible, but still, a little late in the game to change my hospital birth plan. A certain set of circumstances with Blake's birth, induction and epidural, led to an ultimate c-section. I was so devastated and traumatized. I was in labor for 30 hours, and I pushed for 3 hours. What can I say, the kid is stubborn! Since then I have come to terms with having a c-section for Blake. I have learned that it does not make me less of a mother because I didn't push him out of my who who. And he's a beautiful, healthy boy, so I have so much to be grateful for!

But I wanted this time to be different. I knew even before I was pregnant again that I wanted a VBAC. At my first doctor's appointment, I began discussing this with the doctors. They didn't even care to talk about it so soon, but they seemed supportive enough. So my "birth plan" this time around was to schedule my c-section at 41 weeks (which was the longest they would allow me to wait), and I just had to hope and pray that I went naturally before then to pursue my VBAC. No problem. My insurance deductible would restart Feb 1st, and I was to deliver Jan 9th at the latest.

Then in November, it all changed. I got a letter from my insurance stating that my plan was ending, effective Dec 31st, and I needed to apply for an "affordable" care act plan. WHAT?! Well, as some of you may have already experienced, those be some HIGH deductible plans! I don't have that kind of money. This was terrible news for me, but thankfully, I had a choice to schedule my c-section at 39 weeks, which is the traditional time that someone would schedule a repeat c-section. It was devastating, but it was a no brainer. Money talks, right? So December 26th c-section, it was.

The chances of going into labor before 39 weeks is slim, for someone who previously delivered, by force, at 41.5 weeks. But I certainly tried my best. As soon as I hit 37 weeks, I started trying natural induction methods. Nothing worked. Here I am, 3 days pre-c-section, and I am STILL pregnant and huge! I can't even wear my maternity shirts anymore; they have just become belly tops.

Anyway, as the days wore on, I started becoming more and more desperate to go into labor. I was ready to go outside and jog until my water broke. It became clear that this VBAC was insanely important to me. Was I tired of being pregnant? Did I really want Malcolm in my arms on Christmas morning? Yes, absolutely. But moreover than that, I just really want the experience of going into labor and pushing a baby out of my who who. Those of you who have done it might say, "Jess, believe me, it is painful! You aren't missing anything!" And those of you who have had c-sections may say, "Jess, the planned c-section is much less traumatic than the emergency c-section." And anyone might say, "Jess, it doesn't matter how your baby gets here, so long as you are holding your baby in the end!" I know all of these things. But this is my last baby. My last chance for feeling contractions. Screaming expletives. Knowing what it means to be ready to push. Pushing him out of my who who and having the experience of immediately holding him.

I didn't hold Blake for maybe eight hours or so after delivery. After many hours of epidural and anesthesia, I was a mess after my surgery. My whole body was shaking. Poor TJ was terrified. This c-section will be much less traumatic, I know. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it coming down to this. I suppose some women are not meant to push babies out of their who whos. And I suppose, at this point, I have to accept that I am one of those women. Doesn't make me less of a mother, but it does mean that I will miss out on this very special experience. I am pretty heartbroken about it. Could still happen between now and the 26th, of course. But at this point, I am accepting the fact that it probably won't. And I will get over it, as soon as I am able to hold sweet Malcolm in my arms, and definitely by the time I start to heal from surgery and can get out of bed unassisted. But for now, I am sad, wondering why I can't manage to push a baby out of my who who like so many others can.

advent

The day after my dad died, I was taking the trash out, and there was a beautiful sunset. I'm not usually one to marvel at sunsets because I think they are generally overrated. But this sunset had the most beautiful pinks and purples, and it just seemed so big. I felt like God was showing me how big He is--that He is much bigger than my circumstances. For a moment, I felt comforted and, I don't know, like I had gotten a bit of perspective. I pictured the big tapestry of everyone in the world's lives. But then I said (out loud, I think), "But God, you took my dad away from me." And He said to me, "I am your dad." Again, I felt comfort for a moment. But I didn't want to talk about it anymore. So I ended the conversation and went inside.

About a week later, I was going to a doctor's visit, and it was that time of evening when, if you are driving westward, the sun is RIGHT in your eyes. I was blinded the whole way to the doctor's. But on the way home, I was being mooned. I had a perfect view of the moon the whole drive home. It was beautiful and clear and huge. And if it wasn't a full moon, it was pretty darn close. Blake loves the moon, so I have a new-found fondness for it. The moon makes me smile in ways it never did before. I cried the whole way home that evening because I felt like God was trying to be with me. He was like a boyfriend, trying to cheer me up with a beautiful bouquet of my favorite flowers. He was throwing rocks at my windows and holding a boombox on His shoulders, trying to get my attention. I accepted the bouquet and the serenade, but I told Him, "This doesn't change things between us. I'm not okay, and this still isn't fair."

All I could think for weeks, over and over, like a broken record, "It's not fair." I get it: God is the one who gives and takes away. God works for the good of those who love Him. But it wasn't fair. My dad was fine, right? He wasn't sick. He just had a bad cold, a few nosebleeds. I didn't understand why my dad could be suddenly gone after just a few nosebleeds.

In this season of advent, I am anticipating spending my first Christmas without my dad. We set up my dad's Christmas tree in my dad's house. We will wake up Christmas morning and not have to wait for my dad to wake before opening presents. I was really looking forward to decorating for Christmas because I was thinking it would make me more cheerful, but it's not helping too much. It's no beautiful sunset or clear moon for me.

But here we are, entering the time of year that we celebrate and thank God for coming to earth to be with us. I cannot celebrate the holy holiday of Christmas without fully believing that God my father came to earth to be with me. He is with me. And actually there's nothing fair about that, considering none of us deserve God's outpouring of love to us. This advent season, I can either numbly go through the traditions of decorating a Christmas tree, buying presents, and busying myself getting prepared for baby Malcolm's arrival. Or I can stop and rest in the truth that God is with me.

When my dad was intubated in the hospital, and they were trying to wake him from sedation, my dad was coughing a lot. He was moving around, but he wasn't very "with it" mentally. It scared the hell out of me because he's supposed to be the strong one, right? I sat by his side and held his hand, telling him that it was going to be alright. I picked up his legs when he would kick them off the side of the bed. I readjusted his blanket when it moved, and I put an extra blanket on him because he seemed to be cold. I talked to him about Blake and Malcolm. I told him how scared I was. It is so painful to see those images in my mind. And yet, after some time has passed, I have come to view these moments as holy moments. It was a gift to be there with my dad so that he wasn't alone.

Beautiful sunsets and clear moons can be holy. But not everything that's holy is peaceful. In the pain and tumult of my dad's final days, there was much holiness for me to experience. What makes a moment holy? When God is there. And God was surely there with me in my dad's final days. So though my dad is gone, and I miss him terribly, there is no other option than to celebrate God's presence this advent season (and always) because God our heavenly father is here.

Reprise

I used to be a poet. In fact, I was getting to be quite a good poet, and then... I don't know what happened. My feelings started getting too complex to write about. Heck, maybe I'm not a good poet! Ha! Anyway, when we moved to my Dad's house, I lost my poem book. Of course I had them typed and saved in multiple places, but for some reason, there was just one poem that I couldn't find anywhere. I was heartbroken because I loved this poem. This poem, entitled "Reprise," is a reprise (obviously) of a poem I had written about two years prior. I could write a novel about my misadventures of dating my college boyfriend, but to be brief, this is the very last poem I wrote about him. I wrote "Reprise" at the beginning of 2010--approximately five months after we broke up for the fourth time (yes, seriously). I never made a habit of posting my poetry online because I thought maybe someone would try to steal it and claim it as their own. But today, I make an exception because I am so thankful to have found my poetry book containing this gem. (It's a gem to me. Don't rain on my parade if you don't think it's a gem!)

Reprise

You believe that we were never friends,

and we were never dating.

So maybe I did imagine it all.

The scenes play over and over in my mind,

like a bad movie that you wish you had never seen.

I only kept watching because I wanted to see the ending.

I wanted to resolve this mess and rectify your wrongs,

but justification never came.

I loved you. Didn't I?

I took your hits of blame and control,

seeded with the weight of the hurt you carry,

always thinking I was waiting for you to heal.

And since I loved you enough to stick around

and be understanding of where you have been,

I thought that things would get better.

But redemption never came.

We never got better. We could never heal

from the ways you threw my pearls before the swine

time and time again.

And the damned thing is, I let you.

I handed them to you. It must be my fault.

People are supposed to learn from their mistakes

and grow stronger and wiser in time.

So I thought I was learning. I thought I was being refined.

But sanctification never came.

Maybe you were right.

We were never friends or dating

because after dating, I couldn't just be your friend.

And after being hurt, I couldn't truly be with you

because there were just too many walls.

Donc, le chagrin qui marque mon coeur--

le chagrin que j'ai apporté pour si longtemps--

il doit être tué.

Why? Because I can live without you.

And it's time I started resting in that truth

so that my restoration can come.