Everything is a phase.

Sometimes the hardest things are just the ones you think are hard. And when you stop overthinking it, it gets easier. This seems to always be the case with parenting. Just when you think there's this huge issue with your kid, they stop doing it and it gets easier. And just like that, the problem is gone.

End Day 4.

Oh, what a night.

Every time that hubby leaves town, something weird happens. Last time, I got food poisoning. It was my own fault - I ate Chinese food leftovers that had been sitting in the car for two hours like it was the only food left on earth. It was delicious. But I was up every two hours that night with the runs.

Last night was a little unusual too. It started normally. Baby down at 7pm. Toddler down by 8pm. Me and my exhausted self in bed by 9:30pm. Toddler cries at 11pm. She's not really awake, but I go in and put her blanket on her and her lovey bear on her face. I sneak out without waking the baby. Toddler cries again at 12:30am. Again, she's not really awake, but she's upside down in her bed so I flip her around and put blankets on her. But she's cried louder this time, so the baby wakes up. I nurse the baby reluctantly and then she goes back down without a peep. Ah, I think to myself. Now I can get a nice little stretch of sleep if only the baby would sleep until the morning.

4am. There's incessant high-pitched barking from downstairs. I quickly burst out of bed and run downstairs cursing the dog the whole time. I let her out of her bag and she's beelining for the door. She only does this when she's really gotta go. So I'm walking her at 4am, without my glasses on, hoping that there are no weirdos on the street. We go maybe two houses down and the dog is squatting every two feet, trying to get whatever-it-is out of her system. I'm pulling her leash, cursing her the whole time, and we come back inside. She runs to the wee-wee pad and continues her business, misses, which means I'm cleaning the floor now that it is nearly 4:30am. I curse the dog one final time and go back to bed.

5:30am. More incessant high-pitched barking. We do the drill again. I have again forgotten to put on my glasses in the midst of running downstairs, and I still have an eye mask on my face. I'm a groggy mess, but here I go again, pulling the dog out and watching her squat every two feet outside. We come back inside and she won't go back in the bag. I stick her in the car and figure she won't die for the hour and half it will be before the kids wake up.

But I look on the monitor and the baby is already awake. She's on her tummy, cooing. I go in and nurse her and she smiles and wants to play with me by grabbing my nose while nursing. When she's done I try to put her back down but she won't have it. I don't want the toddler to wake up, so I take her back to my room with me, and we lie in bed together, me with my eyes half closed and her grabbing my face and hair. We eventually fall asleep for a little bit, and I actually enjoy this sweet snuggle time. Since hubby's not here, that means a little more bed for each of us to sprawl out. The baby is sprawled out with both arms out, and I'm huddled on the edge of the bed. Even without him here, she's still taking up most of the bed. I put pillows on both sides of her so that she hopefully will not roll off when she wakes.

7am. I hear the toddler crying. "I want baby Cara!" she cries. "I really, REALLY want her!" "She's sleeping," I say, and I snuggle with her in her little toddler bed for a few minutes. This seems to suffice for now and we go downstairs for breakfast. I go up to move the baby to the crib, but she's sleeping so beautifully that I can't bear to move her. I give a bottle of lotion to the toddler to play with and run out to the car to get the dog, who is not dead. I walk her a bit and she's still squatting and this time she's pretty much almost done. But she has rubbed her bottom on the sidewalk and there is dirt and poop all over her fur. I don't want that on my carpet, so when we get inside, I throw her in the bathtub and give her a bath. My toddler has lotion all over her hair. We giggle about it.

I drop the kids off at daycare by 9am, and then sit in my very quiet house. It's quiet for a few minutes, until the construction on the fence between our house and our neighbor's house resumes. I take out my laptop to do some work. I'm editing something and then feel extremely drowsy, so I go up to bed, the construction sounds loud as ever. I fall asleep for three hours. I take a shower, fold the laundry, walk the dog, eat some leftovers, return some library books, and it is almost time to pick up the kids. I quickly edit a few more documents and call it a productive work day.

Now it's quiet in the house and I am watching on the monitor as the toddler runs back and forth putting stuffed animals into the sleeping baby's crib. Room sharing is failing for the most part. But it's still cute when they're actually both asleep. Even if we had a bigger house, I'm not sure I'd change anything. If only everybody would just stay asleep. Including the dog. End of Day 3.

Just cling.

I'm single-mommying this week. Hubby is in NYC the next two days, then mostly in SD the rest of the work week. I might see him maybe on Thursday. Maybe. Sigh.

Today I asked for prayer at church because there was a knot in my stomach as we continue in this season of hubby working a lot more than I'm used to. The woman who prayed for me was a mother herself, one of the older women in our church. She prayed for everything I needed in my heart, even without me telling her.  All I said was that I needed strength while Paul works more and the brunt of the childrearing falls on my shoulders. But she knew exactly what to ask for. She prayed for my babies to sleep through the night. She prayed against temper tantrums. She prayed that they would eat, play, nap, and listen. I bawled on her shoulder, with Cara in the Ergo. It was perfect.

I have a funny way of trying to depend on God only when things are hard. When things aren't hard, my heart is proud and forgetful of His loyalty to me. I'm often blinded by my own resolve. I am glad things are tough right now. I feel so completely dependent on God's grace on me, that if I stop clinging to Him for a second, I may just fall apart. It is actually a good feeling. End Day 2.

Please stop biting me.

I think I will dust off this blog.

I am thinking about blogging for the next forty days - yes, it's Lent, and I am late to the party, but then again, I really have no idea what day of the week, month, year, hour it is because I am so tired all the time and it is perpetually 80 degrees here in LA. I don't even have seasons to be markers in my life. It's just a blur of sunshine. We've missed church the last few weeks because teething sleep was so bad that I couldn't keep my head on straight and it was just easier not to leave the house lest I have to put clothes on everybody and pack snacks and milk. Despite missing church a lot, the Spirit is definitely moving here. 2014 so far has been all about shaking us up. I'll explain that another day.

It occurred to me that my children are growing before my eyes and I am too tired to enjoy it and document it. That made me sad. We have pictures. We have videos. But I do not have much record of reflection. This 40 days shall not contain pictures and cute baby videos. It's going to be all text all the time. Because I need it. And if you happen to read it, cool. Leave me a comment or something. It's not going to be great writing, but I hope it will be something.

Now that my concert season is over, and Paul is busy as a bee with work, I am at capacity in every way possible as the more available parent. I love it and at the same time I often can't stand it. I love being the only person that my daughters could possibly want at certain moments, and yet I long for the freedom to set my own schedule, nap whenever I want, and be me again.

But then, what is me these days?

I'll be very general. There are moments in being a parent that I feel that I am as much of myself as I have ever been and that I realize that if I had not had children, there would be parts of myself that I would have never known. That is a strange realization. I then look at my 7 month old baby and think to myself, "You, small person, have made me completely reanalyze who I am, who I want to be, who I've been, and who I will be. Thank you very much. Now please stop biting me."

It is 8:37pm, so I will now take a shower and collapse in bed before 9pm, I hope. End of Day 1.

Guilt

I have reached the last two weeks of maternity leave. It certainly hasn't been a walk in the park, but getting used to having two kids hasn't been as tough as I'd imagined either. Yes, there are times where everyone is crying, whining, barking and driving me crazy, but there are also sweet times of smiles, laughs, and peaceful sleep.

I'm thankful for a number of things from this time: getting my physical strength back, overcoming breastfeeding ailments and woes, learning to communicate better with my toddler, and establishing a regular daily rhythm in our household. 

As I think about going back to work (and I'm only working 3 days a week), I unfortunately feel an impending amount of guilt on my shoulders. I've been agonizing over some of the childcare options in my head and debating what is best for both kids. No matter what kind of combination of daycare or babysitting I come up with, sometimes I don't feel better about it. I feel guilty for not watching my own children, yet I am itching to get back to teaching and practicing and performing, and I know that staying home with them would actually drive me nuts and be what Paul says is "bad stewardship" of my gifts.

Do all women feel this struggle? Do men feel this at all? It seems to be not uncommon among working women, which I find sort of unfair. From all the extra stuff we had to do in the first place, like carrying our babies in our bodies, changing our diets, oh yes, and that little thing called labor - not to mention recovering, nursing, etc. you'd think we could at least get a mental/emotional break. But with the privilege of having our babies, there is a deep attachment that develops on both sides. I feel fiercely protective and attached to my children, and they often associate my presence with comfort and security. Yet I also crave time alone, time to work, and time to just relax without being needed and wanted every second. Striking the right balance of mothering and working is essential for me and will probably always evolve and change with where they are in their childhood. 

To battle my guilt, I am reminding myself that fruit in my creative/professional life is fruit that I can pass along to my own kids, and that the things that make me feel fulfilled in my career are what can also make me a better mother. It also makes my off days feel more like quality time, and not just caretaking. It's funny, because I went through this exact same struggle after E was born, and am feeling it even more so now that there are two kids to think about. 

Perhaps this is the ongoing struggle of every mother. But all the mixed feelings in the end don't matter as much as the overwhelming gratitude I feel for having two healthy, lovely girls.

This thing called Love.

I am 32 today. Sometimes birthdays make me a little melancholy, as I think back to birthdays in the past that were simpler and more carefree. I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side, because for a little bit all I could think was that for my birthday, all I wanted was some time alone. No whining. No nursing. No cleaning, laundry, work, or practicing. Maybe a mimosa, pedicure, and facial in that order?

Those things are nice, but I don't think any of that is in the cards today - nor does it really need to be. And I am ok with that. I am ok with today just being a normal day, because I'm trying to see this moment from a bigger perspective right now and I realize that this season of my little ones needing me so much is actually so very short in the grand scheme of life. Let's be honest - the first 3 months of babyhood are rough, and between postpartum pain, mastitis, and two hour sleep increments, I often find myself wishing for the newborn phase to be over. But wishing you could fast forward your own life is a pretty terrible way to live.

Last night, as I put Elisa to bed, we did our usual routine - brushing teeth, sitting on the potty, bath, and then some cuddle time on the glider. We talked about what we did that day, and I said to her, "Mommy loves you soooo much. Do you love Mommy?" She replied, "I love you, Mommy. Soooo much." This is the first time she has ever said this to me! I just about melted as she wrapped her little arms around me and settled into a big hug, resting her head on my shoulder. And I realized that although the rewards are limited now with Cara only able to eat, sleep, poop, and cry, before I know it she too will be able to tell me that she feels this connection between us, that she understands what love is, and that she reciprocates this thing crazy little thing we call Love.

I received a lovely gift from my sweet hubby - a gold necklace with beautiful little E and C pendants. A reminder of how blessed I am to have him and my two sweet girls. And rumor has it that we are going out to dinner tonight! Woo-hoo! I just hope that I can stay awake...

Cara Belle

And here she is. Our little Cara Belle Chun, born on August 7, 2013 at 9:39am. She was 7 pounds, 8 ounces, and 19.25 inches long. And the doctor told me that she was going to be too small - she ended up being bigger than her sister was at birth! Good thing I ate all those burritos.

The past few weeks have been a total blur, to say the least. My parents arrived at our house the day before my due date, and boy was I ready to have a baby by that point. In fact, several times I was completely certain that I was in labor. My Braxton-Hicks contractions were happening nearly every day the week before my due date, and it was hard to tell if they were the real thing or not. I would wake up in the middle of the night and time them, only to realize that they were not getting more regular or stronger and ended up feeling sort of disappointed. There was a point where I thought I would be the first woman on earth to be pregnant forever. (That actually didn't happen.)

It was Tuesday, August 6. At my doctor visit that morning, I was already 3 cm dilated and the doctor said she would be surprised if I made it through the week without going into labor. That evening around 8:30, I felt the contractions start up again, and they began to get more uncomfortable as the evening went on. I thought to myself, "Ok, this is really it," as I put a few last items into my hospital bag, paced around the house, and bounced on my birthing ball. I pulled up my contraction timer app on my phone and started logging them. The evening slogged on, and around midnight, the contractions were about five minutes apart, lasting about a minute each time. They were not exactly painful yet, but did make me have to stop and breathe deeply when each one came. I wanted to labor at home for as long as I could, and had been snacking, relaxing, and trying to stay comfortable. My doctor's voice rang in my head: "Second babies come fast, so don't wait too long to get to the hospital!"

By the time we got to the hospital, a whole 9 minute drive from our house, it was nearly 1am. I was disappointed when they checked my cervix to find out that I was still only 3 1/2 cm dilated. The four hours of laboring at home had barely gotten me anywhere! The nurse asked if we wanted to go home and come back later, which seemed silly at this hour. So we got checked into a delivery room, and I tried all the coping methods I could remember to deal with the contractions. I walked, I sat. I laid down. I bounced on my ball. I leaned on the birthing bar. I leaned on my husband. I tried to sleep, but was eventually woken out of a half-slumber state by the increasing pain in my abdomen. There had been a moment where I thought that maybe I could do all this the natural way, as a total 180 from my first labor - there were currently no monitors hooked up to me in invasive parts of my body, and I was not relegated to being in the hospital bed since I wasn't receiving any medication yet. The nurses were coming in to monitor the baby every hour, but that was just an external monitor on my belly. But the pain increased with each contraction. It was an incredibly scary pain. It felt like a huge earthquake was jolting all my insides with each one that came. I writhed and cried and knew it was time to call for the anesthesiologist.

It took about 20 minutes to administer the epidural, and slowly I felt my body become numb from the waist down. Unfortunately, with the epidural came a bunch of other stuff that had to be poked into my body. The IV for fluids (which sucked because they couldn't find my vein and two nurses had to try it four times!), a catheter since I couldn't feel when I had to pee, and of course the button that was connected to the epidural which allowed me to increase the dosage as I wished. So I was now chained to my hospital bed, but I didn't care because it was incredible to not feel that pain anymore. I fell into a much needed sleep for a few hours.

I was woken up by a nurse who was telling me something about Pitocin. The dreaded P word! I wanted nothing to do with this drug after being in labor with it for like 30 hours the first time. The nurse explained that my doctor was recommending a small dosage of it since my contractions were still not getting closer together. I thought about protesting, but had little energy left to do so. Yes, I was here to have this baby and with the epidural on, I knew I wouldn't feel the effects much anyway.

Well, modern medicine did its thing, because the next thing I knew, it was 9am and and I was woken up by another nurse who came into the room and said, "I think you're ready!" In my groggy state, I asked, "Ready for what?" thinking more drugs or something were on the way. She replied cheerfully, "To have a baby! You're over 9 cm now!" Wow, that was quick. I took a minute to process that somehow, this had all happened while I was sleeping. Then, looking over at the couch where Paul was sleeping with his mouth wide open, I half whispered to him, "Honey, wake up. I'm going to push!" I don't really know why I was whispering. It just seemed like the type of information not to get too public with.

Through all of this, I still had this nasty phlegmy cough that Elisa had so lovingly given me a few weeks prior, and the cough had gotten worse just that day. The nurse observed me coughing as she got me into position to deliver, and noted that the baby was actually descending with each coughing fit I had! And so I pushed, and coughed, and mostly coughed, but also pushed, until the baby was apparently crowning and I realized my doctor was nowhere to be seen. At that very moment, she dashed in the door, put on scrubs, a shower cap, and a face shield thing, and I continued to push with her direction. "Do you want to feel the baby's head?" she asked at one point. I don't know why this totally grossed me out, but I declined.

A few more pushes, and the hardest part was over. Paul was cheering me on in an apprehensive sort of way. In between mumbling, "Oh my God" under his breath he would say, "You're doing amazing! Almost there!" My doctor said, "One more big push!" and push I did - and before I knew it, a wet wriggling baby was placed on my chest.

I immediately started bawling. This didn't happen with Elisa - maybe I was too drugged out - but for some reason a huge flood of emotions hit me like a ton of bricks. She was so perfect, and looking down at her in this very lucid state, with a labor that was not too difficult, I couldn't believe she was really here. I was so happy to have my glasses on so I could see her clearly (didn't the first time) and I was not a disgusting sweaty mess like the first time either. She was here. She was beautiful. And she looked like Elisa, but then again she didn't. That moment will always be one of the most precious in my entire life - holding her tiny little body for the first time, looking down at this incredible being that had just spent 9 months inside my body, that was now outside of my body and ready to be a part of our family.

And now as a family of 4, we are slowly adjusting and getting to know Cara better each day. She is a sweet, mild baby very different from our first, who needed lots of soothing, swinging, and shushing all the time. While Elisa was strong-willed and determined from the first day, Cara is less decisive, a little more easy-going, and very observant of the new world around her. She has been a pretty good sleeper, is growing and eating well, and her big sister loves her to pieces, often exclaiming in delight, "Baby Cara! MUAH!"

Pushing the double stroller around the neighborhood. This thing weighs a ton!

We couldn't ask for anything more.