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.

Turning 2!

Being nearly 38 weeks pregnant, everything I do is a little slower these days, and I almost forgot to post about Elisa turning 2! We've had so many changes with her this past month that she almost feels like a completely different person than she was 6 months ago. Some are amazing and some are difficult. She has had crazy separation anxiety every time we drop her off somewhere or leave the room for bedtime, which has been a really tough one lately. And we finally decided it was time to give up the pacifier, which she was still using for sleeping, and today I think we turned a corner. After losing it in her bed last night, we declared that "blue birdie is missing." We looked for it everywhere (while I quickly found it under the bed and hid it) and I think she has finally accepted that it is not coming back. But not without a lot of tears.

On the flip side, she is now dancing, singing, running, jumping, playing dress-up, and talking in 4-5 word sentences. Today's new sentence was, "Mommy, close your eyes," which she said as we lay on the floor of her room pretending to take naps side by side, like little girls at a slumber party. Most of her sentences are usually orders, telling me to sit here or go there, or Daddy to sing her current favorite songs - "ball" (Take Me Out to the Ball Game) and "'merica" (Star-Spangled Banner), a tough one for Daddy when it's early in the morning. What a patriot. Soon enough she will have another little person to give orders too, so maybe we'll be off the hook.

Otherwise, we had a really lovely little birthday party for her with some of her favorite playmates and good friends of ours with kids, complete with food from one of our go-to Mexican restaurants, Rodeo, and cupcakes from my favorite neighborhood bakery, Lark. There were also bubbles, beanbag tossing, and a flamenco show!

Here's the birthday girl getting ready to party.

Oliver dominates the bubbles here while the other kids look on amazed.

Everyone enjoying their quesadillas.

Stuffing her face with a vanilla cupcake.

Our friends Scott and Wendy gifted us with a flamenco show. It was really incredible watching all the kids completely mesmerized by Wendy's dancing.

Paul and Elisa got pulled up to dance!

Sitting under the grapevines on our patio in the shade of a hot summer day, with our friends around us and Elisa cuddling in my lap, I felt so incredibly grateful in that moment to have raised a little girl this far in life, even if it has only been two years. These two years have been amazing, and I love every moment of mothering her, even on the tough days.

Other than that, we've been trying to make the most of this last few weeks as a family of 3, which has included trips to the beach.

Trying on shoes and dressing up, a new favorite pastime

Rides on the Griffith Park train

And getting a new car! I am so in love with our new sportwagon. Maybe because it's gray like our dog, drives like a dream, has tons of trunk space, leather seats, bluetooth streaming, gets practically 40 mpg, and they even threw in tinting on the back windows to keep the babies shaded because we are three-time repeat customers at this particular VW dealership. Actually, this is the 4th VW we have owned. I know, we're nuts. But this one feels like a car we can grow comfortably into as a family and drive to the ground. I felt like it symbolized that we're ready for baby to arrive. It's our very own "swagger wagon."

We may be feeling extra sentimental lately because of Elisa's birthday and the baby coming, but raising a family together so far really has felt like a dream. We are savoring each day.

36 weeks

At the beach on July 4th weekend,
36 weeks pregnant!

I am 36 weeks pregnant. Let's see, how am I feeling these days?

It is really hard to breathe. The only time I don't have trouble breathing is when I am standing up or sitting up really straight. And that is if I haven't moved in awhile, or else I am usually out of breath. Things like laundry or picking up all of Elisa's toys are just too much for me now. Doing dishes leaves me with water all over my belly and a backache.

When I'm awake, I have to pee pretty much every hour or so. It is now rare to get through a night without having to get up to go to the bathroom. If I can make it to 5am, I'm pretty proud. But sometimes its harder to get back to sleep in the early morning so I don't mind getting up when its 3 or 4am if I have to. Except that it takes a lot of energy to get out of bed, er roll out of bed rather.

I am so sweaty. I think my belly provides an extra layer of insulation that I simply don't need in an LA summer. Not to mention that all maternity pants or shorts have that stupid band thing over the belly that is just ANOTHER layer of insulation that makes me so uncomfortable. Dresses are the most comfortable, but nothing is fitting right these days. Everything is too short or not comfortable in the bust. I hate getting dressed in the morning. If I had it my way, I would wear a maternity tank top and my gray sweat shorts every day (that's what I wear to sleep, and I change into my PJs at about 8pm every day).

If I don't nap, I may not make it through the day. Elisa has been getting up before 7am lately, so I'm always up early. I know my normal full night of sleep is going to be a thing of the past soon, so I'd like to sleep as much as possible whenever I can.

I feel baby kicking and moving very often. Sometimes it even hurts. I'll feel this sudden pressure against my belly like her feet are trying to find her a way out of her cramped womb. I often react with an "Ooh!" or "Ahh!" and Paul immediately goes, "What's wrong? What is it?" I think it's funny when this happens because he sounds totally freaked out, and he never really freaks out very much.

This will be my first full week of maternity leave. I am already bored. I'm really not good at not working. I need a new book or movie or TV show or something. My brother said that World War Z is a pretty good read. Maybe I'll download that to my Kindle.

They told me that the baby was on the small side, almost out of the normal range but still growing. Every time I put Elisa to bed, I put her hand on my belly and we pray for baby to grow big and strong. She likes praying for the baby. I think it makes her feel important. I think she is going to be an amazing big sister. She is certainly bossy enough for it.

Now we enter the waiting game. Waiting, and waiting. I'm not good at waiting. I am at the point where I feel like I'll be pregnant forever. This may be the last time I am pregnant, and I don't really think I'll miss it. I haven't enjoyed it all that much this time around.  I've told my husband that that it better be the last time. But maybe not? Who knows. Maybe it's better not to try to plan everything in life. But I really would like to know when she's coming out. Do I want her to come sooner so I can be a little more comfortable in my body again, if I even will be, or do I want her to come later so I can get a few more days of sleep? Life as I know it is about to change forever, again...yet it feels oh so slow right now.

Foundations

About a year ago, Paul and I went through a particularly trying time. It was a mixture of misplaced and misconstrued priorities, the stress of being new parents, figuring out the career/family balance, and bitterness on both sides that had built up over time. There were moments where I felt like my stomach was always in knots, and that everything might just snap right in front of the beautiful baby girl that we were trying so hard to shield from the ugliness of our own humanity. The stakes felt higher because of her to make everything right; yet at times we were baffled on how to do so and even forgot what had gotten us to a place of such misunderstanding.

Yesterday, I found out that a dear friend of mine is getting divorced, and my heart broke for her as she tries to deal with all of the messy details along with her three children. I was shocked that I had had no idea that this lovely couple had been having any marital problems, and even more sobered to realize that even the marriages that look great on the outside can be fraught with conflict on the inside. And with children in the picture, the reality of this can feel heavy and daunting, at times just too much to bear.

It is unbelievable to me how much I love my daughter sometimes. I thought I loved her as much as I possibly could when she was a newborn, and as she develops as a little person I realize that this love keeps on growing as our relationship deepens and as she understands more of the world around her. My heart melts as she jabbers on about what we did that day or sings the ABC's to herself for the millionth time. I love her very concentrated facial expressions, her furrowed brow, the way she throws herself into my lap at random moments of the day, saying, "Mommy, hug." I love her so incredibly much that it hurts. Yet I am committed to loving my husband even more than this and I know that my love for him must be beyond my love for my own children. Without our partnership, everything breaks. Without our willingness to communicate even our deepest and darkest emotions, to struggle to do so when it feels impossible, to put each other before ourselves, to serve and actively decide to love one another each and every day - without this promise, our family would break. Last night, I thought about the order in which I want to live the various roles that I've been called to: daughter of God, wife, mother, guitarist. In that order.

With the help of some committed friends and a counselor at our church, we pushed through last year's trial and will continually fight for our marriage to get even better as we age. I've been thinking back to how things were a year ago and realize that we are in a very different place as we anticipate the birth of our second daughter - a peaceful, sweeter, more beautiful place that has not been easy to get to. But it surely has been worth it and will continue to be the foundation for the rest of our journey through parenthood and beyond. I'm so grateful for my dear husband today, for being a man so loving, committed, and passionate for me and our family. I'm even more grateful that God has healed us from a lot of hurt and brokenness, lifted us up, and blessed us beyond belief. I realized recently that I've tried to numb myself this year from feeling much of anything, scared of any other struggles that might come my way. But I'm ready now - ready to receive all that may come in this next season of life. Whether it be easy or not, I believe that it will be good, because He is good.

On Having Two Girls.

I guess intuition is not very accurate. Because I thought this baby was surely a boy, and after finding out that another baby girl is coming, Paul's conclusion is that my intuition guessing baby gender is 50/50 because I was right the first time around. Go figure. I guess this will be more convenient (if there's anything convenient about raising kids two years apart) since they'll have to share a room with lavender walls and we have an arsenal of baby girl clothes in the closet. But the biggest reason I'm excited though is that having a sister (and siblings for that matter) is probably one of the best things in life.

I'm very close with my sister. I recently went up to Seattle to surprise her at her baby shower, and we spent a couple of days eating and lounging on the couch in fuzzy blankets. Probably the best thing two pregnant women could ask for. We took a bunch of pictures of us being silly with our pregnant bellies, bellies that will probably never look the same way at the same time again. 

        

I stopped to think about how once upon a time, we were both babies in our mom's belly, and my parents may have had the same thoughts that I'm having lately. Two girls! I hope they'll be good friends. I hope they'll help each other learn and grow, that they'll play together for hours on end. That the older one will guide the younger one through life, teach her valuable lessons, and that the younger one will go along with all her scheming and bossy ideas and take it all in stride. I hope they'll make each other laugh and have inside jokes that nobody else knows about. I hope they'll do each other's hair, go shopping together, have lunch dates, and share clothes. I hope they'll always make up if they fight. I hope they'll be honest with each other and make fun of their parents in a loving way that only they'll understand. And I hope they'll be stronger because they grew up together.

Can't wait to meet you, baby girl #2!

Being Second

During my first pregnancy, baby's arrival and everything related to babyhood was about all I could think of. No matter what I was doing, my heart and mind always came back to thinking about baby, researching baby gear, and nesting our tiny apartment to make everything ready for her.

This time around, my attention is so much more divided that sometimes I almost forget that I'm pregnant. Between juggling two part-time jobs and chasing Elisa around, I barely ever have time for myself and when I do, I'm exhausted and can barely keep my eyes open. They say that with second children, this is often the case. Second babies don't get the prenatal yoga classes, the Mozart being played, the birthing classes. Instead, second kids get the hand-me-downs, less attention, and all the used toys. I am a second child. I am also a middle child. So maybe I got both ends of the neglect? I don't really feel that way, but still - I sympathize with our second baby here and don't want him/her to get the short end of the stick.

So today, I put Elisa in daycare and got a prenatal massage. And I did not feel guilty about it. It helps immensely that E is in love with our daycare provider and gets so excited to go there now. This wasn't always the case, but ever since I stopped sending baby food along with her and she started eating what they provide (home-cooked Filipino food), she has absolutely loved being there. It also helps that she can name the lady that takes care of her there, and naming people is just so much fun.

During the massage, I was able to sort of check in with my body a little bit and just clear my mind. The therapist said that my hips were really tight and stretched me a few times. I even felt a few flutters (early baby movements) in my belly. There were fresh strawberries at the spa, it being Valentine's Day and all, and I sat and drank some mint tea for awhile and just sat there. A rare thing for me indeed. Ahhh.