Pregnancy #2: 19 weeks

19 weeks means I’m almost halfway there!

This week, Y and I got to enjoy a rare double-date with some of our closest friends here in Korea. In celebration of Y’s birthday, they were so generous in treating us to a literal smorgasbord: delectable meats and a luscious salad bar. We feasted and topped it of with some bingsoo but honestly, I was just over the moon we finally got to hang out (sans kids, too!)

At 5 months~

Baby's size: A mango! Six inches long!
Pros: Energy! Yesterday, in preparation for some important guests, I did a massive declutter, organization and clean. I categorized J’s toys and even made hand-drawn labels, I vacuumed and mopped the floors, I put out our new comforter and bed sheets and basically walked around the house picking up and cleaning until it sparkled.
Cons: Runny nose, post-nasal drip and congestion! I don’t know if this is a pregnancy symptom or just an indicator of Korea’s awful air quality but I am constantly sniffling and blowing my nose. Oh, and I can’t forget about the lower back pain! (Back to the chiropractor I go…)
Craving: Nothing in particular this week!
Outlook on the coming of baby: I’ve been growing in excitement and we’re anxiously awaiting our next check-up to hopefully find out the gender of the baby! Once that happens, I know I will be perusing the internet for new items to welcome baby!
Feelings about husband and J: Yesterday, baby was having a party in my tummy and hubby got to feel baby’s movements! Then Y lied in bed singing praise songs to us and I shed a few tears thinking about how there is precious life growing inside of me, how loved this baby is already and how thankful I am for this season. J has been “regressing” - acting like a baby, saying he’s a baby, coming into our room multiple times every night. I’m trying to embrace him in this all and reassuring him that he is still my baby…

Motherhood: First Trimester Woes

It was a Wednesday evening I saw that second line, ever so faint but distinctly there. I had just arrived in the US for a month-long trip. I quietly shuffled into my room, remaining oddly calm as I dialed my husband’s number to FaceTime him. He was in the middle of driving so I asked him to pull over. We prayed, cried, and celebrated in utter disbelief.

But the celebration and calm remained only for a bit. Almost like clockwork, the nausea and fatigue hit me like a ton of bricks at 6 weeks (exactly when it started with my pregnancy with J), leaving me feeling debilitated and depressed. Bedridden for weeks on end in isolation and left to my own thoughts, I often spiraled down a deep rabbit hole.

Then the guilt and shame came. The “I should be happy and feel grateful” when in actuality, I felt like crap, resentment even growing in the crevices of my heart. The moment I found out there was life growing in me, I suddenly felt the weight of responsibility and a cloud of anxiety hovered above me. I recalled how a few days before the positive pregnancy test, I had had a few glasses of wine. And then I was reminded of the stories I’ve held in my heart, stories of pregnancy loss, infertility, my own story of infertility though it felt like a distant past still coloring my experience. “Is it even okay to celebrate when so many are grieving, yearning, hoping…?”

This unexpected news honestly put a damper on my month-long trip to the US. It didn’t go as I had planned. My to-do, to-eat, to-meet, to-buy lists all were left at a standstill as I was in “survival mode” just trying to make it to the next day, no, the next moment. I stared up at the ceiling and wondered when it would all pass.

I’ve often been asked, “What does morning sickness feel like?” For me, it’s a combination of what motion sickness, indigestion, and food poisoning feel like.

We hear about “pregnancy glow” but that wasn’t my reality as my body was floundering in hormones and my skin was erupting with breakouts.

We’re told what we should (or should not) eat. But “Am I eating right? Am I consuming enough nutrients?” honestly went out the window for me as I could barely stomach the thought of eating most anything. Every smell threw me into the throes of nausea, leaving me catching my breath between heaving into the toilet bowl. And when I could stomach eating something, I’ll be the first to confess I ate a lot of “should nots”: instant ramen, sushi, deli sandwiches.

We’re told what we ought to do, what we should (or should not) eat or drink, how we should feel… In Korea, they even tell you what you should think about (good things, nice things, pretty things). And once you announce you’re expecting, everyone feels like they can give you their two cents. Hey, I’m not dismissing the importance of nurturing baby in utero and mommy’s all-encompassing influence on said baby. But we quickly lose sight of the nuances. Every woman’s experience is different, deeply personal. Pregnancy and labor and birth surely point us to “the miracle of life” but it’s not always “sunshine and rainbows”.

With some, these “woes” end with the commencement of the second trimester, but that’s not the case for everyone. I have friends who hated pregnancy, I have friends who loved it. There’s no “one” experience.

“There’s no right or wrong way to be pregnant, to become a mother, to make a family. There is only one way-your way, which will inevitably be filled with tears, mistakes, doubt, but also joy, relief, triumph, and love.”

— "Like a Mother: A Feminist Journey Through the Science and Culture of Pregnancy" by Angela Garbes

“Our stories - and the diversity of our perspectives - are invaluable.”

We’re all just doing the best we can. So let’s all show each other grace, let’s show ourselves grace, let’s listen to each other’s stories.

Motherhood: Messiness

Recently, I was “talking” to a friend (in quotes because it wasn’t talking in the conventional face-to-face sense but through an app called Marco Polo, of which I am very grateful for helping me stay in touch with friends across the world) about all the “gray” in motherhood. The conversation was sparked by a post I had seen titled “To the mom who loves motherhood—but misses her freedom, too” and something about it resonated so deeply with me.

As moms, we’re always in tension.
We love our children and cherish our time with them but simultaneously miss our freedom, our bodies, our time.
We feel fully the weight of the honor to bring these little beings earthside, to have them utterly dependent on us, to raise them, to have them trust us, but this weight can also be crushing at times. It’s not always rainbows and sunshine.
We’re thankful but we’re tested.
We’re overjoyed but also overwhelmed.

Motherhood isn’t black and white. It’s not “this” or “that”. It’s messy. It’s complicated.

Over the years, I’ve been learning to embrace the complexities, the gray. But we all need a reminder sometimes.

So this message is for all you mamas (myself, included).
Just because we miss and yearn for the bygone days doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate the current “here and now”. If anything, we’re fully feeling it all, fully present in the good, the bad, and the ugly.
It’s kind of like this: In the movie “Inside Out”, Riley’s core memories are filed away as one of the following: joy, sadness, anger, disgust, fear. But later (spoiler alert), the feelings realize in “Headquarters” that Riley can benefit from emotional polarities and that she can experience multiple feelings at the same time.

In life, we all flit and flutter between emotions but especially so in motherhood. When we allow ourselves to feel our emotions, all of them, however mixed and messy they are, it doesn’t make us “weaker” but actually makes us stronger and fuller.

Motherhood: Mommy guilt

As soon as I birthed the child I had carried in my womb for ten months, a new realm was opened to me, a whole new world of emotions both in breadth and depth spanning from joy and pride to anxiety, fear, guilt and shame. My highs felt higher, my lows felt lower, everything a bit stronger, deeper.

Someone once asked me what was most surprising about becoming a mom. I think it’s how easily the mommy guilt came. How quickly and loudly I began hearing the little devil sitting on my shoulder, shouting, “Do more! That’s not enough! How could you? How dare you?” I’m still working at quieting that voice.

“I should be able to exclusively breastfeed. What’s wrong with me?”

“I should keep him home. Why am I sending him to daycare? That’s selfish.”

“He’s sick, again. It’s because I’m failing as a mom.”

“We had fried chicken and French fries for dinner. That’s awful. If I cared about my child’s nutrition and development, I wouldn’t be feeding him this.”

If I could rewind and go back to those first few months that felt so sweet, so precious but so vulnerable, raw and unwound, I would whisper to myself, “Take time to lean on and lean in. Be “good enough”. You’re navigating unchartered territory. It’ll take time and space to grow into this role, this new identity, this new part of you. You’re doing the very best you can. And that’s more than enough.”

Once, after an emotional talk with my mom, she turned to me and said, “You’re a great mom. How could you give, do any more than you already are?” I wept. In the deepest corners of my heart, I was afraid I would never measure up to my mom, my hero.

There was another time I distinctly remember my dad was talking to some of our relatives. He told them, “Y and G are pouring out everything into being the best parents they can be for J.” This affirmed me in the deepest parts of my heart. My inkling is to hang my head, shaking it, saying, “Oh, no, no, no… You see, there’s this and that I could be doing, should be doing…” But I’m learning to just nod and say thank you and to acknowledge that it’s all by grace.

Strangely enough, I’ve realized guilt wasn’t magically birthed into me as I birthed my child. It was a pre-existing condition of my heart, only exacerbated and accentuated by hormones and the highs and lows of motherhood.

I’m not writing this because I have the panacea for mommy guilt. I’m not at the other end having defeated it. It’s still a daily battle. But I’m chipping away at it, with my pen and paper where I go to war against my internal tape, with the help of those that speak truth over me, with daily reminders to myself that “I am enough”.

Motherhood: SAHM life

I’ve been “stay-at-home” even before I became a “stay-at-home mom” (SAHM). I moved here to Korea at the end of 2014, leaving behind my “dream job”, a supportive work community, a loving church family, my brother, our pets (Laila- a pitbull/boxer mix, Emmy- the queen of the household: a cat of what kind I do not know), relatives, and dear friends. Before I left, I felt like everyone I spoke to was telling me not to rush in finding a job but to embrace the season, to explore the city, to try out new hobbies. And I quickly daydreamed of the life I would create: a couples’ cooking class, strolls along streets lined with cherry blossoms with a cup of coffee in hand, visits to museums to explore my roots.

But the reality looked far from it. The novelty of “free time” quickly dissipated as I constantly was reminded of everything I wasn’t doing: wasn’t making money, wasn’t putting my graduate degrees to use, wasn’t exploring the city and all it had to offer because I didn’t have anyone to do it with because everyone else had a job and I didn’t, wasn’t making friends because “Why should I make friends when I have friends back home and I’m only here for two years?”

Making friends was especially hard in that season when every time I met someone new, the small-talk that ensued would lead to pangs of shame and swallowing of pride:

“Uh… I’m a housewife? I’m looking for a job? I’m unemployed?” It would pain me every time I felt like everything I am, everything I do was watered down to these one-liner response to the omnipresent question: “So, what do you do?”

Truth be told, what I really did those first few months was sleep in, watch K-dramas, read, count the hours and minutes down until my husband would come home.

The irony is, my life now doesn’t look all that different from what it did back then. Now that J (26 months) goes to daycare for most of the day, I’m left at home with a flexible schedule.

A typical day for me (recently) looks like:

• 8:00: wake up with J and morning snuggles

• 8:00-8:30: Feed J breakfast

• 8:30-9:00: Get J washed up, changed, dressed and fit in some play time

• 9:05: J gets picked up by bus for daycare

• 9:10: Clean up after breakfast, vacuum, tidy up the house, make coffee and sit down to do “my morning routine”

• 10:00-12:00: Work

• 12:00-1:00: Lunch with husband

• 1:00-2:00 Work

• 2:00 Head to gym, shower, prep dinner

• 4:15: J gets dropped off by bus!

• 4:30-5:00: snack time/play time

• 5:15: Daddy comes home!

• 5:30-6:30: Family time and prep dinner

• 6:30: Dinner

• 7:30: Bath time for J

• 8:30: Bedtime routine for J

• 9:30 Free time for Mommy & Daddy! (Usually consists of watching a show. Currently: Mr. Sunshine)

In the name of vulnerability, I’ll admit I feel guilty even calling myself a SAHM anymore. I fear judgment from real SAHM's. I spent the first 18 months of J’s life as a SAHM but now? I feel like I have too much free time to be considered a true “SAHM”.

But reality is, I work part-time from home, too. I know I’m blessed to have the “best of both worlds” being able to work and be home with J. But often, I’m bombarded with feelings of inadequacy that I’m not doing either well. That I “could be” doing more. I think about the ideas and dreams that are untapped, unexplored. I think about what I “should’ve” been able to accomplish (since I’m home all day) but didn’t accomplish because I feel pulled in a thousand directions. I feel like a complete and utter failure when I don’t have a house that’s spic-and-span with a home-cooked nutritious meal ready for my husband and son when they both come home, because “What were you doing if you’ve been home all day?” I hear in my head.

So I lied. That “typical day” schedule is far from the truth. That would be what my day would look like if everything went swimmingly, in an ideal world.

What my typically day actually looks like:

I wake up to J stroking my face, saying, “엄마, 밥…” (“Mommy, food…”) “Man, what time is it?” I look up at the clock on the wall. 8:15… My intention had been to be up at 6:30 so that I could have a bit of me-time and a head start to the day. Well, so much for that…

I make the bed, open the curtains and make my way to the kitchen to “make” breakfast. I can hardly call it “making” anything because more often than not, breakfast for J is yogurt, some nuts, a smoothie and maybe some fruit, if he’s up for it. I get him dressed and off to daycare.

I breathe a big sigh as I walk back into a quiet, still house. I take a moment to relish this moment. Then I go into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee to sit down and start my day. Halfway through my morning routine, I remember I didn’t even use the bathroom yet because J woke up late and I was in a mad rush to get him ready and on the bus. “Did I even wash his face…? I should wash my face…”

I come out of the bathroom and remember I should load the laundry so it’s running while I do my work. So I go to the bedroom to grab our hamper and load the laundry.

“Oh yeah… my coffee!” It’s gone cold.

I heat up my coffee and sit down, finally, and open up my computer to start work. But I check my email while my work programs are loading and I see an email from Ebates and it reminds me, “J needs some clothes for spring. I should place an order soon…”

I start my work and then I hear the laundry machine’s little tune go off, signaling its complete cycle. I get up and throw the laundry into the dryer. On my way through the kitchen, I see the sink full of dishes. I do the dishes. While I’m at it, I clean the counters. The crumbs from the counters fall to the floor. “I should vacuum.” I put out the vacuum to tidy up the kitchen, but while I’m at it, I should just vacuum the whole house.

I sit back down at my dining table turned “work station” and get back to work when my phone rings. Y wants to know if I want to meet him for lunch. I tell him I’ll meet him after getting dressed (because yes, it’s lunchtime and I’m still in PJ’s…). I throw on my work-out clothes because the plan is to hit the gym after meeting the husband for lunch. I hurry back after my gym session and throw together a protein shake, gulp it down and desperately try to finish my work before J gets home, because Lord knows I can’t get work done with a toddler clinging to my leg.

Yup, that’s more like it. That’s probably a more realistic picture of what my typical day looks like, although if I’m really honest, I don’t have a “typical” day. Every day looks different. Every day is a new day.

Now that I look back, my SAH life before I became a SAHM taught me about “identity”. That I’m not what I make, that I’m not what I produce, that I’m not a title.

“Our daily work can be a calling only if it is reconceived as God’s assignment to serve others.”

“But in Genesis we see God as a gardener, and in the New Testament we see him as a carpenter. No task is too small a vessel to hold the immense dignity of work given by God.”

— Timothy Keller, Every Good Endeavor: Connecting Your Work to God's Work

God is writing His grand story of redemption is interwoven into the everyday, mundane and ordinary details of our lives. He’s there in my loading laundry, He’s with me as I journal, read, or rest. He’s with me as I change the 2,541st diaper. He sees me as I kiss a boo-boo, give snuggles, read the same book for the fifteenth time. He sees me as I contemplate what it means to be a mom, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend, an employee, a writer, a dreamer. And He gently reminds me that He sees it all: my efforts, my struggles and pain, my joys and victories. But mostly, He reminds me that He sees me.