all things small and tiny

I felt the desire to start off this post with an apology for the All Things Baby tidbits I'm about to jot down [and will undoubtedly continue to write about for weeks/months/years to come], but then I thought about it and decided that was silly and purposeless. I like to write about the Interesting Things of Now, and the kpluBlet is most definitely the most interesting thing going on in my life right now [spoiler: he (and his posse of siblings) will probably be the most interesting thing going on in my life for the next 20 years so... just a heads up]. So unashamedly, obsessively write about him I shall.

We have reached week 32. Ridiculous, I know. Sometimes I feel like I just found out about being pregnant. Seriously, it was just last month that we drove up to Connecticut, right? I still clearly remember the giddy feelings in my gut as I walked/hopped in circles in our hotel room wondering, oh wondering, if maybe just maybe just maybe there was a tiny little poppy-seed-size person inside of me. And now look at me. On Sundays, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I feel like a whale, whilst on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays I am convinced that I am somehow growing an actual whale inside of me. The time has flown and I can't believe how close we are!

It's a weird state of time, being 32 weeks. My head tells me that I have a good 8 weeks left or 2 months, because that's just simple math. Yet, somehow, this doesn't add up nicely as it is now the end of July and so there is only August between now and kpluBlet. And that is only ONE month. One ridiculously short month. What in the world. No, I promise I'm not freaking out. Yes, I did have a moment of mild <some type of tear-filled emotion> the other week as my brain was attempting to sort out a mess of things, but I shall use the Pregnancy Hormones card [fine print: one use only] to excuse that as I really didn't feel like the tears were connected to my emotions, if that makes sense.

Side note:  I periodically check with Jason to see if I have been unknowingly experiencing the high-strung mood swings that I hear pregnancy can pleasantly bring about. Thankfully, he always says no. Whew. I also don't feel like I've had any kind of change in moods the last 32 weeks [crazy intense blood-draw emotions don't count as they are also my baseline emotions], so I'm glad my perceptions line up with Jason's. It would be annoying to be That Crazy Pregnant Asian and not realize it. Stable hormones for the win.

So, our little nursery is coming together and I absolutely love it. I peek my head in multiple times a day just to gleefully squeak. I also like to just sit in there. I can't wait until we finish it. We're still waiting on a few more of our purchases to come in and then the fun will begin. Oh! By the way, it is like Christmas in July here right now. Every day I excitedly wait for a new package to arrive. I love, love, love packages. And it turns out that tearing open a box is even better when you know something tiny and adorable is inside.

There was a point earlier in the year when we looked at our rather substantial Amazon gift card balance and wondered, "How in the world are we ever going to spend all of this? Maybe we should be using our Swagbucks points for Paypal cash instead of Amazon gift cards." [Here is my "Swagbucks is awesome" plug.] Oh, silly us... As soon as we begin our baby shopping in earnest, we had absolutely no trouble bringing that balance down to a very sad $0. Sigh. Now, the re-accumulation of funds must begin anew.

But! On the bright side, we are currently expecting a large box of Super Exciting Things for the kpluBlet. And... Weirdest timing ever: The box just arrived. Like, this very minute. I must go celebrate another round of Christmas in July.

Much tearing of tape and squeaks of delight later...

Ah, the excitement! The colors! The cuteness! The diapers! Yes, yes, yes, I am unbelievably excited about these tiny adorable cloth diapers. It's a little ridiculous.

And this really is a perfect segue into my next topic:  Diaper decisions. What with all of the cloth diaper options out there these days, it has been quite a task nailing down exactly what to purchase for our little fellow's bum. We knew we wanted cheap, durable, and "easy" to launder. Flats/prefolds and covers seemed to be the most recommended for what we wanted. The only "downside" that seemed to be mentioned by some was that the folding involved with flats and the like might take some time to figure out, might take longer to actually execute, might be more annoying to do when you've changed a dozen diapers that day already, etc. Luckily, I do not consider any of these issues to be daunting and I have a Superman of a husband who is under the impression [accurately or not] that all of my plans and ideas are the awesomest of plans and ideas. So! May the Diaper Origami Time commence! I have full expectations that cloth diapering is going to be a wagonful of messy but accomplishment-filled fun*.

And seriously, the diaper covers are absolutely adorable. I cannot get over it. The kpluBlet will have an adorably covered tush. End of story.

Slightly switching topics [though, do not fear, I am going to be shifting back to World of Baby in a moment], 2014 continues to be the Year of Big Things with the exciting news of Jarred's engagement and his November wedding [and the kpluBlet's first roadtrip!]. I'm rather stoked. I always knew he was the kind of fellow who would make excellent husband material and I'm super happy he finally found a girl who sees his potential. Cheers for happiness!

Anyway, Jarred's weddingness along with Shawn's wedding this fall made made me think of bachelor parties. Which made me think of Childless Married Couple parties! It's brilliant. I don't know why this isn't a real thing. See, the night before your baby arrives [oh wait, I see problem number one...], you get together all of your childless married couple friends [oh wait, I see problem number two...] and go out and party it up with every single We Won't Be Able to Do This Once the Baby's Here! activity you can fit into a night that a 9-month pregnant lady is able/willing to do [oh... and there's problem number 3]. The idea has such promise, no?

And to wrap up this entire rambling post, I feel it necessary to note this following conversation that occurred a while back:

Me:  "The kpluBlet sure is growing."
Jason:  "I hope he doesn't grow too much before he comes out. I don't want to miss him being in that small and cute stage."
Me:  "Don't worry. I think human babies are like hamster babies. They come out like tiny erasers and eventually grow into the cute stage."

Life truth:  It takes a while to go from this...

  ...to this..

I may not know much about human babies [I can only remember "holding" one once in my life. And there is a reason the word holding is in quotes...] but I know plenty about hamster babies. They always start off like the erasers on the end of a yellow #2 pencil. And they bounce. Like mexican jumping beans.

I like how I can write an entire post about a whole lot of nothing. Tis excellent. To life!

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

I feel you constantly now. You are quite a wiggler these days. Sometimes I think you know exactly when to most inconveniently make a ruckus in there. I don't know how you do it, but kudos to you, little mister. Mostly, thanks for making me 100% confident that everything is going well on your end of things.

I hope your thrice daily bout of hiccups aren't bothering you too much. I'll be honest, if I had hiccups that often and that regularly, I might just go crazy, but perhaps you're more patient than I am. Maybe you got blessed with your dad's patience and my head hair density. And speaking of head hair, I sure hope you're concentrating hard on growing out your peach fuzz to an adorable mop of hair. It will place you at a huge advantage over newborn hamsters, trust me.

Welp, little one, keep growing stronger. You're going to need all the strength you can get to survive the love that your dad and I are going to smoosh you with. As you'll soon find out, we don't have many hobbies and our social lives are comfortably lacking, so you are basically going to be the center of all of our attention. Prepare yourself. Every little thing you do is going to be considered Guinness World Record material and every little face you make is going to be picture worthy and every little breath you take is going to be gasped at in wonder. We are going to love the noodles out of you. And adorn your bum with tiny owl diapers.

You have my forever love.

Replace "Cheez-It" with "Tiny Human" and you have a very accurate picture of how I feel at Week 32.

*And if it does not pan out to be as much fun and as little hassle as I know it will be, I will have this blog post to look back upon and laugh at. :D

progression

While Sharayah was helping me think up topics to write about, of course one of the things that came up was the short time until I'll be a father and the things we're doing in the next couple months to prepare. Then, for some reason, this exchange happened:

Sharayah: I give you permission for your first words to him to be "I am your father."
Me: But I think he says that after having just cut off his hand...
Sharayah: Well, just say it after you cut his umbilical cord.

I don't really know what to do with that, but it seemed like the world should know.

Editor's note: I didn't ask for permission to say that. Neither of us are Star Wars fans. I'm not sure why she even came up with that. Spoiler alert: I probably won't say it.

Back to the topic of preparing for the baby. We've been trying to make sure we get everything we're going to need. Sometimes it's hard to know if you have everything. We've made lists and tried to keep track, but of course we'll get home with the baby and think, "How in the world do we not have X? It's so obvious we should have bought that. What were we thinking?" It's inevitable. But still, it seems like we've got most everything covered. Things purchased online are going to start coming in during the next few weeks, which should be exciting. The baby's room is pretty much done. Things are coming together nicely.

Things have also been moving along with my research. By the end of summer I'll probably have submitted two more papers, bringing the total to three. I've been working on two different problems with two groups of people, and it's been hectic at times but also kind of nice. When I get stuck on one problem, I just go to the other for a while. I'm really proud of these two much more than the first one. I think I was a much more important part of the work on them, as opposed to the first paper, which I think would have gotten written just fine without me.

Now I'm in the home stretch of my quest for a PhD. At this point, I have enough research done to finish. From here, it's just a matter of how much research I can do before I have to call it and start putting it together as a dissertation. It's been a long, very difficult road, but the end is in sight. Just in time, too, since apparently I'm almost a dad.

the big nutshell

June has not been much of a blogging month. I'm not entirely sure how the month is almost over already... To make up for the lack of words that I have written this month, this post will undoubtedly be a long one. Feel free to eat it in two bites instead of one.

Life:  Part I
For various reasons, Jason and I have decided to get rid of one of our cellphones and just use our Google Voice numbers as our secondary numbers. I rarely leave the house without Jason [this may sound lame to more independent folks, but trust me, it's actually just pure awesome], and when we do go somewhere, we just grab whatever phone is closest to the door, so it's not like we currently need two phones or are attached to having individual phones. We could have done this months upon months ago but just never thought about it. Thinking about things is revolutionary, I tell you.

I remember when my family first got a cellphone back in the day [yes, I can say back in the day because it was over a decade ago]. We were living perfectly comfortable lives. Yet, suddenly, with the arrival of this little handheld device, it was a tragedy if we didn't have the phone with us when we were out and about. I don't know why. It didn't make sense. Suddenly, potentially life-threatening emergencies were everywhere and only having that little gray phone could hold them off! Humans are funny like that, I suppose.

This little toy with all 5 of its contacts and the ability to use voice commands to mistakenly dial the wrong person was new and neat and somehow endlessly entertaining. And it quickly went from Nonexistent to Unquestionably Essential. But sometimes, even then, I would think about how, just a mere month ago, we had somehow managed to survive without it, so why all the fuss if suddenly the phone wasn't available? Ah, the subliminal tentacles of Convenience Turned Necessity. Crafty creature, that is.

Anyway, I often still have the same thoughts about cellphones. Yes, they are convenient. But no, they are not necessary for many people. I believe I currently fit in the realistically-not-necessary category of people. Which is good, because if I did feel compelled to always have a cellphone with me, I might have to start using some kind of purse/bag/trendy cellphone belt clip/large-pocketed man pants. Whew, bullet dodged. Instead of my own man pants, I shall continue to use Jason's man pants to hold all of my things, and our one cellphone.

Anyway. In order to properly retire my lonely cellphone, I had to empty it of all the random stuff that had accumulated on it. Various pictures of ears and price tags and men's legs and shopping lists and finger comparisons all needed to be transferred to my computer. And then there were the notes.

Now, Jason is a decently funny fellow to the general public, in my opinion. But to me, he is hilarious. [I may have a really low standard for humor or I may just have a bad case of I Like Your Face So You Are Basically a Stand-up Comedian.] He says things and I can't help but laugh. Sometimes my brain tells me that the world would also like to benefit from something he said that was particularly entertaining. And so, when he says one of these things, I jot them down in my phone, if it is available [this, of course, means that 72% of his funniness is lost forever], and post them on Facebook afterwards if I remember.

Sadly, I often do not remember. And then, if I do happen to remember, I will have forgotten the context to the remark or conversation. And then I have to decide if it is still worth posting. It's a process, people!

Anyway, I apparently collected a few handfuls of these types of notes on my phone. I considered deleting them, but that really seemed like a shame. So instead, I will type them out here in our blog and they will be duly head-scratched/chuckled at for generations to come. Let us begin.

• "You cannot be promoted from bat boy to player." -- Says who?
• "We're cavalier; we dirty the counter and then eat off it!" -- We're trying to do better. Really.
• "Puma, shut up and stop climbing up my leg." -- These are two commonly spoken desires.
• "Did you know shampoo is just shamoo with a p?" -- Some people insist hamsters are spelled with a p, and some people think Shamu the whale is still alive. The fight for truth is a daily battle.
• "I think you know all of common knowledge." -- It's all relative.
• "Ok, lady, if you think making your husband look stupid is funny then.. you're hilarious." -- I accept this compliment.
• "Can we be Amish by day and use the internet by night?" -- This is our backup "once we turn 50" plan.
• "I don't know how to do Amish face." -- That'll do, love. That'll do.
• "I wouldn't have married an Asian if I didn't like rice." -- There is a fine line between liking and loving many things. However, for rice, there is a chasm.
• "Are you just going to leave it there? ...But that's not where you found it!" -- You cannot always mask the OCD.
• "Every time I see a sweater, I think, 'He's not wearing spaghetti straps!'" -- Context is nice, but no context is even better. Trust me.
• "The kpluBlet is going to come out and not recognize your voice because you're not yelling anymore." -- We are currently working under the assumption that the birth of the kpluBlet will magically create that much longed for volume control that I have always lacked... I have my doubts.
• "I don't know why you mind having short limbs. It just separates you even more from monkeys." -- Some things you just have to let slide like a greased pig.
• Korean:  "I like when you smile at me. Even though I know you're just laughing at me in your head." Non-Korean:  "Oh, I'm laughing at you out loud. You just can't hear me." -- Reason #873 why I love him.

So, recap:  We are now a one-phone family. Jason is Mr. Funnyman. I like to take pictures of men's legs with white tube socks.

Digest.

Life:  Part II

The past week and a half have been like that super rickety wooden roller coaster that you know gives you a headache and back twinges if you ride it, and yet you ride it anyway. Or someone forces you to ride it. 

This past week and a half, I was forced to ride the wooden roller coaster. If I knew how to throw up, I might have done it.

Of course, since pregnant people are legally obligated not to have fun, I did not get to ride an actual roller coaster. Instead, my wooden coaster consisted of week 28 glucose testing. Ingest dyed sugar*. Get stabbed with needle. And, if you're unlucky, repeat with twice as much dyed sugar and get stabbed with four times as many needles.

I was unlucky.

To make a long, fear-filled story shorter, let's just say that I do not care for things puncturing through other things. Whether this is something "normal" like blood draws or something fantastical like Wolverine's claws appearing or even something completely mundane like pushing a pin into a pincushion... The thoughts that flood my mind when I see/hear/sense/imagine that pushing through of something sharp into that slightly resistant material... My hands immediately get sweaty and all I want to do is curl up in a ball. It's debilitating. I don't know what's wrong with me.

When the puncturing is happening to someone or something else, I just get extremely uncomfortable and have to look away and hum loudly to drown out the imagined sounds of tortured screaming [that tomato pincushion has quite the nerve endings, I know]. But when the puncturing has to happen to me... Oh dear gravy, I am an absolute mess. And poor, poor Jason has had to deal with this mess for the past week and a half. 

My husband is amazing. You don't even know the half of it.

It took a week just to get up the nerve to ask Jason to schedule the appointment for the first glucose test. Merely thinking about telling him to schedule it would work me up to the point of tears. I wish I could blame pregnancy hormones/emotions, but I fear this would not be completely truthful. I physically dislike needles, but I mentally abhor needles. In fact, typing all of this is making my hands all sweaty again and the inside of my elbows are starting to ache. So, we will quickly fast forward.

Test one happened two Fridays ago. I'm pretty sure the feelings of wanting to throw up were the results of a week's worth of dread and anxiety, though I also suspect it had to do with sitting through the Twilight movie in the waiting room. I can't even. Why is everything blue? Why is everyone so deadpan? Why does it make your insides feel like you're drowning in a thick pool of high fructose corn syrup? Anyway, luckily for everyone, I am not sure I even know how to throw up. So all of the pent up feelings stayed inside my stomach. Whew.

I seriously had no real concerns about passing the 1 hour screening test. I consider myself to be a relatively healthy person who eats pretty well and the idea that I could be a candidate for GD wasn't all that present. Despite all of the anxiety about the blood draw itself, I was never really concerned about the result. And then Monday came. And I got an email from the lab with the horrendous news that my blood sugar was high. And I knew four more needles were in my future. I completely crumbled.

Jason is a rock. The sweetest, most caring, selfless rock who, interestingly enough, is still soft enough to cuddle a distraught Korean for hours on end. You don't even know the half of it.

So. I was mentally frantic, unable to focus on work at all, praying desperately for peace, and attempting to get some sort of grip over my anxiety. Friday was just around the corner and I knew there was nothing I could do about it. I was going to have to be stabbed, clogged with dyed sugar again, and then be stabbed thrice more over three hours. I was in a living nightmare.

[Yes, this probably sounds melodramatic to those who don't think twice about blood being drawn. Trust me, though, this is the un-sensationalized version of this past week. (Again, poor Jason...) Phobias are so annoyingly irrational.]

Lesson:  Never count out the goodness of God.

We had our appointment at the Birth Center and in I went sweating profusely and on the verge of tears as I knew that the inevitable outcome of the visit was that dreadful laboratory prescription sentencing me to debilitating mental anguish. The options presented to us on review of the first screening were what I expected:  Go through with four more blood draws or just assume the GD diagnosis and act accordingly, which would include multiple blood sugar fingersticks a day. Neither option was rainbow-filled.

And then! Right when all hope seemed lost! The midwife thought of a third option. The option that saved my sanity. The option that nearly made me cry with relief [all of this crying business was just getting out of control...]. She remembered that a while back there had been another patient who also had a deathly fear of blood draws. They had ended up ordering some of the nasty dyed sugar and just administering the 3 hour glucose test at the Birth Center with fingersticks. And, it suddenly occurred to her, there might still be an extra bottle of the drink somewhere.

She went to check.
There was a bottle left.
It was not expired.

What did this mean? This meant that I would not have to go in to The Place of Nightmares [known as LabCorp] and spend 3 sickeningly stressful hours with only Twilight to soothe my soul. This meant that I would not have to be strapped into a chair that is too tall for me [OK, so they don't actually strap their patients down, but they may have needed to if I had had to endure the 3 hour test...] and have my arms mutilated by uncaring lab technicians. This meant that I would not have to wait some undetermined period of time worrying about the results of the test.

What did this mean? This meant that I could come to the Birth Center and spend 3 hours in the homey birthing room with blue walls. This meant Jason and I could relax [as much as can be expected during such a test] in the rocking chairs or on the bed or sprawled out on the couches. This meant we could play whatever music we desired, spend the hours doing whatever we wished, and just be allowed some peace and quiet in between each hourly fingerstick. This meant no harming of inner elbows. This meant Jason as close to me as possible. This meant instant results.

God is good.

Sure, there was still anxiety about getting jabs in my fingers. And yes, there was still mild concern about the potential results and worst case scenarios. Oh, but the big picture was so much brighter. The debilitating fear dissipated. The lack of appetite was gone. The inability to smile and laugh disappeared. If I have ever experienced that proverbial load of bricks falling from my shoulders, it was in that moment when the midwife offered the glorious third option.

God is beyond good.

So, that Friday morning, we drove to the Birth Center. We settled into the Blue Room. We rocked in our rocking chairs. We played a few games. We read a few books. We listened to Tenth Avenue North and Phil Wickham [yes, even/especially his Christmas album]. And I drank more grossness and endured four fingersticks.

Fingersticks sting more than blood draws, but my fear of needles isn't really based on the pain aspect so the extra sting was well worth it.

The nurse was friendly and kind. The room was quiet and peaceful. And the results... well, they were excellent. No GD diagnosis here! Just a Korean with four little dots on her index fingers and an extremely grateful heart. Yes, yes, I know this all probably sounds so ridiculous and blown out of proportion. But since when have ridiculosity and I ever been that far apart? Thankfully, God answers even the most ridiculous of desperate prayers. He is ever deserving of praise. Ever deserving.

So, that's June for you. And this post, as promised, is unbearably long. I shall now wrap up.

Oh! This needs to be mentioned: The kpluBlet's arrival aside, the thing I am looking forward to the most is sleeping on my back and reading whilst on my stomach. I cannot wait.

And I bid you adieu.

How my heart felt leaving the Birth Center.

*Allergy information on bottle:  "Gluten Free. Dairy Free. Does not contain orange juice, only artificial orange flavor." Gag.

assisted

So, today I was having some trouble writing a blog. I have my thoughts, but it's hard to get them on "paper" in a way that anyone would want to read. For example, I wrote:

Baby room preparations are in full swing. We've been clearing stuff out of our extra room (since it's not extra anymore!) to make room for baby stuff. We've been getting baby stuff to put in the space made by clearing out stuff. We've been building furniture, or mostly just partially building furniture until we notice some of the pieces are damaged so we have to have replacements sent. Still, the room is shaping up. We have a crib, a rocking chair, one of those storage cube things. That last one is actually built completely. I think we've got the layout all planned. It's starting to really look like a baby room. Which is good, since we're less than three months away, now. Yikes.

It's not bad information, but oof. You have to slog your way through it with a snow plow. Sharayah, being the loving wife that she is, volunteered to help me through this difficult time. In her words, "Here, you rub my feet while I write your blog for you." So, I rubbed her feet and she wrote a blog for me. The real plan was for me to just take each paragraph or topic and rewrite it as my own blog post. It would just serve as a framework or outline to get me going. When I read it, though, I realized it was my best blog ever, and I couldn't just erase it and rewrite it. So I'm leaving everything she wrote, and I'll add in some commentary/detail after each bit. (Her parts are block-indented if you can't tell who is who just by the writing.)

I'm going to be a dad in under 3 months. I have a lot of jokes to start storing up. I'm going to be the funniest dad. How many jokes can you learn in 3 months? How soon can you toss a baby high into the air? Or when can he ride on my shoulders and use my ears to steer? One thing I already know:  I'm never going to "let" him win at anything. It will be good for his character. Plus, since he's going to be Asian, there will soon be a time where he will be better at everything anyway... I might as well get my winning in now.

Ok, well a lot of that is solid. I'm not doing so well at storing up jokes (I keep forgetting them, I can only seem to keep 3 or 4 in my head at a time). Still, I think they'll come back to me at opportune times. That's how dad jokes work. As far as not being able to win at anything because my son is Asian, well... I'll have to get back to you on that in a few years. I sort of thought if I had blood relatives who were Asian, that would make me part Asian and help me compete a little better. We'll see.

My hand is nearly as big as kp's foot. I think she has a dwarf foot. But then, I haven't yet seen the kpluBlet's foot. His foot is going to turn my brain into mush.

This is actually a combination of tiny kp feet and large me hands. It's hard for me to imagine walking on something only an inch longer than my hand and not falling flat on my face. I'm not sure how she functions, really. The tiny kpluBlet feet may put hers into perspective, though. We bought some baby socks. I'm not sure a human foot can fit in them. How small would the toes be for the feet to be that small? It makes me dizzy.

Speaking of mush brain, I went to a math conference at Villanova. I met a Canadian. I ate chocolate desserts every day. I took naps during math talks. I had my picture taken with my hero (and an Asian guy). I drove through a lot of traffic. I don't like traffic.

The Villanova conference was actually really good. I presented my research and it was well received. I met some cool mathematicians (some of them famous, but when I say famous I don't mean that normal people have heard of them...) and heard a lot of good math talks. I definitely did not take any naps there, although I was completely exhausted by the end of the week. I'm really glad my talk was on the first day when everyone was still alert. By the last day everyone was so tired they barely seemed to be paying attention anymore.

My adviser had someone take a picture of him and his two students (me and the Asian guy). Sharayah found this very amusing, apparently. I'm not sure why it's so funny to her.

The traffic was intense. It was the week that the I-495 bridge was condemned unexpectedly. That just happened to be the route I was supposed to take. Monday I drove both ways on that bridge, and Tuesday it was closed because they thought it might fall down at any minute. It's still closed. I'm not sure how they plan to fix it. Anyway, the ~45 minute drive took about 2 hours each morning, which was rough since the conference started at 9. I think Sharayah summed it up well: I don't like traffic.

All of these adult activities looming on the horizon makes the future seem gigantic. There are many decisions to be made. Babies, jobs, homes. At this very moment, we are planning our lives for the next... who knows how many years. No big deal. Our life is going to be grand, no matter what all the little details look like right now. There are 3 doors in front of us:  Behind one is a brand new car. Behind another is a picket-fenced cottage. And behind the third door is a goat. Which will we choose? Luckily, it doesn't matter since even the goat would thrill the kp. Win win win.

Yep, we have a lot going on right now. Figuring out where I'm going to work, where we're going to live, which is where we'll be raising our kids. The 3 doors are supposed to be a reference to the Monty Hall problem, I think. I'd say you're always supposed to switch doors, but if you actually don't mind winning the goat then you should maybe stick with your first choice.

So that's the blog Sharayah wrote for me, and the extra thoughts from me that it inspired. For the most part, she hit the nail on the head. I guess she sort of knows me pretty well and understands what I'm thinking about and going through. What a cool lady.

Dear tiny little half-Asian kpluBlet,
Really soon you'll be here. It's the weirdest combination of scary and exciting that I'll get to meet you so soon. I hope you like having your feet played with, because I'm going to count your toes a hundred times. When you're big enough, you better believe I'm going to toss you way up high and catch you. I hope it'll be one of your favorite games. Do me a favor, once we start playing more competitive games (you know, where someone wins and someone loses), maybe let me win a few from time to time?
While you still live in your mom, we're doing the best we can to make a good place for you to live once you get out. I can't wait until you're here!
Love,
Dad

Food is so too a symptom.

Call me stupid, but I never imagined I would actually be able to see the kpluBlet moving around inside of me. I knew I would eventually be able to feel him. And I knew I would eventually be able to have Jason feel him. But I had absolutely no idea that I would be able to actually watch my stomach moving about like some kind of creepy monster movie. I feel like this was a major dropped-ball kind of thing on someone's part. I don't know who to blame yet.

Blame aside, this discovery has actually been one of my favorite parts of pregnancy so far. Seeing various parts of my stomach moving around, wiggling, and sometimes seemingly silhouetting a tiny little hand or foot [I know the level of detail really isn't there, but I have a good imagination] is crazy. There is most definitely a tiny person growing in there. Either that or I accidentally swallowed an iguana with a sugar high. Time will tell.

I am so grateful for how smoothly everything is just rolling along. At our last appointment, I believe the word "perfect" was used multiple times. Everything is perfect. Just the way we like it. Time is just gliding by so perfectly and normally [23.5 weeks down already!] that sometimes I worry September will be upon us and we will have completely forgotten to make any preparations for the kpluBlet's arrival. This would be very unlike Jason and me, as checklists and spreadsheets generally rule the day, but we have yet to really start any type of Welcome to the World planning.

I think our goal is to just take every aspect of this adventure as it comes. Jason is much better at carrying through with this mentality, but I think I am, for 98% of the days, doing a pretty swell job of it as well. I'm trying to not over think things. If there was ever a topic worthy of over thinking and over planning and over stressing about, I think it would be "How will I not ruin this tiny person's life?" But honestly, I have come to the conclusion that this is not an actual potential outcome and [even if it is] I truly am not worried about it at all.

The kpluBlet will be clothed, fed, and loved. If he doesn't walk until he's three or get out of diapers until he's five or learn to read until he's seven... who cares? He will be a perfectly functional human being by the time he strikes out on his own. [And even if he is still in diapers at eighteen, who will know/care?] Sure, some of our methods and timing and goals may come across as a bit abnormal over the next couple decades, but I promise they will not spell ruin and disaster and Life of Sadness to our little guy. Promise.

This seems like an appropriate time to mention my excitement about this book:  Experimenting with Babies - 50 Amazing Science Projects You Can Perform on Your Kid. Several exclamation points are an adequate expression of my giggly insides. Jason, on the other hand, has already commenced his version of parenthood prep in an entirely different field:  Introductory Calculus for Infants. This is seriously the extent of our preparations for the kpluBlet so far. We are going to be excellent parents. Seriously.

Other mentionables:

• The most I have ever weighed was either freshman or sophomore year at ORU at 142 pounds. It was such a rude awakening that the exact number has been stuck in my head ever since. If/when the "normal weight gain during pregnancy" of 25-35 pounds happens to me, I will just about reach that weight again, but this time, it will be way less gross to me. [On the grossness scale, Saga >>>>>>>>>> pregnancy.] I currently have gained 12 pounds. It is impossible to know whether it is all in my stomach or spread out throughout the lands because Jason is a terrible source of opinion in this matter. Conversations like the following often occur.  Me:  "I look like a whale." Jason:  "You don't look like a whale." Me:  "Then what do I look like?"  Jason:  "You look like a lady who is pregnant." Me:  "No, what kind of fat animal do I look like?" Jason:  "Maybe a red panda?"
• Symptoms I have not experienced [for which I feel extremely lucky/blessed/proud]:
• Vomiting.
• Heartburn.
• Dizziness.
• Leg cramps.
• Trouble sleeping.
• ALL OF THE NASTY STUFF.
• Symptoms I have experienced from time to time:
• Extreme hunger.
• Needing to pee every time I get settled into bed.
• Needing to pee every time I get settled at my desk.
• Needing to pee every time I pretend to get settled into bed [ha! gotcha, kpluBlet!].
• The desire to waddle.
• "Let me nap or I'll be grumpy!"
• "Puma, stop making biscuits on my uterus!"
• FOOD.  
• Vacation was lovely, though much too short. We read many books, mini-golfed many holes, shuffled on many boards, shod many horses [Jason's ringers were a sight to behold], and ate many, many things. Is it time for our next vacation yet? Le sigh.
• Mario and Luigi are in full summer sprout now. Sometime this year I fully expect Luigi to officially become taller than me. I have no idea what Mario's life plan is, unless he is aspiring to become an evermore bush. If so, he is doing a splendid job of it. 
• Even with my 28th birthday looming on the horizon, I have noticed a significantly less amount of "Oh this is depressing, I'm sooo oooold"-ism lately. I know for a fact that this is due to the long-awaited kpluBlet. It sounds rather silly, I know, but finally getting to have our little half-Asian has completely [for now] removed the sporadic feelings of Getting Old Blues. Life is no longer passing me by! Life as I have dreamed it is right around the corner! Being 28 and getting little sleep and changing diapers and cleaning up spit up and searching for patience and having 3-person family time is my very realistic idea of awesome. Life is good. I do not feel old anymore. Hooplah!

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

I love you. 

You are soon to be the apple of my eye. For now, though, you may settle on being the apple of my belly. I know you like apples because anytime I eat one you dance. It is the weirdest feeling, but in oh such a good way. 

I suppose now is a good time to warn you about something:  I have great plans for you. I know every little detail of my plans will most likely not work out as planned, but that's okay. We will make beautiful messes. We will laugh at my plans. We'll just roll with the punches, have fun, and love life. It's going to be so much fun to be your mom!

Keep up the good work, you tugger of heart strings!

Jason says food isn't a symptom. But these panda cubs and I wholeheartedly disagree.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder?

Looks like someone dropped the ball. We have not been blogging. Let's see, let's take a look back and see whose turn it was? Who do we blame? Hmm... it seems Sharayah wrote 11 of the last 12 posts. That's not so good for me. Hmm. Ok, now to spin it in my favor:

It looks like a post was due some time ago, and the chances of any given post being written by Sharayah is (recently) over 91%, so it's safe to say there's a 91% chance that Sharayah was supposed to write another post and put it up here, and she just left you guys hanging can you believe that who does that?

Anyway, since it looks like everything's up to me now around here, I'll take one for the team and update the ol' blog.

Since we last met our heroes, the kicking has commenced. Each day we get to feel little "bloopies" as we call them, especially right when we wake up and right before we go to bed. I'm not sure how the kpluBlet knows we're going to bed, but gender specific pronoun redacted kicks more at bedtime than any other time. When the bloopies first started, obviously they were really small and only Sharayah could feel them. I was really jealous, but eventually the kicks got strong enough for me to feel them. It's a pretty bizarre feeling. I can't say what it's like for Sharayah feeling it from inside and out, but just feeling her stomach nudging my hand is... crazy. Heh, I was about to say sometimes it feels as though there's something alive in there moving around. So maybe sometimes the bloopies just feel like exactly what they are. At any rate, it's really cool to have a daily connection with the kpluBlet. Sometimes we can get bloopies on demand! Redacted really seems to like to kick when we sing certain songs. I know it could be a coincidence, but sometimes we definitely feel the bloopies at a certain point in this one silly song...

Sharayah is also showing a bit now, which is also cool. Right, easy for me to say, I'm the guy so I don't have to feel it, but I really like seeing her carrying the kpluBlet. I just look at the little bump and think, there's my baby. Redacted is right in there, and we can communicate (I can talk or sing and the baby can kick me in the face if I position myself just right. If that's not communication...) So in general, we're really enjoying it so far.

By the way, if you've noticed, I've been removing the baby's gender. This is to build suspense for the big reveal. No longer! I will not do it again. That's right, I'm done redacting. The gender will be revealed... soon. But not yet. But some people already know, so... well, don't feel bad. You'll know soon too (In fact, if you were quick you might have caught an accidental posting of the gender by a relative. If this is the case, don't tell us! Act surprised when we tell you!)

When I wrote up my plan for this blog post (I know, reading it you can't tell there was any plan. Fine, when I wrote up my list of topics to blog about) I included "we need a vacation." Having a baby on the way is awesome, but it is also crazy at times and we know vacations will soon be in short supply, so we knew we needed to take a break and spend some time together just relaxing before the baby arrives. Well, we took care of that before I managed to write the post. In fact, we are relaxing right now, at this very moment. So that just tells you how long it's been my turn to write a post (if you couldn't figure it out already).

In other news, research has been going reasonably well recently. I should be submitting another paper in the next few weeks, and then I have one more problem I want to finish working on. After that I should have enough for a thesis, and I can finish up this thing and get a job. Gotta bring in the dollars for all the Asians that will be running around my house soon. There's already one and a half, who knows where it will end?

Dear tiny little half-Asian kpluBlet,
I can tell you're getting bigger all the time. You have all your parts now, you just need to keep growing. Pretty soon it's going to get a little cramped in there for you. Don't lose hope. Just take your time, look for the light, and when the moment is right... Well, you get the picture.
Still, you should enjoy it in there while you can. You've got such an amazing connection with your mom, and your current home is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. Plus, when else will you be allowed (even encouraged!) to kick your parents as much as you want? Have fun!
Dad

Secret Things #11: Smatterings

April 6, 2014 - Week 17

As the title suggests, this post will just be a smattering of things. So, smatter away I will!

Smatter #1:  Sickness

If you are observant, you will notice Week 16 was not lucky enough to get a baby post. This is because I was busy being miserable with a cold. I really cannot complain too much, though, I suppose. I was only miserable for a handful of days and God looked upon me favorably and kept me from the third and most vicious part of my sick cycle, The Cough.

When I get sick, I go through three stages. The sore throat, the congestion, and the cough. At each stage, I declare that it is the stage that I hate the most, but this is not really the truth. I hate the coughing the most. The sore throat that comes from drainage is miserable due to it making eating, drinking, and talking extremely unpleasant. The congestion is miserable because it makes my nose raw from using up a box of tissues each day and the periods of panic from not being able to breathe through the bubbles in my windpipe. But, the sore throat usually only lasts for a day or so, and the raw nose is greatly relieved by my newly discovered solution of applying Burt's Bees lip balm to the irritated areas. The Cough on the other hand... It can last for weeks. It makes sleeping impossible. It hurts everything from my throat down to my stomach. It has no cure, except time. I hate The Cough.

This time around, I was praying so hard that I would not get The Cough, that this cold was mild enough to warrant skipping stage three. Not only did I have the memory of my last battle with The Cough still in mind [twas absolute misery, I tell you], but I was already feeling slight effects of my nose blowing and throat clearing on the muscles in my lower abdomen. By day 3 or 4, I was even becoming mildly concerned that the constant force being exerted down there would somehow result in the kpluBlet being unceremoniously spewed out of my belly button. Yes, that sounds like a drastic and unrealistic scenario, but I seriously entertained this concern as being 1.7% possible. I am coming to accept that the most prominent pregnancy symptom I am experiencing is Utter Lack of Reason. *shakes fist*

But, God is good. I didn't even get a mild case of The Cough. My uterus stayed in its appropriate environment, as did the kpluBlet, and my belly button remains intact. Disaster averted.

Smatter #2:  Movement

Flutterings. Quickenings. Popcorn poppings. Butterfly frolickings.

Nothing.

It's so hard to be patient!

I keep moving the marker for what needs to happen for me to be at peace. First, it was the first appointment. Then it was the ultrasound. Next came the initial blood work. Then the second appointment. Recently, I can finally start seeing a neat curve-like shape to my abdomen, and so of course that means I have increased my requirements for peace of mind to physically feeling movement from the kpluBlet. Nothing yet.

I'm not overly concerned as the range of time when you first recognize baby movement seems to be a pretty wide range of time. I'm not concerned, but I am impatient. Since I cannot install a window to look inside my uterus whenever I have the urge, I tell myself that I will just have to settle for the feelings of life inside of me. The feelings are bound to come sooner or later, but why oh why can it not be sooner? I realize more and more each day how impatient of a person I am. I need to go read the last chapter of a new book. Be right back.

Okay, I feel a little better now.

Smatter #3:  Gender

Aside from the birth itself, I think the only thing left to fully, completely make this pregnancy real to us is finding out whether the kpluBlet is a boy or a girl. This is sure to be an unsurprising statement but, I am impatient. Finding out the gender will mean getting to see the kpluBlet once again on an ultrasound. Finding out the gender will mean getting to officially name our little half-Asian. Finding out the gender will mean the baby shopping can commence. It will be quite the day.

Speaking of baby shopping, going to the zoo on a fine Sunday afternoon makes for a perfect stroller-scouting opportunity. There were strollers galore! In this particular setting, however, I was limited to Jason's favorite instruction of "Look with your eyes, not with your hands," as the multitude of parents apparently would not have appreciated me testing out the various functions of their strollers. Or snacking on their child's bag of Cheerios. Sigh.

Smatter #4:  Energy

I have felt absolutely incredible this week. Lethargy and the blues are a thing of yesterweek. Curling up on the couch with zero desire to do anything is no more. I feel like my normal self for the first time in a while. No more cold symptoms. The sun is out and Jason and I go out for a walk or spread out towels in our "backyard" and read for an hour. I literally feel myself rejuvenating. LIT-erally.

Pregnancy seems to go in these weird week-ish cycles. Twinges are present one week and are gone the next. Odd stomach sensations come one week and leave the next. Feeling like a hot air balloon tethered to the ground one week and feeling pleasantly deflated the next. Wanting a nap every 3 hours one week and managing to not take a nap all week the next.  Worrying you won't make it to the bathroom 9 times a day one week and then experiencing Normal Person Bladder Control the next. The cycle-like feeling is really odd, but also anxiety-deflating. Knowing there's a very good chance that some little abnormal sensation is going to pass within a week keeps me from allowing myself to freak out for no particular reason.

This week, and hopefully for the ones to come, I am fully and completely energized. It has been lovely with a capital L. I physically and mentally feel great. God is good. Now if kpluBlet would just learn some Morse code and tap out a few messages, I would be absolutely satisfied. But alas, in all of our baby brainstorming sessions, we have not come up with a method to teach the kpluBlet Morse code except through Morse code...

Who knew a tiny little onion-sized person would be sitting inside of me right this minute?

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

Oh, little one. You're so tiny and hidden away and yet you seem to affect every little part of our lives, even now. I can only imagine how much more true this will be once you arrive and we get to solemnly shake hands. You will rightfully assume that you are the center of our world.

So, here's the scoop, kpluBlet. Here is how the world will work. Puma will chase the balled-up tissues. You will chase the Puma. We will chase you. Got it? Okay, good.

Life will be ever so bright when your cuteness arrives.

***Now that our secret posts and real time have caught up to each other, and since our secret posts aren't really much of a secret anymore, this shall be the last of them. Our normal life ramblings shall pick back up from here on out [which means Jason will finally blog again!].***

Secret Things #10: Mirrors

March 23, 2014 - Week 15

This week's task:  Mirror gazing.

I cannot stop myself. Every time I go into the bathroom [*mutter mutter*I hate peeing*mutter mutter*], I have to look at myself in the mirror. I examine myself from all sides. I hold my stomach in as much as I physically can. I completely relax my stomach and try not to crinkle my face in disgust. I scrutinize the tiniest difference that I can notice from the last time I was in the bathroom [approximately 15 minutes ago, it often feels like].

I have a problem.

I want to look different. I want to look pregnant. I want to see the outward evidence that I have a person actively growing inside of me. I want a perfectly symmetrical and round stomach protrusion that shouts to the world that I am going to be a mom.

But.

But if I cannot suck in my gut as much as I used to or if I see an extra cm of "fat" nudging itself over the waist of my pants or if I notice the silhouette of my back is slightly lumpier than I previously remember it being... I come running out of the bathroom to Jason in despair that I look ugly and gross.

What is wrong with me?

I have never considered myself as having low self-esteem. In fact, I think I often esteem myself higher than probably is deserved [or is that just low self-esteem butting its head in?]. I like to think that I am just straight forward with myself, whether it is about my personality or my skills or my looks. To time-stamp my current opinions on these matters, I will resort to bullet points.

• Personality
• Does not interact with people well. 
• Withdrawn in unfamiliar situations. 
• Weirdly spazzy in familiar situations. 
• A tad boring/dull/uninteresting in social environments. 
• Content. 
• Humor borders on pleasantly quirky to downright odd.
• Judgmental and quick to form opinions or impressions. [I feel inclined to point out that they are often quite accurate... See? I esteem myself quite highly. :D]
• Skills
• Slow to learn but intelligent with a very high capacity to learn.
• Randomly observant.
• Little ambition.
• Excellent muscle memory.
• Terrible at running.
• Looks
• Short extremities.
• Asian...ish.
• Round face with average features.
• Thick torso.
• Good back.
• Squat knees.
• Cup ears.
• Nice hands.

In summary, I am an unexciting person who has excellent insides and a physical appearance that holds steady between meh and nice. I think this is an accurate summary. It may not sound like a glowing review but I do not think it is disparaging either. It just... is. That's me. I'm okay with being okay.

I realize, however, that this may sound like I do not think very highly of myself or that I am wallowing in some degree of low self-esteem, especially when it comes to the bottom line of how I view my physical appearance. And I cannot decide whether this is the case or not. It is true that I do not consider myself to be "gorgeous" or even just "beautiful," but I do think I can have my "pretty" moments. Generally, though, honestly, I look at myself and come to the conclusion that I look "decent." And I don't think "decent" is bad. It is fine. It is okay. It is neither awesome nor horrible. It is.. acceptable.

Is this low self-esteem? I don't think so. I am not esteeming myself higher than I deserve, but I also do not feel like I am degrading myself.  I am even reasonable enough to fully accept that physical appearances have a huge component of subjectivity from one person to the next and that others [i.e. Jason] can honestly believe that I am beautiful without me thinking he's completely full of it.

SO. What in the world does all of this have to do with my pregnancy mirror gazing? Yes, I may have strayed off topic a bit, but what else is new. What all of this has to do with my mirror gazing is that, apparently, despite my straight forward opinion about my looks and subsequent acceptance of them, I somehow keep letting my brain feel ridiculous things and my mouth say ridiculous things, things that I often do not even believe [when I truly think about them]. I am not gross. I am not ugly. It is one thing to believe I am [which would be an entirely different problem, but luckily that is not the case for me], but it is an entirely different and even more ridiculous of a thing [in my opinion] to not think this and yet allow my mouth and brain to spew it out at random moments of insecurity. It is just downright silly.

I can't suck in my stomach as much anymore because all of my insides are being jostled about and there is that tiny issue of a person growing inside of me. That extra cm of "fat" around my waistline is currently noticeable by no one, unless I make Jason stare it at for 15 minutes, and even if it was, again, there's a person growing inside of me. And don't even get me started on the "lumpy silhouette" discussion... [Note: The lumps are there, but they currently have zero affect on my overall appearance.]

I greatly dislike when my normally rational brain starts making irrational declarations that it may or may not contradict 15 minutes later on the next bathroom trip. This must stop.

I must remember the bottom line. I am who I am. I am pregnant. I may not feel like I look my best at times. I may never think I am gorgeous. But I know I will never truly think I am "gross and ugly." The lies must stop coming from my mouth. And this applies to post-pregnancy as well.

Additional note:  I do not look pregnant yet. I have not gained any weight yet. In a moment of impatience at my own body, I may have googled "What does a pregnant Asian look like?" I can neither confirm nor deny this happening.

Addendum to additional note: I did google that. I did. Conclusion? They look like Asians who are pregnant.

Who knew a tiny little apple-sized person could stay so perfectly hidden inside of my body?

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

This week's ridiculous milestone is your ability to sense light. I don't even know what to do with that. The fact that I could shine a flashlight on my stomach and you could sense it through your little closed eyelids is... mind boggling. You're only 4 inches long! You are such a cool baby. When I read about this flashlight trick, I thought for sure it was a joke. Several internet articles later, I decided there must be some truth in it. I then proceeded to pound down the bathroom door to excitedly tell your daddy. He was impressed but did not nearly express as much enthusiasm and awe as I did. This may, of course, have had something to do with him being in the bathroom... Who can say really? Either way, please expect some random bursts of flashlighting over the course of the next few months. We apologize in advance.

Also, please do not feel rushed to grow quicker or show yourself sooner just to fulfill my desires to have a pregnant belly. Grow at the pace you're supposed to. I will attempt to get a handle on my impatience and illogical/irrational thinking now so you will be subjected to as little of it as possible upon your arrival. Oh little kpluBlet, we like logic. We do. You will, too.

I need to go pee again now. I blame you, but in the ever-est of good ways. Sprout on!

Secret Things #9: Origins

March 16, 2014 - Week 14

I was adopted when I was just a wee little chubster. I resembled not one of the 5 other members of my family. Sure, Evan was Korean, too, but we never looked at all alike, in my opinion. Completely different coloring. Completely different facial structure. I like to tease that surely he must be from North Korea. Surely.

It never bothered me that I didn't look like any of my family members. You don't need physical resemblance to create a loving environment. I always loved that there were so many differences in my family. I liked to think that we were this tiny little traveling circus from around the world. We were all unique. It was really neat.

But the other day, the thought came to me again:  I don't know anyone who looks like me [on a more specific basis than "Asian"]. I can't look in a mirror and think, "I have so-and-so's eyes. When I smile, I look like so-and-so. So-and-so gave me their nose crinkle." I still don't consider it a necessarily negative thing. It doesn't bother me in the least. It's just a random thought. A passing thought.

But then, I had this brilliant, super exciting thought:  Come September, I will meet someone who will inevitably resemble me. A flesh and blood relation. Someone I will look at and immediately see a part of myself, whether in the eyes or the smile or the nose crinkle or maybe even just in the chubbiest of chubby arms and legs. I will be able to see me, for the first time ever, in someone else. I find this exhilarating.

I'm going to have a blood relative!

On a slightly related note, my parents recently sent me a copy of the papers they had for me from when I was first born and adopted. I hadn't seen them in years and getting to read them was like reading them for the first time, especially in light of the baby kpluBlet. I'm not sure who enjoyed reading about baby Sharayah more, me or Jason. What we found particularly entertaining were some descriptions of my habits that were formed all the way back when I was adorable and that have continued on to this very day.

Example 1:  There was a note that read, "Kicks her quilt off while sleeping." Yes. I still do that. All the time. It is absolutely necessary or else I just may die underneath the blanket from either overheating, smothering, or a nasty case of the "I can't untangle myself from the sheets and am about to fweak out!" I cannot confirm that these are the same reasons I did this as a baby, but I have strong suspicions.

Example 2:  This little tidbit was also jotted down as notable, "Cries at the beginning of a bath, but feels refreshed later." I have yet to decide if it is hilarious or unbelievably saddening that, 27 years later, this still describes me to a T [or is it tee? or tea? or TREE!]. I suppose nowadays I manage to keep the tears in check, but "You aren't the boss of me!" and "You can't tell me what to do!" are at the top of my shower refusal arsenal. I just don't like taking showers! But I like being clean! It is a complicated, conundrum-filled life I live. Poor Jason has to be the Shower Salesman or the Shower Nazi, depending on which tactic that particular day requires. The Salesman tries to remind me of how glad I'll be and how refreshed I'll feel once I shower [and he's always, always right]. The Nazi just throws me in the shower [reminiscent of the early days of my babyhood, no doubt]. Apparently, some things never change.

Who knew a tiny little lemon-sized person could give me such a strong sense of my own identity?

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

You may now be able to suck your thumb in the cutest fashion ever. There will probably come a day when I may need to tell you to stop sucking your thumb, but that time, little guy, is not now. Suck on! Be adorable. Grow your limbs. Fuzzify your little body. Be who you are meant to be.

I know it probably doesn't mean much to you now, but you're going to look like the perfect meld of your daddy and me. Trust me, you have a good thing going on. I believe my baby self to be of the "Oh my word, you're so cute I want to steal you!" variety, and your dad is absolutely adorable with his gorgeous eyes and dimples. You are bound to be perfect.

You will never have to wonder where you inherited your tiny little nose from or who gave you your tiny little cup-like ears. Just look at me. Look at your daddy. God used us to make you. It may not have much significance to you right now, but, trust me, we consider it the greatest of blessings to call you wholly and completely ours.

I love you, you little blood relative o' mine!

Secret Things #8: Loved

March 9, 2014 - Week 13

The world should know what an incredible husband I have. If you already know this or you wish to not know about this, then you have my permission to ignore this particular post.

Some days, for no particular reason that I can fathom, I have these overwhelming feelings of lethargy. Just thinking about having to get up and go do things is exhausting. I am 92% sure that the lethargy is 83% in my head. The fact that my laziness is taking advantage of my pregnancy is not surprising in the least.

Luckily, I am absolutely, wholeheartedly loved.

Jason and I are a grand team. I present him with problems of all sizes. I curl up in a ball. I tell him the world is coming to an end. And, without fail, he makes me look him in the eyes and asks, "Who solves all your problems?" and then goes and solves them. Whether it is piggy-backing me to the bathroom, doing all the dishes, making dinner or going grocery shopping all by his lonesome, or getting the bed ready for sleepy times, he solves every big, small, seemingly gigantically important problem that I deem [in my moment of sleepiness, grumpiness, laziness, etc.] to be absolutely unsolvable. He solves them again, and again, and again. He even gets out of bed and warms the frigid toilet seat for me in the middle of the night. Yes, that is love. And no, that is not TMI.

He holds me when I'm grumpy. He prays for me when I'm stressed. He crazily dances for me to make me smile [just like in Babe!]. He spins simple animal tales to help me go back to sleep.

And he asks for absolutely nothing in return.

I don't know how he does it. He never complains. He never hints that I might be taking advantage of this whole pregnancy thing. He never even hesitates or sighs when I make yet another silly request of him ["I don't want to put on my pants. Will you do it for me?]. Some days I feel like I am unfairly using him and his selflessness, but he never seems to feel used. He always seems genuinely willing to do whatever little thing I could possibly desire. How in the world do I deserve this man?

He dances with me to calm my worries. He brings me the case for my contacts when I want to take a nap but don't want to go to the bathroom to remove my contacts. He covers my desk with water bottles so I don't have to get up during work to get a drink. He brings me snacks whenever I have munchies, no matter what time it is. He feeds the birds, for me. He takes care of all cat-related tasks, for me. He does the laundry. He takes care of every smelly job. He volunteers to do any unpleasant piece of housework that I don't like to do.

And he does all of this while going to school, working on his research, providing for our family, and planning for our future.

Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church...

More than any other thing in this life, Jason is how I see Christ's love. I know I am loved beyond measure.

One thought that gives me a severe case of the warm fuzzies is that Jason is not only doing all of this for me, but also for the little person inside of me. I think my heart will crack a little bit [in ohsuchagood way] when I see Jason loving on his little half-Asian. It may be the thing I am looking forward to the most. He will be an incredible dad. Gah.

Who knew a tiny little pea-pod-sized person could already be so loved?

Dear Tiny Little Half-Asian kpluBlet,

You have fingerprints. That is insane. If you are a little girl, you already have half of our grandchild inside of you. That is even more insane. You become more miraculous every day.

Here's your first lesson in love, little one. Listen up. This is the truest thing I know. Love, in its purest form, is never earned or fully deserved. Love just is. It often has little to do with us. It has everything to do with the giver of the love, whether the giver is God or your parents or your spouse. This kind of love is the same on the bad days as well as the good days. It is just as strong when you've messed up as when you have worked hard, behaved well, and done everything "right." It is completely undeserved and yet you are wholly deserving in the eyes of the giver. It is a fantastic mystery.

You are loved beyond measure. You don't ever have to understand it. Just accept it.