Mr. Chuckles

We go to this fancy-smancy photographer to document our children's first year of life. Little Ninja had some fabulous photos. Meat Ball, however, got shafted. Every photo "for him" ended up being a Ninja-fest. We only got a couple of good Meat Ball pics and THOUSANDS of Ninja shots. It's suppose to be for Meat Ball's baby book. How do we explain that his baby book contains more pictures of his sister than him?!

The sad thing is, if he were the only child, I think we would get some fabulous shots of him as well. The problem is, he is not as photogenic as his big sister. It's hard to compete with her. I could just take him alone, but this is a fancy-smancy photographer and each session costs more than our entire wedding photo package.

By his pictures, you would never guess just how giggly he is. Ninety-percent of the time he is chuckling. He is so easy to incite laughter. His laugh is hilarious. It really sounds like he's coughing, with high pitch squeal interjections. So it's *cough* *cough* *cough* *heeeeeeeeeee!* *cough* *cough*.

When he laughs, his eyes just disappears, his nose crinkles, and rivers of drool pours out of his mouth. He flaps his arm hard, so he almost flies, but instead makes loud thumps against his little baby boobs.

I have to be this descriptive lest I forget this. He's almost 9 months old and we have NO video evidence that he exists! Mind you, we have a top of the line video camera. However what little footage we actually have is mainly audio of many people talking and a visual of a wall... or the floor. My very smart, high-educated, physician husband is an AV idiot. Oh yeah, he can MAKE a video camera out of some toilet paper rolls, aluminum foil, a battery, and a wire hanger. But a retarded blind monkey can work a video camera better than Hubby.

Hubby videotaped Little Ninja's first birthday party. Please allow me to describe the footage:

The visual: We see the ground, a brick patio, swinging back and forth.

Audio: People talking, Hubby's voice is the loudest. Suddenly we hear things like, "Oooooooo... here's the cake!"

The visual: Brick patio panning up to backyard and patio table. Cake on the table. One big candle lit. Little Ninja is her grandfather's arms. Children and their parents gathered around.

Audio: People singing "Happy Bir-"

The visual: Abrupt Black Out.

The End

Brillance is thy middle name, dear Hubster.

Like a duck

Meat Ball has such an affinity for water. He never met a bath he didn't like. Usually very calm, the minute he hears the water running out of the faucet he becomes this wriggly squirmy single-minded slippery seal. He is reaching, grabbing, kicking just to get in the tub. Once he is in, oh happy day! He reaches for the running water, drinks it, splashes until he, I, and the majority of the bathroom are drenched. Could he be the first Asian on the US Olympic swim team? Hopefully competing in the relay rather than synchronized competition. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but I think the costumes are a bit more expensive.

Blessings

Thanksgiving is a cool holiday. But it's never been a big deal for me. For some weird reason, God has decided to be insanely generous with His blessings in my life. My entire life. I am the most sheltered person I know. A great childhood. Excellent parents. Wonderful husband. Healthy children. Enough resources for a more-than-comfortable life. Kickass In-Laws. Really. I am not making this stuff up.

Every day I walk around holding my breath, can't believing that I live such a storied life. When it comes time for Thanksgiving, I really don't know how to feel even MORE grateful. It kind of scares me. When is the ball going to drop? When will God decide to test me? So what's wrong with me that I feel trepidation on Thanksgiving? Sometimes I just breathe sigh of relief that another year has gone by full of joy and happiness. See, a person can have all life has to offer, but still be screwed up in the head.

Cool Asians

Growing up in the South, I was often the only Asian in the classroom and one of few in the school. This fact, along with the sad truth that I am just so awkwark, dorky and UNcool, contributes to my lifelong struggle to fit in with other Asians. To be clear, I have accrued a lot of Asian friends over the years. There is a Law of Nature that states if there are 2 isolated Asians amongst a crowd of people within a 5 mile radius, a gravitational pull will occur between the two bodies and they will always manage to find each other. However, when I find myself in a CROWD of Asians, the word "LOSER" will magically appear on my forehead.

Why is it that when a bunch of Asians get together, no matter what kind (Korean, Chinese, Indian), a select majority become SO COOL?! As a teenager, every year my parents would drag me to a Chinese retreat and I would suddenly be immerse in a gigantic pool of teen-aged Asians and be completely ostracized. And it's not just because they were teenagers. I seemed to do just fine if the crowd was mixed (see above paragraph). I mean these Asian teens had the gum smack, hair toss, eye squint (in built, of course) perfected and I would be sooooo intimidated. I would just try to act like I didn't care, I had equally cool things to do ... with my little sister, and DIDN'T NEED THEM.

College was the beginning of my association with the Cool Asians. One day freshmen year I met and befriended a girl at a mixer of some sorts. As I was walking back to the dorm, I realized that she and her sister were one of the ULTRA cool Asians at the blasted retreat and I actually got nervous. Walking home. Her presence, no where near me. I totally grossed myself out.
(Oh, and I forgot. One of the cutest Cool Asians who lived in my home town actually had a weird and way-too-serious crush on me in high school. But that was a fluke of nature.)

Now that I am much older and wiser, I see that these so-called Cool Asians are not neccessarily that cool. They are just ELITIST. Against their own kind. I mean, they will associate with all kinds of people outside of their race, but if they deem you unworthy of the Asian race, then it's all nose-up-in-the-air to you. I suppose it's a kind of insecurity and low self-esteem on their part. Of course, there are some people who happen to be Asian who are just super cool (ie Metrodad), those are the peeps these wannabees flock to.

I am reminded of a certain someone, a Chinese girl of my age, whom I used to hang out with whenever our parents got together (we lived in different towns). When I was an undergrad in summer school, we happened to be in the same science lab. She was of the ultra-chic, red-headed, super-skinny variety. I, unfortunately, was of the sweaty-just-biked-2-miles, glasses wearing (contact prohibited in this particular lab), short variety. Silly me started to strike up a conversation the first day and boy, I think she spent time with the Amish, I was SHUNNED. It was so after-school-TV-special-ish that I wasn't even offended, I just wanted to laugh and find the cameras.

Fast forward 3 years. Medical school. Me, starting my 4th and last year of medical school. Her, a lowly first-year medical student (suppose she had a difficult time getting in). All of the sudden, she REMEMBERS me from our childhood. Feigning amnesia, she denied seeing me in the forementioned lab, and totally HITS ON MY BOYFRIEND (who apparently was a Cool Asian, unbeknownst to me or him, else he probably wouldn't have asked me out). Darling Boyfriend (now Husband) shoots her down on her super-skinny ass and proposes to me the following month. Hellllll-yaaaa, Bitch! Me: one. Cool Asian Bitch: zero.

Decisions

Life for me is a daily struggle between giving enough of myself to my children, my husband, and my patients. These three things are just so important to me and I feel like all of them deserve my everything. But to do that is an impossibility. Therefore, I live in constant guilt.

Occasionally, I get a little glimpse that I've made a correct decision. For example, when I say "screw it" to all the paperwork and charting I have to finish, and just sing and dance like crazy with Little Ninja (2 year old daughter) or just lazily breastfeed Meat Ball all afternoon. Or when I miss out dinner, bath, and bedtime with my kids to stay late with a patient in the hospital just because I get a gut feeling that extra attention needs to be paid.

Today I was seeing a routine postpartum patient who I induced because she just had a very strange presentation near term. She had a strange fever, nonspecific symptoms, and just a bad feeling. I got it too. I found a reason to proceed with the induction and she delivered a healthy baby. The fever spontaneously resolved, and she and her infant did very well and went home normally.

So today, after I completed her postpartum exam, she turned and hugged me. "Thank you so much for listening to me, " she said. "I really felt like something bad was going to happen to me if I didn't deliver that night. I had a feeling that I might die." This patient is extremely sensible, not melodramatic in the least bit. It scared me a little to hear her say that, because I had a similar feeling as her doctor. I can't explain medically what her ailment was exactly, but I just had a strange premonition that if I just sat on her and waited it out, she would have fared poorly. There are a lot of reports of patients who had premonitions of impending doom closely before their deaths. As a medical doctor, the more I practice and study medicine, the more I see a connection between mind and body. It made my shudder to hear her words, since I didn't know it at the time. But it also felt good to know that sometimes sacrificing a little bit yields greater rewards.

Well, excuuuuuuse me!

After after her bath, I sort-of-too-roughly towel dried my 2.75 year old daughter's hair.

Little Ninja: Don't do that anymore! It makes me ANGRY!

Me: Well, excuuuuu-uuuse me.

Little Ninja: You're excuuuuuuuu-uuuuse!

Trial

I don't know just how to link things.

Here are some of my favorite blogs: Metrodad, Julie, Moxie, OBGYN Kenobi.

It's an incomplete list, of course, but I just want to try this out.

Expressions

My juicy, fat, sweet, almost-8-month-old son has SUCH expressive feet. He is just a lump of love. However, sometimes he just looks so dumb. He's got this droopy eyed, opened mouth stare. But, his TOES just belies the workings of his inner brain. They spread, they scrunch, they rub, they curl in response to every. little. thing. Goodness. They just go and carry on conversations all by themselves.

Rights

I reserve the following rights on this blog:

1. misspell words

2. be grammatically incorrect

3. be politically incorrect

4. change my mind

5. many times over

6. make no sense

7. contradict myself

8. accept criticism (should any readers overhear me and want to comment)

9. reject criticism (see above)

10. improve myself

11. be mean

12. be anonymous

13. forget things

14. be brutally honest

Maiden Post

Been thinking a lot about starting this blog. Why spend the time? Who will read it? But the blog fever keeps compelling me to start it. I'll probably be the Biggest Blog Loser who will lose steam and quit after a month. Who knows....

I have kept a journal all my life and since my belated entry into being a blog reader/lurker, this new (for me, at least) media in which to journal is just too tasty to pass up.

Blogging will not interfere with my mothering, attention to my husband, patients, or myself. Right?