one hint...
i'm making it with foamboard and so far, this is what i've got. i hope it doesn't turn out lame!
A week ago, we stopped by a pumpkin patch with Kylie and THK got us three mini pumpkins. His was the largest, about the height of a coke can. Ky's pumpkin is teenytiny. I spent all last night carving these... next year, we're getting regular full sized ones!
i neeeeeeeed this coat. look at how awesome it is in ember.
i also adore this outfit and need the cardigan, top, and scarf.
Kylie is 100 days old today.
This is a big deal in the Chinese culture, not as much in the Korean. I've been writing my 3 month Dear Kylie letter and can't get myself to finish it. there's so much to document!
My baby girl is growing so fast and when I'm hanging out with my hefty 15-pound 3-month old, I can't even remember what she was like at 5 lbs. :(
of many to come, I'm sure.
Thk loves shoes. I love shoes. Kylie is destined to love herself some shoes, and she got her first pair today!
They are so, so tiny next to THK's pair.
I took this photo of her on my phone on the way out of the Nike outlet:
"Yes! I got some shoes! I got some shoes!"
Her next pair will be a pair of awesome heels. Something that Mommy can buy to match!
Dear Kylie,
Today was your 2 month wellness check up at the pediatrician's office. Up until two days ago, I was telling people you were 6 weeks old. Where the heck did the time go?!
Last month, I told you that this next month would be better because I had a whole month of experience. You and I both know that that was a lie. I suck at this parenting thing, but you suck at being a good baby so I guess we're even. We're both learning and we're both trying, so I guess that's what counts.
The past two weeks have been really hard. Truth is, I'm still trying to figure out how to stop being a jerk about this whole thing. There are moments where I feel sorry for myself, for having this huge responsibility of having a baby but feeling unprepared and hopeless. Yes, you were wanted and planned for but what the fuck, why wasn't I more prepared? I am sorry I spend so much time crying. I am sorry I don't have more patience with you. I am sorry that sometimes, when you cry, I have to put you on the bed and walk out of the house. Some days, I hope the neighbors are not calling CPS on me. Other days, I hope they are.
Last Saturday, your dad had to go to Riverside to help your grandpa with some remodeling stuff. He left the house at 9am while you and I were still cuddling and asleep in bed. I don't know how you knew, but the minute the garage door closed, you woke up and screamed for breakfast. Only, I'd already given you breakfast at 4am. and again at 6am. and then again at 8am. I changed your diaper, stuck you back on my boob, and hoped for the best.
You fed for 15-20 minutes and instead of falling back asleep like you normally do in the mornings, you resumed your screaming. I rocked you, I sang to you, I bounced you up and down. We went for a walk, I put you in the boppy vibrating seat, I put you in the swing. 30 minutes later, you were still crying inconsolibly. I called your dad and asked him to come home, except he couldn't. We went for another walk. I fed you some more. I checked your diaper, over and over. I gave you a bath. You cried.
Finally, at noon, I called your other grandpa, my dad, and asked him if he could please come over for a little while. When he arrived an hour later, you and I were sitting on the couch and crying together; I didn't know what else to do. Grandpa stayed for an hour and for that entire hour, you slept in his arms quietly. You would think that this would make me feel relieved, but it only made me feel like a bigger failure. What was I doing wrong?
Grandpa put you down for the afternoon and left. A few minutes after he was gone, you woke and resumed crying until your dad came home at 8pm. When he walked in the door, I handed you to him, went straight to Cherry on Top, and cried while eating $6 worth of frozen yogurt. It was one of the worst days of my life, and I'm ashamed to admit it, but while I ate and wished for my prebaby days, I felt redeemed when your dad texted me that you were crying and he wasn't able to console you. Maybe I was a failure as a mom, but my partner in life was also a failure and I wasn't alone! Awful, right?
I made plans to take you out by myself this past Saturday- errands, a birthday party, hanging out with some of my friends for dinner. Your dad was going to Riverside again to work on our new car (he is a little ghetto and wanted to customize our Rav4; don't tell him I said so, but it does look kind of awesome with the new exhaust pipe and step bars and whatever else he did to it) and although apprehensive, I was looking forward to going out with you.
Thing is, I'd spent the majority of Saturday morning crying. And Friday. and Thursday. and by the time it was time to leave the house with you, I couldn't do it. The week had been a series of highs and lows, you smiling consistantly at me vs you crying for hours on end, multiple viewings of shitty homes for sale vs our first dream home offer rejection. There was even a crying episode while shopping at Nordstrom Rack- I was happily looking at a rack of jeans when a young couple walked by and called the jeans I was looking at "mom jeans"... and then I realized that 1- I thought that the jeans were cute and 2- ohmyfuckinggod, I AM A MOM LOOKING AT MOM JEANS. It was a rough week.
Your dad asked me if he should, instead, take you to Riverside with him and I felt so relieved to be able to spend the day alone. Driving away from home, I felt so light and free! followed immediately by guilt. and then I cried all the way around the neighborhood and then returned home once you and your dad were on the road. I sat at home and contemplated canceling all of my plans for the day. Your dad called me and encouraged me to go out, to enjoy my day, to feel ok with leaving you because you'd be spending your day with your grandparents who would spoil you with attention and love. I ran errands. I went to the party. I walked Old Town Pasadena and did a little shopping. I went and got a massage. I ate gelato and read half a book.
and the whole time, for some reason, I thought of you and your chubby little face. I missed the way your sweaty plams smelled and the way your hair brushed against my face when you rested your head on my shoulder. I missed the smell of your milky breath and the sound of you snoring in my arms. I missed you. and when I got home, you cooed and babbled as you sat in my lap and I couldn't believe that I had missed out on you for a whole day.
You got your first series of shots today at the doctor's office and you were a total champ!
At 12lbs, you have doubled in size since birth and are in the 75th percentile.
You are 22 1/4 inches tall and have a head circumference of 39cm, both are 50th percentile.
You are a dark little baby, and people comment on your tan frequently. I promise you, you are your daddy's baby; I have no idea how it came to be that I gave birth to a 1/2 filipino+1/2 american indian little baby.
You have incredible neck control, love tummy time, and scream any time you are left alone and not held.
You stop crying, 95% of the time, when I sing Twinkle Twinkle to you.
Your dad calls you KylieBear.
Your dad gives you daily pep talks about the dangers of having a boyfriend.
You have outgrown all of your preemie clothes, and some of your 0-3month onesies.
You love taking showers with me and letting the water run down your face.
You had your first explosive diaper --> poop in the bath water --> poop in my hand as I hold you and Dad cleans and refills the babytub episode. I hope it is your last.
Your armpits smell like a teenage boys and I have to put baby powder there to combat the stink.
I am dealing with a little bit of postpartum, I know this, but you are perfect and I do adore you, no matter what it may seem like from the outside.
I promise, next month will be better.
love,
Mama
When Kylie is feeding, she likes to kick her fat little feet against me and her free hand always ends up in a fist next to her face. Her pinky is almost always sticking up. Lilsis calls it Kylie's "fancy" pinky... THK calls it her gay pinky. :T
Dear Kylie,
You weren't supposed to be born until today but made your entrance a month+ early because you're a punkass kid. Your dad is constantly saying "... but she wasn't even supposed to be born yet!" to excuse your punkass behavior and I'll be glad when the day is over and he won't be able to use that line anymore. You have him wrapped around your stinky little pinky and it's disgusting(ly cute).
You sleep all day and you're awake all night. Because of you, your dad and I don't get any sleep and I'm constantly walking around grouchy, exhausted, and with barf on my clothes. All of this was bearable until a week ago, when you decided that not only were you going to stay awake all night, but you were going to stay awake and cry if you weren't being held the entire time. Seriously, you need to go to sleep, or at least learn to lay in bed next to us and NOT CRY. Your Uncle Brian, aka D-Nub, suggested we rub some strong cough medicine/bourbon on your gums to "help" you sleep. D-Nub is a doctor, so I trust that his advice is sound and safe. Every night, between 2:30-4:30am, I think about pouring a shot or two down your throat to shush you up but I don't because I already clean up enough of your spit up and I don't want to have to pat your back while you heave over the toilet or buy you menudo in the morning to help with your hangover. Then I think about having a shot or two myself but your daddy talks me out of it. Apparently, some lady was arrested last week for breastfeeding while drunk. Big deal, I say, but I'm not the type of girl to enjoy a night in the slammer so eh, whatevs.
Yesterday, your face exploded with baby acne and it's pretty gross. You aren't the cute little chubbyface baby I knew and loved two days ago; you now look like an angry pre-teen in bad need of some ProActive and a chemical peel. It's taking every ounce of my willpower not to scrub your face with some clearasil. Twice, I called you Pepperoniface today and didn't even feel guilty.
You should know something about your dad- he is patient when I am not, he will stay up with you and try his best to keep you entertained and quiet when I am frustrated and want to sleep or cry alone, he is the best thing to happen to you and me. Before you, your dad had never changed a diaper, had never held a crying baby, had never wanted to seem soft in public or in front of his friends. You've changed all of that and he really is the best dad you could have hoped for. Although you're only a month old, your manly man dad has been worrying for the past week about your wedding day and whether or not he'll cry when he has to give you away. You and I are so incredibly lucky to have him, you especially because he has talked me out of dropping you off at the firestation across the street from our house more than once in the past month during one of your crying spells.
There are moments during the day, and throughout the night, where I think I can not do this, this thing where I am responsible for your every need and for helping shape the person you're supposed to become. Being your mom has been the hardest job I've ever had. I'm in over my head and I'm constantly hoping and praying that I'm not fucking you up. Please forgive me if I am; I'm trying my best. Next month I will be a better mom- I have a full month of experience now.
i love you,
your mom
Kylie has been FILLING her diapers with shit, even though I change her every 1.5 hours or so. sheesh.
A little bit ago, I was cleaning a crapload of poop from her butt cheeks when she started to wiggle and cry. I got all flustered and held her two wiggling legs up while looking for a pacifier with the other hand. I found one, popped it in her mouth, and then realized that there was a tiny bit of yellow seedy (breast milk poop is yellow and seedy looking) stuff on the pacifier. Then I looked at my hand and realized there was poop on my hand. I yanked the pacifier out of her mouth and um... no poop ON the nipple but there was a bit around the nipple.
oh. good. LORD!
Seriously, did I just stick a poopy pacifier into my baby's mouth? yes, yes I did.
Mother of the Year!
Wednesday, June 4th, 10:20pm: the time my water broke
1.5: dilation at admittance
5.5: weeks early Kylie tried to make her escape
4: days spent on bedrest at the hospital
6: lbs I gained due to antibiotics and IV fluids pumped continuously
2: pm Saturday, started pitocin, dilation: 2
7: hours it took for me to get from 2 to 4
1: number of times I yelled at THK for drinking water in front of me. and by yell, I mean cussed out.
1: # of contractions that didn't hurt from the IV pain med they offered me
5: minutes it was from the time I got the IV pain med administered and the time I asked for my epidural
5: minutes it took for the anesthesiologist to arrive
4: number of contractions I got while trying to "STAY STILL!!" for my epidural
1:
number of bitchy anesthesiologists that gave me total attitude for
being all woozy from the IV pain meds and not being able to follow her
directions of scooting back, but not that back, no- more back, NOT THAT
BACK! on the table
2: number of hours I napped the minute the epidural took effect
25: number of minutes I spent in active labor once I was fully dilated
5: number of pushes, in sets of 3, before Kylie came out
3: number of NICU doctors on hand
5: weeks early Kylie was at time of birth
2: number of times I asked THK if I had pooped on the table during labor, a minute after the baby was out
2: number of times THK probably lied to me, god bless his soul, about the above
2: degree tears
2: number of stitches I got
6lbs 2oz: lbs Kylie was at birth
5: additional days spent in the hospital after birth
3: days Kylie spent in NICU
2: days Kylie spent in a phototherapy incubator for hyperbilirubinemia
1: awesome pair of sunglasses Kylie got to wear while tanning
5lbs 6oz: lbs Kylie was at discharge
4: hours of sleep I got last night, in 30-45 minute increments.
15: minutes I spent staring at the criss cross of stretch marks that showed up across my stomach this morning
20: minutes I spent crying about said stretch marks
was it worth it?
hell yeah.
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