Watch Out When Daddy Does Laundry...

Dear Junior,

I often wonder about what kind of person you're going to be.   Will you be a sensitive softie with hard edges like your mom?  Or will you be a happy-go-lucky softie who gets along with practically everyone like your dad?  I guess that more likely than not, you'll just be Junior -- your own person with your own gifts and quirks.

One thing that I really hope for you is that you'll appreciate your parents' sense of humor -- or at least have sufficient compassion not to be embarrassed by it.  Because if you don't have that, then... you're going to probably be one unhappy kid.  Your parents love having fun, and they love playing tricks.  And they kind of speak a language all their own that is punctuated with lots and lots of laughing.  I hope you inherit our unique little funny bone so that we can all have fun together.

Yesterday, your dad did the laundry for us.  He's been doing that faithfully for the last three years -- lugging two weeks' worth of laundry down five flights of spiral stairs, down the street to our Moroccan and Yemenite friends' place, then back up five flights.  Yesterday I told him to leave the laundry on the bed so that we could fold it together when I got home; no need for him to do everything.  

And sure enough, when I got home, the bags of laundry were on the bed.  Except that when I opened the bags, I found that your dad had already neatly folded and stacked everything together.  What a nice rascal, right?  So I put everything away and made the bed, and that was that.

Until a gleeful voice called out from the next room:  "Did you find your underwear?" I paused.  Come to think of it, I unpacked everything, but...had not encountered my underwear!  I knew what was coming:  your dad wanted me to hunt, just as he wanted me to hunt for JJ the night before.  This is his latest idea of fun. 

Well, he did a good job hiding the underwear, because I looked everywhere (so it seemed, and our apartment is tiny, just so you know) and could not find it. Anywhere.  Finally, I gave up and threatened to wear the same pair for the whole next week until he released my hostage underwear.  (I was already basically down to the last pair.)  Your dad crawled into bed to go to sleep and put on his eyemask with a satisfied smile.  Mission accomplished:  Foiled Wife's Attempt to Find Bare Necessities.

I slipped away to take one last bathroom break before bed (Junior, you keep sitting on my bladder and I have to go to the bathroom all the time now).  And when I came back, your dad was grinning under his eyemask.  And as I walked past the basket of stuffies on the dresser, I caught something unusual out of the corner of my eye (noticeable to me even though I didn't have my glasses on and I'm pretty blind).  The big penguin had something around his neck...a pair of underwear!  And the little penguin too! In fact, every single animal in the basket had a pair of underwear around its neck.   Your dad was chuckling.

I gathered up my underwear with a sigh of pretend exasperation, then headed to bed.  And there I saw Doggy and JJ -- both wearing more underwear.  Your father!!!

I gathered those and put them away, and when I turned back -- more pairs had emerged! So I put those away too, and finally went to bed.  At which time your dad lifted his eyemask and impishly asked, "Did you find all of them?"  Come to think of it... I really only collected 10 pairs or so...but I definitely have more.  He lifted my pillow to reveal the rest in a stack.  What a rascal!

This is your father.  And your mother thinks he is hilarious.  Welcome to the family, Junior.  Hope you find a comfortable and comforting place in our crazy and cozy little world.

Love,

Mommy

It's the Simple Things...

The days of just the two of us are dwindling... and I know (think? hope?) that once Junior makes her appearance, I'll wonder how we ever did without her.  But in the meantime, I'm treasuring all the moments that her dad and I have been enjoying together lately.  Fun memories from just the past week include:

• Mr. Squire laughing at me as I cried through "Do You Want to Build a Snowman?" as we watched Frozen (on Redbox!) for the first time

• Mr. Squire playing 'Let it Go' and 'I'll Make a Man Out of You'--over, and over, and OVER ad nauseum--and singing along, to my fake chagrin

• Mr. Squire hiding JJ (my stuffed donkey) and innocently batting his eyelashes in glee as he watched me scurry around the apartment for 30 minutes, whining and hunting for JJ

• Walks! Evening walks by the river in Brooklyn Bridge Park, morning walks to the train.  And lots of good talks.

• Cooking together on the weekends...having energy to cook meat, sides, and dessert!

• Random gchatting throughout the day.  Bits of information here, random hello and funny story there.

I would love to bottle all these memories up and save them somewhere, because inevitably parenthood is going to change our relationship--and I sometimes worry about how much...and how.  But all in all, I'm trusting that we will change with the times and stretch and grow together okay.  I'm trusting that God will answer my many prayers about that concern and that He will honor my desire for an even better, even more loving (and even more fun!) marriage post-kids.  And that makes it easier to keep marching toward November...

So...He is a She....

"Wait, are you sure?"

That's the first thing I said to our ultrasound technician when she announced that Junior was a girl.  And all at once a flood of thoughts came to me:  I knew it - I jinxed it by hoping so hard for a boy.  Oh my goodness -- it's revenge time... she'll pay back to me every wrong thing I ever did to my own mom.  Will Mr. Squire be less fun with a daughter rather than a son?  

And then, kind of like a warm knife cuts through frozen butter, I sensed what I believe was the Holy Spirit speak to me and say something along the lines of -- God doesn't make mistakes.  He has chosen this particular child for you.  

Somehow, that put things in perspective.  God has a purpose for putting this particular child in this particular family. Boy or girl, we are all meant to be together.  And that was the beginning of me coming around to the idea that Junior is a girl.  So now...all our references to "he" have turned into "she."  Mr. Squire says he is delighted all the same, boy or girl.  And that's (one of the million reasons) why he is going to be an amazing dad.

Parenting a girl.  Wow.  So different from parenting a boy.  So many things to navigate through:  protecting yourself against male predators.  The glass ceiling.  Gender bias.  Violence against women.  Eating issues.  Body-image issues (heaven forbid that my own issues cause her to develop her own! That is scary).  Society's objectification of women (a wrong committed by men and women alike).  Work/life balance.  The role of women in the church.  Finding a suitable partner -- one who is as wonderful as her dad (as if that is possible).  Oy.  

I feel like there are so many land mines out there.  Just thinking about this small handful of them makes my head spin.  But I suppose we shall confront them one by one, as the generations before us have.  And God will help us each step of the way.

The Slow Evolution

Life is evolving.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again:  I am *really* glad that pregnancy is a nine-month process.  I would not be ready for all the change that lies ahead if it came any quicker.  

This feels slow.  I see my (wonderful, amazing, superbly awesome) OB every four weeks... and in-between, life goes on at a pace that seems manageable.  I often find myself thinking, "Oh, I don't see her again for another two weeks??"  This is a good thing.  I need things to be slow.  Because the changes are coming, one by one.  

To begin with, I'm now tipping the scales at my 2008 weight level (i.e. what I weighed when I first met Mr. Squire--right before I promptly lost ten pounds in three months due to the stress of my first job).  The jeans are getting tighter, the pencil skirts are *definitely* getting tighter, and I throw away all the Ann Taylor coupons that come in the mail, because there's no way I will fit into that stuff for at least another year.

Moving away from the superficial, Junior is changing.  The tiny grey blob with a pulsating spot for a heart on the screen is now (as of yesterday) a bigger grey blob with identifiable fists, a mouth that opened and closed for Mommy and Daddy, and legs and feet crossed Indian-style.  Keep that flexibility up, Junior, and you'll always one-up your daddy on something (Mr. Squire is unable to sit cross-legged -- it's really funny to watch him try). 

We are also getting ready to move out of Brooklyn and across the Hudson to New Jersey.  We are in an incredibly blessed position to have an apartment all picked out and ready to go (once the last of the short-term tenants moves out at the end of July).  So now we are in Home Depot mode:  shopping for black-out curtains and curtain rods, hunting for suitable bookshelves (time to put the stuffies away in a bookshelf with windows so Junior's grubby hands can't find them), figure out appropriate lighting, and conquer once and for all Mr. Squire's penchant for piles.  Time for a *real* closet system!  I guess this is the nesting phase that I never had when we got married:  when you live in a 350-square-foot apartment in the City, there's no need for nesting.  There's practically nothing to nest.  No room for real storage:  just put things where they fit! (Hence why everything from Gatorade to shoes to cans of chicken soup have resided under our bed for the last three years.)  I'm ready to move away from that, and I'm taking poor Mr. Squire with me.  Muahahaha.

At work, things continue to be busy busy busy as we gear up for trial and as I chip away at my baby, a Second Circuit brief on a criminal matter that I care deeply about.  (I'm hoping that the government will consent to kick oral argument til after my maternity leave so I can still do it myself...otherwise, maybe I'll just do it in the middle of maternity leave?)  I also have a couple other matters that are lingering around in discovery or mediation mode.  Bottom line: there's a lot going on for this expectant momma.  And a year ago, looking ahead, I would have thought that I would be a semi-wreck.  An exhausted, overstressed, overanxious semi-wreck.  Which is why I never wanted to be pregnant while working in this job.

But...again -- change.  Something has changed.  If you look at my hours, they are just as long as they have ever been (or longer).  I work six days a week  on most weeks. But something is different--and I love it:  I'm not freaking out.  I'm actually pretty calm as a cucumber (relative to my old self, at least) on most days.  I've learned who I can trust, and I delegate to them as much as I can.  And as for the rest?  I've realized that not everything has to get done rightthissecond.  And there are some tasks that just have to travel from Monday's to-do list, to Tuesday's, to Wednesday's, to Thursday's...and guess what? The world did not end because I did not get them done by Monday morning at 11am.  The partners still trust me, and I'm still churning out work that I'm proud of.  Something changed mentally along the way.  Part of me thinks that it is perspective from having Junior on the way.  But part of me also remembers praying for freedom from anxiety and panicking at work--and I think God has answered those prayers.

I wouldn't say things have necessarily changed with Mr. Squire, except for the fact that we talk about Junior a lot more now.  He is as fun and funny and wonderful as ever.  We have so much fun in our marriage, and it is awesome.  I think the thing that has changed there has again been a mental shift:  it's never going to be just the two of us ever again!  The thought is exciting to me, but also makes me treasure all of our "just us" moments all the more.  Today I worked in the morning, then took a long break as we walked from Brooklyn Heights to Chinatown for soup dumplings at Shanghai Cafe under a clear blue sky.  On that 50-minute walk over the Brooklyn Bridge, we talked about our Denver property and the big decisions that lie ahead there, we talked about his work, and mine, and stuff we need to do at Home Depot (of course).  We savored our soup dumplings, then "window-shopped" at the tens of fruit stands on the side streets before settling on the one fruit stand that was selling good blueberries at the cheapest price.  Then we went to the Honeymoon-tastealike shop for my first experience of mango sago in this time zone (Mr. Squire has hunted long and hard for a US equivalent of my favorite dessert place in Hong Kong, and he finally found it!), then we hit up Taipan Bakery for some fresh-out-of-the-oven egg tarts.  We trained home and I worked for a few more hours before we did part two of our "date night" -- uber-delicious pizza at Luzzo's, followed by $1 Redbox rental of "Despicable Me 2."  It was a perfect day with my rascal.  And the days will *never* be this simple again.  Not for a long, long time.  That realization is new--and it makes the days more precious.

I think my relationship with my mom is also changing.  We finally told my parents about Junior last weekend.  I wasn't expecting the warm reception that we got, and with my mom in particular, I sense real excitement that has (thankfully) been kind of melting away some of the bitterness from the last few months.  She's not just excited for herself because she gets to be a grandma again... she wrote in her email to me this week that she was "SO happy for" me.  As in, so excited for me and the blessing of motherhood to fall on me.  It reminded me that as much as my mom is complicated and can be difficult to understand, and therefore can be difficult to work with and love sometimes (especially since I am not the most forbearing person on the planet--and that's an understatement), my mom really does love me.  That reminder alone has been extremely powerful.  I've been waiting for (and, more recently, praying for) this shift.  I'm really glad that it's happening.

So...a lot of things happening all at once.  But kind of slowly, which is what I need.  I'm so glad for that, and in that--in all of this--I see God's hand in my life.  I do feel blessed.  I do feel like this is a good time in my life.  When my venerated older brother Chris came to visit from Beijing just a couple weeks ago, he prayed for Mr. Squire and me, and he prayed for Junior.  One of his prayers that I thought was kind of hokey at the time was that he prayed that throughout the pregnancy, Junior would be surrounded by good thoughts, by good feelings, by goodness.  I thought -- that's a little too touchy-feely, la-dee-da for me!   But... I see it.  And I think God is honoring Chris's prayers.  Junior is (at least so far) coming into the world in a good, happy, contented, blessed environment.  What a rich blessing for our child from his Heavenly Father.  Thank You, Lord.

Conversation of the Day

On our way home on the A train wayyy too late on a Friday night:

Mr. Squire (observing bystander wearing large necklace featuring lots of black triangles): Is her necklace basically all triangles?

Me: Yeah, it is. It's called a statement necklace.

Simon: Wait--why statement necklace?

Me: Because it makes a statement.

Simon: Like..."I like triangles"?

Step One

Almost every day, I report to Mr. Squire what I fed his child that day.  On the good days, I triumphantly report that I was "good to Junior" and fed him a long list of nutritious foods:  bananas (which I suddenly love), string cheese, whole-wheat toast, soy milk, cauliflower, and some OJ that I snuck in (even though I'm supposed to be avoiding juices).  On the bad days, I repent over my bad behavior (empty calories, the one piece of sushi that I couldn't resist, snacking instead of eating real meals) and vow to do better the next day.  

This is essentially what I think about every day:  what am I going to eat today? And how do I balance what I want to eat (i.e. how I've managed my own diet for the last ten years) versus what I'm supposed to eat, since what I eat no longer affects just me? 

I tend to guess that God must have known something about the inherent selfishness of women that caused Him to choose women to be the bearers of children.  I feel like pregnancy is this nine-month period when God is forcing me to think--all the time--about someone besides myself.  Food is a big deal for me, and I have lost autonomy over my diet for the sake of another.  Of course, I occasionally think to myself that after pregnancy and the breastfeeding is over (for this child, and then for the next, should God grant us another), then I can go back to my me-centric diet (in which carbs of all sorts play a major role, and protein makes only guest appearances) for the rest of my life. Freedom!  ... Except not. 

I'm realizing upon further reflection (and I reflect on this a lot) that this is just the beginning.  Learning to cede my freedom surrounding food because of the impact of my choices on my child is just Step One of a staircase that is dizzyingly long.  And steep.  And high.  This food thing is temporary, but it is a small and tangible reflection of things to come:  everything I do is going to have a potential impact on my child.  

So forget about food choices.  Choices about how I spend my time, who I spend my time with, how much I work, the nature of my work, how long I work, how I speak, whether I choose to complain, whether I choose to argue, whether I choose to hold a grudge, whether I choose to forgive, the words I use, how I use the words, how I use my free time, the extent to which I create space for free time, where we live, how we live, who are friends are, who we serve, how we serve, when we serve, how I pray, when I pray, what I pray about, how we spend, on what we spend, whether we worry about spending, how we save or don't save, the things we choose to nurture and the things we choose not to emphasize.... all of those things are going to come into play.  And each decision is going to rub hard against my inherently selfish nature.  Food is only the beginning.

I guess this is (part of) why people say that parenting is a sanctifying process.  It's one process (among many) that God uses to scrape away at our hard edges and make us more like Himself.  I know people are all excited about this parenting thing, and I too am starting to get excited about it.  But I also have a very healthy fear about it:   It's not going to be easy.  In fact, it is going to be very difficult.  And painful.  And full of repenting days.  Truly, Lord help us.

Everyone Says "I Love You" in a Different Way

Nice and full  :)

Doggy and JJ, banished from the bed

We named the bigger penguin Jack and the little one Junior - both came as gifts from my brother and sister this week

An unconventional V-day card, but funny because Rascal likes to hide around our tiny apartment to spook me :-p

This weekend, Mr. Squire and a bunch of the men from church are away at a men's retreat.  I'm left to my own devices this weekend and missing my silly rascal.

He knows this, of course, so he left some surprises for me at home to enjoy when I came home from women's group this evening...

Everyone says "I love you" in a different way.  Some guys would leave a bouquet of flowers.  Others would leave a gift card for a favorite apparel shop.  Still others would--oh, I don't know--leave a note on the mirror?

Not so with Mr. Squire.  

When I walked into our bedroom, I found:

• the froggy humidifier filled and ready to go;

• the bed made (a miracle! -- this is usually my nightly ritual because he does not understand the point);

• my eyemask (which he refers to as "my own little world") and my sciatica pillow (which goes between my knees) laid out;

• three stuffies on the pillow to greet me, including Oi the Ostrich--noticeably without his usual companion, Pi the Penguin--to demonstrate that Pi went with Mr. Squire on the men's retreat (at my repeated urging this morning);

• my two usual bedtime stuffies, Doggy and JJ (the donkey) hidden away on a closet shelf, so I would have to go looking for them; and

• a funny Valentine's Day card (the inside says "You can hide in the closet with me!"), with a thoughtful letter inside, two-and-a-half months late.

That's my rascal.  Yup, he loves me -- and he knows just how to say it.