October 2024 – Writing for Sophia

It is a well-known fact among working parents of young kids that weekends are now your work days. Your kids are not in daycare or school. In fact, your children have this innate ability to sense when it’s the weekend, because once Saturday morning rolls in, they somehow instinctively wake up before the sun even peeks out.

One day, when my children are much older and I have to shove them out of bed to wake them up, I might forget what these weekends are like, so I decided to record a typical Saturday for us with a 2-year-old and a newborn.

5 am: I hear Woori stirring. I climb out of bed shivering. My postpartum night sweats have been cooling down, but I still wake up with my hair and clothes kind of damp, and because we sleep with the windows open, it’s freezing.

I change into a dry T-shirt then stumble to the kitchen to grab my pump and warm up a bottle of refrigerated breastmilk. I bottlefeed Woori while I pump, nodding off to the sounds of her sucking.

5:30 am: I finish pumping. I throw the bottle and pump parts into the kitchen sink. Too sleepy to wash them. I swaddle Woori and place her back into her bassinet. Climb back into bed. She’s a little fussy still but I pass out and eventually, so does she.

6:30 am: Tov’s up! David gets up and turns on the TV for Tov. Saturday mornings, we allow Tov some screen time. He’s currently obsessed with a YouTube channel in which some brilliant guy’s making tens of thousands of bucks by creating videos of trucks and police toy cars driving around and getting into glorious accidents.

“Oh no!” Tov yells at the screen every time a truck crashes.

7 am: David heads downstairs to the gym to work out. Tov gets bored of his show so gallops over to my bed and starts making enough ruckus to awaken both Woori and me.

Welp, time to get up.

7:30 am: I make a matcha latte and try to nurse Woori while Tov literally climbs all over me. He grabs my hand and tries to drag me to his room, but I’m still feeding Woori. He begins whining.

Then he suddenly remembers he has a little sister and grins at her. “Aaaaaay!” He says, rubbing his hand all over her face while she’s trying to feed. Poor Woori. She tolerates a lot from her big brother.

I try to listen to a devotional podcast called The Daily Liturgy (my favorite) while nursing, but with Tov yelling and running all over the place and grabbing at me, I am so distracted that I have to rewind over and over. I also fall asleep while breastfeeding despite all the noises Tov’s making. As soon as the podcast is over, I forget everything except “His steadfast love endures forever.” Or something like that. Amen.

8:30 am: I try to eat breakfast. It almost always includes three soft-boiled eggs. The problem is Tov loves cracking and peeling eggs. As I’m peeling the eggs, he scampers over and asks for an egg to peel, too.

I give him an egg. He screams and cries. He wants a different egg. Fine. I give him another egg. He seems content with that one. He peels it but doesn’t eat it. It rolls on the floor, coating itself with dirt and crumbs.

Usually Tov doesn’t eat breakfast, so we stopped offering it to him unless he asks for something. But today he seems hungry, because he ate most of my eggs.

9 am: I try to give Woori some tummy time. She screams. I try to give her some face time, attempting to get her to smile. She shoots me an expression of pure disgust. Babies are delightful.

9:30 am: David trots up sweaty from his workout. It’s my turn to work out now. This is Mr favorite part about weekends now— I can leave Woori with David and get a full workout, instead of cutting it short because Woori decided to take a 15-minute nap, which is almost every day.

10 am: Welp, never mind. Woori is screaming her head off and David can’t get her to settle down because his man boobs are useless, so I cut my workout short and rush up to nurse her again. I’m kind of resentful that my husband got a 90-minute workout while I got barely 30 minutes.

11:30 am: Shower. Woori is perky and content now so she lies without fussing on her changing pad on the floor while I rinse off and do my morning skincare routine.

12:30 pm: I don’t know where the time has gone. We are dashing about preparing snacks, changing diapers and pull-ups, getting ready to leave.

We have a special treat for Tov today. We are going to Irvine Park Railroad! It’s a kids amusement park that offers train rides and paddle boats. I saw it on Instagram and we knew Tov would love it.

Problem is, Tov doesn’t know that we have a whole wonderful afternoon planned for him. We have to physically wrestle him to get him ready.

While David puts Woori into her car seat, I’m trying to cajole Tov to go down the stairs with me while I struggle with two heavy bags filled with essentials for baby and toddler. He wants me to carry him. I hoist him up on my other shoulder and say a little prayer for protection for my bad back. I have a feeling it’s only a matter of time before I hurt my back again.

1 pm: We somehow managed to all pile into the car. Both kids are strapped into their car seats. Tov has snacks. Woori is throwing a fit. She’s tired and hates the car seat.

We start driving east towards Irvine while Woori shrieks and yowls her displeasure. And then Tov starts screaming as well because he spotted David drinking a can of Waterloo sparkling peach drink and he wants it too.

The GPS says it’ll take us 2 hours to reach Irvine Park Railroad. Thankfully, Woori eventually tires herself out and pass out. Tov passes out too. So do I.

2:30 pm: We are getting close to the railroad park, only to discover that every entrance into the park has a half-mile-long line of vehicles waiting to get in. GPS says it’ll take us 40 minutes just to move 0.8 miles. WTF.

Turns out, it’s pumpkin patch season. We chose the worst possible time to come here. We jettison our plan and scramble for Plan B. We decide to turn around and go to Heritage Park in Irvine instead.

3 pm: I find a public library in which I can nurse Woori, while David takes Tov for a romp around the park. Pretty much every single person I see in that park is Asian. If I see a white person, 10/10 they are married to an Asian.

David and Tov find a water play fountain by the lake. Tov gets soaked. He is the only one splashing. The other kids are apparently not allowed to get wet. They eye Tov from their safe dry spot with envy.

We change Tov into dry clothes and look at the clock. 4 pm and more than an hour away from home. What the heck is there to do in Irvine?

4:30 pm: We head to Spectrum Center, a massive outdoor shopping center. Maybe we can get some coffee and a nice dinner? So exciting. Things we could have done at home without the waste of time and gas money.

Spectrum Center is packed as well. Lots of young couples and families. But Tov is the only child insisting on dunking half his body into every fountain in that center. And there are a lot of fountains. They’re beckoning to Tov from every corner. How can he resist? How can he not run screaming “Wawa!!!” to every fountain and dip his forearm into the pool?

When he’s not chasing fountains, he’s insisting on pushing Woori’s stroller, getting upset when we try to steer him away from people, bushes, and poles. When we finally snatch the stroller away from him, he flings himself onto the floor, prostrating like a professional mourner and wails. Fat globes of tears roll down his cheeks.

After 40 minutes of this, we’ve finally had it. Forget dinner! We are returning home!

5:15 pm: But first, coffee. We stop by the Citibank Cafe since David gets a discount with his credit card. He gets a coffee, I get a matcha latte. Tov points at a sugar-crusted almond croissant. He orders, “This!”

I order him a zero-sugar protein strawberry yogurt instead. He polishes it off.

My stomach growls. I realize I haven’t had time for lunch and Tov had eaten most of my breakfast.

We sit down for 5 minutes at the cafe but Tov, high on yogurt, hops and skips and yoddles and climbs all around as though the cafe is his personal play gym. I see a young Asian couple give him the stink eye and then glare at us.

I was you just five years ago, I want to tell that couple. Just you wait.

I grab Tov by the hand and we leave.

It takes us another 20 minutes to make it to the parking lot because Tov kept grabbing for Woori’s stroller and then running off with it as though drunk and drugged.

We speed home in roads that are surprisingly low traffic (prime dinner time), playing obnoxious Cocomelon songs to keep Tov quiet, and make it home by 7.

7 pm: I am ravenous by that point, but Woori is also starving so I run up with her to feed her again, but I also really need to pee, so I set her down on our bed and then rush to the bathroom.

As I leave the bathroom, I hear a BOOM!

Woori had fallen off the bed and when I run over, she’s on the floor with her head bang on the hardwood floor, screaming. I must have put her too close to the edge, and as she was jostling about, she must have slid off the bed covers.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” I yell, scooping her up to check on her.

David sprints over to see what’s going on. “What? What happened?”

Woori is startled but otherwise seems OK. Babies have pretty sturdy heads. My heart, however, takes a good 10 minutes to finally slow down as I rock her and nurse her. Meanwhile, Tov climbs up and down my legs while I feed Woori.

Stomach growls again. I really need to eat something.

7:45 pm: We have leftover eggplant pasta for dinner. I wolf mine down over the kitchen counter while holding Woori with one arm.

We clean up while Tov makes more messes. It’s a never ending cycle.

8:30 pm: Bedtime for the kids. Our favorite time of the day! Cue hallelujah songs.

We bathe them both. David puts Tov down, while I put Woori down. Tov passes out the moment his head touches the mattress, but Woori wakes and cries a few times and needs me to rock her back to sleep.

9:15 pm: Me time. Me time. ME ME ME ME TIME!

Also the time when I consume the bulk of my calories. When I don’t have to shovel food into my mouth because the baby is crying. When I can sit and enjoy each bite while reading a novel. When no grubby little hands are grabbing for me, demanding attention. When my brain is not aching from overstimulation. When my ears are at rest because it’s all…quiet. Aaaah.

And because this time is so precious, I drag it for as long as possible. Which is why…

1:30 am: Go to bed. I am so exhausted the marrow of my bones are aching.

But this is the real reason why I’m sleep-deprived. I can’t blame the newborn. She’s a wonderful sleeper once she settles into the night. Every day, given the choice between recharging from more sleep or recharging from more quiet time, I choose the latter every single day. Hands down.

And just like that, a Saturday is gone.

What did I used to do on Saturdays before I had kids? Sleep in? Movie nights? Concerts? Dinner out with friends? All that seems like a distant dream a long long time ago from a land far far away.

And yet. Maybe one day I’ll read this post and remember it with fondness.

Nah. Who am I kidding. Definitely not.

OK, Tov is only 2, so it’s not really school. It’s more like a glorified daycare, except we still pay for his daycare to take loads of time off for every holiday including Columbus Day, spring break, summer break, and winter break.

Clearly, I have progressive ideas for workers’ rights until it inconveniences me. But seriously, we love Tov’s school, Valor Christian Academy. We love everyone who works there. They deserve a pay raise and all the rest they need, because they’ve created an environment in which Tov can really thrive.

David and I were nervous about sending Tov to school. He’s a very affectionate child and has had a hard time being detached from us since he was a baby. For countless Sundays, we’d drop him off at the Kids Ministry only to have a volunteer call us back because he would not stop crying.

The first time we tried to send him to daycare, he got kicked out within two weeks. We were so confident when we dropped him off, too. We had found a small, intimate mother-daughter-run home daycare that had terrific reviews. It seemed like the perfect transition for Tov from nanny to daycare. That first day, as Tov screamed and reached for me, the caretaker assured me that he’d adjust soon enough.

Nope. Every day I had to go pick him up early. The second week, the caretaker messaged us, saying Tov might just not be ready for daycare. He won’t stop crying, he won’t hang out with the other kids, he won’t eat, and because he commandeered all the attention of the one caretaker, the other caretaker had to mind all the other children by herself, and she was getting exhausted. We went back to the nanny. Tov was just not ready.

Now, almost a year later, Tov seems finally ready to fly the coop, at least for seven hours a day.

Before I gave birth to Woori, I had one full week with Tov after I stopped working and we let go of the nanny. That week, Tov was in heaven. I thought he might miss the nanny, but he didn’t seem to with all the omma time he was getting. We baked bread and muffins and cookies together. Walked to the library. Walked to the farmers market. Read tons of books. Went swimming. Had a playdate with the neighbor. Baked some more. He got fiercely attached to me then. One night, when it was David’s turn to put him to bed, he even pushed David out the door, saying, “Bye abba.”

David gaped at him: “You don’t love me anymore?”

“Toddlers his age just randomly do that some days,” I comforted David. (Sure enough, once Woori was born and Tov got a lot more one-on-one time with David, he told me bye too. Traitor.)

Despite my aching back and sciatica, I enjoyed those one-on-one moments with Tov. I knew I won’t get that back once Woori comes, and once Tov goes to school. He will be 26 months for only so long, that tender age when he’s still sweet and cuddly and in awe of me, not yet opinionated and manipulative enough to be called the dreaded three-nager.

That first day, both David and I went to drop him off while my parents, who were visiting to meet Woori, watched Tov’s little sister. Woori was two weeks that day— which means two weeks after one of the biggest changes to Tov’s life, he was about to face another huge transition.

We were both nervous and curious. How would Tov handle it?

We led him into the preschool area, with its big sandbox and playground and countless toys, and Tov sensed something was coming. Something he won’t like. He wanted to go play, but he clung onto us, making sure we were close by him.

OK. Time to split. We hugged him. We told him we love him and have to go, but we’ll be back. “We will always come back,” David told Tov. “Mom and dad will always come back.” Tov looked at David blankly.

“Bye, Tov!” I said.

“Bye, Tov!” David said.

Tears began spilling. Tov grabbed onto us, wailing, salty tears dribbling into his open mouth. He tried chasing us as we walked towards the gate, but one of the teachers came and lifted him up into her arms.

The next morning, we dropped him off together again, and once again, he screamed and cried.

It’s a little heartbreaking, but what can we do, but harden our hearts and walk away while our firstborn’s screams leave our ears and hearts pounding?

That first week, we picked him up a little earlier, right after his nap time. The second week, we picked him up later at our normal pickup time, closer to 4:30 pm, right before dinner time.

One afternoon, I entered the classroom as they were having music time. The children were sitting in a circle around a woman who was singing, with a few kids singing along. Tov didn’t see me, so I stood by the door, watching.

As a parent, I have tunnel vision. I walk into a room full of kids and all I see is our son; every other kid are just faceless, nameless blobs. I spotted Tov right away. He was sitting in a daze, staring into space, looking rather miserable, really, and not following along with the music at all.

Just then, he looked around and spotted me. He burst into tears. “Hi! Hi! Hi!” He yelled, jumped up, and ran towards me, arms stretched out, tears and snot dripping.

Up till then I’d been pretty stoic, but seeing Tov race towards me as though I’m his savior just shattered my heart. I wrapped him in my arms, kissed his face all over, and scooped him up.

I wasn’t sad because he’s in school, away from me for most of the day. I wasn’t sad because he was crying and having a tough time adjusting at first. I knew school is good for him; I knew he’d adjust soon enough.

My heart broke because I wondered when he’d stop running towards me with his arms out with this kind of desperate childlike need for me. I knew this period is short, and I wanted to engrave these moments into my memory, my heart.

Yet at the same time, my heart also sang because Tov knows me. Just like I had tunnel vision for him, he saw my face and immediately reached out because he recognizes me as his safe space, his home, a place to which he belongs. It is one of the best gifts I can give him as a mother: That our son knows he belongs somewhere, to someone. That he has a home where he can let down his walls and let loose his vulnerabilities.

No wonder God is so attentive to the orphans. We all need that place to call home. And for Tov, David and I are his home.

It’s been five weeks since Tov has been in school, and today, he loves school.

He still cries a bit when I drop him off, but as soon as I’m gone, he’s too busy having fun with his teachers and Big Buddies. He wakes up every morning eager to go to school.

Yesterday I went to pick him up and he was grinning and having a jolly time. He no longer cries when he sees me at pickup time, but— thank God for these sweet moments— he still runs into my arms when I arrive, delighted to see me, knowing home has come.

Month: October 2024

How we spend our Saturday with a toddler and a newborn

Tov goes to school