Tov is one. Well, he’s 13 months today. I’ve been wanting to write a post about his first birthday, but for all my good intentions of keeping this blog regularly updated, I’ve failed to do so because of time and energy and priorities…and also, how did time whoosh by so freaking fast?! How is my son already one? How is he no longer a baby, but almost a toddler?!
I often swipe through older pictures on my iPhone, and it’s so strange to look at pictures of when he was a newborn, a six-month-old, a nine-month-old, and not really recognize his face just several months ago. He was a pink tiny alien with scabby forehead and cheeks when he was a newborn, an apple-cheeked, double-chinned little nugget with bald spots when he was six months old, and even at nine months old, his face looked different– more baby, less little boy. And now he’s a 13-month-old busy body opening every cabinet, climbing into every box, banging and slamming spoons and kabochas, and chomping on everything he can find, including the wall.
He is still barely 20 pounds, but he is mini and mighty. His legs don’t have much meat on them, but those bones are thick and strong. He must do at least 300 squats a day, standing up to reach for me or bouncing his butt up and down to some beat only he can hear.
The weeks before and after his first birthday have been rough. He was non-stop sick, and more than two months since he first caught a viral infection, he was still runny-nosed and coughing. A week before his birthday, the poor boy had an eye infection and then a double-ear infection.
Fluids and gunk dribbled down his face constantly, and his face and body were breaking out into inexplicable rashes. He had no appetite and was eating more snot than food. He lost pounds that he didn’t even have. We were in and out of the clinic, checking his heart and lungs and temperature, and returning home with not much useful tips from the doctor other than to “watch him.”
Those days were brutal, but more so for me and David than Tov. Once his ear infection cleared up, the little boy was back to his happy, loud, busy self, exploring every corner and nub in the house until his energy levels dipped because he wasn’t eating enough. The sticky liquid dripping from his nose was more a nuisance than any serious ailment. But for his parents, every hacking cough shaking his little body pinched at our hearts: Oh, the poor, poor boy. The parents’ hearts are more fragile than the child’s body and spirit.
Tov also went through some weird sleep regression or separation anxiety phase around the same time. He started waking up around midnight every night as though he’s had a nightmare. His cries were different from his usual cries when he wakes up– this time, he was screaming as though terrified. He bolted up in his sleep sack, clutching the rails of his crib, sobbing and sobbing until I went in to calm him down. Some nights, all he needed was for me to stroke his head and lull him back to sleep. Other nights, he wouldn’t let me leave for hours. He would jolt up every few minutes to check if I’m still there, feeling around for me, and sobbing again if he couldn’t. Those nights, I had to sleep next to his crib with one hand through the rails.
I remember one particular night in which Tov woke up at midnight again and was in such a state of separation anxiety that he would not let go off my hand. I laid next to him in that awkward side-position with one hand in his death grip. It was pitch-dark in his room, but I could sense his presence, his warmth, his force of life– just a barely 17-pound baby, but man, how he marks his existence, how he’s shaken my world. Even in that moment, with my night disrupted and my body exhausted, his cries– which would have annoyed anyone else– softened my heart, like butter under the afternoon sun. What flowed out of me wasn’t irritation, but tenderness and deep, deep love.
I thought then about Diane Langberg’s book Redeeming Power: Understanding Abuse and Power in the Church. Langberg is a Christian psychologist and an early pioneer talking about trauma and abuse within the Christian world when such issues were either hush-hushed or considered secular, anti-biblical psychology. In that book, she defines what “power” is– how power can be a source of blessing when used the way God intended, how it is inherent to being human, and how every human being, as image-bearers of God, wields some kind of sacred power, however weak and vulnerable one may be. Power, when used right, can be beautiful and transformative.
Tov has power over me. When he cries in the middle of the night, when he coughs like a dying old granny, when his body breaks out into hives, all those things affect me and David as his parents. When he smiles and laughs, our hearts melt; we laugh and smile with him. When he’s sick and hurting, our hearts bleed; we drop everything and inconvenience ourselves to take him to the doctor.
“The power of the vulnerable infant to express her needs exposes the hearts of the more powerful adults,” Langberg wrote. “Over time, their habituated response to the infant shapes not only the personhood of the infant but the hearts of the adults. Our responses to the vulnerable expose who we are.”
I read this book way before I became a mother, but I highlighted that part in the book because the simple truth of this statement moved me. It reminded me of the nature of God’s relationship with us as His children. God is all-powerful, and He is the only one whose power is wholly good and just. And yet, we as mere human beings also have the power to touch God’s heart, to move Him, to grief Him, to gladden Him. That God will willingly and joyfully create such creatures who have the power to influence Him exposes who He is, and what divine power is.
For Tov’s dol (first birthday in Korean), I began preparing weeks ahead. I bought a 25-pound bag of flour and lots and lots of butter. I made multiple batches of three kinds of cookie dough and froze them. I ordered a dozen Amazon packages full of cake-making and party supplies that I’ll probably not use again. I looked up countless recipes looking for the best cake recipe, and tested them out so I can find the best lemon olive oil cake recipe. I watched dozens of YouTube videos on how to make a naked tiered cake.
It wasn’t just me. My parents spent thousands of dollars to fly out for his dol, and so did my father-in-law. My mother made a huge pot of japchae while my father tried in vain to put Tov down for a nap. My mother and I spent took much time trying to arrange flowers I had bought at Trader Joes that didn’t really work well together. The day off, David and my father-in-law hauled boxes and boxes of stuff to the park to set up for the party. David’s uncle and aunt and cousins all helped me assemble everything together while I barked orders and ran around like a stupid chicken all stressed and frazzled because Tov had been crying nonstop and everything was still in boxes when we had 15 minutes until the party starts.
To be honest, I did not have all that much fun. I wasn’t able to hang out with anyone very much because I had to hold Tov most of the time, which also meant I wasn’t able to eat much of the food I had prepared, either. I was cold and tired and over-touched and over-stimulated.
All this backbreaking work, for a one-year-old boy who couldn’t give a crap, who didn’t want to wear his traditional Korean hanbok, who cried and fussed because he missed his nap, and eventually passed out on David’s shoulder.
Oh, the things we suffer through for a child. Oh, the things a child suffers through for us adults.
But there was one redeeming thing to this whole affair: Except for Tov, we all willingly did it. People willingly sacrificed several hours of their Saturday afternoon to drive a far way down to us. Parents and grandparents willingly gave up time and money and energy to gift Tov a special celebration that he’ll not remember, but will hopefully bless him in immeasurable, invisible ways because it is a reflection of our love for him and each other.
Another redeeming factor: For his doljabi, Tov picked a globe! He shall be a globe-trotter! I was thrilled, though David was a bit sad he didn’t even give the baseball a glance. I cannot wait to take Tov around the world and let him see and experience the peoples and cultures I meet as a journalist.
Happy birthday, Tov. Even if you don’t remember the details of your dol, remember this: Even at that age, you had the power to bring together all these people to celebrate and bless you. That power is love. You still have it. You’ll always have it.
Writing for Sophia 