Blog absence

Todd and I went out to dinner tonight.  My 7-month-old happily sat in a high chair, ate rice crackers, and amused himself by looking around he room. I was delighted. I was so proud of my grown-up boy. Then he did a giant poop that squirted all the way up his back and leaked all over Todd’s white shirt.

Is this story blog worthy? No, it is too commonplace to be funny. So I am on a blog break until I have better material than "I got to work late, and then I realized my shirt was inside-out!"

TG Jr ruined me

I never expected the transition to middle-aged suburbanite to be this fast! Next week I start a job in Irvine so we are looking for a house to rent in Orange County. How long before I start injecting my face with collagen and Botox and Todd starts wearing Ed Hardy?  We are so easily influenced by our peers! After 3 months with Jr my favorite word is goo and Todd no longer excuses himself after he burps.

A few years ago I went to a carnival with my 3-year-old niece. She was beyond excited to go on a carnival ride but as soon as the ride started she shrieked, “Let me off!” That's exactly how I feel.

sanitized

I’ll never forget the time a 20-year-old manager at work shook my hand and immediately slathered his hands in hand sanitizer. Hand sanitizer is for a**holes. I am one of them. I used to only sanitize when traveling. I used to hide that I was a judgmental American by waiting for restaurant staff to turn their heads and stealth sanitize. Now that I am a mom I carry sanitizer in TG Jr’s diaper bag - I am ready to offend!

sausage factory

A few years ago a classmate approached me sweaty and nervous. He wanted to set me up with an Indian guy who he insisted was a stud. Although I’ve never felt that shared Indianess translated to compatibility I agreed out of politeness. The Stud took me to his ex-girlfriend’s birthday party. Fortunately I had dressed frumpily. The Stud’s pack of Indian friends all wore the same costume: a skin-tight, wide-lapelled shirt with 3 buttons open, tight dark jeans, clunky rings, and slicked hair.  One of the Stud’s friends unironically said, “Where are all the ladies? It’s like a sausage factory in here!” The friend was asked to repeat his hilarious joke several times, now I can’t forget it.

When I think about my new life I hear "Where are all the ladies..." in my head. I live with my husband, son, and brother-in-law.  Soon I’ll start work at an office with only 1 other woman. Who will admire my excellent stilettos?

TG Jr.

Hello Internet! I am back from maternity leave and proud to report TG Jr. is healthy, happy, and has already mastered his father’s skeptical expression.

Everyone predicts Jr. will follow his parents’ example and become an architect. I forbid it! That is why every week we watch the father and son Cajun gator hunters on Swamp People.  I hope TG Jr. can learn from Willie Edwards whose dad, Junior, recently shot him in the face (the shot ricocheted off a gator’s head). 

See TG Jr.? Willie’s dad also defends the cultural value of a profession many outsiders would say peaked in a past century.  See what happened when Willie followed in his Dad’s footsteps? He was left with an unreliable income, few transferable skills, and a face full of buckshot.

stood up by my Valentine

I thought TG Jr would be here by now!  My OB said he would induce me last week, then changed his mind.  Last Thursday I had all the signs of early labor, then nothing. TG Jr is being a textbook tease and it only makes me more baby-whipped. Why I am so in love with a boy I’ve never met? Am I suffering from Stockholm Syndrome after being held captive by a 6 lb tyrant for 9 months? Is this some kind of psychological bargaining where I convince myself that giving up abdominal space normally used for my vital organs is worth it? Or is my mind now ruled by lady hormones?

dear Ricky,

Abandoning you in Van Nuys without saying goodbye was harsh but it had to be done. We have been moving in different directions for years and frankly you let yourself go.  Our marriage of convenience isn’t enough for me anymore.  I settled for you because my father worked for your father and I was persuaded by financial incentives. My father said I would grow to love you. I tried.  I tolerated your shaking body, the symphony of noises you produced, and your weathered skin.  I even defended you against snide comments but I never loved you.

My still father insists you are a nice boy, that what happened between us was my fault because I didn’t show you the love you deserved. But my friends all say the same thing about guys like you, you seem fine at first but a few years later you’re a piece of shit.

My father is not happy that I’ve taken up with a Korean but things are so different with Linda. When she first caught my eye online I was only curious.  But when I met her I realized it was more than just infatuation, she understands where my life is going. I think she can give me what I need.

I hope you can be happy for us but I don’t care if you are. When I see guys like you on the road I feel nothing but contempt. I wasted 11 years on you! I deserve better, and as a corporate American I can do better.

Goodbye Ricky. Goodbye my 2000 Ford Focus.

acting my age

After regressing into a grown baby during my first trimester of pregnancy I spent my second trimester rapidly declining into old age. My body ached in a new way each day, I was forgetful and grumpy, my diet was dictated by acid reflux, and my goal in life was to be in bed by 9:00.  Most upsetting of all, I had to accept that my body, my temple, had become a container. My time was over; it was time for the next generation.  I let myself go.

Earlier this week I saw myself in the mirror before work. I could not have looked blander in my shapeless grey t-shirt and cheap maternity skirt. I put on bright eye shadow (abandoned earlier due to allergies) and a set of giant earrings (which made my ears bleed a little) hoping the bling would detract from the knock-off Rockports on my feet. It was the start of my third-trimester mid-life crisis.  My leathery hands may lack the strength to twist open a water bottle but don’t the 2 Swatch Color Code watches on my wrist hint that I was once cool?

white hot

I was amazed by the movie The Mistress of Spices. Aishwarya Rai plays a spice shop proprietor who can hear the ancient wisdom of the spices. As a spice mystic she is not allowed to leave her shop or touch the skin of another. Her world comes undone when a white architect crashes his motorcycle outside her shop. Despite her efforts to stay devoted to the spices alone she daydreams about him doing white stuff like pointing at architectural models, wearing hardhats, and living with blond girls.  The jealous, vindictive spices stop speaking to her - except the chilis who taunt her. Feeling trapped she leaves the shop for one night of forbidden white loving then returns to sacrifice herself to the spices by burning herself alive. Of course this causes an earthquake and a happy ending. Her white knight arrives to dig her out of the rubble and the spices recognize her devotion.

Just like when I met TG! Todd and I went to architecture school together in Ohio where somehow I managed to appear cool and disinterested. We didn't see each other for the next 10 years but  I was haunted by visions of his naughty whiteness.  I'd picture his J Crew wardrobe, his tall forehead, and his freckles! I met TG again in LA. In a city where most whites claim to be multi-cultural and eclectic TG's unapologetic whiteness seemed to glow.  How could a simple Indian girl like me resist his lavender vintage Vespa, complete collection of McSweeneys, and encyclopedic knowledge of Led Zeppelin riffs? He is the whitest of them all.

so south bay

Remember the final episode of The Hills when Audrina left her wild nights in Hollywood behind and moved to the beach? We moved to the same stretch of beach last summer, Playa Del Rey, also hoping to finally be grown ups. Leaving the difficulties of LA for the quiet beach neighborhood felt defiantly conventional. I know you hipsters out there think the Southbay is frat-y and boring but something about it appeals to my suburban roots - and it is a great place for pregnants.

Now that I am pregnant and have a suburban job that starts at 7:30 I have really let myself go uncool. I outgrew my jeans and started wearing capri length pregnancy leggings (which reach my ankles).  I can't button my leather jacket so I wear hoodies, my camisoles don't cover my belly so I wear wide-strapped pregnancy tanks, and after years wearing nothing but flip-flops and stilettos my aching feet forced me into comfortable, ugly shoes. I'm now wearing the official uniform of Playa! Capri length black leggings, hoodies over a wide strapped tank, and puffy shoes.  Now all I need is a miniature dog.

mom car

I've been car shopping. It has been hard to find a car that is me.  I'm not a Prius driver, and certainly not an SUV driver.  A car slob like me doesn't belong in a European car, I lack the pep to pull off a little Asian car, and I don't have the PhD or income required to drive the Volvo wagon I pine after.  I recently met my mom car soulmate, the competent, forgettable Hyundai Elantra Touring.  I've heard marketers speculate that Hyundai is trying to reposition themselves, strengthen their brand identity, etc. I hope they are wrong.  I hope Hyundai really is the car company that understands that some of us don't want the car we drive to say anything about who we are.

punkin

I had no intention of entering the pumpkin carving contest at work but my maternal instincts are in overdrive. I watched as my co-workers picked their pumpkins and my heart went out to the little speckled pumpkin no one wanted, speckled like my dear husband, speckled like my future son.  I took him home and carved the pumpkin likeness of Todd jr.

conventionally pretty

I hope Gandiqi Jr doesn't inherit my genetic deficiencies: migraines, anemia, asthma, allergies and conventionally pretty hair.  I have glossy, smooth Pantene hair.  So boring!

I envy charismatic hair that demands to be heard.  What better demonstration of power is there than hair that defies cultural expectations? Would Donald Trump have been as successful without hair that says fuck off I'm Donald Trump?  Would Rod Blagojevich have been able to transform from petty criminal to celebrity without that perfectly arrogant hairdo?

I spent most of my adult life trying to damage my hair with bleach, perms, and gallons of hairspray hoping to give it some character.  No matter what I tried my hair fell politely into place.  Eventually I gave up and now my shiny, black hair whimpers, can I help you?

a pregnant

For the past few months I have been watching my body parts race each other to be the largest.  My boobs took such an aggressive early lead that I thought they would conceal by belly for months.  But my belly seems to have grown overnight and today I find my body in equilibrium, my boobs, butt and belly all project an equal distance from my frame.  Soon my belly will dwarf both my body and personality and strangers will label me  a pregnant.

Time to post the blog entries I've been saving as drafts.

neurotic mom (written 8/15)

Recently I was out late without dinner so I ate at Burger King.  The fries were cooked to perfection but I couldn’t enjoy my old guilty pleasure.  I was overwhelmed by shame and self-loathing that came down on me like an avalanche and lasted for days; I fed my fetus Burger King for dinner!

Poor TG junior.  I’m shaping up to be a neurotic mess of a mom that can’t predict or control her reactions.  I’m  happy to not drink milk, continue drinking coffee and revive my potato chip habit while pregnant – but some part of me thinks fast-food is dirty.