shiso mama

Dear Otis,

I think you are sad to be home. Our new home, where all your stuff is, where the weather is beautiful, and where you have friends your own age. I'm pretty sure you remember because when when we arrive home from walks, you always perk up and point at our house. Or maybe you are just pointing accusingly at the barren yard where nothing dares thrive except the most hardy weeds. You would rather be in Taiwan, surrounded by people whose ages average 60, where the weather is hot and muggy, and where the streets are so dirty that even a brief walk will render a flip flopped foot disgustingly dirty.

Here are the people that you met, the people that you miss so much:

Lao Lao - She's the one who woke up early every morning, waiting in bed until she heard the first noises coming from your room, waiting patiently until I finished nursing you so that she could see you as soon as she could, change your diaper with glee, and feed you breakfast. She also let you destroy her orderly room each and every day, only to reorganize promptly because she believed that it was more fun for you to overturn a tidy room.

Lao Ye - He's the one with the scratchy moustache that you could feel tickling your neck every day as played his daily games of blowing raspberries or pretending to eat you piece by piece. He kept an close eye on you, and an even closer eye on every single possible thing within three feet of your precious body that could pose a possible threat. He's more careful than a liability lawyer where you're concerned.

Uncle Shiso Bro and Aunt Shiso Bro - They're the extremely stylish couple whose pictures were splashed all over the newspapers. They may have their own baby some time soon, but they were eager to play with you and steal you away from us. Aunt Shiso Bro taught you the funny joke of cackling behind your hand.

Tai Lao Lao, Tai Lao Ye - They kept a close eye on you during all meals that we ate at their house. Tai Lao Lao was always concerned that you weren't eating enough. She spent most of her time directing me or your Baba to feed you one thing or another, and handing us plates of food if we weren't doing it fast enough. In fact, at one meal, she took 4th Aunt Grandma L's plate from under her while she was eating to dish up more food for you. Tai Lao Ye also spent most of his mealtime scrutinizing you, but he's the quiet type and never forces food on anyone.

Lao Nai Nai, Ah Fong - Your Lao Ye inherited his sense of caution from his mother, Lao Nai Nai. When you toddled over to the television and started pushing at the buttons, she would always grow alarmed and say, "No! There's electricity!" For some reason, it didn't really bother her that the humongous television seemed precariously perched on the counter, and looked like it could topple and squash you like a bug. Lao Nai Nai (and Tai Lao Lao too) were desperate to hold you, but you're too big now, and too squirmy. Ah Fong helps Lao Nai Nai out, and she has two daughters of her own in China that she misses dearly, so she's always seeking you out, wanting to hold you, play with you, and carry you. They're both always giggling about how smart you are.

2nd Aunt Grandma CF - Being the bookwormy professor that she is, she went and bought you a huge collection of books to help you learn how to read and speak Chinese. An additional bonus is that maybe I'll learn to read and write a little too. When I was little, I always wanted her to play Monopoly with me, but she would refuse (as everyone did), always suggesting Scrabble as an alternative. She's educational like that. When we woudl go to Tai Lao Lao's house, you would pick up the phone, pretend to talk on it, and then hand it over to her so that she could talk. She would always say something to the effect of, "Hello, Otis? Why are you torturing me? Oh, uh huh. Really? OK, bye bye."

3rd Aunt Grandma G - She would always very politely look at you and ask you to "bao bao." Towards the end of her trip, when you started shaking your head no at every one who wanted to hold you, she got frustrated one day when you refused her yet again and said, "Forget it!" and grabbed you away. After one of your first meetings with her, here in California, she couldn't sleep because she couldn't stop thinking about you. It's like you were a disease.

4th Aunt Grandma L - She's the one who bought you all those clothes whenever she went on her nightly walks. She's the one who's responsible for your An Pan Man wife beaters - you know An Pan Man, he's the superhero who's a red bean bun. The first thing she would say whenever she saw you was, "I'm going to spank you!" but that's her way of showing you how much she adores you, because she would never ever harm even a single hair on your head. She taught you to pinch your nose when something is smelly when she would sniff your feet and exclaim, "Stinky!" while pinching her own nose.  Sometimes she didn't eat lunch with us, sitting in the family room instead.  You would grow very concerned, and start flapping your arms, and shouting Eh! Eh! as though to let her know, in case she didn't realize, that lunch was on the table and she should join us.  

Fifth Aunt Grandma K - Of course you know her, you see her all the time! Before we arrived in Taiwan, she kept saying, "I'll get my fill of you now and then I'll let everyone else hold you while we're in Taiwan." However, when we got there, it was clear that she was not going to follow through on that resolution. She's always bringing you your favorite fruit, and finding books to buy for you.

Little Aunt Grandma A - She fell head over heels for you, fabricating excuses to come over to see you, and coming to pick you up as often as possible so that she could hold you in the car and in the elevator. It was usually a battle between K and A for who would get to hold you the most.

Maria Theresa - Known as Mah-Lee to the family.  She's Tai Lao Lao's housekeeper, and has three children of her own in the Philippines.  She joined in the Gwai Gwai! frenzy, and whenever she saw you, she would chant in her sing-songy lilt, "Hello, baby!"  Once you had everyone's attention focused on you at the dinner table, you would start shouting, Eh! Eh! for Maria to also wave and say hi while she worked in the kitchen.  

That's a lot of people to miss. But there are so many people waiting to see you again here! Of course you'll see 5th and 3rd Aunt Grandmas, plus Aunt Koti and Aunt Bernice. You'll be going to Grandma R and Grandpa G's house tomorrow; they've been waiting anxiously for you to come back and started calling us the morning after we arrived. You'll see your friend Jack, who's learning how to crawl. You'll see your wish-she-was-your-girlfriend Stella, who has a new sister. You'll see your girlfriend/best friend Tyrah, who just had a birthday. You'll see Topey from next door, Simone from two doors down, Knoa and Avi from across the street, and you'll go to Finn's birthday party in another week and see Ella, who's almost exactly the same age as you.

We'll have a fun fun summer, so look ahead, my little one. We will call everyone you miss so much and talk to them on the phone. And we'll work on Lao Lao and Lao Ye to see if we can convince them to visit us soon.

Much love,

Mama

We're back in Berkeley, after a not-too-hellish flight, and Otis is actually doing better with his jetlag than we are. It feels so strange being back - everything's the same. Of course it is, we've only been away for 4 weeks, but it's curious going away, doing and seeing so many different things, and having everything be at home be almost exactly the same as when you left it. They're even playing the same songs on the radio. The only difference that I can see is that a million more weeds have sprung up in our sad yard.

I hate saying goodbye. I hate leaving my family, no matter how frustrating it can be to live "at home," and I definitely can't see someone cry without welling up myself. This whole past week has been a giant cry-fest, starting with the great grandmothers. Here are the things that made me most sad:

1. Otis grew extremely attached to my mother. During our last week in Taipei, whenever we put him down anywhere in the apartment, he scurried like a little crab, making a beeline for her bedroom. When he crawled in there, he sat just inside the doorway, looking for her. Whenever he saw her, his face lit up. On the rare occasions that she wasn't there, he looked puzzled and troubled, calling for her repeatedly. He was constantly looking for her, often preferring her to me or F.

2. I was constantly surprised by my father's reaction to Otis. I always knew that he would love the boy no matter what, but his patience for baby playing and baby holding are limited. But during this trip, he bent over backwards to hold Otis and play with him, often stepping in front of guests to pick him up and cover his body with strawberries, eager to show off their closeness. The last few days we were there, my father sometimes gazed down at Otis and said, "You're going home soon. What are we going to do without you?" with a tenderness and wistfulness that I rarely hear from my stoic father. That made me want to bawl almost every time.

Our final goodbyes were painfully sad. On the way to the airport, my mother held Otis in her arms, gazing at him and crying as quietly as she could so she wouldn't disturb him while he slept. She couldn't let go of him, or stop touching or kissing him when we finally carried him away. The next morning, when she awoke to a quiet house, the first thought that popped into her head was, "It's so quiet. Did Baby sleep in this morning?" before she remembered that we were already in the air on our way home.

F stayed with us longer than he really could so that we could come home together, and I'm so thankful that he did, because the goodbyes would have been too unbearable for me to suffer alone. Otis has been cheerful and happy, totting around all the old familiar streets. Does he wonder what happened to the family who have been doting on him for the past four weeks? Does he think about how quiet and different his life is now? Does he miss them and feel sad or will he?

Dear Otis,

Today you took your first real steps.  I was a little anxious that it might happen before your Baba got here to Taipei, but after a couple of scares, it became apparent that you were going to take your own sweet time.  We have been trying to lie, cheat and bribe you into walking, but to no avail.  Finally you did it today, with some clever trickery from Lao Lao.  One of your favorite toys is this floor sweeping contraption that Lao Lao owns, and you love to roll it all over the floor.  Yes, you are your grandma's grandson, you love to sweep the floor and wipe the table.  She convinced you to let go of her hand, and just hold onto the sweeper.  She held onto the sweeper for a while and finally let it go and you took a few wobbly steps towards your Baba before collapsing in a heap and refusing to exercise your body again until we got something fattening into your body.  

Every time I see you doing something new, I think to myself, I have to remember THIS.  THIS is significant.  But you have been doing so many new things every day that I just can't keep up with you.  You've done so many new things, seen so many new places and met so many new people lately, and your changes have been keeping pace with all of your new experiences.  I can tell you understand so much more of what we're saying to and around you.  

You can't walk by yourself yet, but you're already becoming independent.  This morning we were at Tai Lao Lao's house, and you were walking in circles around her red swivel chair.  Third Aunt Grandma G was afraid that you were walking too fast, that you would fall and hurt yourself, so she tried to slow you down by applying pressure on the headrest.  You paused, looked at her, and shook your head until she let go and you were able to go on your happy way.  Later, when Little Aunt Grandma A did the same thing to tease you, you saw that she was having fun, laughed and shook your head at her. Then when you walked by her, you kissed her on the cheek to pay the toll so she would let you pass.

When we first arrived in Taiwan, everyone wanted to hold you.  Sometimes you let people pick you up, and you would get a scared look on your face and look for someone familiar to go to instead.  Now, when someone stretches out their arms to you and asks you to bao bao, you'll glance at them, size them up, and then shake your head no before returning to your task, too busy to indulge them.  You've been shaking your head A LOT lately.  We may have to stop asking you for your opinion.  

You went on your first vacation to a foreign country, where you tried to charm everyone in sight, particularly when you were supposed to be napping.  You waved to everyone within view, and if they didn't see you, you repeated, Eh! Eh! Eh! in steadily increasing volume while flapping your little muscle tone-less arm, until they were shocked out of their reverie and looked at you.  Middle aged men on the subway, older ladies selling goods in the department stores, attractive young singles, none escaped your affections. 

You love people and spend most of your day trying to engage them.  You spend a good percentage of the remainder of the day picking up random items, holding them up to your ear and barking into the "phone" (loud talking - another unfortunate trait you picked up from my side of the family), pausing to listen to the response, and then cackling at your conversation.  

You went to your first wedding, and met your first model.   You must have gotten a lesson from one of the models while we weren't looking, because you seem to have developed your own version of the "model face."  You've always been hyper-aware of the camera - how could you not be?  There's been a flash or six going off in your face almost every day since birth.  But now, as soon as you see a camera, you sit still, turn your face towards the camera and give a big, toothy and very squinty eyed grin.  I think we need to have your new aunt give you a few pointers, because it ain't exactly the most flattering face.  Today, you even grabbed a camera in your hands, pointed it backwards at your own face, and gave it a series of your best squinty eyed grins.  

Up until very recently, I looked at you every day and mourned the time that had already passed, wistful that I could not make time turn backwards so that I could always hold the tiny newborn you in my arms.  But now, I'm actually starting to look forward to tomorrow, to see the next new stage that you will conquer, and to see the man that you will become. We are going home in four days, and the sadness here is already palpable and heavy.  They wonder what you'll be doing, knowing that you'll be running everywhere, doing so many new things.  None of us will be able to catch up with you.  

Millions of sMOTHERy kisses,

Mama 

When we were here in Taiwan last time, we had a little breastfeeding incident. F and I took a 3-day trip to Tokyo (our first time away from The Boy) while my parents (mom) took care of Otis. I thought about him all the time and pumped faithfully to keep up my supply. But when I returned home, Otis refused all my advances. He would get into position and latch on, but whenever he tasted my breastmilk, he made a face and pushed away. I wept. Much perseverance later, he was back to his old breastfeeding ways. We didn't discover until we were packing everything up to go back to California that we discovered that my mother had accidentally been feeding him double concentrated formula. No wonder the kid looked so fat and slept so well - he was so stuffed he couldn't even move! And mystery solved, since my breast milk probably tasted rather watery after that viscous stuff he had been getting.

During pregnancy, I was in denial about everything - birth, taking care of a real live thing, and especially breast feeding. I didn't want to go to breastfeeding class. I wasn't so sure about the whole breast feeding thing. It felt kind of foreign and weird imaging ME doing it. I was amazed when they told me that doctors recommend about a year a breastfeeding.

But like so many other moms, I had a change of heart. I like how it makes me feel close to Otis. I like looking at his sleepy face, squeezing his feet, and feeling him curled up against me. It's comforting for both of us. And lately, I've been wondering when this whole weaning thing will happen. There have been times when he seems ready to wean himself, but then something happens, and he changes his mind.
When friends have asked me how long I plan to breastfeed, I flippantly say, "Oh, until he says to me, "Mother, put that away! You're embarassing me in front of my friends!"" I still don't feel ready, but will I ever? I want to be supportive of extended breastfeeding, but recently I was working with a group of homeschoolers (yes, I know, homeschoolers), and this toddler who was maybe 4? just walked over to her mom, yanked up her shirt and started nursing. Then she pulled her head out and started talking, like nothing unusual happened. The whole thing kinda creeped my out, as well as some of the teenage boys that were sitting next to them when it happened. But in many ways, I can see how you never want to lose that feeling of closeness, of taking care of your child in a way that nobody else can, and not wanting to stop, and then next thing you know, he's having a little nurse before he goes to prom. So, you know, trying not to judge (but kinda am anyways).

I guess I'll just have to take his lead. I feel like things are turning towards the weaning tide again here in Taiwan. There's new things to explore, the walking to conquer, so many many many people to charm and play with. And I want to give everyone else as much time with him as possible, so I try to encourage his interaction with everyone but me. All of this is turning his attention away from me and the nursing. I feel terribly sad just considering the possibility. No tears yet, but there definitely will be if this is really the end.

Oh my God, I'm weeping right now. I just looked through some old photos and encountered the pictures that we took the last time we were in Taiwan, last September. And Otis looks so TINY, and he couldn't really move around so much. Ah, the good old days. When you look at the pictures of him when he was a true newborn, he's almost unrecognizable because he looks kind of squishy and exhausted. But by the time we were in Taiwan, he was beginning to look like a smaller version of his current incarnation. It's unbelievable how quickly he's grown. Soon his voice will be cracking and he'll have one of those awkward Chinese teenager Fu Man Chu mustaches, and then I really will be weeping. Checkit!

F says that maybe I should have a little wax doll made of Otis when he was just six months old. It would be even more perfect - cuteness immortalized without all the crying, fussiness and sleep issues.

Right after Otis was born, when my mom was staying with us, she told me that her favorite thing about babies were their feet. Their feet? I thought. That's sort of a weird fetish but whatever. At the time, I was too exhausted trying to figure out why Otis was crying so much (and so loudly) to think about something so trivial as feet. But since those hectic early days, I've changed my tune. And I find that I'm not alone.

I overheard this conversation between my mom and two of my aunts when they were visiting a while ago:

"I took his socks off, and I sniffed his feet. And they smelled!" sounding extremely pleased
"They smelled? Like what?" sounding extremely curious
"Like a sweaty foot." in a hushed tone
"Really! I mean, it's not like he's walking around on his feet or anything. Here, let me smell them."
the sound of sniffing from the other room, followed by murmurs of agreement and soft giggles
"Huh. It's true. They do smell a little. Let me smell them again. Here, you smell them too."

Is it hereditary? Because I seem to have inherited this unnatural love of babies' feet. F finds it rather curious since, as he likes to point out, I am quite anti-foot in other respects. For example, I hate for other people to touch my feet or examine my feet at length. I don't really enjoy looking at adult feet; I find them generally unattractive. He suggests that I am compensating for foot self-hatred (that's his Freudian analysis, of course).

You may have already read multiple references to Otis's feet, but here's what I love about them:

• They do in fact smell. Ever so slightly, in that yummy baby way. Especially when he's been wearing socks.
• He wiggles his toes, scrunching and unscrunching them ever so slightly while he's nursing, or on the rare occasions when he's sitting still (for about half a second), almost as though he were not conscious of moving them.
• Otis loves yanking his socks off whenever he gets the chance. Usually I try to get him to keep them ON his feet, but when we're getting ready for a nap, I'll usually start taking his socks off and let him yank them off himself. That brings him great pleasure, and he'll laugh with delight. I take the happy opportunity to grope his clammy little foot, which is often a little cool in spite of being covered up. I love it when there's sock fuzz clinging to his feet, caught between his toes (although if he discovers this, he usually tries to pick the fuzz off and eat it).
• We swaddle Otis and put him in a little sleeping bag for naps and at night, and I love unwrapping a warm sleepy baby and grasping his hot little feet in my hands and then kissing them one by one. This my favorite foot moment of all time.

I will confess to lavishing an excess of attention on his feet. I just love them. And I have to say, on days that are particularly long and exhausting, when he's been trying my patience all day, I'm glad that I have this weird affection to focus my attention on.

Dear Otis,

Today is your first birthday. Happy birthday, baby! We hope you had a good day. We had precious time together this morning before you went off to Grandma R’s house. You’re spending the night there, too, your first night away away from home. If, years from now, you’re in therapy, and you say to your therapist, “You know, I just have no memories of my parents from my first birthday,” you should know that it’s because we’re trying to get everything ready for your big party on Saturday.

Grandma R called us this afternoon with a report of what you had done on your birthday. She took you out to lunch and you were the central attraction in the restaurant. In fact, we were told that you caused business to grind to a halt while the waitresses and owners cooed over you. And in typical Otis fashion, when they tried to return to work, you protested loudly and insistently until they returned to fawn over you. Curiously, you still don’t really like it when unfamiliar men hold you, but you’d happily pack your bags and move in with any attractive woman who looks your way. You’re such a sociable baby and love it when people pay attention to you. In fact, sometimes when people nearby are close and NOT paying attention to you, in spite of your best attempts at calling out to them or (your secret weapon) giggling adorably to get them to look your way, you’ll look slightly puzzled, wondering how they’re managed to stay impervious to your charms.

We were talking about you during dinner – we went out to a nice dinner to celebrate surviving this past year – and discussing some of our favorite things about you.

Baba is the one who invented the famous bedtime room check routine. That’s where we check off all the familiar and necessary objects in the room until we get to the “Uh oh, no sleeping baby!”. One of Baba’s favorite things is at the end of the room check, he likes to gently lay you down in the crib and bring his face very close to yours, and although you may be fussy or distracted, you will always look him right in the eye for a minute with a big smile and a little chuckle. "Hu huh, hu huh."

Mama loves bringing you to our bed in the morning after you’ve nursed, and the three of us play. She’ll take the opportunity to squeeze your feet and tickle you. She loves it when you pause expectantly. When it finally comes, you’ll scrunch your shoulders, giggle and wait for another tickle. This morning she changed your clothes before she brought you to our bedroom, and you grew impatient with her, mad that you were being forced to wait for our usual play session.

Baba usually takes you downstairs to start feeding you breakfast while Mama gets dressed. By the time she heads downstairs, you’ve been eating voraciously by when you hear Mama’s footsteps on the stairs, you stop and cock an ear with a quizzical expression on your face. Then you’ll wait and crane your head to the side, trying to get a first glimpse of her when she becomes visible in the doorway. You love it when she hides and then peeks at you. You get so excited that you’ll bounce up and down in your chair and sometimes you’ll forget to eat.

You have become so mobile recently. You zip around, using your own special crawling techniques, which we might describe as a gimpy, out-of-alignment commando crawl. After months of crawling like this, you’ve finally decided these past few days to start crawling with your belly off the floor, like other normal babies. Just in time to start walking. Fifth Aunt Grandma K bought you a walker wagon for Christmas, and we brought it out recently for you to try walking on your own. You were unsteady at first, but by the third try, you were a pro. You’ve tirelessly walked from the back of the house to the front, and to the back again, over and over. If you could turn the wagon around on your own, you wouldn’t even need us at all. But for now, you’ll call out to us impatiently to turn the wagon around when you’ve reached a wall or an obstacle that you can’t overcome on your own. Your eyes light up when you see the walker. You’ve also started climbing the stairs, and when Fifth Aunt Grandma K is here, you do your exercises, climbing up and up the stairs all day long.

You’re becoming more independent. You play by yourself, you explore on your own, you want to take food from our hands so that you can feed yourself, and you have your own likes and dislikes, which you are starting to express with increasing vocalness. It seems so recently that you came out of your Mama and we heard the first loud cry, that harbinger of resolute boisterousness to come. We look back at all the pictures that we took of you in the early days and we notice three things: 1. There sure are a lot of pictures. 2. You weren’t as cute as we thought you were, especially compared to now. And 3. You didn’t do that much back then. It’s not like you were SLEEPING, unfortunately, but compared to what you can do now, you just seemed like a little lump in a cowboy/pirate outfit.

We love you,
Mama and Baba