The past six months...

Really?  My last blog entry was six months ago?  It really has been that long?  Not to sound cliché, but time sure does fly by fast.  And to think, I thought I could easily have a blog post written at least once a week.  Guess my assumptions about time, as it relates to being a new mommy, were off… WAAAAYYYY off!  Not that my lil’ minky takes up ALL of my time.  I mean, for the first three months she slept a good chunk of the day.  But that meant being awake when mom & dad wanted to sleep.  Which then meant sleeping when she went to sleep… Or, staring at her for the duration of her nap (with a few pokings in between to make sure she was still breathing), amazed that this tiny little person is a part of you and overwhelmed at the responsibility this brings…

So much has happened in the span of six months: I’ve almost forgotten what a full night’s rest feels like and I try to faithfully follow some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten - “Sleep when she sleeps.”  My favorite accessory has become my giraffe print diaper bag and I’ve found that baby wipes are what really makes the world go round.  Counting pee and poop have become a sort of obsession and I never knew I could ever be so paranoid about the littlest things (confession time:  We went to the emergency room at 12am because Aryia was spitting up more than usual). 

Ah, the joys and adventures of parenthood.  I won’t even try to play catch up here.  What I will do, however, is try my hardest to at least jot down the most memorable adventures thus far.

For now, here are some of our favorites of our lil’ kumingking.  

snuggle time -->

 <-- Grumpy pants

Sheer delight! -->

 <-- Daddy's little girl

It's 5:30AM and Four Days Away!

I can explain. There is a reason that I am awake before the sun is out of bed, satisfying my mango craving (thank goodness for super-moms who have amazing instincts when it comes to detecting the cravings of their pregnant adult daughters), and trying hard not give into the temptation of waking Darrin up. Yes, it’s 5:30 in the morning and I’ve been up for two hours. But, like I said, I can explain.

Maybe it’s because moody Ohio weather decided that it was winter again last night, resulting in a never ending hide-and-seek-tug-of-war-game between me and my blankets as I attempted, in vain, to find the right sleeping “degree-age”. Probably it’s because I’m carrying a watermelon as a baby and no amount of pillows, angles, tempurpedic mattresses, or sleeping positions can satisfy my current definition of “comfortable”. But most likely it’s because I’m supposed to meet Minky in four days (dear Lord, please let Minky be like her father – on time) and the arrival of my parents last night made everything more real.

So here I am. Wide awake. I admit, pregnancy has a tendency to wake you up at all sorts of ungodly hours, whether it be to go to the bathroom for the umpteenth time or change your sleeping position to your right side – the only other position option you have. But, unlike other nights, where I either a) attempt to wake up my husband “discreetly” by tossing and turning, grunting and growling, or, if that doesn’t work, b) whisper as loud as I can (after all, I am a considerate person) “Darrin, are you awake… I can’t sleep”, I decide to let my long-suffering hubby get some rest, and instead, I find myself in Minky’s room.

We just finished making up her nursery a couple of days ago. It’s gone through quite the transformation, morphing from an office-studio to an office-studio-nursery. On one side, we have a bookcase, a study desk, and Darrin’s recording equipment. On the other side, we have Minky’s jungle safari, aka, her crib that’s decorated with all sorts of stuffed animals and safari-themed blankets and bed sheets, the wall decorated with her name and flowers (which, I’ve decided are jungle/safari type flowers), and our special rocking chair. As crowded as that seems, we somehow made it all work. And at least we didn’t go with Darrin’s idea of purchasing a crib with wheels and utilizing our hallway as a makeshift nursery (not the greatest idea, even if it was intended as a joke, to suggest to a hormonal pregnant woman).

As I look around the room, mentally going through my “do-we-have-everything-for-our-baby-checklist” for the hundredth time, I can’t help but rub my watermelon belly and ask Minky to PLEASE PLEASE, if she does not want to be early, at least come on time. I’m so excited I don’t think I can handle her being even a day late. It’s amazing. I’ve never been this excited about meeting anyone in my whole life! Yes, she’ll most likely continue to give both her dad and me sleepless nights. And yes, we can’t even begin to cover all the fears we have about parenting this little girl. But the lack of sleep and the anxiety that comes from being first time parents pale in comparison to the joy and love she already brings us. So Minky, be daddy’s girl, make mommy proud, and come on time :)

7 Generations.

Although I would never trade in my childhood experiences of exploring the globe with my parents, one thing I did envy growing up was being close to family. Being in the mission field since I was a year and a half, visiting family in the Philippines was always a reenactment of the initial stages of a 2^nd grade love affair: “Hi, my name is________________. My favorite color is ___________ and my favorite food is ____________.”

As a little girl, I always dreamed about spending summers at grandma’s house, frolicking by the meadows, listening to grandpa’s stories, and, of course, sneaking cookies from the cookie jar whom, I might add, had it coming to her (C’mon, you have to agree that if you position yourself boldly on the kitchen counter, you are asking to be eaten, with or without permission). Of course these ideas were not necessarily realistic fantasies, but rather, stolen from all the “American” movies my sister and I loved to watch and interpret through our own dramatizations and plays.

After spending my first Thanksgiving with Darrin’s family in 2006, I realized that I could vicariously live out my dream through the Thurber family. It was fascinating being part of interactions that lacked the anxiety of awkward situations and that flowed with the ease that comes from spending more than a couple of weeks with each other every two years. I loved hearing the countless stories of vacations spent together and could almost picture Darrin running around Mimi and Papa’s home as a chubby little ninja turtle.

Now fast forward to this past Thanksgiving. Darrin and I had driven down to Tennessee for a big Thurber reunion. Not only were we celebrating Thanksgiving with the Thurber clan but also celebrating Papa’s 80^th birthday. And of course, talking about Minky (the now shortened nickname of lil’ Kumingking). Because we refused to spoil the surprise of Minky’s name, Minky conversations were saturated with “Bertha”, “Olga”, “Julia”, and a myriad of other names as the family attempted to guess Minky’s correct name. As I enjoyed all the eating (it is never a Thurber experience without food!) and company, I realized that I was no longer vicariously living through the relationships of Darrin and his family. I was part of the family and could finally have my meadow frolics, grandpa stories, and cookies stolen from the cookie jar (I admit, I made sure that I snuck one or two cookies and boy did it feel good!).

One evening while the family was lounging around, Papa called a family meeting (how cool is that! An actual family meeting:]). As we gathered around the living room, Papa began to tell us a little bit more of the Thurber history. I was so mesmerized by the richness of his knowledge on Thurber heritage that I did not catch Papa’s transition to talking about me, that is, until I felt all eyes curiously smiling in my direction. Papa had been going on about a special rocking chair that had been in his family for six generations (It had been his great grandmother’s rocking chair) and he had always been perplexed as to whom to pass it on to since its small size did not complement any Thurber trait. Well, thankfully, Darrin married a 4ft 11in. Filipina gal’ who was perfect for that chair! With that, Papa smiled his beautiful big smile and told me that he was happy to finally find a home for the chair. Excitedly, this brown-eyed-no-curly-locks-but-straight-black-hair Goldilocks tried her new chair and exclaimed, “It’s just the right size– my feet even touch the floor!”

This special rocking chair, draped with beautiful blankets made with love by Minky’s grandmother and great-grandmother, now sits snugly by the corner next to Minky’s crib. I know we will share many special moments in that chair and one day, I will be able to pass this beautiful piece of Thurber heritage to Minky – the 7^th generation!

A couple of nights ago, I was practicing my rocking skills when I realized that this rocking chair is more than a valuable heirloom. It’s a symbol of the involvement, love, value, and strength, of our family. It’s the summers of frolicking meadows, the Papa stories, and stolen cookies that Minky WILL experience with her Nona and Papa, Lolo and Lola, Tita, and Aunties. Well, at least whatever the g-parents and Minky have in mind for the summers :)

"I can take her shoe shopping!"

Finding out the sex of little Kumingking turned out to be quite the event. Although Darrin and I had intended to keep little Kumingking's sex a surprise, I couldn't get used to the idea of calling our baby "it" for the next nine months and, of course, the "try-not-to-look-so-disappointed" looks of Kumingking's grandparents did not help.

So instead, we decided to find out Kumingking's sex on my birthday, October 7. Darrin and I had initially planned a nice quiet birthday weekend, but once word got out that we were also finding out Kumingking's sex, we had family flying in from San Francisco, Loma Linda, and driving 5 1/2hrs. from Maryland (Free tip: If you would like family to visit you more often, just have a baby). This made for a total of seven individuals, including Darrin and myself, setting up camp for the weekend in our snug two bedroom apartment.

I can't help but chuckle when I think of Darrin (a 6ft 2in. American) herding in six filipinos (the tallest being about 5ft. 5in.) into our physician's office. It must have been quite a comical sight but the Orillosa-Thurber clan could have cared less. We were finding out our baby's sex today! Surprisingly, we all fit into the tiny ultra-sound room and seconds later, the "oohs", "aahhs", "sniffles", and "giggles" commenced as the family met, for the first time, our precious Kumingking.

Before finding out the sex, the ultrasound tech did a full body scan of Kumingking, showing us her cute little face, her arms, her tiny toes, etc.. I chuckled as proud daddy Darrin boasted that his little girl looked so beautiful, not like the other "alien" ultrasound babies he had seen. My family commented on how thankful they were that Kumingking had a nice nose (a common worry of filipinos) and exclaimed how long Kumingking's legs were (much to the nervousness of her father). After we "oohed" and "aahed" over Kumingking's various appendages, the ultrasound tech announced that we were having a baby girl. Laughter and tears simultaneously filled the room and the first thing I remember anyone saying was my sister exclaiming "Oh good! I can take her shoe shopping"! The night before, we had gone around predicting whether we were having a boy or girl, and although my mother was the only one who had bet on a girl, there was not a disappointed soul in the room. As I looked around the cramped space, I found it amazing that this little girl, who we had yet to meet, was already loved so much. And telling the rest of the family the news and googling over Kumingking's ultrasound pictures was a different joy than I have ever experienced!

As you can imagine, the rest of the day was filled with Kumingking talk (actually, Kumingking

seems to be the center of most family conversations nowadays). What a perfect way to celebrate my birthday! And of course, it wouldn't be an Orillosa day without shopping. And who better to shop for than Kumingking... Including her first pair of shoes! ---->

"But I don't even have a bag packed yet"

Little Kumingking gave us a scare this past December. I was just over 31 weeks pregnant and had spent a week in Maryland with students from our college Christian group, volunteering for the Salvation Army's annual Angel Tree Project. We had arrived back home in Athens, OH from a long 5 1/2 hr. drive and, although a rewarding week, I was exhausted from the week's sorting, bagging, and moving gifts, painting church rooms, and playing host and cook for our college group. I admit, I may have over exerted myself, much to the dismay of my husband, but I did not like the idea of "taking it easy" while everyone else worked hard (Illogical thinking for a 7-month pregnant woman, I know).

It was about 11pm when Darrin and I decided to turn in for the evening, when to my sheer panic, I noticed I had started to bleed a little. Not wanting to alarm Darrin, I mustered up the calmest face I could come up with and casually mentioned the dilemma. It didn't take much for Darrin to see through my fake-everything-is-fine face, however, he stayed calm and collected and suggested I give my physician a call. Even though I could feel the panic infest my whole body, I kept telling myself that everything would be ok. If you know me well, you know I don't do well in emergency situations. My brain shuts down and all the worst case scenarios dramatically come alive. I may seem fine on the outside, but you get glimpses of my fear - like when I told the nurse I was 53 weeks pregnant! After correcting my mistake and attempting to explain my situation, the nurse told me that the on-call obstetrician would call me right back.

I sat on the edge of our bed staring at my phone for what seemed like an eternity. When the phone finally rang, I ignored my let-it-ring-twice-before-answering rule and came close to shouting "hello" to the resident on the other end. After answering the same questions the nurse had previously asked me, (which I was perturbed about. Didn't he have all this information?! Didn't he realize he was wasting precious time?!! Wasn't he aware I could have my baby right now?!!!) Dr. Resident told me that I should make my way to Labor & Delivery.

And that's when I lost it. The words "labor and delivery" felt like my death sentence and all the fears about becoming a new parent exploded in every fiber of my being... Ok, so you're probably thinking "she's so melodramatic", but you need to understand, I get that way when I panic. I hung up the phone and looked at Darrin, trying to formulate the instructions Dr. Resident had just provided me with. Instead, my face muscles prepared itself for work, and a second later, I was gushing tears and telling Darrin I didn't have a bag packed yet. My amazing husband held me close, telling me everything was going to be fine, and then proceeded to dump everything out of his backpack and stuff it with diapers and brand new baby clothes. In response, I told him I did not like his backpack and wanted to use the cute baby bag instead. Obedient and ever so calm, he moved the packed contents to the cute baby bag, while I called my mom and sister, alternating my words and sobs, as I relayed our situation.

I tried to stall our trip to Labor & Delivery, asking Darrin if I should change out of my sweats and venting that we had not had a chance to take maternity pictures or Lamaze yet. It's moments like these when I am reminded how lucky I am to have Darrin. Throughout my panic state, he remained level-headed, supportive, and calm, and eventually convinced me that what mattered now was for us to head to Labor & Delivery.

After hours of various tests, my physician told me that although they could not find the cause of the bleeding, everything looked fine. Little Kumingking was not coming tonight, and although she was sitting a little low, she was not in any danger. I was discharged that same night, with Darrin making me promise to take it easy and not be so stubborn about doing things that could potentially hurt me and/or the baby.

We thank God every day that little Kumingking is fine and we even laugh a little about how I responded to the situation. Darrin tells me that my "face change" after I got off the phone will forever be ingrained in his memory and we both chuckle at the fact that my number one concern after being instructed to head to Labor & Delivery was that I did not have a bag packed. I tell him it was symbolic, which it was. Not having my bag packed, to me, confirmed that I was far from being ready for parenthood. Aside from being a full-time grad student, working part-time as an ACF chaplain, and participating in a 20hr. Graduate Assistantship, how was I going to ever succeed in what, I believe, is the most important and daunting responsibility ever given to individuals - parenting. This was not part of our five year plan and I was far from ready to be called "mommy", let alone have the responsibilities that come with that name.

I still have fears about how good of a parent I will be. For those of you who are parents, I'm sure you agree that you'll go through your whole life with some of those fears. But I think I am better equipped. I realize that I have an AMAZING partner who will stand by me through the highs and lows of parenting (Although, he's already putty in his daughter's hands and I have a feeling I'll be "bad parent" most of the time). I recognize the overwhelming support system I have from family and friends. And most important, I realize that I am not alone. My Heavenly Father, the perfect parent, is on my side, ready to give me guidance, encouragement, and support as we journey through this new adventure together. That, and I have my bag packed.

Kumingking [ku.ming.king.]: little finger (n.) [tudlo]; pinkie (n.); pinky (n.)

Filipinos are notorious for giving their children nicknames. I am no exception. For as long as I can remember, I have been called "Sunbeam" or "Beamy". Nowhere on my birth certificate are these names listed, but nevertheless, these are the names I am most often called.

When Darrin and I started discussing names for our baby girl, I wondered if she would have a nickname. Well, sure enough, I got a call from my dad declaring he had a nickname for his granddaughter. Dad had been in California visiting my sister and on one of their outings, my sister asked for a Bisayan lesson. Body parts became the theme of this lesson and when they got to the pinky finger, my sister excitedly stated that this was the size of our baby when we found out it was a girl. So, since Darrin and I were keeping our baby's name a surprise, "Kumingking" was pronounced her name until otherwise notified.

In a couple of weeks, our baby's name will finally be revealed (much to the elation of her grandmothers, I'm sure). But since "Bertha" or "Olga" are not alternatives Darrin and I approved of, "Kumingking" it is until her name shows up on that birth certificate.