Oh Me Oh My

I don't even know what to say to you. I am supposed to be up here working on recording the readings my kids need to work on this month to improve their pronunciation, and instead I'm writing this. In my defense, I did try to make the recordings. Only it kept cutting out parts of it for some reason and I couldn't handle the frustration of figuring out why it's doing that or even if it can be fixed. So, blerg.

I wanted to say I fixed the link to my other blog, Hey Jude, in the sidebar. Because I'm an idiot it was linked to the image in my flickr account. I'm so dumb sometimes. So check that out if you haven't already. Because that seems to be where I'm doing my real writing, although I only wrote one post in the month of June. I'm hoping to fix that soon. But who knows. I still feel like my life is completely spinning out of control, but I'm trying to become more flexible because apparently it's not going to slow down and I'm not going to get any less dizzy.

Really I'd like to take the time to write out everything that's wrong, but what good would that do besides get me a few pity comments? So instead, I will be thankful that Jude is nursing again (mostly) after another enormous battle. Miso, if you didn't know, fell off the roof and broke her ankle into tiny pieces and had major surgery and is currently in a cast and in a cage. She hates it, but I'm so glad she is recovering well and should regain some use of that back leg and the joint. So that's a bright little spot meowing in the corner of the living room. My few classes are going well and I'm excited about the projects we're embarking on this month. I took a walk yesterday evening with Kenny and Jude down by the river and again this morning. After I spend an hour talking and walking with my husband, I feel like I can conquer the world. It's amazing, really. I began our walk last night dejected, stressed out, and feeling completely overwhelmed. When we came back home, I felt like a new person.

In other news, I'm cooking breakfast every morning, usually during Jude's first nap of the day around 8:30 or 9:00 and we're getting to eat most of it together before he wakes up. This has revolutionized the way we start our days and it's wonderful for now. I have to thank our good friends Sandra and Philip for welcoming me into the last day of their vacation last Tuesday and encouraging me to start cooking breakfast and getting just a few chores done everyday. They are such a joy to spend time with and our favorite family to visit in Wonju. I'm totally bummed they're moving to Dubai at the end of August. I will miss the encouraging words and prayers, but know that we've made friends that will last the test of distance and time zones.

I know this is rambling and I know this is unstructured and I know I should care. But this is writing and writing is always better than not writing. And I'm a writer, despite my current all-consuming role as a mother, and writers write. They do not always write well. So here it is, folks. A small, inconsequential update which keeps my fingers moving and my mind on something besides breasts, diapers, and laundry.

Thanks for reading. :)

What Is Wrong With Me.

There are a number of things wrong with me, mostly stemming from the fact that a large part of who I am is dedicated to drinking coffee, eating donuts (yesterday's count: 3), and for some weird reason breast feeding. I don't know why I wanted to breast feed Jude so badly, but it's something I  had my heart set on from the start. Kenny is alternately fully supportive with comments such as, "I am so proud of you. This is the only thing I've ever suggested a compromise on and you've rejected it every single time" and begging me to give up, saying, "Your life will be so much easier! You can get stuff done! Why do you think you'll be a failure? Do you think other mothers who can't or don't want to breastfeed are failures?"

No. I don't think that at all. There is some kind of super-powerful double standard at work here. I don't compare myself to other moms when it comes to breastfeeding. I don't care that, for example, my sister had to stop breast feeding Epperley because of the antibiotics she had to take for simultaneous bladder and urinary tract infections. I don't think she is any less of a mother for giving Epperley formula. I don't really think anything about it except that it is a lot of bottle washing. And I'm not going to compete with the mothers who nurse their kids until they're two years old. I think it's fabulous if that's your thing.

What I do think: I want to breastfeed Jude because I enjoy it and it's special to me and for some reason it's extremely important to me that I succeed at this and don't give up.

If you've been a long-time reader of this blog (and let's face it, being a reader of this blog these days is like the easiest job in the world, am I right? Once a month, read a few paragraphs. Ha.), you know that ever since I've been out of school, I've struggled with consistency and discipline in my personal life. It's like all my self-motivated behavior and over-achiever attitude were compartmentalized. They pertained to school work and that's about it. It's like the goals that I make for myself and my life don't count or something. I'm constantly making lists of things to work on or achieve and then throwing the list out because, who cares if I achieve it or not? But I've realized that making your own goals, even insignificant goals or silly goals, and reaching them is really the only way to be happy with where your life is headed. This has a lot to do with discipline. And everything that I want and am lacking in my life now stems from a serious lack of self-control and discipline.

So when I decided to breastfeed exclusively, it was like the only thing on my list. And I could totally justify my list now because ANOTHER LIFE DEPENDED ON IT. All the sleep I lost being the only one who could feed Jude, all the pumping I did and am continuing to do, all the crying and worrying if he's getting enough, all that stuff, is worth it to me. And last week when all of that was threatened, I sort of turned into a huge mess that was scary to look at.

The saddest thing was that my coming apart affected Jude. It made him stressed, too! I didn't realize that I was just compounding his "nursing strike" by worrying constantly about him and worrying that giving him bottles while I was at work was ruining him and making him lazy and going to be THE END OF THE WORLD FOREVER.

I finally worked myself up into such a frenzy that he wouldn't eat at all. Didn't even want a bottle. And that's when I was required to chill out. I finally said to myself, this is NOT worth it. If this is the end of breast feeding for us, then this is the end of breast feeding for us. And guess what? It wasn't. After I relaxed, Jude relaxed. It was miraculous. And also incredibly embarrassing. And also a huge moment of clarity and lesson-learned. I have the ability to be ridiculously dedicated to something that seems good for my baby. But if my dedication and fanatacism are actually making things worse for him, all that discipline isn't worth anything.

My goal of breast feeding Jude until he's at least one is still there. It's just not so paramount anymore. I have to disconnect this idea of breastfeeding and mothering. My success as a mother is so intertwined with the idea of nursing him.

And now he is screaming his heart out. So I have to go nurse him.

Not Dead

I just finished my first run since Jude was born. Ok, who am I kidding? It was my first run since I got pregnant. And I am not dead.

It wasn't long. All I did was complete day 1 of the ease into 5k program. But it felt amazing. Kenny went with me and I listened to music! I know. That sounds so dumb. I do this thing where I'll go for a while without listening to music. I hear it, I still play it, I just don't listen. And then I go and do something like tonight– I run–and I feel it all the way through me.

Then I berate myself for ever letting it get to this point. I can't believe I've had this experience waiting right underneath my skin for so long. All it took was a run in the park to awaken my entire body. I felt alive. I had chills. I was so much more than all my parts. I was my full self, my entirety. Music does that. At least, good music does that. It makes my soul stand up. It puts a smile on my face. It moves me.

So all that to say, I pushed play. And I did not die. What a lovely Sunday.

Hey Jude

Hi guys! This very short blog post is just to let you know that I'm not going to quit writing here, but I have started writing over at Hey Jude. So stop by and tell me what you think and leave lots of comments for Jude to read when he gets older! Thanks, lovelies! Jude is starting to nap better, so I'm getting more blogging (and laundry) time. Hope to have a few more posts up soon. 

The Thoughts In My Head

It makes me think that the thoughts in my head that make me feel the most lonely because I don't think anyone else thinks them are also the thoughts that have the most potential to make me feel connected. —ze frank, A Show, episode 9


I write occasional letters to my son at Hey Jude, a blog that I hope will capture most of the precious moments I get to share with him. But those moments are not the full picture of motherhood. I don't walk around inside my days rejoicing every minute. Actually, a lot of my time is spent wishing for 7 pm to arrive. 7 pm is the magical hour that I am able to lay Jude in his bed after his bath and watch him put himself to sleep. Mostly this involves finding his fingers, inserting them as far as they will go into his mouth, and sucking like he's getting paid for it. It's pretty much the highlight of my day, the time I find him most charming, feel the most at peace with my role as a mother.

And how pathetic is that? I love my son the most when he is asleep and I get to do other stuff than hold him. I do enjoy waking up early with him and pulling him into bed for morning cuddles and smiles after he eats. That's probably my favorite time of the day. But between the morning bliss and 7pm? I wish for naps. I wish for content time spent in the swing while I write. I wish for long, slow lunches where I can breathe between bites instead of holding my high maintenance child in one arm and shoveling food in with the other. I wonder how I am going to do this another day. I wish it was easier.

And while I'm wishing away, time is passing and I'm missing it. I'm missing that this stage is so momentary and short-lived. So the guilt begins! I should be doing more with him, but I feel like I exhaust him if I take him out too many places with me. I should be more patient with him when he fusses because it's honestly not that often. I should be cherishing this time where he wants me to hold him and love on him. I should be more productive during nap time! I should already be using my cloth diapers since we are back home now! I should be doing ALL THE THINGS!

These are some of the thoughts in my head. So when I watched episode 9 of A Show, I knew I had to share my thoughts. Because these are the ones that make me feel less than a mother, isolated, and alone. And that makes me think that these are the thoughts that other mothers are feeling that are making them feel less than exactly what their child needs.

So there it is. I look forward to 7 pm all day. And I also know that I am exactly what Jude needs, thoughts and all.

*This post was sponsored by an unexpected 10:30am nap! Praise God.

33

Dear Kenny,
 
I don't know how you do it. I don't know how you come back home night after night and give me your attention and share yourself with me, even if what you're sharing is frustration and disappointment. My dear one, we are not where we thought we'd be. But I have to believe this is where we are supposed to be. And this struggle is teaching us how to walk well, how to walk when we believe we are too tired to pick up our feet, and how to carry each other when the other cannot go on. You have carried me for years here. You have made my path broad, smooth, safe, and comfortable. You have moved rocks out of my way and you have carried me when I've twisted my ankles in the holes of sadness, anxiety, anger, and outright petulance. And although one hand is full, caring for this sweet life that is the very twisting and intertwining of our hearts and bones, my other hand is reaching for you, ready to support you, to carry you, to give you what I have.
 
There is this tiny, hungry mouth between us.
 
But the ropes of the past three years of marriage, and the two years before that day we said we would love each other with abandon and without boundaries are also between us, tying us to each other. The cords of our dreams and hopes for the future are braided together with those of our beautiful past. And I believe those ties will bind us together through the difficulties of our present.
 
There are days when I wish things were different, when I wish I was not where I am, or who I am. But there is never a single second that I wish I was anywhere other than with you. My life with you in the dark places is better than my life without you in the sunshine. You are my half. I love you.
 
It's your birthday and I'm not sure you believe that you have much to celebrate about the past year, or the coming one. But I hope you can find some sweet moments, some poems, to remember and cherish. This next year is about building our family, making our own traditions, and working hard to stay the people we've always been while adding the layers of mother and father. I know this is hard and heavy. But Mary Oliver wrote this about heaviness:
 
"It's not the weight you carry
 
but how you carry it-
books, bricks, grief-
it's all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it
 
when you cannot and would not,
put it down."
 
Kenny, we will carry it together. And we will not put it down.
 
Happy Birthday, precious husband.
Love,
Danielle
 

Walking

I've been thinking about walking a lot, particularly the long distance walking I did every day on the Camino de Santiago last spring. I can't believe it's been almost a year since we did that. I still haven't written about our trip here and I can't find my journal from our travels last spring. I haven't written about what an amazing experience it was because I don't think I fully got to process it. We didn't get to work out what we learned about ourselves as individuals and as a couple in those 32 days and across those 500 miles. Because when we returned to Korea, I got pregnant. I didn't know it until a few weeks later and we had already moved to Seoul and were working out a new plan. And the Camino got pushed into the background and everything became horribly twisted as I entered into the first sixteen weeks of all-day sickness and general malaise.

Yesterday I was walking back from a quick trip to the store for ice cream for another midnight marathon of Parenthood with Kenny, and I wanted to just keep on walking. I wanted to walk past our room in my parents-in-law's house, past our favorite neighborhood cafe, and past the city limits. I wanted to just keep moving, to get back to that place where I felt the earth sliding underneath me, felt I was moving forward, and felt I was earning each day. I wanted to walk myself back to a place of authenticity, a place of vulnerability. That place where I started each morning on that ancient trail with a doubt that I could make it to the next destination, but a tiny mustard-seed of faith in my legs and my feet. The place where you walk past the pain, past the weariness, and past the hunger. I want to walk into a place where I feel fully myself again. I know that will take time and effort and sweat and probably a lot of sighing, sobbing, and cursing. But I am finally ready to get back to work.

I feel I took my entire pregnancy "off." I wasn't working; I wasn't writing; I wasn't committed to anything except my donut-a-day addiction. I'm ready to figure out a way to be my entire self: mother, wife, daughter, sister, and just me. I'm writing this while Jude naps. I would normally be sleeping now, too. But this feels good. I can't walk for 25 kilometers a day with a huge pack on my back, trailing behind my husband and eventually catching up with him to take our shoes off and rest in the warm Spanish sunshine. But I can write for however many minutes Jude will sleep, and I can welcome my husband home with joy and gratefulness tonight.

For 32 days, I walked a trail that millions have walked before me. I walked from St. Jean Pied de Port to Santiago de Compostela. And even when I reached that cathedral and sat in the pilgrim's service and watched the largest censer in the world swinging back and forth, filling the nave with incense, I wondered what I had walked towards.

This. This is what I walked toward. I had no idea, but I was walking toward my son, toward my life as a mother. And toward myself. I walked toward 3 am feedings and insatiable appetites and quick words between spouses and tender moments between naps. I walked toward this moment that I'm living. This imperfect, trembling, unstable, but entirely beautiful and full moment.

And now, I keep walking. I keep writing.

I hope you keep reading.

Jude EoJin Park is here!

Hello my lovelies! I have a brand new baby. He was born on February 15th at 2:32 pm and he weighs 3.02 kilograms! And he's PERFECT. If you want to see all the pictures I post, follow me on Twitter @wonjuwife or on Instagram. Love you all and we are so thrilled with the little guy.

Currently

First, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who left me a kind comment, wrote a thoughtful email, or sent me a sweet tweet about my last post. I will be honest and tell you that I just sat with all that kindness you gave me. I just sat with it, soaked it in, and didn't bother about making sure I didn't let it go to my head.  Every gentle, encouraging word went straight to my head and I sat still, letting them all sink down into my heart. So, thank you.

Second, I am feeling much better. I wouldn't say I'm fully myself yet, but I'm finding my way back there. Despite the fact that the weather is viciously cold (I take these kind of temperatures very personally), the sun has been shining and that has made a world of difference. For two afternoons in a row, the sunshine has laid a bright square of warm light on the bed covers, and I've snuggled down into it with my kitters, reveling in the luxuriousness of naps in the sun. I've always loved to fall asleep in the sunshine, and it seems to be a special blessing just for me these days. I'm accepting it with open arms and soon-after closed eyes.

I was in the hospital earlier this week in order to receive a few pints of blood. My iron is dangerously low to begin with and it seems Jude was sucking the rest of it right out of me. This definitely could have been contributing to the depressed state I was in for so long. On Tuesday, the non-stop dizziness while I was lying still prompted us to go to the hospital and have things checked out. I'm fine and Kenny has been sneaking spinach into every meal and taking me out for steak on top of my iron supplements to get my blood back on track.

The past two weeks, really since I posted about my depression, have been so precious. I look back on just this last week and I can't count how many times I've doubled over with laughter, unable to hold myself upright any longer because Kenny and I are so tickled at ourselves. We've just been so dang funny this week. Sweet cuddles in the morning, making it a priority to get out of the house together before he goes to work in the afternoons, and the fact that every evening when he's finished I go pick him up from work have been helping me feel so much better. I am getting out of the house, out of our bedroom, and I'm spending more time actually enjoying my showers rather than sobbing through them. I am feeling so blessed that our marriage just seems to be getting even sweeter these days. It's like we're being refreshed and renewed right before everything changes.

Right now, I'm in a place where I know this time we have together is so rich and so limited. I'm trying to soak up all the moments we have just the two of us, because before I know it, there will be three! I'm just so glad to be feeling better, to be given this time of rest before Jude comes. It's a rest that's no longer filled with darkness and I couldn't be more thankful for it. I'm 37 weeks pregnant on Wednesday and have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. In these last few weeks, I want to just BE present. I don't want to wish away these last days of holding a piece of Kenny inside me. I want to be aware of every movement and appreciate this time. Lately, Kenny has made me feel like the only pregnant woman in the world. I have felt adored and cherished and cared for. What more can I ask for? (Besides a really quick and complication-free labor and delivery, right? ;)

Anyway, just an update to say that things are not normal. Not by any means. But they are not so gloomy and hopeless. If anything, I think I had to sink down to the bottom of that hole in order to get my soul to look up and see the goodness that was waiting for me. I am talking a lot more, letting myself be sad when I'm sad without feeling guilty, and allowing the happiness I've been granted to fill me up completely without shame. I've also been indulging in donuts, because come. on. They fix most everything.

Thanks again for all your support during the rough spots. I know I'm not guaranteed a smooth path from here on out, but your concern and love have definitely filled in many of the potholes along the way.

The Truth

I am struggling. I am fighting a heaviness I have not met before. Friends, I didn't know how to tell you, and so I just kept quiet. But now it is time to speak, now is the time to rally my strength and fight off whatever the hell this is brewing inside me. It is dark and scary and deep. To be honest, it is also really boring. Depression sounds so tragically beautiful sometimes– movies and dramas have made it seem like a heart-wrenching, but awfully romantic place to be. But it's not. I sit in my bedroom (that isn't truly mine) and lie on a bed (also not my very own) and I cry. Sometimes I sob uncontrollably and choke myself. Sometimes it's only tears and silence and my throat aches. Sometimes, when my body is tired of crying, I put it to sleep, hoping that while I am unaware, the hours will pass by and I will wake up new, fresh, feeling alive. But I never do. I wake up feeling pressed upon, feeling heavy, and feeling guilty for feeling all of these things while carrying this precious life around inside me. Sometimes I take half-hour scalding showers, pretending all I need is a good rinse, a good scrub, as if this despair can be washed away with a little soap and massaged out with a bit of lotion. But breathing feels the same afterwards. Lifting my limbs feels the same. I search inside for something warm, something related to hope, but I find a cold hard place right in my center.

The hardest part of all is the feeling that this depression, this constant undercurrent of immobility and inability, it has no legitimate source. I cannot point to things and appoint blame. Others must look at my life and wonder where all this sadness is coming from. Yesterday was a rough day. Kenny took me to coffee and said, "What is it, Danielle? Just tell me." And I had no answer.  I have no clue what it is. If I knew, I would tell him and we would fix it. But it's not a thing I can define. It's the cousin of despair, the bastard child of sadness and hopelessness. And it is unwelcome here.