small victory

Got in a 50-minute swim session today. First swim since three months plus two days ago (pre c-section). Felt my abdominal muscles tug every now and then when I kicked harder, but overall my fear of the scar being affected negatively by the sustained exposure to water is no longer necessary.

Woohoo!

Extra celebratory confetti for J falling asleep right before the husband picked us up. He (the baby) stayed asleep throughout the husband's "business" lunch (with a visiting scholar) while I swam. We reconnected exactly at the math department as both of us were returning from our previous respective locations.

Still feel flabby and weak, but glad to have gotten that swim in so my year-long swim pass doesn't go to waste.

three months old yo!

humbled

A friend just stopped by briefly with a huge flower bouquet, will-be-greatly-enjoyed presents for Petra and the family, as well as financial support for marriage counseling. She'll also babysit the kids while the husband and I go to said counseling.

This reminds me of the flowers and gifts friends and family abroad sent during my bedrest, and the notes of encouragement and concern as well now.

If nothing else, I'm learning that I do have people who genuinely care about me. That I am cared for, even though I'm physically far away from so many of my friends and even though everyone's life is full.

I really appreciate it. I don't know why I need so much help. I know I don't deserve so much kindness. Thank you, friends, for wanting to help and really helping and accepting me in my brokenness. Thank You, God, for filling my life with so many great people who're willing to sit in the ashes with me.

I hope I can become just as encouraging, loving, and helpful to those in need around me.

every time every single time

It's pretty clear to me now that my husband doesn't respect me. At least certainly doesn't think me equal to himself. It became crystal clear today after years of confusion, hurt, and attempts to make myself be understood--to understand things myself--when I tried to make myself be understood for the last time. As I vented, once again, about how incredibly deserted I felt last night to be waiting again in vain for backup help with the baby and so I could start on my usual two hours' worth of chores before I sleep around 1am or 2am, he replied, "You think you're better than me, huh. Talking to me with that smirk on your face."

Smirk? When I could not possibly be any sadder or feel more lonely ever in my life? It didn't even make sense, for him to focus on whether I thought I was better than he is or not. Unless the primary concern in any of our exchanges is who has the upper hand at the moment. Who is In the Right.

It all makes sense now. When I had been desperately making sacrifices, trying to make things work between us, his inability to understand just how desperate I'm becoming is because he's focusing on who is superior. And of course, he wins every time hands down because I gave more of a damn.

Well, not anymore.

That time in Zurich when I spent the whole Saturday after an entire week already of taking care of the kids by myself in an expensive foreign country, waiting while the kids played at an amusement park in the suburbs--periodically pestering complete strangers to use their smartphone to message him our whereabouts then leaving time, only to return to our hotel at the end of the day to find that, other than one facebook message asking where I was, he spent the rest of the supposed promised day off blithely hanging out with people he's already hung out with for the entire week.

Edited to add after original posting: The cherry on top was that the next day I got apprehended then fined by the Zurich police for not buying the right tram ticket to the airport. I and only I. He bought the correct ticket for himself. Just remembered this. How the hell did I get over this?

That time when we were getting married when I spent the whole day repeatedly trying to track down my groom because the wedding schedule couldn't wait and my friends who're helping to run the wedding with me were asking where the groom was so we could get on with the program but he was busy returning to hang out with his buddies, making sure they were having a ball.

That time I tried to help him with school documents and math department procedures, and he treated me with 1/10000th of the respect he would have shown the department secretaries, and when I protested, he resolved the task at hand by contacting other department people without caring that his ignoring me was the equivalent of saying "Who needs you?"

Many times when I really would prefer not to do certain life-changing things, but he used religious or moral arguments to strong-arm me into situations I really was not and am not comfortable with but that he really wanted for himself. And the many times that I was signaling, begging, and then demanding for his presence of mind or physical support with the family and I must wait patiently or impatiently as he continues to hover over his beloved laptop or acquaintances he's busy conversing with. One of these times, the kids ended up pouring out two entire nearly-full tanks of floor cleaning products and were slipping and sliding in them in the bathroom while he was in the other room on his computer as I returned home from updating my resume at an office.

I do not deny that I have played a part in all this. He could not have succeeded in making me feel as trashy and wasted as I do now without my consent, no matter how half-hearted. It's just that today, I finally see the root reason for why it keeps happening, and I really do not deserve this. I am not lesser than.

Everything in our relationship makes sense now. It also makes my stomach turn every time I really think about it, but it's good to have that clarity going forward.

a breather

Not gonna lie, life is psychologically so hard right now.

I say psychologically because I know physically I have it pretty good. Like 100% better than people dodging barrel bombs in Syria, or risking drownings on the Mediterranean Sea, or even just being homeless or in debt. My kids are all finally healthy, not in the NICU like another friend's child, fighting for his life.

But I am still on the brink of losing it. Snapping. Shaking the baby or striking the older kids. Cutting myself. Just whatever it is to end this drudgery of motherhood. I feel the danger lurking just out of my immediate vicinity. I feel afraid every day right now, of myself and whether today is the day I go AWOL.

It is coming on 10:30pm and just as every night this month, I am only beginning to start on all the chores that must be done. After finally passing off the baby who insists on being held all day long.

I'm pathetic at this mothering thing. Maybe life thing in general.

Before I start again, I will finish this matcha drink and read just a little more from this digital book about young people renting studios and working out their careers, trying to make it in Taipei. I will not will not will not snap at my oldest child for wailing melodramatically about being scared when he should be sleeping right now. It was my fault for letting him watch Troll Hunters. Argh.

the waiting place

Daniel's right. It's all about waiting right now.

Waiting for the baby to fall asleep. To nurse again. To poop so I can change him immediately to stay ahead of the diaper rashes.

Waiting for Declan's chicken pox to go away so he can resume normal life routines.

Waiting for my c-section wound to heal so I can use my swim pass again.

Waiting for more time to pass so I feel less postpartum and less easily overwhelmed (and pudgy).

Waiting for 4am and more lights to turn on in the apartment units across the street, so I can feel the panicky feeling that grows in proportion with the deepening of the night to shrink as a new day advances.

Waiting for the 4pm pickup music to air by the elementary school near our home so I can feel some measure of relief that another work day is ending. Waiting for the nightly 30 minute walk I get to take alone through the neighborhood.

Waiting for life to become easier again. I think I've already said that, but who knows my brain is so fuzzy.

Waiting is so dully difficult, but necessary, so it is what I am doing for now. I'm thankful for all the little things that make it more bearable, and that I don't need to, say, work for a living or flee a war while I'm doing so.

i'm baaaack

Had a lot of back and forth in my mind before I committed to three weeks of staying at the postpartum care center, but then after the c-section I decided I'll need the whole four weeks. Which changed my discharge date from 10 December to 17 December...But then, due to Petra's chicken pox, the baby and I got quarantined from the rest of the center. I had to stay in my room all day and night, with the nurses coming in every now and then to provide medical checkups on the baby and give me some time to have a sponge bath and eat.

I was essentially on lockdown, and there're just my set of arms to rock the baby when he gets fussy right before bedtime. So I would rock him for 2-3 hours and be completely alone at night when the baby became wide awake and I felt like the only person awake in the world with him. This experience was so not what everyone else told me staying at a postpartum care center was supposed to be like. People who'd experienced it said it's like being an empress for the duration. Well, I felt more like a prisoner. So. I decided to early discharge despite the stated financial penalty. As it turned out, the center personnel had been talking amidst themselves. I mean, all of my meals changed from nice ceramic to disposable containers like I'm a leper! The personnel also came to the conclusion that it's best for me just to leave early since, to quote one nurse who chatted with me as she bathed Jude, "it's so sad that [your] first time doing zuo yue zi is like this."

So it's great that I finally allowed Daniel to argue my case about being discharged early without being fined. Not only was I not fined, but they deducted a week's cost of baby care from the bill and threw in three days of three delivered meals for me starting Monday. Overall, I'm still really impressed by how considerate the center's operation is.

Now I'm less than a day's stay back home, and it's both calming and overwhelming at the same time. My husband is really bad at housekeeping. Nobody's going to get typhus from lack of sanitation, but eventually someone might trip and fall amidst the clutter. Or maybe I'm just hypersensitive because having things neat and minimal help me feel better. A lot better. Which is why, instead of resting when the baby is sleeping, I've been cleaning as much as I can and organizing. I know I need to spend my time and energy wisely so my body will still continue to heal as fast as possible and my milk supply won't be affected, so keeping that in mind.

The amount of gifts from some local moms surprised me. I made a thank you list and hopefully they can know how much I appreciate their thoughtfulness. I'm a bit touched that even though I still feel like I have not much of a "tribe" in Hsinchu, I do have people here who seem to like me. And I might be in fact forging local friendships.

We'll see how tonight/late night goes. When he is awake, Jude looks around my bedroom and I wonder if he registers that we're in a new place now. That we're home.

tired

The kids came by, the usual nightly visits at the postpartum center. I was rubbing Petra's back as we read a magazine together, when I felt something bumpy under her shirt. Lifting her shirt to take a look, I see a rash of small blisters across her torso.

Chicken pox.

There's been an outbreak of it two weeks ago at a magnet school in Hsinchu, and two of Petra's classmates got it. Two weeks is about the period of time it takes for the infection to show itself in the form of a telltale rash.

It's probably a matter of time before Declan breaks out too.

When does life get easier? It just feels like it's one thing after another.

Poor Daniel; he's going to have to miss more work time while the kids now must stay out of school for a week at least.

Ugh. At least I'm not pregnant anymore. Read some gnarly stuff about how the varicella virus can get through the placenta and really mess up the fetus. Thank God for big blessings.