I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt

M has finally started talking. Primarily it is either in gibberish or Vietnamese, or in most cases, Gibnamese. Actually, he knows three English words, two of which are quite handy, gentle and bus, and last but not least, sexy. Yes, you read right, sexy.

I didn't mean to teach him the word sexy. Sometimes when we strip him down for his bath, I jokingly say to my husband, "Oh, someone is getting sexy." Well, of course he picked that word up right away. It's a fun word to say, I suppose.

Last week, when M saw me change my blouse in front of him, he exclaimed, "Sexy!" (I guess I am too sexy for my shirt.) Of course, my husband and I got a big laugh out of it and thought maybe we should phase out the word "sexy" because it is indeed strange for a kid with a limited vocabulary to say. We thought we'd phase it out slowly and just correct him whenever he used it.

Who knew I wouldn't get the chance? Last Saturday, while in the middle of our local library's story time, the little girl in front of us spilled juice on her t-shirt. While her mom was changing her shirt, my son proceeded to say "Sexy!" I was absolutely mortified! I was fully prepared to give an excuse that sexy is somehow a new Vietnamese word that M just learned. Luckily for me, no one asked. The look of shame on my face was apparently enough.

We aren't bringing sexy back, that's for sure!!

-Thuy

Me, A Name I Call Myself

Lots of Moms have doubts. Doubts about whether they are feeding their child the right foods, whether they are spending enough time with their kids, whether they are good examples for their child, and just plain ol’ doubts. I swear, I might have given birth to M, but I quickly became pregnant with doubt, guilt, and worry.

Lately, something happened that made me doubt myself as a parent. M, at 16 months, has never said “Mama.” He says plenty of other words: dog, train, car, glasses, etc. However, he refuses to say Mama. He says Baba (Dad) repeatedly and looks into my eager face and says Baba and points to his Baba. He does it unprompted. Even after numerous appeals, cajoling, and bribing, he refuses to say mama until yesterday...sort of.

My sister's daughter, Vy, calls my sister, “Me Huong.” (Me means Mom in Vietnamese and Huong is my sister's first name.) They did this because my niece kept calling my mom, her grandmother, Me after hearing all of us say this. Vy, my neice, now says “Me Huong” to describe which Mom she is referring to because the room is often times full of Moms.

After trying to get M to say Mama so many times and failing miserably, my husband randomly suggested that we should try "Me Thuy.” Both of us started laughing until M picked it up immediately. In fact, right after my husband made the suggestion, M instanteously began repeating it because he was in the car with us. What's more, M has dropped the Mom part completely, calling me, Thuy. Just Thuy.

It’s funny but so heartbreaking for me too…I thought I was supposed to be the center of his world. Is it because I work too much? What am I doing wrong? Should I have worked harder at breastfeeding him longer? Is he still pissed off that I sleep trained him at 4 months? Is this what other working Moms go through? Do I say “no” too much? Why can’t I be a bigger person and just let Dad be the center of his world? These are the series of questions I ask myself, but am not able to answer.

That’s the thing about being a Mom, or a parent for that matter. There’s no clear answers, no algorithms, no formulas, and because I’m so logical, I can’t seem to accept it. Does Not Compute. My brain can’t comprehend why I’m not number one.

I’m not without hope, though. At least he knows who I am, if not by title, then at least by name. We’re apparently on first name basis.

-Thuy

Memories

It's the day after Thanksgiving and I'm feeling so full of turkey, crab, stuffing, and green bean casserole; too full to do much of anything, let alone deal with the crowds at the mall. I am all for a good deal, but mostly from the the comfort of my home. My pre-M self would have found the excitement of Black Friday irresistible, but the new me has gotten a bit less into collecting gadgets and a bit more into collecting memories. Maybe it's a sign that I'm getting older?

For instance, I've been asking my Mom and siblings to collectively document and create a book of Vietnamese recipes to pass down to our children. However, my other project involves just me and M.

I am not good at scrapbooking nor am I crafty enough to do anything remotely creative. So, instead of not doing anything at all, I have started writing letters to M...I write them on my way home from work on my Blackberry most of the time or anytime that I take public transportation and am able to secure a seat.

Here's an excerpt from the first letter I wrote to M at seven months...

Every day, I struggle to do stuff that will make you smile and laugh, though I’ve been calling you Grumps because you don’t get too animated with us. Baba calls you Mumpsy. Don’t ask me why he chose that name. I’ve already told him that it won’t sound so cute when you get older. Hopefully it won’t stick, for your sake.

I’ve been dying to tell you how sorry I am that I didn’t document when your first tooth came in, when you rolled over, and when you first “cooed.” At 7 ½ months, you are thriving so quickly and I’ve been worried that I failed you in a sense. Someday, when you have your own child, you’ll ask me when these things happened and I will have to give you rough estimate.

Your first tooth was the bottom tooth and came in very, very early, before your four month checkup. At this stage, you already have seven teeth that I can see: four on top and three on the bottom. I think the eighth one is about to come out. Poor you, you must be in such pain.

As for rolling over, you did that at two months or so and seemed really pissed off whenever you were on your tummy. Currently, you can only roll from your back to your tummy and not vice versa. You turn only onto your left side. That’s it. You are no ambiturner (check out Baba’s favorite movie – Zoolander).

Today, I wrote a letter to M documenting our second Thanksgiving together, conveniently leaving out the mishap of over salting our brined turkey.

Sometimes the best deal in life is the one waiting at home for me.

-Thuy