20 weeks and holding that damn door....I mean counting

I once read that there’s nothing like being scared shitless to really make you feel alive. For the past 20 weeks I have been living this truth.

The first time I was pregnant in 2012 I was not only filled with excitement, but dread. Beneath the beautiful song that played in my heart was a constant hiss, an underlying static that kept me from truly reveling in the miracle of that whole experience. People could feel the anxiety radiating from my every pore, and no amount of rational discussion could quell my fears.   I knew something bad was going to happen, and it was only a matter of time. In my 6^th month of pregnancy, I went into preterm labor and delivered via c-section a beautiful baby girl who survived for just a few hours.  

I don’t know what to call it other than a mother’s intuition.  I’m certainly not psychic because it’s not like I’m constantly winning at everything in life.  No…I just knew.

Besides the baggage of grief that I carry in my heart for our precious girl, I took away a valuable lesson from our loss.  What I learned is that no matter how much I tried to control the situation – through the countless hours of research I spent investigating incompetent cervixes before I even knew I would have an incompetent cervix of my own – I simply could not stop the train from coming. While my mind was fully prepared to fight through an eternity of back labor, the crushing belt of nails cinching around my waist with every contraction – my body simply could not hold on. It was completely out of my control. Everything was out of my control at that point. Oh, and trying not to become attached in order to protect myself emotionally? Please. I was already in love from the moment I first saw the bright light of her little lion heart flicker on that ultrasound screen at 5 weeks 6 days.

There is nothing that can prepare you for the emotional carnage of watching your child die, of burying them and living with that loss until your own time comes to pass. Nothing. You think you can steel your heart against that kind of pain? No. You simply learn to carry the load and hope to grow stronger in time under the weight of it all, not break from it.

So here we are. I am 20 weeks pregnant. In 2013 I had surgery to turn my poor excuse of a cervix into a bionic one. It should hold this time, and with a 95% success rate, I’m fairly confident it will. However, it doesn’t eliminate the possibility of other random bad shit from happening, and does put me at risk for some other complications that require me to have an early c-section. I have a great team of doctors though – 2 teams, in fact – plus one cardiologist. I see them every week for cervical checks and we get to peek in on our little girl and hear her heartbeat. Am I still scared? OF FUCKING COURSE. Every cramp, pain, spike in blood pressure, and Braxton Hicks contraction threatens to push me over the edge, and believe me – I am standing right there already. Is my cervix holding? Am I going to stroke out? Am I in pre-term labor? Who is going to be our next president???  JESUS, TAKE THE WHEEL. MY ASS IS TIRED.

  and clearly in need of some Chapstick and eyebrow attention

The first time I saw our little girl on screen, the fissures in my fractured heart filled with something I never thought I’d feel again. Hope. This little life – this very, very active girl who, with every kick, literally gives extra weight to the meaning of “vaginal pressure” – reminds me so much of Ligaya. But…I know that she’s not Ligaya. She is her own little person. Her heart booms like thunder as her sister’s did, but it is her own heart, and the sound of it is just as sweet to my ears as Ligaya’s was.

Little Sesame is not a replacement for our firstborn. She is a force all on her own brought here to make her mark in this world. She is our rainbow. 

Do I have that intuition that something will go wrong? I don’t know. It feels different somehow. I’m definitely scared – really, really scared – but I’ve also allowed myself to hope that things will work out for us. Nate keeps trying to tell me to just appreciate this time because we are already so blessed to have her. That’s something I CAN do. The rest is out of my hands.  While I admire him for his positivity, and the fact that he wrote a song for her that we sing to my belly every night – I still battle the dark side of “BUT WHAT IF IT HAPPENS AGAIN?” on the daily. I consult Google like it’s a partner in my home medical practice…since you know…. I’ve bestowed upon myself honorary medical degrees from Harvard and Yale. It’s so hard, but I’m trying to keep those mental demons behind closed doors with the only strength I have right now – love, and the understanding that this is a different pregnancy, a different experience for which we are better equipped to handle this time around.

Long road ahead of us. The days feel long, but the weeks seem to be flying by with every Game of Thrones episode I get through.  

20 weeks and holding/counting.

Poor Hodor!

Churros y Chocolate and a grateful heart - except when it comes to Powerball.

Thank you, Shaggy – for your 2000 groundbreaking (s)hit “It Wasn’t Me”, because that’s the first thing that popped in my mind after Wednesday night’s heartbreaking Powerball announcement.  Did anyone else cry? Throw themselves on the ground in complete disbelief that my dream of someday riding off into the sunset on a genetically engineered unicorn named “MINE BITCHES” will never come true? No, I guess everybody was crying for their own selves.

 

This is how I feel about the winners

Nate, who after calmly stepping over my prone figure and remarking “Get over yourself and let it go,” proceeded to do burpees, essentially throwing a fistful of salt all over my already wounded and fat-encased heart. Go do your burpees somewhere else, man! I’m jet-lagged and jealous of someone in Chino Hills. Chino Hills!

Speaking of jetlag….whoa. We decided to do a big trip for Nate’s 40^th birthday and visited southern Spain and Morocco over the winter break. Spain did me in, but I would gladly do Spain over and over again because being done in by Spain was worth it.   

 

I want to be back in you!

Interestingly enough, I lost about three pounds due to a shitload of walking and not quite getting a handle on the whole siesta thing. We were pretty much squirrels on crack, going every which way but to sleep. Correction: my husband is a squirrel on crack and I just follow the nut.

My favorite nut

We usually ate only one meal a day with a few snacks in between – I know, this is new for me – but we were so focused on seeing everything, food wasn’t the first priority…unless!!! Churros y chocolate! We always stopped for this.  A botched attempt at making churros y chocolate last night has left me and my whole damn house smelling of vegetable oil, so that’s it for churros y chocolate.
 



I love you

I’d have to say the highlight of our trip was Morocco, mainly because I got to eat a lot of food, ride camels over the great sand dunes of Erg Chigaga, and experience the kindness and generosity of a culture I didn’t know much about.

 

 

 

 

 

Being in the heart of the desert under a sky full of stars on New Year’s Eve was surreal and eye opening. Eye opening, not only in that I underestimated just how terrible I am at Geography, but that under certain conditions (bladder and intestinal implosion), I am able to relieve myself into almost anything.  After the ferry ride from Europe to Africa, a 10 hour overnight train to Marrakesh, and a 10 hour butt-puckering road trip through the high and winding Atlas Mountains then rocky and sandy desert – the fear of using a toilet other than my own was nothing but a distant memory. As Kelly Clarkson once said, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”  I can shit anywhere now. 

 

I am so relieved

 

Anyway, we’re back and I’ve started working on a few of my New Year’s resolutions: cooking more at home and learning French. I made a Moroccan stew in the crockpot the other day and was surprised as hell that it tasted similar to what we had overseas.

 Chicken tagine made without the tagine. I need a tagine.

 

 

 

 And French! First week’s lesson down and I am practicing every chance I get on Duolingo and with the pen pals I made in Morocco, who I fear are growing tired of my limited ability at conversation (Bonjour! Comment ca va? Froid. Papillon est rouge et noir! A plus tard!).

 

As far as my teacher goes, I managed to put her on edge a few times, but I think it’s the start of a beautiful relationship:

Teacher: Do you know why this is this way?

Me: Oh, I know! Because the vowel is ov…

Teacher: NO! Please, you must just listen. Do you know why this is like that?

Me:  Ah! Because there is an acc…

Teacher: No! It is important that you listen. JUST LISTEN. So important. Only listen.

Me: But you keep asking why?

Teacher: No! Listen! Listen!

Me:

Happy 2016! May we all be blessed.

Christine + Nate + Ligaya 

Love, Light, and Ligaya - CS

 

 

Foodie and the Beast: double, double toil-et trouble

Nate, my best half – my best everything, really - and I don’t see eye to eye when it comes to eating. He thinks food is a way of fueling the body to do weird stuff like run, even though no one is chasing him or forcing him at gunpoint to do so. I think of food as a good friend who is always there when I need them, my best go-to pal for when the world is being mean and stupid…which is why I’m fat and he’s not.

 

As Paula Abdul once said, "I'm forever your girl" - oh, and "Opposites Attract" too

 

 

Our Sunday began like this:

 Me: Let’s go get some pies.

Nate: No, we are not getting any pie.  

Me: Piiiessss. Plural.

Nate: We are not getting any pies.

Me: You hate me. You are killing my dream.

Nate: No. You’re killing yourself.

 

Ohhhhh, SNAP. Homeboy got me there.

 

Is he right? Well, yes. Did I force him into submission by threatening to jump out of the moving vehicle?  Not this time. He doesn’t believe me anymore when I say that anyway. Did I pull every other trick from the Book of Crazy to try and get him to feel sorry for me? Absolutely.

 

Here are the highlights:

·  Do you remember Ewan McGregor in “Trainspotting”? You’re making me be him right now.  

·   You’re not my friend.

·   Why did I marry someone with so much hate in their heart?

·   I’m not wearing any underpants.  

·   I bet that guy over there would buy me pie. (Nate: That’s not even a guy. That’s a PICTURE of a guy on a giant billboard and he doesn’t know you).

·  You don’t love me. (Nate: If you can’t see that I’m doing this because I DO love you, you’re insane. I just want you to stick around for a long, long time.)

All this mostly one-sided dialog, and I didn’t even notice we had driven 30 minutes past the pie place.

 

3144 W Adams St, Santa Ana, CA 92704


I survived, just like he said I would. Sure I was mad, but looking back on this discussion now with a brand new Monday under my too-tight belt, I appreciate that he stood his ground squaring off against my food addiction. I’m a pretty formidable opponent. But then again, so is he.

Krav Maga - yellow belt ceremony

 

Nate really is such a good egg and he rarely gets upset with me, even when I make him drive home from wherever we are – no matter how far we are - to use the toilet (since the thought of dropping a deuce anywhere but the confines of my own bathroom makes me cry). I mean, we could be in Germany and I'd ask him to take me home. Would he? Jesus, no, of course not! He draws the line at international.

 

I do so appreciate him though. He got me this little gift over the weekend with a reminder to make wise decisions in life.

Side note:  the one time I made an honest attempt to use a public restroom, someone followed behind me, and out of the 10 stalls that were completely open, took the one right next door. BUT FOR WHY!!!

 Well, she must have been suffering from stage fright too, because we both sat there for 2 minutes straight rustling toilet paper, tapping our feet, and fake coughing our way through the impending doo(m). Alas, after the 5^th minute of our clumsy attempt at a pas de deux-doo, during which time many others had bravely come and gone, I realized I had met my match. I pulled up my pants, tipped my hat to the winner of the universe, and drove my own ass home.

And on that note, I present to you:

 

Baked Brownie Birthday Cake Oatmeal!

Ta-da! I want to stick my face in you every day!

 

This was truly delicious. It tasted just like a brownie! I believe in the Internetz again! The base recipe calls for:

·         1/3 c of oats

·         2 tbsp flour

·         1 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder

·         ¼ tsp baking powder

·         A little salt

·         1/3 c of almond milk

·         ½ tbsp honey

·         1 tsp of melted coconut oil

·         1 tsp vanilla

    ·         Chocolate chips (I used milk)

 

I added:

·         A handful of chopped pecans

·         A few mini marshmallows

·         Sprinkles and more chocolate chips

 

Mix all this crap together, throw it in a greased ramekin (I used 2), and bake at 325 for about 15 minutes.

 

Can you guess which one's for me and which one’s for Nate?

 

 

 

 

 

Misadventures in baking: Hello...from me and Adele and some muffins

 

When it comes to weight loss, I know myself. I put all 115 lbs of ME into almost everything I do.

Ok, let’s start again because I can’t even type that with a straight face. I haven't seen 115 since the big amoebic dysentery fiasco of 1994.

 

More like 115 lbs of LAUNDRY

 

I know myself. When it comes to trying to lose weight, I put 100% into almost everything I do - - - at the beginning of each venture, that is.  Then things start to get hard: work gets stressful…the smallest of victories need celebrating (denying myself pizza at lunch means I can have cake and ice cream and spaghetti and butter fried chicken all rolled into one, big, fat-ass rice wrapped burrito for dinner)….memories and thoughts of what could and should be cause mental and emotional breakdowns…whatever. Pick your poison. Life happens. I’m as good at staying the damn course as a Kardashian is at saying no to plastic surgery. And sex tapes.

The hell is this?



 

The other night, as I was eating an old burrito I found in the back of the fridge and questioning most of my life decisions apart from marrying Nate, I realized, “WTF – I’m eating an old burrito over the kitchen sink at midnight. How do I expect to belt out Adele’s new song “Hello” to my former fat self when clearly there’s nothing "former" about this situation? I’m not on the other side with you yet, Adele! I can’t even say at least I tried! I totally suck at this song!”

Hello from the side I never left?

And so it was time to change course. Again. Steer myself away from the carnage asada. So what better way to do that than to make carrot raisin mini muffins using oat flour, stevia, and organic maple syrup for breakfast the next day?

 

I'm only pretty on the outside, but I pretty much taste like feces 

Oh, Internet – sometimes you lie. You lie so bad. Sometimes I find recipes that sound good in theory, but should never be put into culinary action. This was one of them. Of course, it could be me not understanding how stevia works exactly, and how many packets should be substituted for actual sugar. With more sweetener, these could’ve worked. They were super moist, but the only burst of sweetness came from the raisins. Who in the hell wants a mouthful of raisins?

So – this recipe definitely needs improvement before I share it. I’m a big fan of oat and almond flour these days, though! Do these substitutions taste as good as the real deal? HELL NO. But if you don’t want diabetes and you don’t want cancer and you DO want to have a baby before your biological clock starts belting out “Hello from the other side”, it’s time to stop with the bad shit. Again.

Apparently, I like hanging out in my garage

 

Where ya been all my life, almond flour?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Misadventures in cooking - tonight's guests: Justin Bieber and Drake

You are the jalapeno of my eye

I thought this chicken tortilla soup would be quick and easy. But now, with an eyeball full of jalapeno juice and my nasal passages burning with the heat of a thousand Pablo Escobar like suns (I’m kidding. I have no idea if cocaine is a hell of a drug), I will never trust myself again. 

It’s not entirely my fault, though. I blame Justin Bieber. Drake, too.  While pinching the bridge of my nose and furiously shaking my head at the rando choice of YouTube channel I selected as background music for my live action cooking show – audience of ZERO, go figure - I managed to get some jalapeno in my eye.

See, our wifi at home sucks. Almost as much as the music of today’s youth....almost. There were two songs that lasted about 10 minutes EACH due to that buffering thing going extra long and hard for me this evening: Justin Bieber’s “What Do You Mean” and Drake’s “Hotline Bling”. 

FML – this is music???  Partially blinded by jalapeno juice and oxygen deprived due to an inability to inhale, I started to hallucinate and carried on a conversation in my head with these dumb-dumbs:

Bieber: What do you mean?

Me: What do you mean what do I mean?

Bieber: What do you mean? First you wanna go to the left then you wanna turn right.

Me: WHAT? WE’RE NOT EVEN DRIVING RIGHT NOW.

What do you mean? What do you mean???

 

And then there was Drake:

Drake: You used to call me on my cell phone.

Me: Well, I’m more comfortable using text as a medium.

Drake: You used to call me on my cell phone.

Me: No, really…I’m funnier in writing.

Drake: You used to call me on my cell phone.

Me:  This is getting awkward.

I has cellphone

 

 



Despite all this musical nonsense, my homemade chicken tortilla soup turned out delicious! If you follow me on Instagram, you know my ass has been working hard at eating clean these days. I’ve been cooking at home almost every day, and not only saving money, but saving my damn life! One almond flour recipe at a time. I’ve practically eliminated white rice and white sugar from my diet, and even though it makes me want to choke a bitch and cut a vato at various times throughout the day, it has gotten easier. I even hiked last weekend with a minimal amount of belligerence towards Nate.

 

There's a buffet up there on Mt. Baldy!

 



Speaking of my best half and how our lives imitate (F)art, this happened when he got home from his Krav Maga class:

Me: I got jalapeno in my eye.

Nate: Why did you put jalapeno in your eye?

Me: What do you mean?

Nate: I mean, why did you put jalapeno in your eye?

Me:  You used to call me on your cell phone.

Nate: WHAT DO YOU MEAN???

Touché, Bieber. Touché.  

 

The soup that burned my eye

http://www.food.com/recipe/the-best-chicken-tortilla-soup-104086

 

I can't call you on your cellphone right now Drake, I'm on a bike.

 

Snap back to reality...oh, there goes gravity.

When I was a little girl, I was really into gymnastics. Like, super into gymnastics. The TV movie “Nadia” was my jam and I memorized every single scene from start to finish, wearing out that Beta tape the same way I would eventually wear out my cassette single of “Please Don’t Go Girl” by New Kids on the Block a few years later.

 

I'm not going anywhere, Joey McIntyre!

I’m still super into gymnastics, and in my head it’s Cold War times and I’m able to do one-handed cartwheels and round off back hand springs like whoa…or как стоп, as they say in Russian Google.

Girl, do not drink the bleach! Do not drink the...you drank the bleach.

 

Side note: I have never again attempted a back hand spring since the time I nearly broke my hip springing every which way but “back” into our swimming pool.

Alas, reality is so very, very different than the moving picture show playing in my mind to a Montell Jordan/Eminem soundtrack. And as usual, a part of me has paid the price for this particular type of lunacy. No – not my ego like the time I bent myself backwards over the edge of the sofa to see how far I could go and the whole damn thing came crashing down on top of me because it was NOT about that bass. Nope. I sprained my ankle while doing a military style exercise…aka running.

 

Oh, body – falling apart in so many ways. Keep on keepin’ it real!

Reality is hard, and the month of October always seems to bring that fact into laser sharp focus.

Life has been fast and furious, and in less than a week it will be three years since we had, and lost, Ligaya. It’s hard not to feel cheated by whoever or whatever is keeping the universe in check.  It’s hard not to be angry at God, yet at the same time bow my head and beg for another blessing. It’s hard not to ask that she just be allowed to come back.

It’s. Just. Hard.

I say this every year - that the passage of time doesn’t make it easier.  I’ve just learned how to adapt to this new normal… manage it… bend without breaking. Keep on living. That’s some real-life gymnastics right there.  

 

This is how we do it.

Please. Be gentle with me this month if you see me coming your way. I may think of myself as a more rotund, Filipino version of Ronda Rousey crushing that mountain of grief beneath the heel of my temporary ankle boot (here we go again with the distorted view of my (in)abilities), but I’m just a mom  who is missing her baby girl very, very much.

That is my reality.

 

Love, Light and Ligaya - CS

Naked and afraid and hunting hobbits as I go

Nate and I have been wildly addicted to the reality show Naked and Afraid. But after months of hearing his repeated, and a bit TOO dramatic if you ask me, protestations of “NO, I do not think you would be good on that show even if it was just called Afraid,” I set out to prove him wrong on our trip to Alaska. I mean, come on.  Me? I'M not a valuable resource in a survivalist situation? Ok, former Army guy....like Simply Red once said, "If you don't know me by now...."

1.        I’m strong. I can snap a grown man’s neck with my calves alone.

 

2.       I keep a cool head in the face of pandemonium  (until I’m pushed so far that the fists of fury come out).

Enjoy this sideways photo of me. I can't figure out how to make it go the right way.

 

3.       Due to my body’s inability to metabolize fat in an efficient way, I have multiple layers of insulation to keep me warm in extreme cold.  

 

4.       Due to my body’s inability to metabolize fat in an efficient way, my multiple layers of insulation could feed a whole village for months if they were into that sort of thing. How’s that for teamwork?

Let’s just skip over some of the other small things that require a bit more practice on my end…like starting a fire, hunting for food, pooping in a hole, etc. 

Anyway, while packing for our trip, I started fantasizing about the millions of ways I could prove I was an outdoorsy person ready to take on the Alaskan frontier (on the days we weren’t on the cruise ship, of course). Hiking Denali, getting a bald eagle to land on my shoulder, kickin’ it with orcas, sledding with dogs (actually did this one), communing with bears, to name a few.

The opportunity to show my true grit presented itself in Skagway. At my insistence, we stopped by the National Park Service office to pick up a trail map for a grand hiking adventure. After determining that “Lower Lake” didn’t look that far away, and that we had enough time to complete the hike before a train ride up the White Pass, I led the charge.

5 minutes into the hike up the mountain to get to Lower Lake, I started questioning the validity of the map. Why in the hell was it called Lower when we were upward bound?  10 minutes in I started projecting hateful thoughts towards whoever made hiking a thing.  15 minutes in I started texting my athlete buddy Mai Dang who advised me to pretend I was hunting hobbits (that actually helped quite a bit).

Frodo? More like FroNO

 

20 minutes in and Nate gets the first of many “I need some ALONE TIME, just go on without me” speeches. He refused each time, saying I wasn’t about to blame him were I to be attacked by a bear. 

 

I hate everything

 

25 minutes in and I’m sweating the 50 degree weather and starting to rip off my clothes (I’ll show you naked and NOT afraid, just really mad). 30 minutes in and suddenly an 80 year old couple with boundless energy jogs by wearing matching knee braces. 

“You’re almost there, see you at the top!” they yell.

WAT

A burning ball of first world problem shame formed in my chest and propelled me to speed walk the final 10 minutes to Lower Lake. I made it hangry and exhausted and declared myself the winner of the world. All hail the conquering zero.

 

 

Ok, so I’m not going to be on Naked and Afraid any time soon.

Anyway, Alaska is truly beautiful – it’s like walking into a postcard everywhere you look.

 

 

One night we saw the Northern Lights and it was everything and nothing like I expected. It was the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a spirit – the way the green, pink, and purple lights danced and shimmered - it was as if they were playing with us. I reached out hoping…just hoping to capture the light in my fingertips for a few moments…praying to catch even just a glimpse of her. Of Ligaya.  

Ligaya. We’re getting into the tough months now. It will be three years on October 14th. Wow – three years. That seems like both a long time and no time at all to me. Last weekend when we were out and about in an entirely different frontier called Fashion Island, there was a brief moment when an incredibly heavy sadness sunk in. Suddenly, a little boy walked over and stood before me babbling to himself. The printed message on his t-shirt was bold and bright and said this: The Best is Yet to Come. Almost an hour later I saw the smallest hint of a rainbow in the sky.

 

A “rainbow baby” is a baby that is born following a miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal death or infant loss. In the real world, a beautiful and bright rainbow follows a storm and gives hope of things getting better. The rainbow is more appreciated having just experienced the storm in comparison.

There was a certain stillness I found in Alaska – in my surroundings and in myself. A quiet I needed to revisit in order to prepare myself for the month to come. October is always hard, but I’ll survive it as I always do….neither naked nor afraid.

Side note: I’ve not talked about the wedding yet because even though it was 3 months ago, this bright and shiny day  is housed in a part of my brain I’m not ready to poke at just yet.  I want to keep it there for now until I really need the lift.  

 

Love, Light, and Ligaya - CS