273 days down, 1 to go

September seemed so far away back on January 6th, when my doctor's office confirmed that I was pregnant (I already had a feeling because I just felt "different" than the previous months, but I was still brought to tears when the nurse called and said, "You're pregnant!" in her sweet, sing-songy voice).  But here it is, September 8th already, and now I am only one day away from becoming a mother, something for which I've longed for many years.  It just feels really strange.  On the eve of my delivery, I feel a myriad of emotions: anxiety, nervousness, happiness, excitement, fear, and hmm, what is this...sadness?

Yes, I feel sad. This baby who has been attached to me, both literally and figuratively, will soon be its own entity.  And that saddens me.  She has been growing and flourishing in my womb for nine months, and tomorrow she will be in my arms and I will hold her tight, so that should make me happy, right?  Well, it DOES, but I am still saddened by the thought of not having her with me 24/7.  No more sharp jabs in the upper right rib (that was her favorite place to kick), no more feeling the rolls of her limber legs as she repositions herself against my lungs, no more feeling and seeing her hiccups in my lower left abdomen after my hearty meals.  As uncomfortable as I've felt these last few weeks, I will miss all those little reminders of her presence, or should I say "presents."

My husband asked me tonight, "Are you having postpartum depression already?"  I replied back, "No, I think it's PRE-partum depression, Babe."  Is there such a thing, though?  Clearly, the answer is a resounding "yes."

Homestretch

Today marks the 32nd week of my pregnancy, which roughly translates to 8 months. Only 8 more weeks of baking to go! Well, 7 really, since I'll likely be induced a week prior to my due date because of my diabetes and hypertension. It's weird how it simultaneously feels like both a long and short period of time. Eight months is a long time to have something brewing in your belly, but when I think about how much time I actually have left before she takes her first breath of life in the outside world, the panic and sheer terror begin to set in. Am I ready for all the pain? Am I ready for all the sleepless nights? Am I ready to be someone's PARENT, someone who is actually in charge of another small, helpless human being? It's all so daunting and ignites such fear in me, but it's also exhilarating and fills me with such excitement and anticipation! We are in for quite a loooong rollercoaster ride. Actually, I guess it's technically neverending. You never stop being a parent, even when they're in their teens and think they know it all, or when they're in their 20s and think they have everything figured out already, or even when they're in their 30s and are settled into a career, own property, perhaps even have their own children. No, parenthood is everlasting, and something for which I've waited all of my adult life.

Flying nowhere

I work about 7 miles away from the Philadelphia Airport.  This makes for terrible cell reception, as each time a plane flies over the office, the call breaks up or is lost completely.  I've become the queen of 2-minute conversations.  But that's not the worst of it.  The worst thing about working near the airport is watching the planes flying out from my three-walled, grey cubicle, envious of the people on those planes and fantasizing about what exotic, far-off, tropical location they're heading to, wishing it were me on that plane. 

Losing steam

Man, when I first started to blog, I was so excited about it, visiting it frequently, updating previous posts, adding pictures to liven things up...but now?  My last entry was in mid-May, and now it's mid-JUNE!  I tell you, I have no idea where the time goes.  Is someone secretly speeding up the clock?  It seems like every time I turn around, it's a new month.  And then it hits me--BAM!  This burgeoning belly of mine is stealing not only my energy and nutrients, but my TIME, too!  Fortunately, I haven't been one of those people losing their time in the bathroom with morning sickness, but I have lost my time to feeling uncomfortable, sleeping poorly, being irritable, and wondering why my stomach is still so small.  I started the final week of my second trimester (wrapping up month six) today, and though I can't wear any of my "regular" clothes, maternity wear is just too damn big for me.  Story of my life, though...don't fit this type, don't fit that type, and get forgotten in the middle.  Anyway, it's been like this for months now.  I finally do have a little pooch that sticks out, but nothing like what I imagined or have witnessed.  I was at the doctor's office today for a checkup, and there was a woman there who was also in her sixth month.  CLEARLY she was in her sixth month.  Granted, she was a lot heavier than I am, pregnant or not, but still.  Girlfriend was big!  Me, not so much.  In all honesty, I should be grateful, and I am...NOW.  Who wouldn't appreciate fewer stretch marks?  Besides, I know that day will be here soon, when I look down and think where the hell did THIS thing come from???  It's coming.  With a vengeance.  And then I will miss my "small" days.

I'm so parched

It's one of my favorite things in the world to find an  E M P T Y jug sitting on top of the water cooler.  Um.  Not really.  In fact, it bugs the crap out of me.  I either have very bad luck with water coolers, or some people in the office are just lazy and inconsiderate.  I'm going to go with the latter.  I work in a small office (fewer than 20 of us), and it's amazing how much water we go through in a week, let alone a day.  Our delivery dates have been moved up from 5 or 6 jugs per month to 10 jugs every two weeks!  It's pretty insane.  There's actually a Korean phrase to specifically describe someone who drinks a lot of water: moor dae-ji.  Its literal translation is "water pig." That's us, and I'm no exception (but at least I REPLACE the jug when it's empty!).  So our office manager did a very smart thing recently by ordering a filtered water dispenser and getting rid of the spring water dispenser.  It's much nicer now hearing the constant flow of water instead of the constant flow of whining.  And the taste? Well, anything beats the Philly tap.

Sneaky April

When in the world did April arrive, and how on earth did I miss its arrival?  I just looked at the yearly calendar I have hanging in my cubicle and realized that a quarter--that's right, I said it, a QUARTER--of the year has already vanished!  I know it's going to be Christmas before I realize all the pollen's gone, but let's not jump so far ahead just yet.  There are so many other holidays to look forward to before Christmas, and there's something even more special than a holiday this year, too.  My calendar is already marked, and the countdown began months ago.  Stay tuned.

Steno, oh how I miss you

I don't know how many times over the past year I complained about having to practice my steno, but I know it had to have been a lot.  I didn't like practicing.  Okay, I plain old hated it.  In fact, I hate having to practice anything.  But that's beside the point.  As much as I hated practicing, I absolutely LOVED steno.  I still do, and I can't shake it.  I know, dorky, nerdy, weird, whatever you want to call it, but it simply fascinated and excited me. The idea of writing not only single words but entire phrases in just one keystroke made me giddy!

"I can't recall" = KWRARL
"I don't remember" = KWRORM
"Did you go" = STKUG
"Do you want" = TKAOUPT
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury" = HRAEURPBLG

One stroke can say so much.

Last weekend, I blew off the dust that had been steadily settling onto my stenograph over the month or so since I had sat down in front of it, and I finally put it away.  I couldn't bring myself to do it any sooner.  It genuinely hurt me, almost like I was putting down a long-loved pet.  No, I didn't cry, but I felt nostalgic and, yes, a little empty even.  It was a very sad day for me, and I guess I'm still in mourning for my loss.

It's a mystery to me

I see this all the time while I'm driving into work in the morning: a woman on the phone, usually not a man, also driving to work, obviously engaged in the most engrossing conversation of the entire day.  Wait a second--it's like 7:30 in the morning.  What could you POSSIBLY have to talk about at 7:30 in the morning???  How are you even functioning well enough to drive amongst sleepy-eyed, barely-awake motorists who could hit you at any moment due to the joys of sleep deprivation?  I don't get it.  Is it me?  I mean, what is so important that you have to carry on this conversation first thing in the morning, while you're DRIVING, no less?  I just pray you don't shut down 76 East because you couldn't wait until, I don't know, lunchtime maybe, to hear about how Stacy and Bobby hooked up last week and he never called her back, and how Linda and Joe are getting a divorce, and how Donato is cheating on Antonia, all while you side-swipe the sleepy dude in the car next to you while you're trying to change lanes, because hey-how'd-my-exit-get-here-so-fast, causing a ten car pile-up.

Twice as nice

I think not. 

This one is just going to be my rant. 

I absolutely LOVE doing my work TWICE because people just don't know how to COMMUNICATE or do their RESEARCH before giving me an assignment.  Thank you for wasting my time and shitting on my day. 

Love, Okim

Perpetual Headache

It seems I've had this headache for months now.  I did have a little respite from it for about a week, probably a month or so ago, but my head has been on a rage lately.  Stress, not sleeping well, insulin, bad allergies, none of that helps at ALL, let me just tell you.  I went to the acupuncturist last night and he stuck one of the needles in my forehead.  It didn't hurt or anything, it just felt like there was a piece of paper sitting on my face.  Sound annoying?  Yeah, I'd say.  Did it help?  Somewhat.  But I think him crushing my skull and bruising my neck to get to some of the points "more gently," as he put it, helped more, though.  More gently?  Shit, if that was gentle, I'd hate to feel "firm."  Maybe what he really wanted was just to feel up my weird-shaped head.  More on that in a later, separate post.  For now, I'll just try to crush my own head.

Problem-solving skills...or lack thereof

I work with a lot of young people.  I am 37 (I know, so ancient, right?), and most of the people I work with are in their early-twenties, so for a lot of them, this is their first "real" job out of college.  Ugh, I remember those days of greenness and the 30-somethings would roll their eyes because of some alleged faux-pas I committed.  Whatever.  I try not to be that way.  I don't roll my eyes, no.  But I do get pissed off.   Not at little things, like an honest data entry error or not remembering how to do something (unless I've already told you like four times).  It's when people don't put on their thinking caps and TRY to figure things out, even simple things, for themselves.  It's like they need to be told everything, what to do, and how to do it.  Am I your mother?  Do you need to have your hand held to cross the street?  Should I change your diaper?  I do need the practice, after all, if I intend on becoming a mother.  I have the perfect example of what I'm talking about.  True story:

A letter needed to be mailed out, so I put the envelope, ready to go (all it needed was a stamp), on the 20-something's desk.  I put a post-it note on it that said, "Please stamp and mail out today."  I found the letter back on my desk a few days later, not even the next day, with a new post-it note on it that said, "We don't have any stamps."  Uh.  Okay.  WHAT????  You have GOT to be kidding me, right?  I'm the type of person that can't hide her feelings well, even on paper, so I wrote in the angriest of letters, "If there are no stamps, then GO TO THE POST OFFICE AND GET SOME."  Here's a newsflash for you: you're the receptionist--that's your JOB!

See, this is what I'm talking about.  I had to tell her what to do.  Okay, maybe I yelled at her on paper.  I probably could have been nicer about it, but I was pissed.  You left this letter on my desk for three days because there weren't any stamps in the office??  Come on.  Any 30- or 40-something would have known to go to the post office, wouldn't they?  And don't get me wrong, it's not because she's dumb.  She is FAR from dumb; in fact, she's very bright and picks up things very quickly.  But unfortunately, she is cursed with what most of her generation is cursed with: no problem-solving skills.  I don't know what's changed in the curriculum since I graduated, but clearly our colleges and universities need to institute some sort of class that teaches the ability to think outside the box, or better yet, to just THINK, period.  Or maybe a class in pure common sense might be good for everyone.

Feeling...uh...I dunno

Sometimes it takes a little while for my feelings to settle in.  When I found out on Tuesday that I have carpal tunnel syndrome (CTS), I immediately had a mish-mash of feelings, really.  They ranged from aha-I-knew-it to shit-what-am-I-gonna-do-now to why-am-I-falling-apart-physically-at-37 to thank-the-sweet-lord-I-don't-have-to-practice-anymore.  Three days later, as reality kicks in and I now have to rethink my future career options, I simply don't know how to feel.  I guess I just feel a little lost now. 

I had been training for the past year to become a stenographer.  I even went part-time at my job so I could train more consistently, much to the chagrin of my husband.  (No, he was NOT a happy husband when I told him I wanted to cut my hours, therefore my salary, in half and spend over $5,000 to train myself for a new career.)  There was always something I could be doing to improve my skills (not that I did much other than put my time in practicing), and I was always preoccupied with keying the steno in my head of what people were saying on TV.  Movies were always easier than the news because at least people paused between sentences so I could catch up!  Now, the couple of hours almost every day that I spent practicing are mine to do, hmm, uh, what, anything, right?  Do what I wanted to do but couldn't because I had speed to build and difficult polysyllabic words to conquer!  Instead, I find myself not knowing what to do.  And all this freaking snow doesn't help--I can't even go for a walk!  I get bored with the television.  There's only so much Dr. Phil I can watch, and "Last Chance Harvey" or "You Don't Mess with the Zohan" are the only movies that seem to be on Starz anymore.  So, I log onto Facebook obsessively.  No, Okim, not much has changed since you logged on five minutes ago.  I open the fridge and peer in at least five or six times a day.  Note to self: go grocery shopping.  Hell, I'm even considering doing a little [GASP!] work on my day off.  WHAT???  Have I lost my mind?  Well, I am hourly after all, and I'll get paid for it, so what difference does it make?  Still, it's WORK!  Okay, so maybe that option is out.  I guess I could always exercise.  Ugh.  I am so out of shape.  Excuses, excuses.  Sigh.

I hate to sound like a complete dork, but steno really was a big part of me.  That little machine with 24 keys sitting in front of me, that receipt-sized paper spitting out purple, non-descript words as I hit the keys to: "How fast were you going when you hit the other automobile?"  That's: HOU/FA*S/PRU/GO/-G/WHU/HEUT/-T/OER/AUBL/STPH in steno.  (Yes, I know, I'm a total nerd.)  And now that I can't do it anymore, there is definitely a void, like something is missing from my life.  I am lamenting my loss.  I guess I DO know how I'm feeling now.  SAD.  Steno, I will miss you dearly and you will always be in my blood.

Disappointed but partly relieved

I had been having a lot of tingling and numbness in my right hand for the last few months, along with stabbing pains shooting up my palm, through the tips of my first three fingers whenever I stretched out my arm or bent back my hand.  It became particulary noticeable and bothersome in the last few weeks, so I made an appointment to see an orthopaedist.  He confrimed today what I had suspected for a while: carpal tunnel syndrome. 

It's been a big fear of mine for years, but especially this past year, because I have been training myself to become a court reporter.  Sore wrists and numb fingers to a court reporter is like a cracked rib to a quarterback; you can still do the job, maybe not as proficiently, but is the potential for permanent physical damage really worth the risk?  I'll have to think about that some more.  I'm disappointed, yes, indeed I am.  I was almost up to 140 wpm!  A far cry from 225, which is where I needed to be to become certified, but I was getting there slowly but surely.  It took hours and hours of practice over the last eight months (first four months was learning the theory) to get there, so of COURSE I'm disappointed.  But, part of me is a little relieved, I must admit, because the hours and hours of practice was, well, to put it lightly, a drag.  It reminded me of when I was a kid and I had to practice my bassoon.  I hated it.  I loved playing my bassoon, but I hated practicing, just like I love steno and hate practicing today.  My bassoon was just replaced with the stenograph; my disdian for practice, however, will never diminish.

Food is Love

Food has always been a big part of my life.  No, I'm not a compulsive eater or a closet junk-food-junkie, but I LOVE to eat.  I eat throughout the day and constantly have something in my mouth, whether it's an apple, Cheez-its, almonds, yogurt, popcorn, oatmeal, whatever.  Food makes me happy.  When my friends come over, I always put something in front of them, even if they're not hungry, and they end up eating anyway (side note: if you're on a diet, you may not want to visit me).  I remember living in this one apartment that had a pantry in the dining room, and it was stacked from top to bottom with every snack you could imagine: cookies, potato chips, pretzels, crackers, nuts, candy, you name it, it was probably on the shelves.  My best friend at the time would come over and we'd plow through a good chunk of them.  "I love coming over here," I remember her saying, "because there's always so much to eat!"  I definitely get this from my mom: I feed you because I love you; I love you because I feed you.  Food is love.  Love is food.



Meals were always a big to-do in my family, ever since I can remember.  When it was just the family, it was nothing too fancy, but the food was always delicious, and there was so much of it; we never longed for a full stomach.  And if guests were coming, my mom was a madwoman.  She'd prepare for days, and her three daughters had no choice, of course, but to be her begrudging assistants.  My mother ruled with an iron spatula.  WHACK!  It was her kitchen, so you'd better follow the General's commands, 
or you'd ache from the severe tongue-lashings.  Or, you'd just get stuck peeling mounds and mounds of garlic in the corner while the other assistants were busy deep frying this or decorating that.  Weird punishment, I know.  My mother ran a tight kitchen, albeit a touch Hitler-esque, but it paid off.  Dishes magically bloomed into the most extraordinary masterpieces; the presentation was truly breath-taking sometimes.  And it didn't just look pretty.  When you took that first bite, your eyes would roll back into your head, your taste buds would dance on your tongue, your throat would open up wide, begging you not to stop (my mouth is watering right now just thinking about all that deliciousness!), while your stomach eagerly awaited the delectable delights.  Those were some lucky guests, because they never left empty-handed.

My mom will be 70 this year, so she doesn't cook as much or as often as she used to, tapering off quite noticeably over the last five or six years.  She's blind in one eye, and arthritis has overtaken her deformed and obviously-painful fingers.  Not being able to see well and having your hands hurt while you're trying to julienne carrots, well, that would put a damper in anyone's ability to create a visual and palatable feast, no?  Even so, every time I stop over to see my parents, my mom insists on feeding me, and most times, I don't argue.  My mom's talent for making something scrumptious from nothing particularly exciting in the fridge is still very much alive and well.  And when I tell my parents it's time for me to leave, my mom scurries to the kitchen and comes back with a bag (it could be apples, a jar of kimchee, homemade dumplings, homegrown tomatoes, anything really) and says, "Here, take this home with you."  After all, food IS love.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

My dad turned 74 today!  He is exactly twice as old as I am, but not for long, since I'll be adding another notch to the life-belt this year.  It's hard to believe that my father already had FOUR kids by the time he was my age (and I still have a big-fat-zero kids...sore subject), and planning a whole new life for all of us, too.  I think when he was my age he came to live in America, a year ahead of the rest of the family; we came after he was settled into a house and had a job.  I don't know how my father did it.  He left a beautiful, custom-built house in Korea, a high-paying job, his family, and his extended family, too.  Granted, my mom and the kids came a year later, but still, to leave so much behind to start a new life in a country that didn't really want him took some serious brass kahunas!  Could YOU ever imagine moving to a new country, where you knew like one other person, didn't speak the language, and looked completely different?  Let's be real here.  It's not like an American dude moving to Canada.  It's more like a Senegalese dude moving to Hong Kong.  Dad, I salute you, and thanks for having brass ones!

Today is the first day of the rest of your life...

...PUBLIC life, that is.  Welcome to my very first blog!  I was inspired (um, copycat?) by a friend who just started blogging.  My plan is to write about life's little irritations and try to sort through my daily brain fuzz.  I know I could do it privately, but what fun is that?  I hope you enjoy the ride.

Anyway, that phrase in the title is very meaningful to me.  I used to think it was something people just said at roasts, or what my husband likes to say to me every now and again to get under my skin.  When I sat down and really thought about it, though, it opened my eyes.  Yesterday is yesterday.  Last week is last week.  Last year is last year.  There's no going back.  Ever.  And there's nothing I or anyone else can do about that (unless, of course, there's a time machine lurking somewhere in the shadows of Area 51).  So, stop obsessing about the past.  Move on and forge ahead because, well, today really IS the first day of the rest of your life.