Confession, my husband and I aren’t even trying anymore when it comes to potty training. That said, we have put in effort  – we’re constantly telling Ethan to use the toilet or reminding him to tell us when he needs to pee or poop. I’ve shown him the bribe he will receive when he doesn’t let ‘er rip in his pants. We’ve also made him watch us use the ceramic throne to which he happily does like it’s his favorite episode of Paw Patrol.  And one time we tried letting him go around the house commando, an experiment that I can tell you my furniture did not appreciate. But still, nothing.

So we’re taking a break.

We’ve just nailed it with diapers. It works for us. We don’t have to worry about accidents when we’re out. There’s never a need to stop at a roadside bathroom that I’m certain is the scene of several unsolved homicides. If an incident does happen – we’ve done it all, in almost every scenario imaginable and it’s pretty much second nature for us. And it clearly works for him. Pooping and peeing as he pleases. He’s living a care-free life. Sure, at times he’s carrying shitty baggage around with him, but aren’t we all in some sense or the other?

How can we deny happiness to this dude, pictured here chilling at our neighborhood pizza joint, pooping his pants at this very moment:

“Dear God, please help me get through this. I’m really scared. The pain is unbearable, but I know I need to do this. Please give me strength and peace. Amen.”  Toes curled, baby mouth to nipple, and then I scream.

That was my routine during the early days of breastfeeding. It hurt like hell. Ethan wasn’t latching, my nipples were cracked and I was to soothing balms like Miley Cyrus was to pasties.

After a few weeks though, Ethan started nursing like a pro – what used to take 40-45 mins, now only took 10-15 mins. No pain. I finally experienced the beauty of breastfeeding – it really is quite magical and the time I spent with Ethan was beyond precious.

In the last week, I’ve started weaning. I’m going back to work and Ethan’s been exhibiting what can only be described as living dead tendencies – he has been chomping down on every part of my body and taking flesh with him.

Today he actually showed preference to a bottle of whole milk over. breastfeeding. I have to admit, it gutted me a little. While this was my goal, I don’t think I was ready for it to happen so soon and can’t help but feel like I’ve lost something special. This was an experience only he and I did together and now we won’t be doing it anymore. Sigh. Here’s to many more instances of being a parent and learning to let go.

I’ll never forget the way he looked at me after every feeding though..

TLDR: Ethan took his sweet time exiting my uterus. I’m that friend of a friend of an aunt’s cousin who you hear about having a ridiculously long labour. Whenever you come across such a tale, you never actually think it’s real because if it was real, it would really, really suck. Well I’m here to confirm it is real and it does indeed suck.

December 13, 2015
Early Sunday morning, around 5:00 AM, I started having contractions. They weren’t severe enough to warrant profanities but they were uncomfortable enough to wake me from my sleep. Then they slowed down as the day progressed so I dismissed the morning’s events as a false alarm.

As we entered the evening, the contractions returned with a vengeance. They were much closer together and hurt like words I’m not comfortable children reading. So I thought, okay, this is probably it. We waited for my water to break or for my contractions to be even closer together, but neither of those events happened. The pain persisted though.

December 14, 2015

After catching zero hours of sleep all night, we finally made the trek to the hospital. I started to prepare my heart for the arrival of my first born. Once there,  a doctor stuck her hand in me and announced that I was only 2 cm dilated (you need to be 10 cm to give birth and more than 5 cm to be admitted to the hospital). TWO CM. All that freaking pain, and I wasn’t even the size of a quarter. They shot me up with gravol and morphine and sent my husband and I home.

It was rough, but we accepted that it wasn’t time and that I needed to stop being a baby about my pain because my actual baby wants to chill in my utero-oven a bit longer.

December 15, 2015

Profanities, profanities, profanities. I hadn’t cursed that much since I was a too cool twelve year old, roaming the elementary school hallways with my “back up.”  The pain was off the charts. The only way to relieve it was to push. My water still hadn’t broken and my contractions were still 7-10 mins apart (ideally they should be 3-4 mins before heading to the hospital).

I was extremely reluctant to make another trip to the maternity ward as I felt another rejection could destroy my soul. But, we went anyway. After another night of excruciating pain and no sleep, I was elated to learn that I was now a whole…3 cm dilated. My husband and I picked up the shattered pieces of my soul and went home.

December 16, 2015

At this point, despite the mind-numbing pain and the high-pitch shrieks that my neighbours could’ve mistaken for murder, I was determined to stay home until the baby’s head was protruding from my vagina. That’s obviously an exaggeration, but I genuinely could not emotionally handle another hospital rejection.

We waited until the early afternoon. I decided to call my OBGYN as the urge to push was stronger than ever now. She quickly advised that I go to the hospital and she would admit me as she was the attending physician. My husband and I looked at each other with cautious excitement and proceeded to the hospital.

My OBGYN checked me and exclaimed that I was 6 cm dilated and I could possibly have the baby before her shift ended in 2.5 hours. WHAT?!?! My husband started texting close family members and friends – get the balloons and confetti ready, people!

Hours passed. The pain was unreal.  My OBGYN’s shift ended and another physician replaced her. He proceeded to check me and expressed, “uh, you’re only 4, maybe 5 cm dilated.” WHAT?!?! Cancel the balloons and confetti, this kid is growing old and retiring in my uterus.

I don’t know how there was such a discrepancy, but it was too late – I was admitted, hooked up and I was staying in the hospital for the long haul. Also, SHOOT ME UP WITH THE EPIDURAL – PLEASE!

December 17, 2015

After the epidural, my labour could’ve gone on for another 80 hours and I wouldn’t have cared. I was comfortably resting on the hospital bed while wave after wave of contractions came and went. Then around 3:00 AM, I was told to push. To be honest, without the pain, I was getting pretty bored and impatient after about 30 mins. My husband described the experience as extremely anti-climatic and compared it to watching me work out, which if you know me, is exactly as uneventful as you would imagine.

4:07 AM – Ethan Atticus Cheuk bursts into the world. The nurse immediately wonders out loud, “why isn’t he breathing?” My heart skips a beat and then the baby lets out a bloodcurdling cry. “Sounds like he’s breathing to me,” the doctor responds. Then Chris is asked if he wants to cut the umbilical cord, to which he says yes. After he makes the cut, the doctor recoils in terror and clenches his fingers. “Just kidding,” the doctor smirks.

What are these people doing to us?! (Other than those two isolated incidents, all the staff at the hospital were freaking amazing).

So there he was – in his gooey placenta-clad glory. Ethan was placed on top of me – skin to skin – I looked down at him and he looked up at me. He was calm and I thought to myself, “phew, the hard part’s over. I can finally get some rest.”

Needless to say, I was still hopped up on drugs.

A photo posted by Chris Cheuk (@topherchuck) on Dec 18, 2015 at 12:39pm PST

I’ve always said that the second best thing about being pregnant/having a baby, is not having your period. No stains, no mess, no discreetly concealing a pad in my clothes like a drug mule. My monthly nemesis, Flow, had been in exile for almost 21 months, but today she returned with a vengeance. Let me just say, hell hath no fury like a lady scorned. It’s a bloody mess. Literally.

Ethan has no sympathy for my pain.

To be fair, now that Ethan is mobile, there’s a potential death trap around every corner. I have to watch his every single move. It’s for his own good.

That said, I am legit obsessed with the kid. My nightly routine consists of scanning through 2781 photos/videos of him, all while my favorite program, “EAC – Ethan’s Baby Monitor” is running in the background. This is after I’ve already spent all day with him, cuddling, kissing, playing, smothering, “boo boo blah blah”ing. I can’t get enough!

And to quote the excuse of all stalkers, it’s just because I love him so damn much!

How could I not? Look at the kid.

My birthday was on August 8. The day is marked with a bittersweet aftertaste. Ever since I was little, the passing of my birthday meant that summer would soon be over.  Thanks for the cake, now I guess we can go back-to-school shopping.

I’m confronting a similar reality check this year. In a matter of four’ish months, my maternity leave will end. I’ll return to an intense, consuming, 9 to whenever job, and face my next great motherhood challenge – balance. I keep reminding myself to not take the seeming minutia of my every day for granted: the lackadaisical way I enter Ethan’s room when he wakes up in the morning – there’s no stress, we have nowhere to be any time soon; the freedom I have to snuggle with Ethan at any moment – you look too cute right, I must now spend the next 15 mins pressing your face next to mine; the ability to indulge in our breastfeeding sessions – you can go for as long as you want, take as many breaks, I’m just going to be right here for you.

Time.

What a luxury it’s been to have time. Time to learn, time to grow, time to discover, time to watch, time to play, and time to truly love.

I’m going to miss every. single. second.

If it’s somewhere down the road, and I’m my future self who somehow found the courage to have another baby, and you’re re-reading this post: Soak it in – the good, the bad, the horrifying, the depressing and the unparalleled elation. It flies by and before you know it, you’ll be back in your cubicle writing emails that start with, “I wanted to follow up on…”

But before that happens, I’m going to return to this guy, who’s looking the way I feel about going back to work.

Ethan’s been sleeping on his side recently. That’s how his daddy sleeps and now he sleeps like that too. It’s a thing he does. He has a “thing.” My baby is developing traits and exhibiting behaviour that sets him apart and makes him an individual. Certainly sleeping on one’s side is not unique to my kid, but how many kids sleep on their side and also burrow their head in my chest after repeatedly hopping up and down on my lap while also beaming with a wide-eyed smile? None, just mine. 

I love, love, love watching Ethan fall asleep – the way his eyes flutter open and close, how his gaze drifts into a distance and how his lips relax into an ever so slight frown. It’s so freaking cute!

Some moms might/will hate me, but I’m going to say it anyway – Ethan is a pretty good sleeper. He started sleeping through the night at 2 months and doesn’t usually  put up too much of a fuss when we put him down. When we’re out, we just need to rock him for a few minutes in his car seat or stroller before his eyes get heavy. Maye that’s why I have the time and patience to study his face as his drifts into his dreams. Hopefully the magic doesn’t die now that I’ve talked about it.

We tend to remember the big stuff – first smile, first laugh, first crawl, first step etc. – as parents we are conditioned to engrave those milestone moments into our memory bank for safe keeping. But man, if I could, I would take every single small moment with me. The way he studies my face when we’re snuggling, or how he coos when he rests his head on my chest or the way he happily gazes up at me after I’ve fed him – I can’t even fully articulate how these seemingly inconsequential occurrences melt my heart on the daily. If this was the world of Pixar’s Inside Out, each of these moments would be effectively catalogued  within my long term memory in the section marked, “Very Special Ethan Loves Mommy Memories – Do Not Ever Forget, Ever.”

Barring that, I’ll just take lots of pictures and videos just in case.

Here’s one of those moments:

Cutting Ethan’s nails requires the precision of disabling a bomb. It’s one of the scariest things I have to do. Therefore, I don’t do it. My mother-in-law has taken on this responsibility. I’ve tried to reclaim ownership, but I think she loves doing it. That, or she has no faith in me at all, due to the several times that I’ve cut him and given him blisters.

Well, regardless, she really needs to up her nail-cutting game, because Ethan has been going Edward Scissors Hands on his face.

Notice the battle wound from a recent scuffle he had with himself during his nap. Yes, I know it’s just itty bitty, but to a mom, it might as well be a gash across his entire face! It’s actually in the shape of a tiny tear. Thug life: