Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Thoughts for my friend

A good friend of mine recently found out she is expecting her second child. She's excited, and scared, and wondering, I think, how this new little person will fit in her family. It seemed inappropriate to leave a novel as a comment on her blog, but this is MY blog so I can do what I want.

I think all mothers, when they find out they are pregnant with a second child, wonder if they can possibly love this second one like they do their firstborn. Because your firstborn is the only person you've ever felt that incredibly protective, mama-tiger type love for. It's a totally different love than what you feel for your parents, or your spouse, or anyone else. And the truth, for me, is that on the day Adia was born I didn't feel the same about her as I did about Trea. But I was comparing my feelings for a newborn with the relationship I had with my two-and-a-half year old, who talks, and whom I know. Within 24 hours I started to know Adia as well, and within two days I realized that I couldn't imagine not having her.

And it becomes easy to love that baby as much as your firstborn. In fact, if your firstborn is a toddler, there will inevitably be a time when you are cuddling or nursing the baby and the toddler decides that now would be an excellent time to scale the furniture and decorate the walls. . .at which point you will look down at the sweet, innocent baby who is NOT testing your patience, and wonder how you ever could have worried about not loving her.

Not that I've had that happen to me.

Everyone told me I would love my second as much as my first. They were right. What no one mentioned was how incredible it was going to be to watch my kids together. To see Trea try to make sure the baby is covered up (with her blanket), or to watch Trea creep over to a sleeping Adia and tuck her favorite doll under her arm. She wants to feed her (sorry, Trea, Adia cannot eat chocolate-covered pretzels yet) and play with her. She keeps trying to put blocks in Adia's hands, so Adia can play too. And Adia lights up when she hears Trea's voice, and watches her every move. I love that they will have each other. Even after John and I are gone, they will have each other.

To my friend - you're giving your child another person to love, and be loved by. You'll never regret it.

Sunday, June 10, 2007


A little girl we knew died two months ago. She passed away from leukemia ten days after Adia was born. I saw Praew and her mom at the hospital the day I gave birth to Adia, but John wasn’t with me and I don’t speak Thai, so we just exchanged greetings. I didn’t realize how sick she was. She’d been sick since before we knew her, and we never heard that she was really getting worse. John just came home one day and said she had died. She was nine.

Her mom, Teacher Mam, was one of Trea’s nursery teachers when we moved her, and her sister lives across the street. The two of them have helped us with Trea so many times. Now, they take care of the infants and toddlers. I had to leave Adia for a few hours last week to go teach. Teacher Mam and I were alone in the room, and I was nursing Adia. I asked how she was; she responded, but I didn’t understand it. I caught her daughter’s name but that was the only word I understood. A few minutes later another teacher came, and Teacher Mam repeated what she had said.

“She says to tell you that she misses Praew.”

Teacher Mam tried to smile – that Thai smile they do to cover up grief, or pain – but it didn’t quite work. I tried to smile back, and couldn’t quite do it. I looked down at my nursing baby, so healthy and so sweet, and realized that sometimes, my not knowing what to say has nothing to do with not speaking the language.

Friday, June 08, 2007


Just so all of you bloggers know, your blogs are being blocked in Thailand. We lost access to all blogs hosted by blogspot a couple of weeks ago - couldn't get to them at home, school, nada.

But, John has found a way around the censors. Ha! Take that, oppressive regime! It's weird to think that I live in a country where these things happen but I guess that is life under a military junta.