An Unfiltered Review of My Parenting So Far
And it’s been good.
As my 4-month-old daughter’s cries fill the room from her play mat, I find myself compelled to write about her. Consider this a personal review of my journey through parenthood, a mosaic of thoughts gathered along the way.
Where to begin? Perhaps with a portrait of her. Picture a charming little Asian infant, her eyes twinkling like beans, set in a perfectly round face, complemented by the slightest, most delicate curve of her lips. In need of a visual? Imagine her as the pineapple toy from Jellycat — the likeness is uncanny, from the bean-shaped eyes to the odd hairstyle. During her tummy time, her “pineapple” tuft waves in the air playfully, reminiscent of a flag or perhaps a cockatoo sporting a cyberpunk haircut. Her fine hair, so tender to the touch, bears a hint of brown at the tips — a souvenir from her time in the womb. Presently, she’s the epitome of cuteness, but rewind two months, and you’d find her looks like Paul Frank, the tiny, big-mouthed monkey. While her sparse, curly hairs mirroring the classic hairstyle of an elderly Asian grandmother (apologies, grandma!).
Ellie, that’s her name. The origin? Well, it stems from my fascination with the post-apocalyptic, particularly zombies, influenced heavily by the countless hours immersed in video games. My belief in an impending cataclysm has led me to adopt some rather unconventional hobbies, like archery and axe-throwing. Friends often chuckle at my earnest preparations for the zombie apocalypse, half-joking that I’ve missed my calling as a stand-up comedian. Yet, when curiosity gets the better of them, they’re eager to hear about my survival strategy.
And here it is, my survival strategy (I lay it out here and feel free to chuckle): my go-to haven would be a shopping plaza, ideally one housing a pet store and a wholesale warehouse like Costco. However, Costco is off-limits because of its popularity, hence likely swarming with zombies and other survivors. My choice? The pet store. I reckon some animals might still be uninfected, and frankly, I love animals more than human beings. Plus, as a cat owner, I’ve discovered that certain feline foods, like Tiki Cat, which boasts delicacies such as half a quail egg in their mix. It’s a strategy that promises companionship, minimal competition, and a large overlooked food supply — a no-brainer hideout, really.
BTW, I’d love to exchange more zombie survival tactics. It’s a topic ripe for creative exploration.
Let’s circle back to Ellie. Her namesake isn’t just any character. It comes from the famous video game called “The Last of Us”. Despite owning the game, I’ve never played it. Because its eerie vibe is a bit too intense and immersive for someone who half-believed zombies will become reality in the future. In the game, Ellie represents hope and resilience, immune to the virus that has ravaged humanity. While I don’t necessarily envision my Ellie as mankind’s savior, I do hope she embodies the same courage, independence, and resilience in the face of life’s zombies.
Now that you’re acquainted with Ellie, envision her as a spirited, toy-like figure with her messy hair embodying her mother’s aspirations of one day beating zombies.
Delving into the realm of parenthood, I must confess, the transition has been profound. Pre-Ellie, my understanding of motherhood was shaped by the myriad warnings of its complexities. As a quasi-New Yorker, who embrace the city’s vibe while residing in New Jersey, I’m somewhat hesitant about the idea of having children. My hesitance wasn’t rooted in personal reluctance but but a deeper concern for the myriad of societal challenges and pressures that seem to mount with each passing generation, particularly for a girl. Even though we’ve made progress in breaking down gender stereotypes, old-fashioned attitudes still linger, and we still need continuous effort to break free. Even with Ellie, I find myself reaching for pink outfits and plush toys, just because she’s a girl. Occasionally, I attempt to press down her unruly hair, a small act to fix her appearance. It’s an unwitting nod to societal expectations that gauge a woman’s worth by her appearance and behaviors.
As a woman in my thirties, navigating my own path through societal judgments, the thought of becoming a mom was overwhelming. How could I, still figuring out my own way to skip people’s judgments, take on being a mom and help my child face these tough standards and expectations?
Turns out, parenting is simpler than I thought, and my biggest takeaway? Don’t overplan it. No matter how detailed your plan is, your baby, the ultimate wildcard, will throw it off course. They’re like little bundles of randomness, capable of turning any strategy upside down, quickly humbling any parent who thought they had it all figured out. That’s why you often see people on social media screaming about how tough parenting is. Putting infants to sleep, for example, many say is a huge challenge. But it doesn’t have to be that complicated. You don’t need fancy gadgets like high-end cribs (Yes, I’m talking about SNOO). Just seek advice from experts and establish a routine. By the time my baby was 3 months old, a nighttime routine meant we didn’t need any special sleep training. She slept in her crib in our room, and we managed to get about 8 to 9 hours of sleep, with a break for feeding.
Reflecting on those social media posts about the difficulties of childcare and the need for expensive tech solutions, I understand why people think parenting is hard. It is challenging, but the rewards are immense. The joy of parenting often comes from overcoming the hardships. My husband and I have faced many difficulties, juggling work and childcare between us. But those tough times have turned into cherished moments. Her every little change, smile, the way her hair moves, and her baby scent bring us immense joy. These are the breaks we get from the relentless pursuit of money, approval, and career achievements. The real reward is getting to know her. Our little “pineapple” has a surprisingly good music taste than her dad, and she loves listening to me sing, even hitting the high notes in “Phantom of the Opera”. We’ve also noticed she might be left-handed, which is new for us right-handed parents.
Now, as I watch her lying there, hand waving in the air, I wouldn’t call her a miracle. She’s Ellie, my beacon of hope, helping me navigate this adult world that sometimes feels as daunting as a zombie apocalypse.
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