A Letter to My (Unborn) Second Child

Dear Baby Bean #2,

First off, I apologize if Mommy and Daddy seem a bit preoccupied. Days, weeks, and months pass by, and I realize that I haven’t so much as read you a book or sang you a song or gave you a gentle love tap through Mommy’s growing belly.

I assure you: it’s definitely not because there are more important things going on in our lives. And definitely not because we don’t think about you or have forgotten about you.

That’s the furthest thing from the truth.

It’s nearly impossible for the days, hours, minutes, seconds to pass by without you, Little Bean, entering my thoughts. Especially because you never let me not think about you, with your constant kicks and dances.

I’m so grateful for how much you move. Every movement helps me to learn about you a little bit more and more. 

I can tell you’re going to be a bit of a firecracker, which both warms my heart and terrifies me to no end.

Daddy and I would be kidding ourselves if we didn’t acknowledge that you’re going to keep us on our toes. It’s an inevitability.

When I think about your pending arrival, I get nervous. Not because I’m scared to meet you. Not even because I don’t think that Daddy and I will know what to do (not that we’re professionals — I just know that when I meet you, I’ll be able to figure out what you need).

No, I think I’m nervous because I know that I will love you so much.

My heart has already been full.

With gratitude and joy and unconditional love for the life I’ve had over the past few years. For the people that I’ve been fortuitous enough to surround myself. Especially your daddy and your brother and your fur-brother, your aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins. There are so many people that I have given so much love to; it’s hard to imagine having the capacity to love anyone or anything else at this point.

But I know that’s what will happen: my seemingly already-filled heart will inevitably expand a bit more to accommodate how much love I’ll undoubtedly feel about you.

That much love is hard for me to comprehend.

So, I’m just writing to let you know that I’m anxious to meet you. I’m eager to meet you. I’m counting down the days, Little Bean (but also, selfishly, crossing my fingers that you’re cozy enough in my womb that you’ll wait those five more weeks until you’re “supposed to” make your grand entrance into this world).

We’ll see you soon. And we can’t wait to love you — with all our bodies, minds, and hearts.

Love,

Mama Bean

My Second Pregnancy Struggles

Disclaimer: this blog post is super ranty and whiny and does not, in any way, shape, or form, represent my feelings toward my soon-to-be-born second child.


I’m a little over 34 weeks into my second pregnancy, and all I have to say is this: it has been a huge struggle.

My sister, my doctor, my mother, my aunts, my co-workers — basically every woman I know who has experienced multiple pregnancies — have assured me: feeling this much physical discomfort and pain during my second pregnancy is completely normal. Which, I guess, is supposed to be a comforting sentiment.

But, admittedly, my increasingly disgruntled (and, therefore, increasingly pessimistic) self just can’t help but grumble: this sucks so much.

I’m sure I’ve shared this with you all before, but I’ll say it again: I’m honest with myself and know that I’m not one of those women who particularly enjoys being pregnant. Granted, I love my children, and I’m so thankful that this nine-month journey ends with a little being that I somehow simultaneously love so much and can’t seem to love enough… But the journey itself?

Yeah, I’m not a fan.

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Getting a C-Section, Pt. 2: The Weirdest Delivery Imaginable

To all those people who’ve said that a C-section is “easy,” I have one thing to say in response: sure, I may not have pushed a baby out of my birth canal, but getting a C-section has undoubtedly been one of the most surreal and hardest experiences of my life.

People would ask me about my C-section, if I felt any pain, if I were conscious, how the surgery progressed and felt. And all I could say in response was: it felt sterile and all too medical.

Continue reading “Getting a C-Section, Pt. 2: The Weirdest Delivery Imaginable”

Getting a C-Section, Pt. 1: Breech Babies and My First Feelings of Failure as a New Mom

“Still breech,” my OB-GYN exclaimed, as she glided the ultrasound probe over my belly.

It’s been two weeks since my standard 32-week prenatal checkup, where — in addition to analyzing my urine, asking about my exercise and diet, and addressing any concerns about the quickly approaching birth — my doctor checked the baby’s position. If the baby were head down, then he’d be in perfect position for childbirth. If not, then we would have to make some decisions.

During that appointment, after rubbing my rapidly growing belly with ultrasound gel, my doctor also proclaimed that my baby was in breech (feet down, head up, and an unsafe position for a vaginal birth). We had some time to explore next steps at that point, so my doctor reviewed some options.

Continue reading “Getting a C-Section, Pt. 1: Breech Babies and My First Feelings of Failure as a New Mom”

Getting a C-Section, Prologue: #CesareanAwarenessMonth

I woke up last Thursday morning to an Instagram direct message from my mom: an illustration of a woman cradling a newborn and sporting a slightly crescent-shaped scar across her lower belly. April is Cesarean Awareness Month, the message read.

As her daughter who delivered via cesarean section over half a year ago, my mom obviously wanted to send me a little acknowledgment and a little love.

And that message warmed my heart.

Firstly, because I didn’t even know Cesarean Awareness Month was a thing — and I thought that was freakin’ awesome. And, secondly, because cesarean sections (more commonly known as C-sections) are traumatic medical procedures that are fairly common yet still frighteningly misunderstood. And the women who undergo them — who have to endure ignorance, misconceptions, and judgment, in addition to lengthy recovery periods — need some acknowledgment and some love every once in a while.

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Coming to Terms with My Postpartum Body: My 2018 Fitness Goals

2017 was an intense year, both for the world and for me. All craziness aside, though, the year also brought me one of the greatest blessings of my life: Micah.

Bringing my child into the world meant enduring countless emotional, mental, and physical changes. Emotionally, the first few months of Micah’s life were a rollercoaster. Mentally, assuming a new identity as “mother” led to some pretty profound shifts in my priorities: with a child, my intent this year and in all future years is to live my life in a way that makes not only me happy, safe, and fulfilled, but also my little family (especially my son).

Physically, 2017 proved to be an interesting journey.

Continue reading “Coming to Terms with My Postpartum Body: My 2018 Fitness Goals”

The Kid with the Long-Ass Name: Why I Gave My Son My Last Name

While we prepared for our son’s arrival, Reggie and I would have long discussions about potential names, just like every other couple. But we had an added complication: what would his last name be?

You see, I have something to confess: in case my extensive social media presence didn’t tip you off, I never took my husband’s last name after we got married. Admittedly, I had every intention to change my name while we prepared for our wedding; I even wrote my supposed married name on our marriage license. But months passed, and my willingness to complete the paperwork waned… And I ultimately realized that I was putting off the name change because I didn’t want a name change.

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Ms. C & Mr. B on our wedding day (© Michael James Photography 2014)

I realized that the practice of a woman assuming her husband’s surname was unnecessary (people would tell me that the name change was needed for insurance or tax purposes, which is completely untrue) — and, frankly, undesirable. I equated changing my name with changing my identity: I had no desire to become an entirely different person, and marriage wasn’t going to change my passions, my goals, or my priorities. So I decided to drop the “B.” from “Sarina C.B.,” and I continued on as “Sarina C.” For good.

Continue reading “The Kid with the Long-Ass Name: Why I Gave My Son My Last Name”

On the Pressures (and Challenges) of Getting Pregnant

When Reggie and I married, we made a promise: while we both wanted kids, we would wait at least two or three years to get pregnant. At 24 years of age, we believed that we had ample time to enjoy marriage and one another before introducing a child into the picture.

Despite our desires, however, we constantly fielded the same question throughout our first two years of marriage: When are you two going to have kids?

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No kids, but still a family.

At first, the question was simply annoying, although we knew that the frequent interrogation regarding pregnancy and parenthood was inevitable in a new marriage. Especially within a traditional Filipino family, where the formulaic College-Career-Marriage-Homeowning-Children timeline is not only an expectation but a mandate.

But, once Reggie and I approached our third year of marriage and began trying to get pregnant, the question about children elevated from annoying to hurtful.

Continue reading “On the Pressures (and Challenges) of Getting Pregnant”