What I would Tell My 30-Something New Mom Self

Pink baby shoesThere’s been a mini baby boom going on around here these days.  Most of these moms are first-timers in their thirties with established careers and carefree lives.  Boy, are things going to change for them now!  I was once one of them — wide-eyed, inexperienced, and thirtysomething — so I made a list of some things I wish I had known when I was expecting and put them down here, in no particular order:

1.  Your body will recover, but it will never be the same again.  Enjoy those new curves.

2.  You can’t erase stretchmarks, so wear them with pride as a badge of honor.

3.  One-piece bathing suits are very stylish these days if #2 doesn’t work for you.

4.  Baby blues are real.  Pay attention to them and seek help if you feel like murdering your husband and your mother and burning down the house.

5.  There will be days when you will be disheveled and can’t even find the time to take a shower.  Try to go no more than three days without one, however.

6.  When your baby is turning your life upside down and you can’t understand why anyone would want to congratulate you for being such a mess, just smile and thank them. You will eventually come around.

7.  Plan on not going out to eat at a restaurant for about three years.

8.  Go ahead and accept help, especially meals.  You spent many years bringing meals to others, so it’s finally your turn.

9.  Nursing problems and mastitis are signs of overdoing it.  Remember, you are not going to be as capable as you have been all your life because now there’s a precious little one to take care of.  Kick your feet up and relax.

10.  Speaking of nursing, you won’t be wearing a one piece dress for a while.  For that matter, no dry clean-only clothes for a few years either.

11.  Don’t save baby shower gift outfits for a rainy day, because babies can fit into them for only a few hours before they outgrow them.  Put them on as soon as they fit and enjoy the cuteness while you can.

12.  Join a moms’ group such as MOPS.  Meet up with other moms in your same shoes and you won’t feel so alone.

13.  Speaking of shoes, go out and get lots of pairs of slip-ons.  Your time will be so pressed that you won’t have time to tie up your laces or buckle your shoes.

14.  Get a good tool box and be ready to do a lot of assembling, because you will be doing a lot of it in the years to come.   Almost all baby items and kid toys come with the dreaded words, “Some Assembly Required.”

15.  All babies are different.  Don’t compare yours with others. Be neither haughty nor envious. (I admit that I still do this, even as I watch Olympians the same age as my son and wonder where I fell short.)

16.  You will get tired of hearing this, but in time you will come to appreciate these words: They grow up so quickly.  Corollary 16a: Take lots of pictures.

17.  Avoid driving when sleep deprived.

18.  Try not to rock while standing and talking to someone without an actual baby in your arms.  I know — all moms do this.

19.  It’s going to feel really weird the first time you fill out a form for your child.  On the box where it says, “Parent,” you’re supposed to put your own name in it, not your mom’s.

20.  Praise God for the miracle of life, and thank Him for the privilege of being able to take part in it.

And now, let me say…



Your Panda Mom

P.S.  Do you have anything else to add to this list?  Please add them in the comments below.

Post-partum Recovery and Cultural Customs

My friend Annie was looking forward to having her mother-in-law come out from Hong Kong to help out for a while after the pending birth of the first grandchild in the family.  After Annie, her husband, and the baby came home from the hospital, she was relieved that her mother-in-law took care of everything so that Annie could rest and bond with the baby.  She even made soup for her everyday.

“Family recipe.  Will make you strong soon and you make good milk for our baby.”

Annie appreciated all the help…at least for the first seven days.  When she began to feel strong enough to do some easy housework, her mother-in-law immediately ordered her back to bed.  Annie was barely allowed to lift a finger except to nurse the baby and to go to the bathroom.

In fact, the matriarch did not allow Annie to get out of bed for THIRTY DAYS!  By the end of the second week, she was nearly in tears.  And by the end of the month, she had gotten so weak that she could hardly walk.  And the baby fat around her belly?  Don’t even think about it.

I’m hearing conflicting reports on how common it is in Hong Kong to remain bedridden for 30 days after giving birth, but my husband David agrees that the Chinese custom calls for keeping the baby away from the public until he or she is at least a month old.

Baby Meg with Big Brother Josh

That’s why I had this unfortunate incident at the nearby shopping mall one day when Meg was only about a week old.  Being the second child and a very easy baby, I popped her out in about two hours and was no worse for the wear.  My first born had already done most of the damage anyway.  It was a hot day in August, we were in a small apartment with air conditioning that couldn’t keep up, so we thought we’d go cool off at the mall.  Besides, Josh loved to go on the merry-go-round there just like any other 2-year old.

A couple of Chinese ladies came walking over to our bench where we were enjoying some croissants, peeking into the canopy of the infant car seat which sat upon the dual-purpose stroller.

“The baby – how old?” the older of the two asked me with a smile, in broken English.

“Oh, six days,” I replied, proudly.

Her eyes grew wide.  She then turned to the other woman, said something to her in Chinese, and turned back to me and glared.  They both pointed their fingers at me.  I wasn’t really sure what they were thinking, but they suddenly didn’t look so friendly.

I asked my husband who speaks Cantonese, “What did they say?”

“I’m not sure, because they were speaking Mandarin, but I think they said, ‘Child abuse!’”  I decided to scurry away before they called security on me.

Every culture has its own way of handling childbirth.  In Japan, they let the mom stay in the hospital for a full week even when there are no complications.  As for me, I followed the cultural customs of Kaiser Permanente Medical Hospital in Southern California.  I went into labor with both babies on a Friday morning then came home with a new bundle of joy on a Sunday afternoon.  It was like I went on a weekend retreat each time.  I just came home with a special package afterwards.  If my husband didn’t pull some strings, though, the hospital would have made me leave on Saturday instead of Sunday.  Also, the German nurse told me that I had to pass poop (and show her the proof) before I could leave.  For once, I was happy to be constipated for 48 hours.

My friend Christy, a fitness instructor, shared with us one time that she had decided to go for a jog, pushing her newborn in a baby jogger, three weeks postpartum.  She quickly found out that that’s not a very good idea.  She recommends others now to avoid her same mistake.

I am not sure which culture does it “right,” but it really all depends on mom and baby.  After my experience with mastitis, though, I would just recommend you to take it easier than you think you should.  That’s what I should have done, in hindsight.

How did you handle your postpartum period?  How long did it take you to get your groove back?  Share in the comments below!

The Days are Long, The Years Short

When word got out that I gave birth to our first child, we were overwhelmed by everyone’s kind and congratulatory wishes. People seemed genuinely happy for us and inundated us with gifts. In the earliest days of motherhood, however, I did not always share their enthusiasm for my new status.

“18 years will go by so quickly,” other parents said. While I knew this to be true, in my sleep-deprived, postpartum head I could only retort silently: Yeah, right. That’s what the public defender whispers into their client’s ear during sentencing. I hated to admit it, but I could not see what was so happy and good about giving birth to this…thing…which cried and tortured me around the clock, preventing me from even taking care of my basic needs such as showering and putting on shoes.

After a week of paternity leave, David had to get back to work. I remember many afternoons when the crying would start just as I’m starting to prepare dinner. I would be holding the baby and trying to cook with my feet while staring at the clock and counting down the minutes until David walked in the door. Time invariably slowed down to a crawl between 5 and 6pm. Once he did come home, if he didn’t come rescue me within 5 seconds, I would practically throw the baby his way and dash out the door for a run. Jailbreak!

One time, my poor husband made the mistake of innocently remarking, “I would switch places with you in a heartbeat to be with the baby all day.” Wrong thing to say, Dad.

“What do you think I do all day? PLAY with this crying thing? You think this is fun? Do you? Do you?”

David’s eyes grew wide as I vented. He was bracing himself for my head to spin around 360 degrees. Yes, I was probably possessed, but between mastitis, sleep deprivation, and baby blues, who could blame me?

I used to be so capable at everything. What’s happened to me?

My life felt like a train that just took off, and I was just hanging on for dear life. I had never worked so hard in my life, yet at the end of the day there was nothing to show for it. I felt like such a failure as a mom and as a human being.

Miraculously, things eventually started to calm down. Several months later, I actually began to get the swing of things. A pattern started to emerge in my baby’s schedule. My life was not the same as before baby; it was different, but good. Maybe even better.

Each day still seemed to last forever, and I still couldn’t wait for David to come home. Then one day, I came up for air and realized that my baby was a year old. The next time I looked up above the haze, my child was in first grade. Then I blinked, and now Josh is an 8th grader, entering high school next fall.

How could this be?

Someone once told me, “The days are long, but the years are short.” Only a parent could have recognized this fact.

“In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”

- 1 Peter 1:6 & 7

Somewhere along the way, while taking care of this helpless little baby, I was slowly being refined by fire. I learned to become a little less self-absorbed and a little more loving. A little less hurried and a little more patient. Less rigid and a lot more flexible. I’m still a work in progress, but I have learned that for me, becoming a mom has been a godsend. Perhaps He was rescuing me from myself. Thank you, Lord, for this gift of life!

Now I understand why people congratulated me when I had the baby. And let me pass along these words of wisdom:

The days are long, but the years short. Enjoy it!

Sleep Deprivation and Its Consequences

Meg and Josh, alive and well today and above ground at a cemetery.

Before I begin this post, I just want you to rest assured that my kids are still breathing and somehow managed to make it through infancy with a Panda Mom like me. It’s amazing that I also made it alive through the long, tortuous period of sleep deprivation. How do other parents do it?

My firstborn was finally out of the newborn phase, now a plump 3-month old. I was starting to get the hang of this new season in my life known as motherhood and getting used to sleeping in 90-minute chunks…sort of. Josh, being a slow and inefficient nurser, demanded a 30-minute feeding session every two hours. He also contractually demanded that I be sitting up while I fed him rather than lying down, which precluded me from drifting to sleep while nursing (which, mercifully, Meg allowed me to do when she was born two years later, but that’s another post). At least I learned the sprinkling system pattern at our apartment complex and when the newspaper was delivered each morning in the wee hours.

“I can do this mom thing,” I said confidently to myself as I hoisted the loaded car seat into the back of my Toyota 4-Runner. I opened the garage door to welcome in the sunny Southern California morning. I strapped myself into the driver’s seat, and I even touched up my lipstick in the rear view mirror which reflected a just-fed, sleeping bundle of joy. I figured I had about an hour to run my errands. I turned on the ignition and put my car in reverse.


The loud noise of two cars colliding startled me out of my momentary peace, and I turned around to witness something really, really horrible:

I had backed into my husband’s Acura Integra.

“Why did he park his car there?!” was my first reaction. Then I realized that I didn’t bother looking beyond my baby in the rear view mirror. “How am I going to explain this one?” was my next thought. I got out of the car to examine the damage, which looked extensive on both ends. Time to call 21st Insurance.

“You’ll be surprise to know that this occurs more often than you think,” the insurance agent reassured me on the phone. While that helped alleviate the pain and embarrassment of this incident just a little, it still was a costly mistake. I told them that I could sue the other driver, but this agent had no sense of humor.

I read on AAA Foundation’s website a sobering fact: “Some studies have found people’s cognitive-psychomotor abilities to be as impaired after 24 hours without sleep as with a BAC of 0.10%, which is higher than the legal limit for DWI conviction in all US states.” We are drunk with sleep deprivation! Maybe those obnoxious “Baby on Board” signs on cars are really there to warn everyone around them that a mom is driving under the influence of no sleep.

Translated: Warning! Mom has not slept in 3 months!

Okay, you might be mortified to know what an idiot this Panda Mom could be. But maybe some of you have a story that can top mine. Would you please share it in the comments here below to help me feel a little better about myself? Thank you.

The Inexact Science of Child Rearing

DaddyI love cooking with a recipe, because it tells me exactly what to use, how much to put in and for how long to cook. Clear as day. Raising kids? Not so much. I’ve had to learn over the years that child rearing is anything but an exact science.

I regretfully never babysat when I was a youth; instead, I got my first job at a bakery when I was 14. I could decorate cakes and bake cookies for you, but ask me to change a diaper and I would have gotten a guide dog to do it instead. Fortunately, there are volumes of expert baby books available to rescue motherhood dummies like me. During my pregnancy, I madly studied these manuals like I was getting ready for the SAT.

A few days after we came home from the hospital, my friend Susan stopped by for a quick visit. She walked into our bedroom where our baby was wailing in the bassinet.

“Oh dear, come here sweetie,” she said as she picked him up.

“But Susan,” I protested, “the book says to not pick him up right away so that he could learn to self-sooth.”

She looked at me incredulously and said, “Well, not when they’re this small. In a little while,” as she rocked and soothed Josh who had magically stopped crying. Susan ought to know. She was a veteran mom of preteens at that time. Note to self: it’s okay to pick up my newborn right away when he’s crying, at least for “a little while.” How long, exactly, is a little while, again? The books didn’t really specify.

Later that week, I was really having a hard time sleeping with a crying baby next to my bed. I was getting eager to evict him to his own room. That’s when my other friend Lisa came by to deliver a meal. “When can I move him out of the bassinet to the crib, Lisa?” I asked desperately. Lisa laughed, “Oh, maybe in a few more months.” MONTHS? Are you kidding me? I was thinking more in terms of…either next Thursday or Friday.

There were other questions that the expert books never quite answered for me:

  • How many degrees, exactly, is “tepid”?
  • How long should I let them nap without interfering with their night time sleep?
  • Speaking of sleep, can we really let them cry it out without getting arrested?
  • Is that a real smile or just gas?
  • Which is better to suck on: pacifier or thumb?
  • How wet should the diaper be before we absolutely have to change? (“Already? Why, I JUST changed him…”)
  • Is it colic or unresolved anger issues?
  • When should we start potty training?
  • Should I stay home or get a job?
  • Public, private, or home school?
  • When do we start driver’s ed?

As it turned out, Josh stayed in the bassinet until he grew too big for it — maybe 92 days — but many other questions were answered only after much trial and error. Here’s one thing I know for sure: every child is different. No book can tell you exactly what you should do, because they don’t know your child. Eventually, I ditched the expert manuals and went mostly with mother’s intuition, but that’s after a whole lot of praying and many nights crying out to God, “Help!” In fact, there’s only one instruction manual I need for life: The Bible.

Oh, I have to tell you this: I was so amused when I caught my mom — Gasp! My Expert! — looking at a Japanese baby manual one day. I have no idea where she dug it up, but it sure looked like it was printed in the 1960′s, which might mean that she used it as a reference when we were growing up and brought it over here on the boat. All the pictures had faded to pastel, and the babies all had round, chubby cheeks. Wearing only cloth diapers, these Japanese babies looked like miniature sumo wrestlers. I was wondering why my mom was suddenly telling me how to heat up glass baby bottles and how to lay down futon for naps.

Any baby book advice work out for you? Or did you ditch the books too?

Of Martha, Mary, and Mastitis

This is not me but my sick stunt double

“We can take you in the wheelchair,” said the nurse as I was getting discharged from the maternity ward.

“Oh no, I can walk myself,” I insisted.  I grabbed my bags and got up to leave.  “Whoa,” I exclaimed as I dizzily leaned back on the bed.  Good thing David was holding our newborn!  I have never needed assistance in walking and certainly wasn’t about to be wheeled out of here.  I’m a mother, and I can take care of myself AND the baby, thank you very much.

After a couple of more failed attempts at putting one foot in front of the other, however, I had no choice but to give in.  I still felt weak and unsteady 48 hours postpartum.  The nurse waited patiently for me to take a seat in the wheelchair and proceeded to push me down the hallway.  I’m supposed to be pushing a stroller, not sitting in it! 

As soon as we arrived home, I went about cleaning the house.  The place was a mess, and my parents were coming over soon!  In-between baby feedings and diaper changes I did the best I could to tidy, vacuum, launder, and cook so that my parents wouldn’t think that I was a total wreck, regardless of the fact that life with a new baby is quite literally out of control.  “This baby won’t stop crying, honey.  Where is the off switch?” I kept asking David.

When my parents showed up at the door, they made a beeline to their first grand child and took turns holding him in delight while I continued to sweep, mop, wipe, and fold clothes.  “I could use a little help here,” I said under my breath and actually began to look forward to feeding times just so that I could kick my feet up for a little while.

Only a few days later, it was Easter.  I had been a member of our church’s worship band for many years, and I had every intention of going back to sing and play for the Easter service.  “I can’t believe you’re out and about already,” people marveled as I sang my solo.  “You look like you’ve got this baby thing down!” I was feeling pretty good about myself.

…Until later that afternoon, that is.  I began to run a high fever, and the redness around my breasts clearly indicated an infection was setting in.  Mastitis.  I pored over the pages of my baby books, and the experts all agreed that the most common cause of mastitis is — you guessed it — new moms trying to do too much.  The good doctor got me some antibiotics and ordered bed rest.

For the following three days, I stayed in bed, crawling out only to nurse Josh and to eat.  The friends at church brought over meals.  Initially I refused, explaining that my mom was around to help me with cooking so there was no such need (ha!). The truth is, I didn’t want to admit that I was in need.  Boy, is it humbling to receive, but what choice did I have?

On the third day, I felt as though I came back the dead. The house went to pot again, but oh well.  And the undisturbed bonding time with Josh?  Priceless.

This reminded me of a story from Luke 10:

38 As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. 39 She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. 40But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

   41 “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, 42 but few things are needed—or indeed only one.[f] Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

It took mastitis to bring down this Tiger Martha and become more like Panda Mary.

Are you a Martha or a Mary?  Anyone experience mastitis?

Practicing the Presence of God

Eternal Treasure cover art

Eternal Treasure CD

For my weekend post, I’d like to share with you a song I wrote during the Bovine Period of my life.  I often refer to my “Eternal Treasure” CD as my album postpartum.  Although this song wasn’t a top 40 hit, it expresses this mother’s heart fully and is one of my own personal favorites.  You can hear a sample of the song at iTunes or at CD Baby, but here are the lyrics:

Practicing the Presence of God

(verse 1)

She looks outside her window to watch the world go by

People doing lofty things as she tends to her baby’s cries

Well, it’s only for a season

She knows, but for some reason

Though she loves her family there’s a loss she can’t deny

Though her former days are over and things are different now

She vows to serve her Jesus in the best way she knows how


With her heart and soul and mind

Loving all the time

And practicing the presence of God

In her very special way

All throughout the day

She’s practicing the presence of God

(verse 2)

She thanks God in the morning

For the tiny feet and hands

Embracing them with a mother’s touch

In a way no others can

There is joy in daily living

When we’re called to do the living

In His grace and mercy

We can do as he commands

So to give back to Lord Jesus

For the deepest love she’s known

She will serve her friends and family

In the same way she’s been shown



Though her world may be so tiny

And surrounded by these walls

She will fill it with much laughter

And do her best to heed her call


Words and music by Junko Nishiguchi Cheng, copyright 1999 Everyday Hero Music (ASCAP), produced by John Andrew Schreiner

I’ll be back on Monday with a new post which — I hope — will make you laugh…or gag.  Not sure what I’m talking about?  Check back soon.  Have a wonderful weekend!

The Umbilical Cord Dilemma

There’s no end to the number of items being hawked in the hallways of the maternity ward, but none forces you into a moral and ethical dilemma like umbilical cord banking.

The pamphlets encourage storing the blood from the newborn’s umbilical cord “just in case” your child eventually faces a terrible disease, the only hope of a cure for which exists in the stem cells harvested from the cord blood. We recovering Tiger Moms can’t let a phrase like “just in case” just go by, and I agonized over what to do about this. This garden hose-like thing which gave life to my fetus could someday potentially be a life-giving source for the second time. If we don’t save it now, then they just medically dispose of it like old maternity clothes.

Indeed, the harvested stem cells from the leftover umbilical cord could provide the cure for the yet-diagnosed disease which your child — or someone else — may face in the next 100 years. The cord blood is sent to a bank where they freeze and store for it future use for a low monthly storage fee (plus shipping and handling). The catch is that you don’t actually bank it for yourself. It goes into a pool, in the same way that your ordinary donated blood goes to a blood bank — you don’t necessarily receive back your own donation should you ever need an infusion. I also didn’t catch the fine print about stored stem cells not necessarily working so well on the original donor. “Some experts are concerned that an ill baby who receives his or her own stem cells during a transplant would be prone to a repeat of the same disease,” the brochure explains.

While the Pitocin dripped into my IV, I tried to read the various literature about this issue. Mind you, my brain was getting blurry with each passing minute, so the message was getting all jumbled in my head. So, simply put, here’s what I understood:

1. I can have someone grab my umbilical cord immediately after giving birth and pay them to freeze and store it for me for years and years “just in case” and pay thousands of dollars for this service.

2. I can grab the cord myself after giving birth and put it in my own freezer back at home. I can whip it out when I need it and use it at that time.

Easy — I’ll go with door #2!

But the more I thought about this option, the more I was reminded of my episode with the top tier of my wedding cake. We had every intention of storing it until our first anniversary, at which time we could celebrate by eating that small cake. The sad reality, though, was that we moved twice during the first year of our marriage, so the cake thawed and refroze so many times that, by the time we reached our one-year anniversary, it was frost-bitten, dried out, and inedible.

I imagined that same disappointed looks on our faces when, in a dozen or so years, we stand ready with our newly-purchased portable centrifugal machine from Sharper Image in our kitchen ready to harvest our own stem cells, only to pull out a frost-bitten, mummified, and useless umbilical cord. What will we do then?

Before I could come to a conclusion about this dilemma, however, the timing window had passed. We were too busy celebrating the birth of our newborn and didn’t revisit this issue until we were about to be discharged. Oh yeah–stem cells!

“Ummm, about that umbilical cord,” I mentioned to the nurse. “Can I still have it? I have an empty Chinese takeout box to put it in.” Too late — medically disposed of by the staff.

A missed opportunity.  Have I doomed our children’s health forever?  Major parent fail?

Did you also miss the opportunity or did you grab it?  Does anyone actually still have the cord blood banked somewhere?  Go ahead — make me feel bad about myself.  Or good.

Parenting and Why We Go Broke

They say it costs a lot of money to raise a child.  I know the reason why: you go broke before you even leave the hospital.

The hospital corridors are teeming with vendors hoping to cash in on the sentimental value of giving birth.  The offerings are numerous and mind-boggling, but one of the first things they get you with is the newborn portrait.  You know the kind — they grab your baby within hours of birth, comb the wispy hair down to the side, bribe the baby to stay still for 30 seconds, put their finger tips together like an old professor giving a boring lecture, and get him or her to look right at the camera and say, “mmmm.”

“Your baby is a one day-old only once.  Why not capture the moment…if you are a decent human being and a caring parent AT ALL,” the brochure states (well, with a little embellishment on my part).  How could I refuse, indeed?  I opened up my wallet and purchased my baby’s very first portrait.  I don’t recall the price, but I’m sure it was not cheap.  I did have the presence of mind, however, to resist the accompanying calendar, key chain, t-shirt, mug, birth announcement, water bottle, and posters plastered with that same photo.

While proudly showing my son’s very first portrait to my parents at the hospital, I took a glance at a newborn portrait in another mom’s arms as they were preparing to be discharged.  Well, that photo looked exactly like my own!  The kid also had wispy hair combed to the side, skin that looked at once pasty and ruddy, and eyes which were still puffy and therefore thin and slanted.  And the kid wasn’t even Asian!

Then there was another one down the hall which also looked just like mine.  And another one.

Oh, I see what’s going on.  They ARE all the same photo!

Newborns change in appearance rapidly during the first 24 to 48 hours of their lives, so by the time they take the photo and bring the baby back 15 minutes later, the picture no longer resembles the newborn in your arms anyway, so what’s the difference?  I think they took one photo of a generic kid back in 1985, and they have been reusing the same photo for decades in hospitals all around the world!  All newborns look shriveled, and you can’t tell if the kid is a boy or girl, Asian or African-American, Hispanic or Caucasian, blond or brunette, awake or asleep.  Lighten or darken the hair a bit, add a bow for a girl and a blue hat for a boy and there you go!

Case in point: put black hair on this blonde girl, and you would have my son Joshua.

I hate to admit it, but this was the first of many portraits that come in those large, white envelopes with the crimply clear plastic front which I ended up purchasing.  I tell myself each time that this will be the last time I’ll buy my child’s official portrait, but I just can’t stop myself: nursery, preschool, kindergarten, baseball, recital, first grade, second grade, third grade, fourth grade…and so on. I always get suckered into that message that, as a good parent, you must not miss a single opportunity.  You will NEVER have a second chance.  You will do this if you are a decent parent, especially if you’re a Tiger Parent.

I will discuss in my next post some other items offered to me for purchase before leaving the hospital.  But before I go on, tell me about the various items you ended up paying for at the hospital or shortly thereafter for your own newborn.  Come on, you were suckered in too, weren’t you?  Feel free to comment here!