Family shower

Aunties Sandra & Sharon decorate the food table.

Dear Emi,
Your Auntie Noriko is the party planner in the family. She and her housemate, Sunny, are known for throwing such bashes as their recent Pickle Party and last year's screening of "Once," which was prompted when they found individual-sized, plastic popcorn containers at Target. So it wasn't a surprise when she jumped at the chance to throw my baby shower.

Soon, my inbox was littered with emails about menu ideas, including smoked salt edamame, green tea cupcakes and mini cheese cakes with wine gelee. When all the culinary issues had been settled, she peppered me with another flurry of emails, hounding me to set a date. Before long, she knew exactly what dishes to serve, how to wrap the button cookies in glassine bags to give away as favors and had purchased tickets for her flight home.

All this before I was barely 13 weeks into my pregnancy.

The weeks dragged by, and the day I'd get to celebrate your impending birth with the women in our extended family seemed a long way off. Gradually, I grew bigger and rounder, and preparations for the shower began in earnest. Auntie Noriko went through a few drafts of the invitations, while Pau Pau and 'Jiichan got the house ready, hiring a handyman to paint the living room and dining room as well as clean up the backyard.

Meanwhile, at home, Daddy's summer vacation was winding down and he had to make one last, big push to get your nursery ready. In the span of a few days, he cleared out all his books, papers, computer, desk and an old love seat that Chase had long ago claimed, then spent a day painting his former den a bright green - Ralph Lauren Pale Apple II, to be precise. Your room was far from finished, but the heavy stuff was done, allowing us to breathe a little easier.

Early in September, Dr. Chan announced he wanted to start seeing me every two weeks now that I was in my final trimester. "Once you hit 37 weeks, you're in play and can give birth any time," he told us.

After that the weeks just flew by. Before I knew it, the weekend of my shower had arrived. I picked Auntie Noriko up at the airport early Friday morning and we headed to Pau Pau's, Chase in tow. We spent a very pleasant day shopping for groceries and checking out the new "lifestyle center," a posh outdoor mall, then headed back home to begin cooking.

Auntie Noriko started by coloring the fondant using food dye - a few drops of red for pink, yellow and blue for green. After we rolled out the fondant, we made cherry blossoms and leaves using specially-shaped vegetable cutters I'd bought at Nishiki Market in Kyoto. Later, I went home and baked green tea cupcakes, which we decorated the next morning with the sugary flowers and leaves.

(For those green tea lovers out there, here's the recipe I "borrowed" from Chockylit's now-closed cupcake blog):

Green Tea or “Matcha” Cupcakes

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
2 cups sugar

2 large eggs
2 large egg yolks
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
2 tablespoons matcha

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. Beat butter on high until soft, about 30 seconds.
3. Add sugar. Beat on medium-high until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.
4. Add eggs/egg yolks one at a time, beat for 30 seconds between each.
5. Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. Add to batter and mix to combine.
6. Mix matcha in with the milk. Add to the batter and mix until combined.
7. Pour into paper cupcake holders.
8. Bake for 22-25 minutes until toothpick comes out clean.

By 1 o'clock Saturday afternoon, Pau Pau's house was full of Moritas, Foos, Gees and Frosts. It was a warm day, so we stayed inside where it was nice and cool thanks to the air conditioner. We had plenty of food - tea sandwiches, sushi, chicken wings, Pau Pau's famous Chinese noodle salad, pot stickers, etc. - and everyone seemed to have a great time.


We even played a few shower games that Pau Pau organized. Aunt Kathy and Auntie Midori really got into the one with diaper pins. Everyone received diaper pins decorated with pink beads that they had to clip to their clothes. If you caught someone saying the word "baby" she had to relinquish her pin to you. Nana Billie barely had her pin on for five minutes before Aunt Kathy confiscated it, and by the time I opened presents she had a nice collection pinned to her blouse. The battle really got going when Auntie Midori caught Aunt Kathy using the b-word, then had to give them all back a few minutes later. We all got a good laugh out of the whole thing.

I have to say, though, the best part was opening presents. You totally raked in the goods, Emi. You should've seen the pile of cheerfully wrapped gifts that covered the living room. There was the ultra cool, green umbrella stroller from Aunt Sandy & Uncle Justin, and the adorable onesie and burpie embroidered with your first name, Zoe, that Auntie Sharon, Christina & Liana found for you at a consignment shop for kids. They also scored a cute Cornwall onesie - a nod to your Frink Cornish roots. I fell in love with the organic, stuffed monkey Christina bought for you at a very nice toy shop in La Jolla. Everyone was so incredibly generous - I couldn't even fit everything in the car!

Auntie Sandra, Auntie Sharon and the girls stayed the night, and after everyone had gone home we all ate homemade chili with Auntie Midori & Uncle Ike, who stayed to visit a little longer before making the long trip home. It had been an exhausting couple of days, so I also ended up spending the night, probably the last time I'll be able to do that, at least in the foreseeable future, huh Emiko?

The next morning we had a lovely breakfast on the patio before I took Christina and Noriko to the airport for their flight back to San Diego. I drove home, thinking how it had been the perfect baby shower. Later, I reexamined all the beautiful things people in our family bought for you, growing all the more excited as I realized you'd soon see for yourself how much everyone already loved you.

Dreaming of you

Dearest Emi,
I had a lovely dream about you last night. I went into labor, and you came out perfect and beautiful. It was such a vivid dream, I actually felt the first couple of contractions. Afterwards, we went to a family wedding - a big, grand affair - where you made your debut and naturally, everyone loved you. We had you bundled snugly in an infant carrier, and you went from table to table, sleeping peacefully as the family oohed and ahhed.

I can still see your face from my dream - soft and round with a tiny, pudgy nose and full, red lips - just like your 3D portrait. I remember marveling out loud to Grandma Jacque as we examined your outstretched arm, "Can you believe she was born brown?" And indeed, you'd emerged from the womb with a ready made tan.

The night before I'd been counting kicks, per Dr. Chan's instructions, and it was taking you longer than usual to complete the requisite 10 movements in two hours. Nearly an hour had gone by and we were still one kick short, so I called your daddy into the bedroom. "Tell Emi she has to move one more time."

"Emiko," he cooed into my belly. "This is your daddy. Be a good girl and move one more time for Mommy." He lifted his head and a few seconds later you gave me a good, swift punch - hard enough for your daddy to see my stomach move. We grinned at each other. "Works every time," Daddy said.

You spent the next few minutes rolling around in my uterus. I wondered what you were doing in there. I'd read that babies at this stage move their legs in a cycling motion in an early preparation for walking, and it made me wish I had some kind of fetal video monitor to watch you grow and move around inside me. Once again, I found myself longing to meet you.

When I woke up, you were already moving around as if to say good morning, and it made me smile.

I've been a lot hungrier the past several days. I usually eat lunch by 11:30, even when I've had breakfast, and by mid-afternoon I'm ready for a hearty snack or a second lunch. My stomach starts growling again right around the time I get home from work. Did I mention I usually eat a bowl of cereal, fruit or beef jerky in the middle of the night as well?

Your daddy and I went to Sushi Cafe for dinner Friday night. I watched enviously as he ordered a hamachi roll, while I had to settle for saba shioyaki and tempura. No sashimi for me - at least not until after you're born. Hmm...maybe we'll celebrate New Year's Eve with a dinner of all the things I haven't been able to eat while pregnant.

I've also been craving sweets. Although I'm ordinarily a savory person, I suddenly developed a sweet tooth during my first trimester, often waking in the middle of the night with a strong desire for cake. Then it was popsicles - I must've devoured five or six boxes of red, white and blue Firecrackers. Lately, it's been ice cream. I've already gone through three 1/2 pint tubs of Haagen Dazs Rocky Road, the best in my opinion because of the generous amount of almonds and marshmallow swirls.

Saturday, however, I wanted mochi ice cream in the worst way. Several weeks ago, your daddy brought home Bubbies, a gourmet mochi ice cream from Hawaii that costs $7.99 for a box of eight. Spendy, but oh so yummy! So we drove to Oto's, the Japanese grocery store, where I bought a box of Bubbies guava mochi ice cream - pure heaven.

Then last night I woke up around 4:30 a.m. wanting cake. I went so far as to go through my Jamie Oliver cookbooks in search of a quick recipe that I could whip up, but to no avail. I nudged your daddy, asking him if there was some place we could go to get 24 hour cake. Even though I reminded him that he'd yet to have to go on a midnight run to satisfy my pregnancy-induced cravings, he wasn't up for a late night drive. But bright and early this morning we went to Freeport Bakery, where I bought the last three remaining chocolate chip rugelach.

A mother's nose

Emiko's film debut - a 3D ultrasound in real time

Dear Emi,

The first time I felt you move was early in July, during the wee hours of the morning. I hadn't been able to sleep through the night since the moment I got pregnant. I'd wake up two or three times and spend an hour or so surfing the Internet on my laptop while some "Law & Order" rerun I'd TiVo'd played in the background.

That night, I was drifting off to sleep, my hand resting on the right side my growing belly, when I suddenly felt a tiny, but distinct, bump under my palm. It happened so quickly that I thought I'd dreamed it. Wide awake now, I held my breath and lay perfectly still, hoping you'd give me another swift kick so I could be sure. Up until then, I'd only felt faint flutterings, some swishing and swirling, as if I'd swallowed a live fish, and it was swimming around in my stomach.

Dr. Chan had told us at our last appointment that most women start to feel the baby move by the 22nd week. "By then you should feel something that you know is the baby. If you don't, call me," he said. Of course, Week 22 became the next all important deadline to meet. I'd check the calendar anxiously each day, debating whether that last flutter could definitely be counted as fetal movement, or just something I ate. I even questioned whether that first kick had just been some weird gas bubble.

But as the days passed, the swirling in my belly became stronger. One night, as Daddy pressed his hand against my burgeoning bump he was rewarded with a strong, quick stirring. We crowed with delight, while you swam furiously for the peace and quiet on the other side of my womb.

One of the page designers at work who'd recently had a baby told me that later in my pregnancy I'd be able to poke my belly and the baby would poke back. I was enchanted by this possibility of communicating with you via fetal Morse code. Alas, you were not keen on playing along. Several, long seconds would stretch by before you'd eventually give me a reluctant punch. "Emi's slow!" I'd fret. "She has delayed reflexes."

"She's not slow, she's pissed you keep bothering her," Daddy would say, lightly swatting my hand away even as it was poised for another poke.

Feeling you move under my heart reassured me that you were alive and well, so I tried everything I could think of to spur you into action. I talked to you; chattering incessantly about all the things we'd do together once you were born, like reading books, taking walks in the park or making Cornish pasties - a Frink family tradition. We quickly discovered, however, that you responded more to the sound of Daddy's voice than mine. One night, as he read Ma! There's Nothing To Do Here! out loud to my belly, you kicked and squirmed with glee.

I had a little more luck with music. After downloading songs from Sesame Street and The Muppets, I cranked up the volume on your recently purchased, pink, iPod boom box, and danced around the bedroom belting out a slightly off-key "I Love Trash." To my delight, you rewarded me with a series of swishes, kicks and punches. Your daddy claimed you were trying to tell me to be quiet, but I think you were dancing along with me.

I couldn't wait to meet you, but the weeks just dragged by. I desperately longed to connect with you, to see and hold you. In lieu of hugs and kisses, I'd rub my belly almost constantly throughout the day. I imagined what you'd look like. Would you favor the Asian side with straight, black hair and almond-shaped eyes? Or would you be more fair-skinned, with your father's round, hazel eyes and long, curly eyelashes? I hoped for your sake, you'd have my thick, shiny hair and smooth skin.

At one of my doctor visits, I picked up a pamphlet for a company that performed 3D ultrasounds. Still a relatively new technology, most ob/gyns have stuck to the grainy, black and white, 2-dimensional ultrasound machines, including Dr. Chan. I went home and hopped on the Internet to peruse the outfit's web site.

I was instantly intrigued. The sepia-toned images on the site's photo gallery clearly revealed distinctive, physical traits of the unborn infants. Some showed babies who were actually sucking their thumbs! I Google'd more ultrasound labs in our area and found that packages ranged from $95 to $275 and included color prints, photo CDs and in some cases 4-dimensional DVD movies set to music.

I had to haggle with your father before he'd consent to forking over money for a 3D ultrasound. Not that I could blame him. It wasn't too far into the pregnancy before we found out just how expensive it was to have a baby. While our health insurance covered all our medical expenses, we still had to buy all the "baby gear" from nursery furniture to $300 car seats in triplicate. Besides, there was no medical necessity for a 3D ultrasound. It was pure frivolity. Even the labs themselves stated that the ultrasounds were strictly non-diagnostic, meaning the most the technician would say about the health of your baby was confirm it's sex.

I also debated whether I really wanted to see you before you were actually born. Deciding to find out your sex was a no brainer for us, but part of me wanted to save the surprise of finding out what you looked like until we could meet face to face.

Ultimately, however, temptation got the better of me. Especially after one of Daddy's friends, another teacher at his school, posted 3D ultrasound photos on his Facebook page. So on a hot Friday afternoon late in August, I lay on my side in a stuffy exam room as the technician manipulated the wand over my uterus while Daddy sat nearby watching the screen.

Once again, you showed a stubborn desire to be left alone. We must have caught you during your afternoon nap, because your head was pillowed firmly on the placenta, eyes tightly shut, a hand tucked under the chin, and no matter how much I twisted and turned, you refused to budge. The first few images were partially blocked by the placenta and umbilical cord.

So the technician had me walk around for a few minutes, hoping you'd change position. While we completed several laps up and down the hallway, we marveled at the detailed images we'd seen on the ultrasound monitor. "She has your nose," Daddy said.

"She really does, doesn't she!" I exclaimed, pleased I hadn't been the only one to note the similarity. I was thrilled to recognize a part of myself in you, and it was all the more amazing because you hadn't even been born yet.

"Well, it's a very distinctive nose."

"It's my grandmother's nose." Even though I'd always hated my nose, I was absurdly proud that the Gee nasal gene proved strong enough to prevail over four generations. (Later, I dug up an old photo of me with my mom, pau pau and great-grandmother, bok pau, and I realized The Nose - in all it's peasant pudginess - stretched back even farther.)

Back in the exam room, a different, older technician was sent in to have a crack at you. You hadn't moved much, but enough to get several good images. "She is by far the cutest baby I've seen all day, and I don't usually say that," he declared.

We poured over the photos after we left the office and decided that you also seemed to have my round cheeks. But shadows led us to suspect you'd have your father's eyes.