Baby, the other white meat

When I was home for Thanksgiving a few weeks ago, my sister and I decided to look through some old family photo albums. Alternately, we took turns pointing at pictures where our parents and grandparents were young and lively, their faces still unlined. We also laughed at a couple of photos when when we were in our younger years and sporting odd hairdos and weird fashion choices. We got a good chuckle out of some of those pictures.

But then, my sister broke out into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.

She only giggled some more and slid her album towards me, pointing at the guilty photo.



Ahem...

This is a picture of me when I was a baby. Yep, that's me. Pudgy thighs. Double chin. I even look to be developing a pair of floppy breasts! A seventh-month old sumo wrestler.

When we showed the picture to Justin, his eyes grew wide and his jaws fell open. I think he was afraid my seventh-month self would jump out of the page and try to eat him.

Admittedly, this picture freaks me out but not for the reasons you may think. After seeing this photograph, I'm now a little afraid of the future spawn who will erupt from my uterus one day. You see, my father used to cajole me with stories of my babyhood and how I would do only three things: eat, sleep, eat. (Oh, and poop from time to time.) Apparently, I grew so large that nobody wanted to hold me for longer than five minutes at a time. I was passed around my relatives like an unwanted watermelon.

Now, I have to ask myself... Will I come to bear babies with voracious appetities the size of Tokyo? Will I spend my days and nights satiating the hunger of Baby Richmond? Will Justin and I be eaten out of house and home by our own 25 pound infant?!

Well, whatever.

I still think I was a pretty cute kid...in a Fat Albert sort of way.

A Birthday Present from My Vagina

I woke up bright and early this morning (which is a feat in it of its own) to savor every minute of my illustrious 26th birthday. Alas! What was the first thing that crossed my mind when I awoke from my slumber?

Weird...I'm twenty-six now...

Ugh...I think I have a UTI...

Nooooooooo!

Hopefully, this will be the only bad thing that happens today.

The Interesting Traditions of a Chinese-American Family

On the cold Thanksgiving afternoons of Washington, DC---while the rest of the nation stays wrapped up in a warm blanket and plopped on the sofa to watch a game of football---my family heads to the National Zoo to spend a couple hours with the lions, pandas, and wolves. Visiting the zoo, you see, is one of my family's (strange) traditions.

This tradition started back when I was a surly pre-teen in middle school. During our first outing to the zoo on a cloudy Thanksgiving day, I grumbled and groaned throughout the drive into the city. Why are we going to the zoo of all places? Then I crossed my arms and stared out of the window in a huff.

Yet as we walked around the cement paths of the enclosure and as we gazed at the animals lazing behind their cages, I started to point and laugh at the funny camels and the smelly elephants. This was the zoo, after all, and zoos are mighty fun.

This past Thanksgiving, my family headed to the zoo once again and I was reminded how odd my family can be. My mother, bless her Chinese heart, continually whistled and cawed at the animals to cajole them to approach the fence. My father, bless him too, took dozens of pictures of the red pandas scampering around their new habitat. Ah, but I love them.

And I love Thanksgiving too.

(The picture above was taken at the newly opened Asian exhibition at the National Zoo. Go Asia!)