KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY

Before we had a baby, we would be asked if we wanted / planned / tried to make babies. Now that we have Baby Pham, a common question is 'Will you have another?' I don't mind this question, it's natural for people who meet my chunky monkey of a baby to want more versions of him with equal or greater chunkiness. He's a very cute baby if I do say so myself.

Little Sissy Pham did not have such a good time with this type of questioning because people she crossed paths with felt entitled to tell her she should have another baby. She has her reasons for only having one baby that's not my business to share. I do wonder if people don't tell me I should have another kid the way they used to, because the cost of living crisis is now a thing, and the financial pressure of raising children is immense. 

Our IVF doctor said we'd ultimately want more children after our first baby so the kids could play with each other. Bless him for helping us make Baby Pham, but he's wrong. We rather delight in playing with Baby Pham - I enjoy learning the world through his eyes, and Boyfriend Pham is always inventing new ways to play with bub. I don't think we'd make a sibling just so we can spend less time with our son. That said, we've kept our frozen embryos so we have the option because it's early days and people say it's too soon to decide either way if we're unsure.

Someone at work asked me if my parents were strict growing up as Asian parents are known to be. It got me thinking. They were both the youngest of 10 children so by the time they were going through childhood their parents would have been less strict. Mum wasn't strict in most ways, but she was dead set on getting school educated.

Mum Pham was the book smart parent. She was studious and disciplined, and a qualified pharmacist (though the communists wouldn't give her a degree because she refused to serve in their army). Growing up all the pressure to study and go to university came from Mum. Dad Pham? Not so much for formal education. He once got in trouble with my Aunty when he suggested our cousin (her son) may be better off doing a trade. She was so outraged by the notion, she didn't talk to Dad for half a year.

I never really thought about why Dad Pham was so much more relaxed about education than Mum and most other Asian parents. That is, until one day, in one of his reflective moods he told me about how he failed forward into the navy.

At school, he ranked 130-something out of 134 for language. He gave so few shits, he didn't bother to remember exactly how low he scored. Now, Dad is not a dumbass by any means. He is actually more intelligent, calculating and strategic than Mum Pham in most ways. But he was too smart for formal education - because it was too easy for him, he got bored. Big Brother Pham would one day follow in Dad's footsteps - he was too smart for boring bookish study.

Dad joined the navy because he didn't have many other options. In the navy, with all the hands-on practical training and studies, Dad actually ranked 24, which was pretty high up there. His own life experience is why he's open to children doing trades or anything hands-on. Books aren't for everyone. Though, books turned out to be for me; they were definitely not for Big Brother Pham. Little Sissy Pham was somewhere in between - I think she'd have excelled at a sport if we could afford sport, but instead being poor forced her down the study route.

Even though I am a book nerd, I believe you should learn life your own way. Whatever suits your interests and skills is what you should pursue. Otherwise, you either won't be happy or won't excel in what you do... or both. 

No, I'm not pregnant. Little Sissy Pham is! Well, was by the time I got to posting this. She popped in October, and I can confirm having watched her pregnancy journey from start of this year until now that pregnancy glow is utter crap. It's like the adult version of learning Santa isn't real. Why do people try and make out like the rawest, weirdest, grossest human experience is all rainbows and glitter? It's not. It's a mess of life- and body-changing hurdles that you overcome or suffer through waiting for it to be over. And it doesn't end once the baby's born. It just keeps going and going.

Maybe in the past social norms pressured generations of parents into pretending everything was absolutely splendid because that was a sign of good parents to-be. Or maybe the patriarchy prioritised male everything so beyond impregnating women, they didn't give a crap about what women went through until it came time to deliver the baby. The middle 8-9 months in between is glossed over.

When Little Sissy Pham shared that she was pregnant (a huge tell at my birthday this year when the wine fiend had mocktails with me), I called my future nephew a parasite and people were appalled. It's not factually accurate since they're the same species, but reproduction sure looks and smells a parasite. Little Sissy's body was a host to this fetus and its placenta, which were literally trying to suck the life out of her for the entire pregnancy. She was constantly sickly, exhausted, uncomfortable and oh so whiny the whole time, because her uterus was the only thing defending her against the horrible parasite growing inside her.

I'm sure some women truly enjoy being pregnant. I've yet to meet any, but they probably are out there. Mum Pham always told us kids all three pregnancies were easy, but I was too young to ask her if she enjoyed being pregnant. Now I'll never know whether she was one of these unicorns who enjoys pregnancy, or forgot how awful the experience was by the time I was old enough to speak to her about it, or if she straight-up lied to my face because she wanted grandchildren.

I've yet to meet someone who loved having their energy, blood and nutrients drained out of their body.  Mostly I hear of friends and now Sibling complaining a lot and loudly. Is it 'cause we are a softer generation? Used to creature comforts and low pain thresholds? Or is it because now society is starting to listen to women's opinions, this 'real talk' is no longer behind closed doors? In any case, pregnancy sounds horrible and I'm amazed humans have reproduced so much considering the general grossness of the experience from conception to birth.

Nephew Pham probably won't be so thrilled at being called a parasite once he's old enough to understand the word. And probably equally unimpressed that now he's on the outside of Little Sissy Pham's body, I call him a leech because he sponges off her and his dad. 

To all the parents out there, I salute you for enduring such a nightmarish life experience. I don't understand why anyone does it more than once but I'm glad my parents did, otherwise, they would have stopped at Big Brother Pham and I wouldn't be here to feel dazed and confused by the circle of life.

It’s hard to be the first person to say ‘I love you,’ which is why I recommend you tell people ‘you love me’ instead. It makes things way easier so long as you’re comfortable coming across like an arrogant jerk.

It works well in situations with your partner. Whenever I do anything annoying to Boyfriend Pham like squeezing his arm non-stop and aggressively because it’s a habit from my childhood to adulthood with Mum Pham’s arms, and he looks exasperated and is about to tell me to stop. I remind him ‘You love me!’ To which he sighs and says in defeated tones, ‘I know.’

I’m not the only arm-obsessive, Little Sissy Pham has the same arm squishing habit I do. You guys don’t understand, Mum Pham’s arms were the best to squeeze affectionately and sometimes aggressively. So satisfying!

‘You love me’ also works well with siblings. I’m constantly reminding Little Sissy Pham that she loves me just in case she forgets, especially while I’m doing my big sister duties and birth right to poke fun at her every chance that I get. Like that time I teased her lisp relentlessly until she learned how to pronounce ‘crocodile’ and ‘smile’ properly. Or that time pigeon-toed me made fun of her funny, out-turned waddle walk until she trained herself to walk with her feet pointed straight ahead. Ah, she loves me.

Little Sissy Pham was a serial sleepwalker growing up. Most of the time it was harmless episodes like she'd stand up from the couch where she'd fallen asleep and bend double over trying to look for her slides, which were by her feet but in dream land she couldn't see them. Other times were a little scarier like when she'd try to open the front door, though luckily in dream land she couldn't see the deadlock was still locked. The worst was when she'd try to walk out onto the balcony in her sleep. Big Brother Pham caught her that time, and held the door shut while she tried to get out.

Well, that was the worst episode until the last time she sleepwalked. It traumatised her so badly it scared the sleepwalk right out of her.

Mum Pham and her three Phamlings were on a train from Melbourne to meet Dad Pham in our new home, Brisbane. It was the middle of the night and Little Sissy Pham and I were seated next to each other across the aisle from Mum Pham and Big Brother Pham. When the train stopped at a station near the border of NSW-QLD, Little Sissy Pham got up and sleepy me let her out thinking she was going to the bathroom. I flopped over and went promptly back to sleep without realising she was in a sleepwalk.

Little Sissy Pham blinked awake when a horn sounded. She felt disoriented like she was in a dream but fully alert. Where was she? What was she seeing? A train pulling away from a train platform. A train she was meant to be on. She looked around and there were a handful of other train passengers who disembarked but they all left shortly because it was the middle of the night in an isolated regional train station. She was lost.

Little Sissy Pham had no phone, no phone numbers, and no idea where she was. Luckily payphones were still a thing back then, and the phone at that station worked. She called 000 who directed her to the nearest police station, which was a long time away for a 15 year old waiting alone in the middle of the night.

The cops eventually arrived and drove her to their station where they interviewed Little Sissy Pham and couldn't believe her predicament. She didn't have a number for Melbourne because we moved and disconnected the line, and she didn't have a number for Brisbane because we didn't have a number there yet. The young officers tried to keep a straight face but she could hear them laughing at her outside the room. Eventually a senior officer arrived to weigh up the options, and he determined the best plan was their only plan - get Little Sissy Pham back on that train.

They called the trainline and had it stopped, while an officer sped through the regional NSW at 180km/h to get Little Sissy Pham back on the train. It was all very dramatic and Mum Pham got the shock of her life when police officers boarded the train and approached her. She thought she was in trouble for letting us smuggle our cats onto the train, but turns out it was about the daughter she didn't know was lost. Needless to say Little Sissy Pham was devastated none of us had noticed her missing when she was safely returned to the train. After the worst night of her life, she never sleep-walked again.




If you want to start from the beginning of Phamly history, read:
Part 1 - O Captain! My Captain! Dad Pham's navy days during the Vietnam War.
Part 2 - P.O.W. Viet Cong Re-education Camp Dad Pham's time as a prisoner of war.
Part 3 - Living with Viet Cong Mum Pham's experience with communism.
Part 4 - Boat People Dad Pham seeks refuge after the war.
Part 5 - Finding Faith Dad finds peace.
Part 6 - When Herr met Frau - Dad Pham meets Mum Pham.
Part 7 - Life in Germany: the early years - Dad Pham sets up life in Germany.
Part 8 - Life in Germany: the later years - Dad gets sick, Mum steps up.
Part 9 - Getting ready for Australia - Mum Pham is on a mission.
Part 10 - Coming to Australia - My first memories of Australia.
Part 11 - Live in Brisbane the first time - The story of why we left Brisbane.
Part 12 - Moving to Melbourne - First impressions.
Part 13 - Life in Melbourne - Dad Pham - The good old days.
Part 14 - The Other Phams - Our neighbours in Melbourne were Phams too.
Part 15 - Life in Melbourne - Mum Pham - Our Sunday Phamly traditions began in Melbourne.
Part 16 - Cats On A Train - Moving to Brisbane
Part 17 - Sleepwalking Scare - Moving to Brisbane continued
Part 18 - A House in Brisbane - Moving to Brisbane continued some more

Little Sissy Pham and I are very same-same but different. So when Google Photos' face couldn't figure out if we were the same person in our baby photos it got me thinking...

Little Sissy Pham was an accident. Mum Pham and Dad Pham made her 2 months after I was born. I, on the other hand, was planned. And by 'planned' I mean Mum Pham gave up on her dream of being a pharmacist because re-learning everything again in German and working under racist employers was not for her. Instead, she went off the pill and made another baby: me! So while Little Sissy is a happy accident, I am a symbol of a refugee woman's defeat.

Despite our different reasons for being, we had the same lives growing up and are pretty much the same person. Well, in our values and principles. On paper, we aren't alike at all. She's a homeowner who's worked in the public service since forever and has a consistent personal style - I can pick things up in a shop and say, 'This is very you.' I chop and change constantly - rental homes, jobs and personal style.

But our calm energy and the positive vibes we give off are very similar. So similar in fact that even though we don't look alike - I take after Mum, she takes after Dad - people often mistake us for one another. And I don't think it's a casual racist thing; well, not all of the time.

Being less than a year apart, we are super close. We have the same sense of humour and sometimes our in-jokes carry on so long we don't even remember where they originated. We have lived in different cities but always emailed and messaged to stay in each other's lives. Then when we both ended back in Brisbane, we lived at home together, then moved out together, and commuted to work together, and would meet for lunch when we both worked in the city, and timed our exits to catch the same bus home together.

So to answer your question, Google Photos, we are the same person even though we're different people.