Revisiting the Year Past

The night air is cool.  It’s 3 a.m. and I’m once again up for my “date” with Nina.   As usual, mother and daughter revel in the quietness of the night (Nina full from her nighttime feeding) allowing me to have my thoughts do its own meandering. 

It’s another new year.  It looks promising.  I am hopeful.

I reflect upon the year past and, with the warm bundle in my arms, it is not difficult to see what it meant for me. 

I became a mother. 

And with that comes a year-long learning of how it is to nurture life within one’s self,

And the understanding of the sacrifice, selflessness and love that comes with raising one. 

To say that “the day one decides to have a child is the day one decides to wear her heart outside of her” is an understatement.  I am overwhelmed by the wealth and depth of emotion that wells up inside of me each time I look at Nina.  How I have produced such a beautiful child is a  wonder to me.  A true miracle.  To realize that she is mine, my own, brings aching joy in me. Renee Zellweger was wrong in saying  “you complete me” in reference to movie husband Tom Cruise.  No, my child completes me.  The love one has for one’s husband can never equal that which one has for one’s child.   She is simply a part of me.  And her small hands clutching mine, her bright wide eyes mirroring mine, will be a constant reminder of how she has become my heart. 

 

 I became a daughter.

I love my mom immensely.  We share a bond that, I must admit, only a few have.  But going through the throes of pregnancy and having a child have deepened our relationship even more.  She has always been my friend, my anchor, my confidante.  During my pregnancy, she was my eating buddy, my supplier of all those delectable cakes. 🙂  My mom brought me to the hospital when I was due to deliver.  She gave me a brave teary smile as they wheeled me to the delivery room.  She was the first one I saw when I gained consciousness, the first one to tell me I’m now a mom to a beautiful baby girl. 

They always tell me that I’m my mom’s favorite.  They speculate that it must be because I’m the sweetest among four girls, it must be because we have the same likes and dislikes.  Now, I know.  I’m her favorite because she can’t help it.  As each and every one of my siblings is also her favorite.  With each child is formed a bond fashioned not only by birth but by love, concern and selfless sacrifice.  Being a mother made me understand all that my mom did for me.  All the sacrifice she made for me.  All the dreams she dreamt for me.  And I love her more than ever.

 

And I became a friend.

Funny thing about being pregnant – it makes one available to others.  In my case, I was locked and shackled to the bed most of my first and third trimester, I was always available for a chat.  I became a friend, a confidante, a confessor and, in some days, a psychiatrist too.  “A” for “angst” would have been my baby’s first word. 🙂  

“F” for fun and foodtrip would be part of her vocabulary too.  I was “kaladkarin” as ever, available for coffee perks, dinner discussions and even morning breathers.  I gave love and was the recipient of love…tons of it.  The baby shower Blue Sneakers threw for me, acting in concert with mega events coordinator Ibyang, will always be one of my cherished moments.  Not because of all the gifts and merrymaking that went into it, but because it evoked “friendship” in its truest and deepest sense. Simply put, I felt loved.  I have always been blessed.  But to be blessed with such good friends is truly one absolute fulfillment.  

2008 was truly “the Bomb”! 

It celebrated life, love and friendship. 

I cannot help but be hopeful for 2009. 🙂

Nesting Period

My sister, a mother of two, says one will know if she’s about to give birth if she starts “nesting”.

Unclear of what she meant, I had visions of migratory birds frantically pecking through their nest, adjusting their feathers, and making sure everything is warm and comfortable for the arrival of their beloved chicks.

I wanted to put my own spin into it and decided to do the baby room. 🙂

Ricky is vacating his room in favor of Baby Nina as it is the one closest to the master’s bedroom.  He has no objections on transferring to the third floor provided that it be painted blue and carry a Superman theme again.  (“And mom, can I bring my playstation?” The boy is truly growing up!)   

I have opted for a sandy yellow and sky blue theme for the baby room.  It will go well with the running wallpaper of buttery yellow moon, sun and stars I recently bought from the mall.  I saw some wall stickers of sheeps lazily sleeping on soft beds of clouds and decided it will also look nice spattered around the walls.  I made a mental note to get some painters to do it this weekend, before the baby arrives.

On to some baby furniture!  My MIL have already gifted us with a crib – a white wooden one that can easily be transformed into a playpen and, later, a starter bed.  Impressive!  Baby beddings have been provided by generous friends from the baby shower.  Blue Sneakers’ choice of Giraffe Design in yellow and blue would be the perfect combination!   I just need an armoire and everything will be settled.  Baby & Co. has the perfect design – a changing table, a hideaway bathtub, and an armoire all rolled into one.  A visit to the mall this Saturday will do the trick!

To cap it, I decided to host a pre-labor/pre-delivery dinner before I officially start motherhood.  

It will be Ricky’s 9th b-day this weekend and a perfect occasion to do some cooking.  Menu for the kid’s afternoon party will be spaghetti, chicken and pizza.  For the adults’, it will have to be an appetizer of mozarella cheese and tomatoes set in a bed of melba toast, greek salad with feta cheese, spaghetti amatriciana and a good bottle of red wine.   Yum! Yum!  I’m excited already!

I’m beginning to enjoy this “nesting” thing, I thought!

…until a visit to the doctor changed all that.

At 1 p.m., I went in for what I thought would be an ordinary pre-natal check-up.  A doppler here and there, a few measurements here and it would be done.  Plenty of time to cook for the children’s and the adult’s party.

Next thing I know I was in a hospital gown being wheeled out on a wheelchair on my way to have an emergency ultrasound!

My doctor was out on a lecture and the resident doctor took her place.  She said I’m already in “term”, being 37 weeks and 2 days pregnant.  But the baby’s position was transverse, meaning she was lying sideways.  Not headfirst, not breech, but transverse which transalated to what I think was the worst position a baby could ever take.

A trip to the ultrasound room confirmed it.  My doctor soon arrived (apparently called to shorted her lecture and immediately attend to me).  She explained that the baby was indeed in a transverse position in which case she couldn’t wait for me to go into labor as the baby’s hand or shoulder might be the first to come out.  It was critical for her to take out the baby now through a ceasarian procedure.

Still reeling from the news,  Ms. Resident suddenly came out and unceremoniously told me – “Mommy, hihiwain ka ha.”  With matching slicing motion through her neck as if I didn’t already get the picture!

Right there and then, my B.P. shot up and my contractions began from 15 minutes apart to 3 minutes apart!

What about the party?  What about the guests?  What about the lecture?  What about my scheduled trials?  Witnesses?  Where’s my mom?  Where’s my husband?  I was scared and nervous, and ready to cry!  I wanted to scream!  Man, this is not part of the plan!

As all these questions frantically raced through my mind,  I heard my doctor suddenly say that my medical records show that I was only 35 weeks pregnant and she could not operate on me, the baby would be premature.  She berated Ms. Resident for misreading the records and giving a contrary information.  She warned that the results would have been disastrous if a c-section had been performed at this eary date.

I wanted to say “There’s already a result!  I’m already an emotional disaster!” 

…And you freakin’ destroyed my party!

It took all of my pregnant effort not to glare down at Ms. Resident!  Grrr!

They then wheeled me through the high-risk section and inserted tubes on me.  For three (3) days, they had to monitor me until my contractions settled down. 

Meanwhile, my husband was seething over the false alarm, my sisters were nice enough to take out Ricky for an instant birthday party at Shakey’s, and my mom was beside herself praying for my and the baby’s safety.

I’m now out and safely billeted in my room.  On complete bedrest.  For two (2) weeks. 

No painters to do the baby room.  No trips to the mall to do some baby shopping.  No pre-labor/pre-delivery dinner before I enter into motherhood.

I suddenly realized what my sister meant by “nesting”. 😦

Iconic Pregnant Photo

Back in the 90’s, Demi Moore made news when she made the cover of Vanity Fair magazine posing in the nude in all her pregnant glory no less.

Shot by famous photographer Anne Liebovitz while she was 7 months pregnant with daughter Scout La Rue (what a name huh?), it was the best selling issue of Vanity Fair ever.  It was not only that she was a star celebrity, then married to another star celebrity, Bruce Willis, but that the photo in itself was revolutionary carrying a message that would validate and celebrate womanhood – Pregnancy is Beautiful and Pregnant Women Rule!

Since then, other pregnant women have tried to emulate her, likewise posing in the nude, either to generate the same media hype, pamper to their vanities or just plain keep a memento of this phase in their lives.  I have even heard of some having a bust of their pregnant self commissioned!

I would not go that far.  But I would have to admit that as each month passed, with me marvelling over the elasticity of my tummy and amazed with the growing life within, the desire for me to capture and chronicle it grew. 

I would never know whether this phase in my life would again be repeated.  I would have no conclusive evidence to show my child that “Hey! This is how much I lovingly carried you and kept you close to my heart.”  The love, the warmth, the glow which every pregnant woman emits would be hard to describe unless seen.

And so, one fateful day, I went to the studio (same studio which took our wedding photos) and did what other sentimental pregnant woman would do (or would love to do) and had my picture taken…

 

This is me about 8 months pregnant, a few weeks before the baby shower, at 175 lbs. 

I had more than a dozen of this made, in various poses, some in color and some in black and white, and none in the nude.  Haha! 

I’m no Demi Moore, but I hope the photo captured not only my bulging tummy but the glow which an impending motherhood brings.

Now, I have something to show my daughter.  🙂 

By the way, reproduced into storybook placemats (courtesy of my friend Ibyang) this made into excellent giveaways during the babyshower.  They were gone in minutes!

Call me Chicken!

Found myself excitedly making plans for November.  It will be mom’s 67th birthday and wouldn’t it be nice to bring her to Hongkong or to Bangkok to go shopping? 

Till dad popped the question, “Where will you leave the baby?  Who will take care of her?”

IT TOTALLY SKIPPED MY MIND!

And as I tried to chide myself on how I could have ever forgotten such an important detail, question after question began to tumble after each other, challenging, at this belated hour, the state I currently find myself in – “Am I prepared to become a mother?” “Did I ever want to become a mother?” “Did I ever want a child?”

Liz Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love opines that people reproduce for all manner of reasons – sometimes out of a pure desire to nurture and witness life, sometimes out of an absence of choice, sometimes in order to hold on to a partner or create an heir, sometimes without thinking about it in any particular way. 

In my case, it seemed to be the normal and natural consequence of getting married.  My husband and I never consciously thought to have a child.  Our every sexual act was not motivated by this desire.  Though our hearts sank to learn that I do not have the fertility chance of an 18 year old, it never compelled us to determinedly push to have a baby.  Hubby, for his part, was content with having Ricky.  While I…well, I was Mrs. What Will be, Will be.  Though, there were times that I sought for the comfort of having a child of my own blood and loins.

Until 2 pink lines finally confirmed its coming.  I remember looking at it in disbelief. Only to instantly let go of it like it burned.  I must have turned a full 360 degrees before I finally left the bathroom to tell my husband the good news.  Awe, disbelief and elation only a few of the emotions that mixed and mingled within me.

Despite its difficulty, I embraced pregnancy with a passion (careful only that I will not be branded “overreacting” or a fashion faux pas).

…Until the thought of having no November vacation finally hit me.  Or having no vacation at all for the next three years.

My sister, a mother of 2 beautiful daughters, texted me that I should soon brace myself for those colic and crying nights.  A 2-hour sleep considered a grace from God.  Evie, my friend, in turn suggested tips on how to properly breastfeed a child. And not in my slightest imagination did I think that I will be leaking constantly and will have to pump my breast regularly, sometimes in public! 

To say that it filled me with absolute dread would be an understatement.  I cringed and totally grew cold!  Somehow, my thoughts centered on the baptism party (what’s a nice motiff?), 1st birthday party (mascots anyone?) and girly moments (shopping!) with my daughter, it totally skipped the taking-care-of-baby part!

Now, I suddenly find myself asking, “Man, what did I get myself into!?!”

It likewise skipped the what-will-happen-to-my-work part as it seems to be a no-brainer that my career will need to take a backseat from now on. Or the cute declaration that the two-some will now be a threesome (or a foursome for that matter) being in reality a goodbye to couplehood and late friday night dates with my husband.

Never did the word “CHOICE” resound with much meaning as it did now.  The fact that it has mushroomed into a worldwide movement is not significantly lost on me either.

But don’t get me wrong.  I am excited and impatient to see my baby.  I’m merely having cold feet and being chicken!   

 

Pregnancy Woes

I woke up feeling like a huge block hit my head and settled on my rear.

I’m now 6 months and 3 weeks pregnant and to say that I feel heavy is an understatement.  My tummy has grown in such gigantic proportions that it knocks the air out of me whenever I lie down on my back.  Sleeping on my side has been the only guarantee to keep me alive and breathing… And I have to stay that way for the entire evening. 

This, however, is nothing compared to my mornings.  The first time my changed circumstances hit me, I had to stay in bed for about 10 minutes to figure out how I could gracefully get out of bed and not feel the pain.  Head and torso first…nope, too much strain.  Legs on the floor first and then throttle up…nope, it just wouldn’t do.  I must have been at it several times till my husband took pity on me and gave me a hand and a boost up!  Nowadays, I just put down my legs first and use the bed headrest and backpost as a leverage. 

And that’s only the beginning.  Now up, I then have to deal with the weight that is my breast.  I have never imagined that it can be this painful!  Medically, it has been said that a woman’s breast gains a volume of 1 kg. during pregnancy…at the very least!  Imagine if it were more and it threatens to burst with every gravity provoking movement!  Awww!

Some women rejoice at the bounty that pregnancy has brought on their breast.  But not I.  I have ample breasts to begin with, 36 cup B, thank you.   Though I considered it a boon during my single days, I now deign to look at it these days.  I wouldn’t blame my husband if he doesn’t either. 

Then, there’s the trip to the ladies room.  Not once but about a dozen times before lunchbreak!  Another blogger has said that pregnant women contributes to the deforestation problem with the amount of tissue paper we consume.  I totally agree.  We’re all co-conspirators in the grand scheme to wreak havoc on our environment!  Hang me, if you will, BUT give me my day in the toilet!

And so I walk my way in the office.  A cue having impatiently formed behind me.  The elevator operator the only kind soul to patiently wait for me…as i ploddle and dawdle my way through the throng of busy and harried officeworkers.  I used to think I must look like the penguin, Happy Feet, and I smile. How cute! 

These days, I no longer think I’m Happy Feet; instead, I’m the Walrus that almost ate Happy Feet if not for the burden that is his weight! 

 

 

 

Myoma Queen

Myoma has been defined as a benign mass found in the uterus.

To me, this and all other categories of cysts are simply the blight of my existence.

I have after all been known to suffer fibrocycsts, endemetriocysts and lately myomas in my entire adult life.  Letting me earn the tag Myoma Queen! 

My doctor tells me that this is simply the result of overactive hormones, my body being a perfect bed for them.  She teases that I’m just too much of a woman, that’s all.  Yeah, sure!

Today, these nodules strike again! 

I had my congenital anomaly examination today and, lo and behold, there are three myomas growing along side my baby.  My only consolation is that these are located outside the uterus, thus, the chances of it pressing and crowding the baby is nil.  These widens the chances of my having a c-section rather than a normal delivery. But I still have to properly reflect on my emotions to categorize this as either a fortunate or unfortunate circumstance.

Hay! Good thing my doctor is top rate!  She’s the head consultant in the hospital and easily dismisses this as nothing to be concerned about. Her experience and candor assures me.

Nothing less for the Myoma Queen, I guess!

 

 

 

Anton & Anton II

“Pinaglilihian ko si Anton.”

This was how it was during my first trimester.  I so much wanted to see Anton and hear his voice that I would call him almost everyday.  My camera is filled with his pictures.  Hearing him, seeing him, made me smile and forget my discomfort.

“Pinaglilihian ako ni Anton.”

Flash to my second semester and it’s now Anton who is so much into me. He loves seeing me, often inviting me over to the house.  And when I do get the chance to drop by, he serves me like the queen. 

He races to the kitchen to ask them to cook spaghetti for me and the baby.  He says he and the baby are alike, could be twins, as they both like spaghetti.  He asks me to name the baby Anton and I say, to avoid confusion, I’ll call the baby “Anton II”.  This made him laugh!

His ministrations over me have drawn the attention of his parents and the other grown-ups in the family.  How it happened, nobody knows.  He props the chair with pillows before inviting me to sit, turns the aircon for me, and massages my back as I lie back in bed. 

It seems he has caught the love bug as much as I did! 🙂

 

Idle Mommy

I am concerned.

I have nothing to do!  Informations (complaints) are slow in coming and, of the few that had been filed, my director has opted to give me some slack due to my condition and, thus, gave me none.  This may be a source of joy, welcome news, to some, but, man!  I can’t be this unproductive!

Aside from struggling with boredom, I am particularly concerned about the effects this may have on my baby.  Idle Mom means idle baby, right?  My baby might come out, as it is, either as a Kapuso, with etchings on his/her body a la Joaquin Bordado, or as a singing sensation a la American Idol, what with all the TV programs I’ve been watching to while away the time.

I must apply myself to something mentally stimulating…and fast!

Dreamscapes

I don’t engage in dreams much.  I am basically a heavy sleeper, I sleep like a log.

This seems not to be the case though since my pregnancy. 

My waking hours these days are filled with dreams – some inconsequential, others downright scary.  I usually huddle up to Mr. P and dismiss these dreams as mere results of my regurgitating tummy. 

Not this particular day though. 

I dreamt of past suitors… MUs and boyfriend wannabes included. 

Bloopers and conversation and all! 

Some were funny, others were so detailed, these emotionally affected me. Strange that I only get to realize their meaning now, tones & intentions that were hidden from me during those young gullible days. I am embarassed of these moments. My stupidity and gullibility I cannot believe!

I am concerned that my baby might sense these.  Takes these in and inherits my gullibility and naivete. 

Gosh!  Do I have a problem if baby turns out to be a girl!  Chaining her to the kitchen sounds like a good option! 🙂

Mr. P is likewise concerned. 

But we can only pray and surrender our baby to God’s grace.

Woe to Any Expectant Mother

Now, I know what they are talking about!

It is indeed particularly irksome to hear people, who otherwise would be strangers, to offer a thing or two about my bulging tummy.  I don’t mind hearing sincere enthusiasm, but others just go overboard!

There are the “Experts” – mothers of three or four kids who just have everything to say about your pregnancy.  They predict every feeling and always have an explanation for every twitch and discomfort of the expectant mom.  Woe to the first-time expecting mother who offers her own insight to it as they would only dismiss and set it aside!  I also call them the “know-it-alls”.

There are also the “Fortune-seekers” – those who look at the expecting mother as a buddha or fortune-giver.  These people, without any permission or consideration for your feelings, will just touch your tummy and wish for good luck.  

They are nothing, however, compared to my most hated sort – the “Surveyors”.    These peple will look at you from head to toe and note the physical changes in you, not with concern but with frightful glee!  They will start with one’s expanding face, particularly the expecting mother’s nose known to undergo severe unexplainable changes during pregnancy.  Then, they will move on to the growing shadows/discoloration on one’s neck and armpits and knowingly predict the baby’s gender.  Lastly dwelling on one’s feet which according to them have grown in humongous proportions.  At the end of these excruciating exercise, the expectant mother is left with no other feeling but that she must be the ugliest, fattest, gruesome expectant mother ever! 

Grrr!  I just wish these people will just offer their congratulations and move one.  The pregnancy is difficult enough without them turning me into a spectacle!