That’s also 525,600 minutes, which is also 365 days of your days here on earth.
And every second has been a revelation not just about you but about myself, your father, our friends, our family and just about human beings in general.
A staggeringly beautiful and fascinating person becoming right before my very eyes.
Happy birthday, babe.
(Note to babe: This photograph was taken today as you celebrate with your playmates and your yayas. You spend so much time with them we thought of giving them a small merienda treat and bubbles for the kiddies.)
I say it’s worth a note to remember your first 200 days (which was yesterday). It’s about the time where I still notice your every rash and coo and poo.
- You’re not quite the crawler yet. To move from one point to the other, like the Mad Max of rolling pins you roll from side to side. And when you do resemble what could be close to crawling, you look like a snake, using your head and your shoulders to move.
- You just started eating solids four days ago. And when I say solid, I actually mean just mashed brown rice with some of my milk, which just looks like milk with stuff. Sometimes you like it, most times you just look confounded and proceed to spitting half of what goes in your mouth onto your onesie and my lap and my face.
- You just grew your hair back. There’s like a couple of months where you have this D.O.M. look because you lost all your hair on the top section of your head.
- You’ve been sticking your tongue out and putting the tip of your tongue behind the bottom part of your toothless gums. This may be the start of the teething phase. I fear for my boobies.
- There are times when I’m feeding you, when you’re about half asleep, that you tremble ever so slightly for about 10 to 20 seconds.That’s a little freaky.
- Just when you’re about to sleep, you like scratching your face and your ears like a madman. This drives me crazy because it makes your ears bleed and your forehead all scratched up.
- You love textures. Your favorite toy is this long rainbow-colored silk that your lola gave you. She bought it in Bangkok a long time ago but never really got around to using it.
- It’s so easy to make you smile, but boy, can you cry. You got those powerful lungs that could howl and howl loud.
- Your father recently discovered your tickle spot. A generous zerbert aimed at the right side of your waist sends you into giggles.
- You enjoyed your first beach trip, but maybe not as thoroughly as you’d want because I didn’t let you taste the sand. All in good time, babe. You’ll have plenty time to do stupid things when you’re all grown up.
You’d have teased me all the time. Bouncing my baby up and down like a ball. That’s what mom said you used to do with us and it would drive her to tears for fear you might drop us. As that would drive me mad too.
You’d be so happy I’m sure. And maybe I’ll allow you just this once, now that he just turned 100 days old. Which in my opinion, is worth the celebration. Mom is all over the little man. She calls him GS, as he would be trained to call her GM once able. (In that case maybe I should make the boy call me simply M. Not!)
Six years to the day. And although it happens so rarely now, when I do miss you, I miss you like I’m missing an arm. I miss you like I swallowed a rock. I still miss you like before, like I swallowed a frog and my throat is stuck with something awful. Now that I’m starting to have my doubts about the afterlife, it’s become difficult to imagine you as a conscious being above the clouds, ethereal. I think of you more as energy that floats around. This idea doesn’t make it harder for me, fortunately. I think it’s okay if you don’t exist anymore as an entire being. I don’t need that consolation. Because it doesn’t matter. Whether you’re rubbing elbows with St. Peter or reduced to fertilizer, the fact is you’re not here anymore. And that’s that.
You walked this earth and that’s enough of a life to make a world of difference to me and everyone you knew.
Accomplishments thus far:
Burps like a potbellied over the hill athlete.
Smiles like an angel.
cries like a pro.
moves like a Harlem shaker.
Sleeps much like a cat.
I turn beet red after 3 gulps of beer; my allergy to alcohol I don’t miss. But that never stopped me from from drinking before. Because I do enjoy a little buzz–my voice gets a little louder, my eyes get sleepy, and jokes sound funnier.
Unless I want the little man to slur in his cooing and get him drunk, I’ll have to remain alcohol-free for as long as I am his faithful cow.
People let’s get drunk on my birthday!
I can’t get enough of my two boys. I love them to bits. In fact, I love them too much I feel guilty that I don’t really want to do much else but just hang with them.
It wasn’t always this easy, the first few weeks after giving birth was really difficult; but by the 2nd month, we hit our stride and baaam! Between adjusting to the new life and finally getting into the groove of this new life, I was caught up in this motherhood trap–And It’s Wonderful. Before I know it, it’s been 3 months and I haven’t gone back to work, or to anything else really. Eeep.
Now I am venturing to enjoy other bits of the world, but it’s honestly an effort. But I have to try! Because you know, there are movies to be made, art to create, and dough to make.
My dear company can only run on autopilot for so long (thank God for excellent staff). The screenplays will not roll out no matter how hard my cat August tries to take over the keyboard. My friends have already given up on us.
I have permanently put my mobile on silent because I have stopped picking up calls. I hardly get any messages anyway anymore (people learn) and my bill has been wonderfully at its all-time low.
My closet is just bursting with clothes because I only wear 3 sets of pambahay and that’s all I rotate. Nothing ends up in the cleaners anymore. The Dude and I go out once a week and even then it’s such a pity to dump in the hamper, since we only go out three hours at a time.
I even love my cats less (Sorry Cubes! Sorry Auggy!). A week would pass without me giving August a big hug. And since I have been exempt from all cat duties, we don’t have as much contact. I hope they don’t end up being resentful towards the little one.
Not that I’ve been a total hermit. We have the occasional dinner date, movie night, friends night out…but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. And the reminder of my new life is not just emotional, it’s physical. By the second hour I’m out of the house, my breasts are reminding me to express (meaning pumped to the childless people out there), unless I endure the pain of it turning to rocks.
But don’t get me wrong, it’s not always easy. Sometimes the little man is crying so loud I want to throw him out the window. Thankfully, our windows have grills so it’s impossible. I have perpetual jetlag and I feel my senses are fuzzy all the time. And because I have decided to do 100% breastfeeding for as long as I can, I just can’t go out any time that I want to, but the Dude can, and that makes me jealous for some reason.
It is important to have this combination of three: the little man, the main man and me. Because I have to admit, many times, there are only so many games you can play with an infant. There are only so many nursery rhymes you can invent until he cries. Eventually, we’re bored with each other. So I leave him to his own devices, which is mainly sleeping. So I hang with my main man and we do absolutely nothing and enjoy the things we used to enjoy without the little one. Catch up on tv shows, watch a movie, eat a meal together, among other grown-up things. And after we’re done enjoying our couplehood, eventually we miss the little one and maybe annoy him while he’s sleeping so maybe he wakes up and entertains us.
And so that’s been my life for the past three months. I flit between my two boys and that’s more than enough love a woman can handle. It’s incredible! And passing the time is not a problem at all that I sometimes wonder how I’ll get back on track with the other stuff. Now that it’s been relegated to the other stuff.
And so imagine what happiness if it’s the three of us together. It’s so fun that the Dude and I catch ourselves giggling, knowing what lucky bastards we are to have this life.
“Maybe one of us will die young. This is way too fun.”
We’re morbid like that.