i am sleepy. but there’s nothing surprising about that, i am always sleepy. my normal state is somewhere between smothered in just enough cotton to still breathe and feel emotion and floating above everybody else just low enough to still catch the gist of whatever’s happening.
so far it’s worked for me: i don’t get too affected by everyday bs and therefore carry minimal baggage around. admittedly, there were times when i’ve wondered how it would be like to actually be one hundred percent present in every situation i was in, to feel happiness and sadness and anger without mental cloudiness.
i tried to get more sleep, i took vitamins, i pinched myself. sometimes it worked, most of the time it didn’t. life went on.
lately though, i’ve been feeling the urge to nudge my brain into full wakefulness again and so i decided to take on the sangobion challenge and see if it works. the tvc promised results in 15 days. we shall see.
and so the nanny has gone, leaving the kid with me and alvin. the universe’s version of saying haha, i suppose.
let me backtrack. sometime in july, the nanny came to me, saying she had to leave in september because her father was sick and her mother needed help during harvest season. i asked if she would be coming back. she said yes because she wanted to finish her als (alternative learning system) classes (she goes every saturday), which will end in november. i said okay.
then a couple of weeks later, she came again, saying she wouldn’t have to leave because her brother was going to go and stay home from august to january. i said okay.
august came. a-ko stayed with us for two weeks because she had her cataract surgery, which meant she stayed home with roque and the nanny on weekdays. at around this time, we noticed the nanny being on the phone more often than usual, and we learned from a-ko that she apparently had a new suitor, someone she met through facebook.
now, while i’m not one to meddle in someone’s lovelife unless invited to, i would understandably be concerned if you were on the phone most of the day everyday, because then when would you have time to take care of my kid? so alvin spoke to her about it. not harshly, if i may objectively say so, it was all kind of casual, while she was helping him get dinner ready.
then she got mad at a-ko for supposedly tattling on her. which got me mad because how dare she think that a-ko would put her feelings above my son’s safety. and so i spoke to her about it. as nicely and as motherly as i could.
a week later she said she’s decided to go home. she would be leaving at the end of the month, a week away. i asked if it was for good. she said she didn’t know. after i pressed her for a more definite answer, she admitted that no, she would not be coming back. i said okay.
a day later, a sunday morning, she came from her room, sat behind the sofa where i sat watching tv, said she got a call the night before from her sister, who told her that their father had suddenly died, then promptly burst into tears.
she left the following afternoon with all her belongings, a full month’s salary and a little extra from us to help with the funeral expenses. we brought her to where her brother was supposed to pick her up so they could make the trip home together.
fast forward a week. the nanny’s cousin used to work for alvin’s brother’s family and so are friends with the other help at their family’s compound. when they texted her to send their condolences for her uncle’s death, she messaged back, ‘who died?!’
and the whole story started to unfold. the nanny, all sixteen years of her, eloped. i think i was more confused than anything. confused about the need to lie about her father dying when we had already agreed on her leaving in a week’s time. then i became angry. we treated her well during the time she stayed with us. she never went hungry, we were loose with day-offs, her workload was light. i even washed the little ingrate’s clothes, dammit.
so the last couple of weeks have been spent coping. i bring roque with me to work, alvin and i split the chores when we get home. it’s been really tiring, but kind of liberating too, to not have a stranger in our home, to not have to think of anybody else’s welfare apart from my family’s, to be able to do and say anything in my own home without worrying about somebody else seeing or hearing.
i’ve never been comfortable with getting help, and this whole drama has made me even more wary. so we’re going to try it this way for a while and see if we can manage. i’ll work from home when i can, and roque will still spend a couple of days a week at his grandma’s which will give alvin and i time to catch our breath.
wish us luck.
i am in a contest with my son’s nanny. the contest is to see who can make him love her more and it has been ongoing for the past year. the reason i only bring it up now is because i feel i am finally winning.
i took it for granted when i got pregnant that i would work until i gave birth, go on maternity leave, then go back working. being a stay-at-home mom was never an option, both for financial reasons and to keep my sanity.
when we hired our nanny when roque was three months old, we had misgivings about her age (she was then 15-going-on-16), but when we saw how capable she was, we considered ourselves lucky. it’s been a year and she’s still with us, a feat considering all the nanny horror stories i’ve heard. understand that she’s not perfect and i do have moments of wanting to scream in frustration, but all told, she takes good care of roque and seems genuinely fond of him, and in a world full of viral videos of nannies hitting babies they’re supposed to take care of, that is more than enough.
on average, they spend ten hours a day together, and those aren’t just random hours, but the best part of each day. i only get to spend time with my son early in the morning and during the evening, when i am either rushing to get ready for work or tired from work.
logic tells me that all that time spent in each other’s company will, of course, foster closeness, but when i saw how they played and giggled together, and how she seemed to know exactly what he needed, my heart ached.
he kissed her cheek before he would mine.
because i cannot not work, i do everything i can to make the most of my time with him. roque would start calling out at around 5am and my body would automatically get up even as my mind desperately pleaded for it to stop and stay in bed. part asleep, part irritated, part resigned and plenty tired, i was also infinitely grateful that i am able to start my day with him.
we have our little routine: after his morning milk and diaper change, i would gather him in my arms and we would stand by the window and look out into the quiet of the early morning. we would spend endless minutes turning the light on and off, and he would smile proudly when he’s able to do it on his own, something that happens more and more often now. he would insist on leaving the bedroom and going to the bookshelf, where we would get his favorite book and look for the tiger yet again. his eyes would light up and he would smile and excitedly say ‘tiger!’ the moment he sees the vivid orange color of the animal that fascinates him so much.
when we go out as a family during weekends, alvin and i leave the nanny at home, opting to take care of roque on our own. we’ve received confused reactions about this decision, but we wanted roque to know that when mommy and dada are around, we take care of him.
now, he turns to us first when he needs something and when he has an interesting discovery he wants to share. we are his first choice as playmates. he kisses us for no reason, then smiles shyly when we express happiness at the show of affection.
i know that time-wise, i can never win over the nanny, but i am determined to make my few hours with my son count. i am determined to make him understand that being physically there is not the only way to show how much he is loved.
now, i know that this contest is probably just in my head. my nanny would probably just as soon leave if she could afford to, and it is unfortunate that she had to leave her home and work so far from it, but sometimes, a mother’s heart doesn’t process reason very well, and so i silently keep tally: one point for her, one point for me. no matter that i am the only one keeping count.
if i were to pinpoint when i began longing for a second child, i would have to say about a year ago. in the time between then and now, despite my attempts to stamp it out, the longing slowly turned into yearning; the ache to hold a second baby in my arms at times so strong i found it hard to breathe.
i wasn’t sure i wanted to be a mother in the first place and now here i am, wanting to be a mother of two. everybody i know must either be laughing their heads off or have fainted in shock.
all phases of motherhood are hard — from pregnancy to childbirth to child rearing, but these same phases also bring with them a certain kind of happiness i am incapable of explaining. the best way i can put it is like suddenly having access to a supply of love so abundant it can’t help but overflow and forge new paths to travel on.
universe, know that if one of those paths lead to a second child, i would be very grateful.
i don’t want to boast but i think it’s only fair to say that i’m winning in the food war against my one-year-old. turned out, the reason why roque wouldn’t eat during meal times was because we’ve been stuffing him with milk!
in the early food war days, his average daily food schedule went something like:
6am – 5oz milk
8am – breakfast
10am – 5oz milk
12nn – lunch
1pm – 5oz milk
3pm – snack
5pm – 5oz milk
7pm – dinner
9pm -5oz milk
that’s a lot of milk, i know. no wonder the kid didn’t have room for solids. he probably thought i was crazy whenever i tried shoving food into his mouth. we got the go-ahead from his pedia to lessen his milk intake and justlikethat the kid started eating solids like crazy. like crazy, i tell you.
this is how we divide up his days now, food-wise:
6am – 6oz milk
9am – breakfast
12nn – lunch
1pm – 6oz milk
4pm – snack
7pm – dinner
9pm – 6oz milk
the longer breaks in between meals (milk or solids) really made a huge difference. where i used to employ any and all tips and tricks i could think of just to get him to eat, now, i can’t get the spoon reloaded and into his mouth fast enough. often, while readying the next spoonful, i would feel a little hand tapping my arm impatiently and look up to an eagerly open, empty little mouth. it’s been almost a month of happy eating and roque’s cheeks have already gotten fatter, like a chipmunk’s with a mouthful of nuts.
now you know it can’t be all good, and this is the part where i warn you that poop will be discussed.
the downside to my victory is that he’s had toddler’s diarrhea since a few days after we changed his diet. it’s actually gotten better now, but there were days when we had to wash and change him *every* *fucking* *hour* (the only silver lining in this cloud was that those days coincided with his diaper brand going on sale, so heart attacks over how much all this pooping was starting to cost were avoided).
it’s hard not to worry when your toddler poops at least four times a day everyday but i’m doing my best because everybody (and by that i mean his pedia and people on the internet, collectively) says toddler’s diarrhea is normal and it’s supposed to clear up on its own. also, roque’s as happy and energetic as usual, which does a lot to quiet my fears.
on second thought, abundance of poop or not, for this round, i think everybody wins.
let me start with the disclaimer that i love my son. i love him with such intensity tears literally fill my eyes when i try to put what i feel into words because my heart is unable to contain the emotion.
i am grateful every day that i am his mother.
given that, today, mother’s day, i miss *not* being a mother.
i miss not being responsible for another life. i miss the luxury of dawdling over dinner with friends after work. i miss having adult conversations.
i miss watching movies with my husband. i miss eating a meal *with* him (no, being at the table at the same time while one of you feeds the kid does not count). i miss actually having sex when the urge hits.
i miss sleeping in. i miss sleeping through the night. i miss going to bed when i want to.
most of all, i miss not being so emotionally full all the time.
i miss not wanting to burst into tears every time i see a homeless child. i miss not wanting to commit murder each time i hear about an irresponsible parent. i miss not being consumed by paralysing fear when i think about not being able to provide for my son.
i miss not needing to hurry home because my heart hurts to be away from him. i miss not having my happiness hinge on hearing his delighted laughter.
i miss not needing to feel his weight on my arms, to breathe in his scent, to constantly reassure myself that he is real.
i love my son with such force it reduces me to a helpless ball. but i miss.
‘aaa.’, i told roque, a spoonful of warm oatmeal poised to enter his mouth.
‘EHH!’, he answered back with an impatient dismissive wave of his hand, then turned his face away for good measure, just in case his message was unclear. bloodcurling screams ensued when i insisted.
more and more, this was how our meal times went: me cajoling, entertaining, tricking, pleading with him to eat, and him refusing. each meal ended with me either triumphant but exhausted from my for-roque-only-one-woman-show or exhausted *and* frustrated, his food practically untouched.
I’m not sure when my good eater became this exasperating little tyrant, but I’m feeling more and more helpless, and less and less a good mother, with each bowlful that goes uneaten.
just let him go hungry, my husband says, he’ll eat more at the next meal.
but i can’t.
i can’t not do everything i can short of clamping his mouth open and shoving food in (i admit i’d probably do that if i found a way to) because the thought of my son not getting enough nutrients drives me completely batty.
there’s nothing roque does that gets to me quite like not eating his food can, and, believe me, he’s been a whirlwind of naughty activity ever since he learned to walk.
he grabs and drops my phone. he toddles off with the box where i keep my rolls of thread, scattering them in his wake. he insists on investigating electric sockets. he opens and closes random cabinet doors. he wraps his little hand around my finger, tugs and tugs, and if i refuse to let myself be dragged to wherever he wants to bring me, well, the whole building floor becomes privy to fits of screaming so passionate you would think i announced he couldn’t have ice cream for the rest of his life.
the kid guzzles 25 ounces of milk a day and is hardly emaciated, so I’m not sure exactly why i think his brain cells would stop developing if he missed a couple of meals, but I’m a new mother and therefore exempted from the rules of logic.
i try. at the start of every meal i would take a deep breath and pray for patience and the ability to let go. but by the fifth spoonful i could feel my temper rising and all i want is to shakeshakeshake him until he eats. the fact that i don’t counts as a small victory.
what i don’t understand is why he won’t eat. it’s not like i stuff him with snacks and ruin his appetite, and he can’t not like the taste of every single thing i give him. he used to be such an enthusiastic eater, mouth eagerly open, happily gumming whatever surprise his spoon held, then suddenly, inexplicably, ‘EHH!’
today. screamy toddler – 1, exasperated mommy – 0.