DO YOU KNOW ME?
I’m sure you’ve seen me a lot of times, and felt a myriad of emotions upon inspection. What will surely amuse you though, is that I have stains on my clothes as varied as your emotions…milk, chocolate, marshmallow, even baby powder on my jeans.
And to battle these challenges( sometimes, in vain) I have my new and updated kikay kit, which sometimes turns out to be a bigger bag: what used to be just lipstick, concealer, and pressed powder…now resides in chaotic harmony with baby wipes, a sachet of anti-mosquito lotion, some colored rubber bands and sparkly hair pins, a small wash cloth, a small container of soap, and of course, diapers. Since I’ve started to wean, though, there have also been occasional feeding bottles. Not to mention, the melted candies I’ve forgotten to dispose of in the bottom of the bag.
You’ve surely seen me. I was the one who expertly held a nursing baby in one hand, holding on to an MRT railing with the other, plus trying to cover any exposed skin with the extra elbow. And all this while keeping a straight and nonchalant expression amidst curious and amused glances.
I’ve kept a smiling face even though I’ve felt like sinking under the ground. You know how it feels at family parties. Specially with a baby, much more a newborn. Everybody wants to know how long you labored, how hard. Everybody wants to know why your daughter is losing weight, and are you feeding her right? Everybody wants to know if she really cries that often, and giving all their advice what to do right, what you did wrong. All your titas, probably even your lola…asked if you kept the umbilical cord, and if you used the bigkis.
I was the one with the bawling toddler in the supermarket. I’ve been in the toys department at the mall for the nth time, and I’m always making the big decisions… is it better to buy the Blue’s Clues storytelling toy than the Dora the Explorer Backpack talking toy, or should I buy it at all? Should I let my kid play longer or should I get affected with the salespersons who warn you against playing with toys that state “Try Me”?
I’ve had my share of diet dilemmas : Jollibee, McDonald’s, or Burger King? Rice or fries? Chicken or spaghetti? Combo meal, or Happy meal? And that’s only a bit of it. When I’m at home, I have bigger dilemmas. Vegetables are good for children, but if she won’t eat it, what will I give her? If burgers, hotdogs, and fries are junk food, my menu choices gets shorter . If she eats Honeystars and Koko Krunch for breakfast, lunch and dinner yesterday, she musn’t be wanting to eat it again today, right? Then why is she screaming at the top of her lungs for Honeystars at 7 o’clock in the morning? Not to mention the fact that her leftovers are my breakfast, lunch,
and dinner as well.
You’ve seen me. Probably once or twice out with my friends…in two years. We used to giggle over the most trivial of things…men, or boys as they still were, why the world invented jerks, or when would I meet “The One”? Or more profound things like heaven and hell, or the meaning and purpose of life, and how important love is to a human being’s existence. Now when I get to see them, I would get to be asked how it feels to be in a marriage, a mom, a wife- since I married first. Is it hard, is it easy?
And the trivial things to me are now trivial worries. I worry how my daughter would react to boys, or what I would do in case she meets a jerk, and would she still need me if she meets “The One” already? I still ponder on important things though, like…are there really only four Teletubbies on Teletubbie Land?
You’ve seen me more often…in those “meetings”. They happen even with total strangers, but those who understand your hardships like their own. They happen in supermarkets, in pediatrician clinics, in jeepneys, with new neighbors, even over the internet. We exchange funny, desperate or touching anecdotes about our children and debate over which milk, vitamins, diapers, or discipline tactics are better. Which one really work, and which ones really don’t.
You’ve seen me around, sure. I take a walk most afternoons around the subdivision. Most of the time with a little girl, sometimes with a man too...but it doesn’t matter if I’m with them both or alone. They have one name for me, and I usually answer to it. When my daughter came to this world, that man I called Honey, usually forgets pet names and simply refers to me as Mommy. He even does it when he’s not talking to our daughter!
I don’t even just answer to that anymore. I answer to a cry, a whimper, or even to “Juice! Juice!” , as long as it comes from the small voice I would hear and recognize even if I’m locked up inside the bathroom and doing No.2 (which I eventually postponed a lot of times to be “on call”).
Yep, I’m Mommy. The one who clapped when my little girl finally memorized all the basic and secondary colors for the first time (all of them, wow!). Who danced Ocho-Ocho and Spaghetti with her, and even enjoyed it. The one who bought those pretty red Mary Janes because red looked cute on my daughter (and it matched her birthday dress), if but a little expensive. The one who learned to love Teletubbies because I had to watch it at least 10 times a day. The one who now had the reason to buy toys she wanted as a little girl, clothes she wanted to wear as a little girl, go to places she would have wanted to. The one who put herself in a corner to control her temper, and agreed with gusto when someone said that any mother would understand why some wild animals ate their young ( and even thanked the heavens I wasn’t a wild animal…or else!)
The one who cried because the continued nursing for two years hurt me. The one who cried when a relative insinuated I wasn’t a good mother. The one who kept her chin up when she realized she WAS a good mother, no matter what. The one who worried when her daughter was losing weight, or never gained weight for that matter. The one who wanted nothing in the world but a whole night’s sleep, or a few hours alone reading a book or watching CSI or Sex and the City. The one who so badly wanted to spend time with her husband (if he wasn’t working late in the field, or if our daughter slept early, much better!) The one who feels desperate sometimes, but blessed more often.
Yep, Mommy here. 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for the rest of my life. You know me, you’ve seen me. But if you’re a mother as well…you’ll understand who I really am.
And to battle these challenges( sometimes, in vain) I have my new and updated kikay kit, which sometimes turns out to be a bigger bag: what used to be just lipstick, concealer, and pressed powder…now resides in chaotic harmony with baby wipes, a sachet of anti-mosquito lotion, some colored rubber bands and sparkly hair pins, a small wash cloth, a small container of soap, and of course, diapers. Since I’ve started to wean, though, there have also been occasional feeding bottles. Not to mention, the melted candies I’ve forgotten to dispose of in the bottom of the bag.
You’ve surely seen me. I was the one who expertly held a nursing baby in one hand, holding on to an MRT railing with the other, plus trying to cover any exposed skin with the extra elbow. And all this while keeping a straight and nonchalant expression amidst curious and amused glances.
I’ve kept a smiling face even though I’ve felt like sinking under the ground. You know how it feels at family parties. Specially with a baby, much more a newborn. Everybody wants to know how long you labored, how hard. Everybody wants to know why your daughter is losing weight, and are you feeding her right? Everybody wants to know if she really cries that often, and giving all their advice what to do right, what you did wrong. All your titas, probably even your lola…asked if you kept the umbilical cord, and if you used the bigkis.
I was the one with the bawling toddler in the supermarket. I’ve been in the toys department at the mall for the nth time, and I’m always making the big decisions… is it better to buy the Blue’s Clues storytelling toy than the Dora the Explorer Backpack talking toy, or should I buy it at all? Should I let my kid play longer or should I get affected with the salespersons who warn you against playing with toys that state “Try Me”?
I’ve had my share of diet dilemmas : Jollibee, McDonald’s, or Burger King? Rice or fries? Chicken or spaghetti? Combo meal, or Happy meal? And that’s only a bit of it. When I’m at home, I have bigger dilemmas. Vegetables are good for children, but if she won’t eat it, what will I give her? If burgers, hotdogs, and fries are junk food, my menu choices gets shorter . If she eats Honeystars and Koko Krunch for breakfast, lunch and dinner yesterday, she musn’t be wanting to eat it again today, right? Then why is she screaming at the top of her lungs for Honeystars at 7 o’clock in the morning? Not to mention the fact that her leftovers are my breakfast, lunch,
and dinner as well.
You’ve seen me. Probably once or twice out with my friends…in two years. We used to giggle over the most trivial of things…men, or boys as they still were, why the world invented jerks, or when would I meet “The One”? Or more profound things like heaven and hell, or the meaning and purpose of life, and how important love is to a human being’s existence. Now when I get to see them, I would get to be asked how it feels to be in a marriage, a mom, a wife- since I married first. Is it hard, is it easy?
And the trivial things to me are now trivial worries. I worry how my daughter would react to boys, or what I would do in case she meets a jerk, and would she still need me if she meets “The One” already? I still ponder on important things though, like…are there really only four Teletubbies on Teletubbie Land?
You’ve seen me more often…in those “meetings”. They happen even with total strangers, but those who understand your hardships like their own. They happen in supermarkets, in pediatrician clinics, in jeepneys, with new neighbors, even over the internet. We exchange funny, desperate or touching anecdotes about our children and debate over which milk, vitamins, diapers, or discipline tactics are better. Which one really work, and which ones really don’t.
You’ve seen me around, sure. I take a walk most afternoons around the subdivision. Most of the time with a little girl, sometimes with a man too...but it doesn’t matter if I’m with them both or alone. They have one name for me, and I usually answer to it. When my daughter came to this world, that man I called Honey, usually forgets pet names and simply refers to me as Mommy. He even does it when he’s not talking to our daughter!
I don’t even just answer to that anymore. I answer to a cry, a whimper, or even to “Juice! Juice!” , as long as it comes from the small voice I would hear and recognize even if I’m locked up inside the bathroom and doing No.2 (which I eventually postponed a lot of times to be “on call”).
Yep, I’m Mommy. The one who clapped when my little girl finally memorized all the basic and secondary colors for the first time (all of them, wow!). Who danced Ocho-Ocho and Spaghetti with her, and even enjoyed it. The one who bought those pretty red Mary Janes because red looked cute on my daughter (and it matched her birthday dress), if but a little expensive. The one who learned to love Teletubbies because I had to watch it at least 10 times a day. The one who now had the reason to buy toys she wanted as a little girl, clothes she wanted to wear as a little girl, go to places she would have wanted to. The one who put herself in a corner to control her temper, and agreed with gusto when someone said that any mother would understand why some wild animals ate their young ( and even thanked the heavens I wasn’t a wild animal…or else!)
The one who cried because the continued nursing for two years hurt me. The one who cried when a relative insinuated I wasn’t a good mother. The one who kept her chin up when she realized she WAS a good mother, no matter what. The one who worried when her daughter was losing weight, or never gained weight for that matter. The one who wanted nothing in the world but a whole night’s sleep, or a few hours alone reading a book or watching CSI or Sex and the City. The one who so badly wanted to spend time with her husband (if he wasn’t working late in the field, or if our daughter slept early, much better!) The one who feels desperate sometimes, but blessed more often.
Yep, Mommy here. 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for the rest of my life. You know me, you’ve seen me. But if you’re a mother as well…you’ll understand who I really am.
posted by Jaypee at 2:45 PM
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