October 29, 2013

To my dearest Solana,

Let me tell you about the day you were born. 

It was a Monday, 9:21, exactly a year ago.  It was a day earlier than planned.  I was asked, you see, by Dr. Manahan to choose a delivery date when it became clear that I was going to have a C section.  At first I didn’t want to choose, I said I wanted to wait to go into labor to make sure that you were ready to come out.  He said with his usual charming sarcasm “Don’t be a martyr na. It will really be easier for everybody if you just choose.”  So, wanting to make sure that I arm you with whatever is necessary to help you succeed in life, I quickly consulted google on ‘lucky dates to give birth in 2012, fengshui.’  October 30’s luck was off the charts. 

You probably didn’t think you needed to be that lucky because you chose to come out on a still very lucky day, October 29. 

I woke up at 4 to pee.  I panicked at the sight of blood on the tissue and immediately woke up papa and called Dr. Manahan.  We were told to go the delivery room of St. Lukes.  We did. 

When we got there, the nurses strapped a thing on my stomach that could monitor you.  Your heart rate would drop at regular intervals.  Not good.  A little blood was still coming out of me.  Not good.  At around 6:30, Dr. Manahan decided to deliver you that day at 9am.

Despite the weirdness, confident that everything was okay, your papa and I started getting very VERY excited.

We started calling family, friends, officemates to tell them that it was all about to happen.  I had a stupid smile on my face I couldn’t get rid of.    

A little before 9 am, I was wheeled into the delivery room.  They were just going to call Papa when it was time for your grand entrance na.  Or is it exit? 

I was given a GA, was shaved, and cut open.  I heard Dr. Manahan say what a big myoma I had.  It was the first thing he saw. By the way, they say that only 30% of women who have myomas are able to conceive.  Arnt you amazing?

Papa finally came in with his ipod and speakers  waiting for the doctors go signal to play your song when you were about to come out.  The Beatles’ Here Comes the Sun was the first song you ever heard anak.  You’re welcome.

After a few seconds, the doctor said two words that all mothers are scared to hear  – cord and coil.  I closed my eyes and held my breath. “Your baby had a cord coil but she’s okay now, “ Doc said.  Maybe that’s why her heart rate was dropping. I think I heard him explain. 

“And her eyes are open,” he said amused as he pointed it out to the rest of his team.  And that’s how I remember seeing you for the first time, slimy and wailing with your eyes open.  They put you on top of my chest and I said “Hi baby” and I thanked God for you.

I started talking.  To everyone.   A lot.  Apparently a no no.  But I had a lot to say that evidently could not wait.

At the recovery room, I sang to you what I decided was going to be my song for you, Eraserhead’s with a smile.  Over and over I sang.  Eager to build the bond right off the gate. 

Whether or not my non-stop talking and singing inadvertently caused the medical disaster that was waiting for me after your birth is still up for debate.  I’m not sure it did.  But yes, if I had to do it all over again, maybe I would have just shut up and enjoy the quiet of those first few hours with you in my arms.  I’ll have the rest of our lives to sing to you anyway, whether you like it or not.

I don’t know how much of what happened in the next few weeks affected you.  The chaos in the room when mama had chills when the fever shot up, the inability of mama to breastfeed you, the need to drink from a cup at 3 days old, the inability of mama to hold you, the week that you had to be away from papa and mama because mama had to recover, the fragile emotional state of mama that sometimes made her so sad those first couple of months.  I hope, with every fiber of my being, that none of those things left a lasting mark on you. 

Instead I pray that what you got from that whole thing was how lucky you are.  Lucky that you had Abuela and ninang Guada who took such good care of you those days that papa and mama couldn’t, lucky that you had ninang Claude’s milk to nourish you when you were hungry, lucky to have had a steady stream of visitors  who showered you with hugs and kisses when you were deprived of your parent’s hugs and kisses. 

I will never forget what Dr. Manahan told us when we went to visit him a month after “Cherish each other,” he said.  “After all the both of you had gone through, you are both lucky to be here.  Cherish each other.”

I love you. 

Always,

Mama

September 6, 2013

Dear Sage,

You have teeth now.  5 to be exact.  Still, however, clueless about what good they can do.  Chewing is  clearly a concept you have yet to understand.  When we feed you oatmeal, which is as brave as we get to feeding you something that is not strained to death, the oats just hang around the sides of your mouth which really should make you gross but really just makes you adorable.

You expect an applause now every time you are able to do things.  Every time  we are able to align our index fingers, every time  you are able to switch the light on or off (with the help of papa of course), and every time you take in a spoonful of food, you look at me proudly and wait for my applause.  And when it comes, you squeal and join in, always looking like you’re about to burst in ecstasy. 

So far you are quite a happy kid, easy to warm up.  When you see new faces, you are quiet for about 30 minutes, assessing, I’d like to think, their auras.  Then when you’re ready, we hear you, we see you, we feel you.  You are quite the experience.  As tita Riya said “Walang sinabi si Maring sayo.”

But on the other side of the oh so happy disposition is a temper not shy at all to show itself.  That, you get from your dad.  Or my dad.  Basta not from me.  You’re a little impatient too when you don’t get your way.  It’s cute now and papa and I laugh every time you  throw a fit.  But let’s work on that when it stops being cute.  Not for us, for you.  I know a lot of patient people and I know a lot of impatient people and the patient ones seem more zen and chill and happy.  

I love you.

Mama

May 13, 2013

My dearest Solana,

When you were still a resident in my belly, I dreamt of the day when I would be able to go around with you outside me and introduce you to everyone as my creation.  I already saw myself pointing to you and announcing “See that! I made that!”  Your father and I would carefully and thoroughly discuss all the things that we wanted to teach you and all the ways that we wanted to raise you so that you would become a person of substance and a woman of grace. 

But as I start to get to know you, I realize more and more that you are not mine to own or mould.  Already you are showing signs of a personality I didn’t think someone who only came into this world 6 months ago could have.  And while I recognize bits and pieces of myself and your papa in you, you are already mostly you, which is now the only thing I will ever want you to be. 

If I ever forget in the future, as I most likely will, remind me please, and again and again if necessary, that you are not mine to own or mould.  If you want to experiment on an outfit or a hairstyle that I think is hideous, if you choose to believe in an ideology that makes no sense to me, if you should ever fall in love with a boy who is way beneath your league, or if, God forbid, you start rooting for the Lakers, look me in the eye and tell me gently please “Mama, I know you love me and you want only the best for me but I am not yours to own and mould.”

I, on the other hand, am yours anak.   Absolutely and forever.  How's that for irony?

Your papa and I realized the first time we held you in our arms that nothing in our lives would ever come first again. It is unbelievable how quickly and how willingly we became a cliche.  So yes, I will be THAT kind of mom.  The kind of mom who wont sit still until you are home safe and tucked in your bed at night. The kind who will desperately try to fit in your life even if it means listening to annoyingly loud teenage music.  And of course, the kind who will cry the ugly cry at birthday parties and graduations and probably practically every little thing that makes her realize that you are growing up.

I will be that kind of mom. That is a fact.  Please learn to deal with it as quickly as possible to avoid any unnecessary drama that you might be drawn to in your tweens.  

Yesterday was my first ever mother’s day.  You did not know that of course and you were too into your hands to realize how much that day meant to me.  You were not able to greet me, at least not in a language I understood.  Nor did you buy me any gifts.  But when I woke up that morning, I found you already awake, quietly observing the ceiling.  When you heard me stir, you looked at me and gave me the warmest and sincerest smile I’ve ever seen on anyones face. 

That was enough.  That will always be enough. 

Thank you.

Love, 

Mama

I AM SOLANAMOMMA

I am sure I am other things too.  But in this blog, I am this.  I am only this.