It was in January, a day before my daughter's school's annual field trip, when I rushed her to the hospital. Her tummy ached so crazy, she said that it was as if there were little people sliding through her insides. The toilet were her saving grace and her face looked pallid after 7 sessions at the throne. It alarmed me and I knew it wasn't a simple diarrhea that porridge and banana can cure. After half a day of waiting for fecal and urine samples and a dramatic bloody scene for more laboratory tests, the doctor proclaimed she had Amoebiasis.
Let's have some real parenting talk here first. Shall we?
I assume that in wherever part of the world you are right now, there are moms who don't like Barbie. I think they are just being cynical; mostly concluding that girls who love pink, wear short skirts and sporting tiaras have shallow understanding of their femininity. These moms make their little women avoid princess stories and glitters and nail polish. In their Facebook wall, you'll see photos and statuses that say how brave, strong and intelligent their baby girls are. There's nothing wrong with that. In fact, it's good that they want their children to see what's beyond the eyes can see. However, because of trying so hard to be outside the norm, they tend to forget to see the beauty that their little girls have. Yes, it's super OK to go on adventures and strive for strength, intellect and courage but I see nothing wrong with having pretty dresses and nail polish and tiaras, too. Don't you just love seeing those babes kick ass and sparkle?
Yay! I finally got to post a new RD! It's been a long time and I super regret that I didn't spend enough time to write about my little girl's crazy, silly, blog-worthy isms. I now realize that more than sharing it with you all, more than making you relate to those funny moments that make motherhood more special, documenting about it is more for me. It's for me to remember that despite her patience-testing traits, she's generally a happy, kind-hearted girl.
So here it is.
I was in the kitchen when P came to me, holding her chest and said —
Pia: Nanay, sakit my dibdib ko in school kanina.
Me: (eyes widened, stopped and looked at her) Did you tell Teacher S?!
P: Opo, Teacher S said "oh sige, rest ka muna ha".
Me: What were you doing ba when it happened?
P: Seatwork po.
Me: (almost smiled, trying my best not to laugh) Hmmm. Baka naman sumakit dibdib mo kasi ayaw mo mag-seatwork? Totoo ba yan?
P: Totoo, 'Nay! Hindi ako lying ha! Si Nanay oh, kawawa ako tapos you say that. (and she continued nagging in her playroom)
So I went back to my dirty dishes and snicker. Alright, I have one more.
Today was one of those days I feel so happy being a mom of a girl. Pia asked me to put "neyk-up" on her. "I want to be like Sarah Geronimo", says my popstar royalty. I said, "really?" Then she sang Sarah's The Glow in her preschool Broadway fashion. Clapping my hands, hiding my mommy kilig, I told her that if she really wants to be a singer, she must skip chocolates and icecream as it can damage her throat and might compromise her voice. My witty kid quickly said, "pretend lang, 'Nay!" Great. So I asked her if she wants to have a pretend photo shoot, too since she already wore a dress and was on full make-up. She was ecstatic! Using my pink Samsung ST66 camera, I directed her to smile like a lady and pose for me. Five minutes after, she said "my cheeks are killing me, I don't want na." Fine. I think we'll do art stuff or bake cookies or watch movies next time. I don't think I'm okay with her doing this anyway. What a diva, haha.
Care to share your weekend activities with your kids that we can also do at home?
So it's 2am and I can't put myself to sleep despite getting migraine attacks in the afternoon for always being up late. It's been like this for a week now. If you're in the same loop as I am in social media and current events, you know what I am talking about. Yes. It's the Mamasapano clash and the 44 fallen heroes. I do not personally know any of them (my husband and friends do) but I cry like I'm part of the bereaved family every time I see news (on TV and Facebook) about the incident. It saddens me, not just because I am a wife of a soldier or because my friends know some of the men that died, but because I am a Filipino.
I am mad, too. As what I have told my husband over the phone just a few hours earlier, this is my first time after such a long time (ex-PGMA regime) to feel this abhorrence towards the country's leader. I am trying my best to refrain from posting on Facebook because I know well that it's just Facebook. My words, may it mean so deep and true, will remain words. I used to say that I dislike the way the netizens blame the government for all the problems the country faces. However, this time, I loathe him too much I wished for him to die. I wish that some crazy and grieving friends of the fallen 44 will plan to assassinate him. But then again, another jerk will replace him if that happens. And wishing ill for someone, no matter how bad he is, does not heal wounds, does not pacify chaos. It only makes evil rejoice. So I shunned the thoughts and while so, my 6-year-old came to me and asked why I was crying.
Stupidity hits or perhaps my tears clouded my motherhood brain cells, I told her the truth. She said "awww" as if she was watching a telenovela. She asked why it happened and told her about her book, War Makes Me Sad. I retold what it said there: that Filipinos are killing each other. For two consecutive nights, she had terrible dreams. She was always crying and calling her father. It only dawned on me that she, too was greatly affected for what happened when she said "I hope it won't happen to Tatay." It sent shivers all over my body. I felt so guilty for telling her the truth and allowing her to watch the daily evening news with me.
We stopped doing so and went back to Phineas and Ferb. At least all things there, be it crazy and sometimes evil (hello, Doofenshmirtz) are all make-believe. I watched the necrological services coverage, though while she was in school earlier yesterday. And again, the president's obvious lack of empathy disappointed me. I can't itemized his wrongdoings here anymore to avoid further discussion but him being fashionably late made me draw one general conclusion — he is an asshole. No wonder no woman lasted.
OK. I will spare you from my angst.