My life is taking another punch. TO THE FACE.

And since the Universe thinks that I am their little plaything, they have now taken it upon themselves to see me suffer more. Yes, more than what I’ve already endured. It wasn’t enough that they got me together with a total douchebag for six years, get knocked up by the same asshole, endure a year of lies, suffer through the Spanish crusade, lose a handful of friends for the sake of an ill-fated relationship experiment deemed as “not real”,  have a brief yet scandalous season with a man of Irish descent, scald still open wounds with The Manwhore experience, throw my family off to the other side of the world and leave me completely alone, be humiliated that The Douchebag has gotten engaged to the whore he cheated on me with, have a torturous encounter with Spanish ex facing off the Swedish paramour, whose also made life a little more miserable by imposing his presence upon my household, but now I get to revel in the happy happy joy joy experience of losing The Nanny because of her disapproval of my parenting skills and choice of boyfriend.

EVERYONE HAS AN OPINION ON MY LIFE. But I don’t see anyone doing anything to make it better. Thank you, Universe. Just when I thought I could breathe deeply and contentedly, you drag me back down to what looks like to be the most evil pattern anyone has ever encountered. It’s just plain cruel to put ONE PERSON through all of that hell in less than 3 years, no less. This is just what I need, another limb severed from my already limping body. Sure, go ahead. Don’t throw me a frickin’ bone or anything. Just toss whatever shit you find lying around my way and I’d be glad-er than a motherfucker to take that bitch on.

No, really Universe. Was that not enough? I don’t deserve to just enjoy life for ONE SECOND? Fine. FINE. Fair enough. You want to do it like that? So be it. I DARE you to make my life worse.

I.

DOUBLE.

DOG.

DARE.

YOU.

To be young again

As I was rushing to the office this morning, Izzy was already taking her noon nap. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, staring at her just sleeping the days away. And it’s not the just “sleeping the days away” part that got me a tad jealous. It’s the peaceful kind of sleep. The kind where you don’t just rest your head just to be able to function hours later. The kind where you don’t just need to lie down for a moment or two to sort out worries. The kind where you don’t just need to recharge so you can trudge through the day’s problems upon waking.

Sleeping alone, except under doctor’s orders, does much harm. Children will tell you how lonely it is sleeping alone. If possible, you should always sleep with someone you love. You both recharge your mutual batteries free of charge.
–Marlene Dietrich Marlene Dietrich’s ABC, 1962

THE IZZY TURNS TWO!

(DELAYED PUBLISH)

It’s a little early, I know, I know. But we just had to celebrate The Izzy’s birthday earlier this year since her actual birth date falls on a Tuesday (the randomest day of the week, if you ask me). We didn’t make such a big fuss about it since Teh Douchebag is not really big on celebrating birthdays after the first one. Instead, we just booked a McDonald’s party and let strangers take care of everything for us. But since MY family makes a big deal over their only neice/granddaughter, we decided to spruce things up anyway.

Leafy buntings, extra loot bags for the grownups, lechon (YUM!), cupcakes, and costumes were the order of the day. Speaking of costumes – DEAR GOD. I have never worn something so colorful in my entire life. The party went off without much of a hitch except for a MIA Bakla from my guest list. She’s already missed TWO out of two. She promised to make it up to me though. The Izzy’s friends from the condominium came as well as a couple of kids from The Valley. They all bobbed around the place with their big heads. Kids can be creepy sometimes. They played games, ate unhealthy food, and generally made a mess of things. We were fortunate enough to get Birdie AND Grimace! The table where all of my friends sat suddenly lit up at the prospect of defiling Grimace, the ambiguously-shaped purple mascot. And so defile him, we did. That mascot’s gonna have to dry clean its costume after what we did to it having our pictures taken with the ambiguously-shaped purple mascot. And so we got our pictures taken and we did nothing to the mascot whatsoever. Nothing.

I can’t really describe the day except that it was fun. So I might as well bring your pictures since today I am not a writer. Today I am just a bubblegum fairy high on cupcakes and glitter.

PS. There are no pictures. SUCKERS! I’m still hunting those wascally photos down. Patience m’pets. Soon you shall be able to mock and ridicule me. Let’s just say that I looked like this:

A badass cupcake.
HELLS YEAH!
\mm/

ONE sofia isabella

 

Last 28 October 2007, my baby celebrated her first birthday. Because I am known to be a photo-finisher by nature (says Ateneo), I have not the photos to put up nor a recount of the day’s events. They have been overshadowed my the trauma of THIS. I could not recover quick enough. Mea culpa.

Please be directed to TIFFY’S MULTIPLY for a visual account of that fateful Sunday.

For lack of words and thoughts nowadays

‘Sup bear?

Smells gooooood! Smells like baby!

Rasta baby. Ya, mon.

Damn that crazy frog.

    Watchulukinat, foo?

It has begun

After a week of work and a weekend away on an office outing, my child no longer recognizes me. She refuses to settle down when I’m carrying her and prefers her nanny. Wouldn’t it just be great if I could just be a stay-at-home mom? I mean, just until she gains consciousness of who is and is not her mother. Sadly, I do not have that luxury. Already I feel like I’m missing out on her life. Does anyone else feel like a bad parent? No? No one? Okay then. Carry on.

Sicky-sick

For the past few days, Isabella has been nursing a cold. And then she cries. It must be such a bitch not to be able to breathe and not know why. She has refused to be put on her bed and demands that she be carried while she sleeps. If not, she cries. She might not weigh a ton, but trust me, your arms will fall off after a couple of hours of handling a fussy baby in your arms. It gets harder still when she wants her bottle and she can’t feed and breathe at the same time. And then she cries.

When she sleeps on her back, she gets restless and you’ll be fucked for the rest of the night if you presist to do so. She will cry all night long. The only way that she will sleep in when she’s on her tummy. But that might not be the wisest position to put her in since she just might smother herself on the bed when she tries to turn her head the other way and gets stuck facing down. It will not only be a baby crying but it will alert your neighbors within a 5-mile radius that you are somehow, an inept parent. I try to let her sleep while inclined in a somewhat sitting position. This gets you about 30minutes of sleep, if you’re lucky but you’ll be filled with worry wondering what those noise are coming out of her. I suspect that’s the symphony phlegm and breathing. When she can’t control that balance of phlegm and oxygen in her nose, she wails.

We finally get her to sleep in her crib only to be woken up by her trying to poop. She grunts and moans like she’s already eaten solids and haven’t been to the John in a week. She cries when she’s given up all hope. Wouldn’t you? Imagine trying to go while your nose is pinched. I’m sure that you’d want to have all your systems go while you carry out this very important task.

Sometimes I find myself just at her door, looking in on her, thinking to myself if only love was enough to stop her from crying.

Baby mengkeee

I’ve finally gotten around to uploading some of the pictures that we’ve taken of Isabella. They’re all over at her own friendster page.

ONE MONTH

The little mengkee’s poop stinks to high heavens. One wonders where a teeny tiny thing like her got all that rancid crap in there.

And then one remembers her father. Mystery solved.

Sofia Isabella, an Update

The entire family trekked to the hospital to have Isabella’s first pediatrician checkup last weekend. Y’know, that racket can sure rake in the dough. I mean, it’s 500 bucks a pop just to tell overly-worried parents that those aren’t boils, but common-everyday diaper rash that is on their baby’s tush.

In any case, we’re glad to report that only after two weeks of sucking me dry, she has gained a total of 1.1 lbs. Yey! Okay, that might not seem much but she’s the teeniest little thing, so I say a pound is quite a feat! Not even Nicole Richie could gain weight that fast even if her life depended on it. Isabella also got her first taste of vaccination. It wasn’t a pretty sight but she got over it .. as soon as we stuck a bottle in her.

The waiting is the hardest part. Everyone is just lingering the hallways, waiting for their turn while trying to subdue a screaming child. It’s a parent’s nightmare: to be out in public and not being able to calm/quiet down your child. People might think you’re a bad mother/father. The wait was killing us, so the Dad and I decided to play a little game. We counted how many father sported the stereotypical Dad outfit, khaki pants and Birkenstocks. Let me tell you, there were a LOT. Dads of the world, listen up! You have a choice. As long as you have a closet, you have a choice. No one carved khaki pants and Birkenstocks in stone.

What I was particularly smug about is that we totally kicked all the other diaper bags’ ass! Yeah baby! We are SO cool parents. Everyone else was subjected to the department store bags with pastel colors and creepy characters. I shudder to think that I’d have to lug around something pink or cheery. That just isn’t the Momma I want to be. I may have lost my figure, but I still have that ounce of dignity left in me. Screw diaper bags. Say hello to Baby Couture. Skipping the stripes and pink, we went straight for the Daphne. Ohhh lala! Just what a spankin’ brand new MILF needed!