Lolo's 40 days

Dad passed away exactly 41 days ago today. As per tradition, Mom hosted padasal for him. He must be smiling now, seeing all the people who turned up to pray for him.

Here are photos taken on Dad's 40 days.



As Laila would say, I miss Lolo.

Here's Mom and me. This was taken in the kitchen while she supervises the cooking being done in the backyard.

Left photo: Nanay Juling, Tita Baby from across the street and Nanay Eli.

Right photo: Ate Meding, Jelma from downstairs and Ate Esther.

My Iron chef Kuya doing his magic. His arms were the only ones big and strong enough to stir the food being cooked in those giant pots.

Ate Meding, taking a short break from the cooking and preparing. She's the padasal's floor manager.

Ustin, Rain, Laila and Utoy, at the beach waiting for the sun to set enough to sunburn-safe levels. Apart from Laila, none of the kids brought swimwear. That didn't stop them from braving the waves.

Here are all the kids, minus John (who went back to Manila early), Trisha (went home) and Julius (only heaven knows where he was when this was taken). Top row: Yeyen, Ann, Jayson, EJ; Middle: Rain and Chi; Bottom: Laila Cat.

Lolo

My Dad passed away a month ago. Nov. 7. It'll be his 40 days on Tuesday.

I should say that I miss him. I do. Except that, at the back of my head, I think he's still around. I don't see him or feel his presence. I just know. Or believe.

Laila, on the other hand, is certain that Lolo is still around. More precisely, he's sitting on her shoulder. I told her the story of how people become angels and gain magic powers when they die. And, the trusting little cat that she is, Laila believed my story completely.

As a result, Lolo is permanently hovering by her right shoulder now. The right is the spot she designated her guardian angel is in. Lolo and the angel are invisible and weightless. It's part of the magic.

Laila's cousin, Trisha, on the other hand, is more certain that Lolo is still around. He would stand at the foot of her bed at night, wearing the same red and white barong he wore to my wedding and his funeral.

Trisha is one of those people who can see beyond what we do. She even had a short conversation with Lolo. Actually, it was Lolo who did the talking. Lolo told her that we should take care of Lola. That we should take her for a check up.

His reminder is actually good. I've been trying to convince Mom to get a long-delayed check up. I also want her to spend Christmas with us here. Dad's reminder would be a good argument for me to make her do what I say for once.

It should be creepy, I suppose, that the dead is coming for a visit. But I'm not creeped out at all. I actually feel warm and reassured.

He's still here.

Dad would have to move on one day, I know. Maybe he's making all these urgent reminders because his 40 days is drawing close. The old ones say the soul stays with us 40 more days after death before finally moving on.

But for now I know he is still definitely here. And he will always be here. For me. Even if he moves on.

What if...?

Laila seems to have inherited my tendency for paranoia for things and events imagined. She is so like me this way.

Last night, she had a crying spell over almost all conceivable tragedy that could occur in her life. She started with the benign imaginings over what if her classmates do not like to be friends with her. Her scenario is complete with details about one event from the last school year when her arm got twisted. (This I know is real because she told me about it. In her recollection, though, Baby Cat omitted the fact—which she personally relayed to me shortly after it happened—that she engaged in some pretty mean, i.e. wickedly fun, arm-twisting herself.)

Her scenario-building soon progressed to what if people in school don’t recognize her and she’s not allowed in. Then her world of scaries expanded to include me. What if I grow old and is downed by a prolonged illness. I would die and she wouldn’t have a Mom. And what if both Daddy Cat and I grow old, sickly and die; then she would truly be alone with just her Ate Lyn.

Or, what if the police lock me up; then I’d have to eat, watch TV and take a bath in prison!

She was so distraught I couldn’t bare to laugh out loud. But I wanted to. I wanted to so much.

She is so funny the way she is afraid of so many things that she cooks up in her head. And yet she is not afraid of falling off a Ferris Wheel—which she loves to ride—and all other scary activities kids who are not familiar with danger engage in.

I think she got that from me. I tend to cook up catastrophe and tragedy in my head. Even as a child, and especially now as an adult.

Perhaps Dad’s passing away stirred up Laila’s many fears. She knew that daddy Cat’s Dad is dead and is in heaven with T-Bag (her hamster), but she hadn’t known him while he was alive. This is probably why her perception of death was quite detached until Daddy.

Baby Cat had known Lolo alive. His passing made death much more real to her. She learned that people who were alive could die and they would never live again.

Laila knows dead people become angles and the closest ones become our Guardian Angels. They gain the magic powers, become invisible and weightless. They sit on our shoulder to protect us from harm.

But we can’t embrace them like we conventionally do.

I am thinking about Dad now. And I know that, definitely, Laila gets her tendency to be despondent from me.

Making up for lost (blogging) time

It's been so long, I don't know where to start. It's not that I can't think of anything, or there's nothing to write about. In fact, so much has happened, I can't imagine how to begin summarizing everything.

For starters, Laila's four now. She's been four for over a month. And she takes such pride in being four. Being four (stick four of your fingers up in the air) is her most prized possession.

Being four is so precious to her that she'd fall asleep to protect her numbers (her age) from being snatched by the years-stealing zombies and vampires that are visiting our compound lately. Yes, we've (meaning me) realized that the zombies stealing her numbers and making her three or, worse, two, again was far more terrifying for Baby Cat than those that eat little children who refuse to sleep.

And then there are her songs. Laila loves to sing. We're practicing singing Lupang Hinirang at night. I think it's a good way of introducing the topic of nationalism to her. We're also starting on our Panatang Makabayan.

She really knows her numbers and letters. She can copy words and write down the letters you tell her. She knows the sounds of letters, but she still needs work with reading. No rush though.

Baby Cat's developed a sudden fever Sunday night and it ave us quite a scare. I thought it might be dengue or malaria or H fever or typhoid.

Thankfully, it wasn't. Unfortunately, I got sick myself. Baby Cat's habit of binging her face in close and direct sneezing range could be the reason. I've had bacteria-laden saliva and mucus splattered on my face for as long as she's had colds.

But I'm not complaining. We spent three cozy days together.

Baby Cat can make her own jokes now, too.

Daddy Cat had been teaching her silly rhymes like 'What's wrong talong?' and 'What's the matter peanut butter?'

Laila's come up with her own: 'Anong meron watermelon?'

That blew me away. My baby has a sense of humor!

Not a Baby

'I'm not a baby!'

Laila sounded indignant. I was catching her attention, and I called her 'baby' like I always do.

My response was as indignant: 'Since when?'

I promised myself I wouldn't mow her down with the cutting remarks I am so used to dishing out. But I couldn't help myself.

But Baby Cat wasn't about to be intimidate by my arching eyebrows and slits for eyes. She stood up as high as she could, placed her palm on the top of her head as if she was measuring her height against a wall.

'See, I'm tall. Babies aren't tall.'

By this time I've collected myself. I shrugged and said 'Ok.' She went on about her business and I pretended to go about mine.

But who the he** gave her the idea she wasn't a baby anymore? Probably got it from school. She's got classmates who have little brothers and sisters and they're just so into not being a little baby. I read somewhere that kids use the word 'baby' as a slur.

I've been wanting to kick that person's a**. I don't usually swear. Especially not here because I plan to show Baby Cat these writings one day. But yes, sweetie, Mommy wants to kick that person's a**. Whoever he or she is, he or she has no right to give you ideas that you're not a baby.

You'll always be mine. Even if I have no right to keep you one.

'Mother'

I'm no longer Mommy or Mom for now. I'm 'Mother'.

I assume Baby Cat's picked it up from one of the US shows she watches. I just find it funny--and, to others, I suppose, strange--because here you only call someone 'Mother' as part gay lingo.

Laila's been attracting amused stares by calling me 'Mother.' My sister simply shakes her head, saying my little girl is so bading. And she means that in the most endearing way possible.

What I find truly hilarious is that, of course, Laila is unmindful of the attention she attracts whenever she calls me 'Mother' outside the house.

It is unusual, I admit, for a Pinoy kid to call parents 'Mother' and 'Father.' Daddy Cat is still 'Daddy' most of the time. But I'm consistently 'Mother.'

I find it terribly amusing. I can only imagine what's going on in that cute little head of hers.

Lost Time

I've been awfully tired this week. Typhoon Frank brought so much devastation that the office couldn't ignore the story.

Driving back to Manila after a weekend with my parents, I was already working the phone. The following days was a blur of Lucena where the survivors were, the NDCC, and then Sibuyan Island in Romblon for the shipwreck.

The nights I would get home, Laila would already be asleep. I would kiss her and whisper in her ear that I'm home. She would stir a little, give me a drowsy smile and then pull my face close to hers with those silky soft arms of hers.

Then we'd both fall asleep, my nose buried in her hair that still smells of the kuto shampoo from that morning.

+++

But Baby Cat got a treat from me. As I said, I've been feeling tired so I finally decided to take a break.

'You're home! Mommy, my Mommy,' she exclaimed pressing her cheek against mine.

The whole afternoon as 'Mommy this' and 'Mommy that.' When she woke up from her nap, she called out 'Mommeeee...Mommeeee...'

There are times when I might find 'Mommy this' and 'Mommy that' tiresome, but not today. I've been busy and tired the whole week. An corollary feeling to that is one of guilt for being unavailable to her most of the time.

So, today, she can 'mommy this' and 'Mommy that' all she wants and I'll be 'Yes? I'm coming!'

Daddy's coming home...Yay!

Daddy Cat called to say he's in the pier waiting for the ferry that would take him from Samar to Bicol. In a couple of hours, we wouldn't be separated by a body of water anymore. Yay!

Daddy Cat's gone home to the province to attend the funeral of his Lola. I would have loved to go with him, but the two-week leave I took recently just makes it impossible. But I would have loved to go. Laila hasn't even been there.

It would've been great if she could meet her cousins. It's already a pity she never got to see her great-grandmother. She would've loved the kids and the beach.

But at least this weekend we can go home to my parents for the weekend. Her Kuya Utoy and Austin will be there and we would definitely be hitting the beach. Yay!

Daddy Cat should be home by the time Baby Cat returns from school. She'd be so surprised!

Fever

Baby Cat has been feverish for two night now.

'Feverish' because the thermometer tells me that her temperature is just normal, but my palm, pressed against her forehead or neck, tells me it isn't. Being the reasonable Mom that I am, I believe my palm.

Made her stay home from school yesterday, on the condition that she doesn't watch TV. I don't want her to enjoy staying home from school too much by letting her watch TV all day. I didn't tell her that of course. I told her she's sick and watching TV would make her eyes go owie.

She believed my explanation (= lie).

Baby Cat still felt warmer than usual last night even though our thermometer tells me different. It must be broken.

But I sent her to school nonetheless. She seemed happy to go, knowing that she can watch a marathon of Tom and Jerry cartoons afterwards.

I can never understand how these fevers of hers start. The books say fevers could be asymptomatic of another infection, so I never take fevers too lightly. The more experienced Moms say that fevers are just part of growing up and I shouldn't panic. The doctor already warned me against giving her fever

But I always fret anyway.

Homesick vs. not homesick

I feel guilty. i haven't blogged for over a month. To me, that's like saying I haven't seriously focused on Laila for over a month.

But that's an accurate description of how I've been the past two weeks, though, since I've been away on a seminar of sorts. But I don't have a good excuse why I wasn't able to write about her prior to the trip.

I remember snippets that I've been meaning to write about. I just can't remember them right now. Which was what this space was supposed to do: prevent me from not remembering.

It's like I lost one month of her childhood. And it's nobody's fault by my own.

+++

The two weeks I was away, I have to admit, I was half missing Baby Cat, half not minding I was away. I thought I'd be more homesick, that I'd be so miserable I wouldn't be able to eat or sleep.

I had trouble sleeping, but that was because of jet lag. I lost some weight, but that was because I couldn't find any rice.

Does that make one a bad Mom? When you're not miserable while away from your kid?

I was excited as hell when it was time to come home, though. Really excited that I passed up a free, all expense-paid night in Tokyo.

Tcht.

Magaling na o!

Baby Cat slipped and fell flat on her tummy last night. She bruised her chin slightly and had small cuts just below her left eye.

It was a minor accident as minor accidents go, but it was her first. I don't remember her ever getting bruised that 'badly' before.

And she didn't know how to handle it. She was fine until she looked in the mirror and saw those small scratches on her face.

Earlier, we joked that Tita would now have to put medicine on her bruise. She knows how brutal Tita is when it comes to putting medicine on a wound or a scrape or on just about anything. And that thought drove her into despair when she sow how 'serious' her injuries were.

Baby Cat cradled her left cheek in her hand while we were in bed, mumbling 'Oh no, oh no...' to herself until she fell asleep.

Laila was hopeful when she got up this morning, because the pink scratches were, by now, deep red crusts.

'Magaling na o!' she declared, confident that she will not be subjected to Tita-the-ogre-nurse.

Mommy Blues

What I love about long weekends is it gives me time to be with Laila. But that it also what makes the end of a three-day weekends particularly heart-breaking for me and Baby Cat.

This morning, as I prepared for work, Laila protested. As she does after a weekend of having Mommy Cat to herself with no office work to compete with.

I tried to explain to her that Mommy needs to work so I can buy her toys and books. But still she protested.

'I have toys and books already. Mommy, stay home,' she pleaded.

Ouch.

These are times when I question the need for me to work outside the house. I know all the reasons why I need to work. Economic reasons is one of the biggest factor. Personal accomplishment ranks just as high.

But, still, I wonder. Sometimes. How is my frequent absence affecting Baby Cat?

I tell myself I'm a better Mom because I continue to be my own person, the person I was before Laila came. But I know I'm not. I've been modified by having this little devil of an angel come into my life.

But I'm such a wuss. I continue to cling to the old part of me. Sometimes I hold on to my old self for dear life. Sometimes I just want to let go of it.

Friend Inday told me years ago--not in a discouraging tone, mind you--that having a little baby would pin me to Manila, that I wouldn't be going out of town chasing stories for quite some time.

That hadn't happened. I'm still chasing stories. The baby is left at home with the Nanny.

It's gut wrenching.

Sometimes I blame Daddy Cat. If he were more macho and insecure and he wouldn't let me have a career on my own, I wouldn't be having this dilemma. The decision would have been made for me. I'd be nailed to the house.

But Daddy Cat is one of those secure and mature men who do not mind having the wife have her own life. So, yeah, Daddy Cat, this is all your fault.

+++

Laila was fine even before I finished getting dressed. She was excited to play in the kiddie pool with Paris and Nicole. Those two girls aren't so bad. But they are little girls adept in little girl politics.

But, apparently, Baby Cat can stand her own and successfully wade through the muck of playgorund politics. In the end, she decided to wade in her pool by herself. She wouldn't explain why, but she broke off from the pack.

That's my girl. She's her own person.

Fwends

Laila's fallen into a habit of going to the neighbor's shortly after waking up in the morning.

Right after she gets washed up, she picks up whatever toy she fancies and then trots a flight up the stairs and calls out to her playmates, a sister and brother team both younger than her. We've even given the little boy a nickname--Baby Bwuder.

Twice I've heard that Baby Cat's eaten breakfast there. This morning, Ate Yen brought Laila's breakfast upstairs.

Later in the day, the trio would switch venues and head down to our house. Often, Baby Bwuder and his Ate are still in the house by the time I get home from work. The kids share dinner in Laila's table.

It's nice that Laila's developed a friendship with the siblings from upstairs. Her social skills are definitely better than mine.

Having kids aged 3, 2 and 1 in the house gives me a preview of how it is to have more than one kid, well, the house. And I can honestly say that I enjoy it.

I am amused to hear them argue. I love that they confidently express themselves, even if it's only through screaming fits.

The enjoyment is sourced largely from the knowledge that, at the end of the day, two of the other kids will be going home.

Natural Performer

Laila's school had their Moving Up Day for preschoolers on March 18. Of all the songs the kids sang, this is my favorite. Baby Cat had been belting out the song and dance number for over two weeks already. I knew it was from school but I hadn't realized it was part of the Moving Up ceremony.

Laila obviously loves performing in front of a crowd. As you obviously can see from the theater-level movements.

She and I are different in that sense. I can't help but get self-conscious when I'm in front of people, even the ones I know.

I tend to edit myself whenever I talk. To those listening, it could sound like stuttering. That's because I start to say something then my head tells my mouth this word is more appropriate or more descriptive or that the tenses don't match or to keep the voice active instead of passive.

I end up stopping in mid-sentence. That's exactly how I write. Except that it's not obvious from my story how much I edit myself while composing anything as simple as a Thank You note.

Doesn't it make you proud to have a kid who's a model more sophisticated than you? A good contribution for the species.

Mean Girls

Let's just call these two little girls Paris and Nicole.

They live a few floors above us and, from time to time, Baby Cat gets to play with them. But after their bad behavior last weekend, I told the Yaya I don't want her playing with them. I don't want Laila picking up their bad behavior.

I guess it's normal for young kids to have this me-mine attitude. They must like excluding people because it's their way of feeling they belong to a clique. I know young kids tend to get overly protective of their 'possessions.'

But little Nicole--you know, the sidekick--actually shoved Laila away when she tried to get close to them.

Of course I 'calmly' told Nicole 'no pushing.' This little tyke is another only and gets away with almost everything, so she was evidently startled with my tone of voice.

The older one, Paris, was as pushy as Nicole but she was more conscious of my presence so her domineering ways was more directed at her other half.

There were other small kids in the playgroup that Paris an Nicole didn't want in. They were acting like spoiled empresses I wanted to give them a piece of my at-that-moment-not-so-mature mind.

Laila, as always, is oblivious of the power play.

What eats me is that I've never been too patient with girl politics so I don't know how I can help her navigate through the situation. As an elementary grader, I broke off from a group of girls just because I got tired of one girl imposing on the rest of the barkada. I've always had a penchant for being with the odd rather than the in crowd.

To this day, one look at me discourages people from approaching. The first impression I have on people is that I'm masungit and so they tend to keep a safe distance over fears of being snapped at.

I like that actually. But that make me not the best resource person to guide her through these tough, highly political preschool years.

How can I tell her that I deal with bitches by being a bigger bitch?

Colliding Head-on

I notice that my last post was about Laila's tantrum that I triumphantly overcame. This next entry is about a tantrum than I did not.

I never saw it coming. Even with that screaming episode in the bath after I took her washcloth and tried to rub her dry. I succeeded in appeasing the storm then and I was unprepared for another onslaught.

The second wave was triggered by her missing Barbie watch. She just NEEDS to wear the Barbiewatch to school today. The Barney or the Simpsons or the Sponge Bob watch wouldn't do. It has to be the Barbie Watch.

And so she started bawling and sobbing inconsolably. And I, toothbrush in hand, just lost it.

'Fine,' I said, 'don't go to school today.'

I expected the reverse psychology to work since it's had a 99 percent success rate in the past.
It didn't.

'Ok,' Baby cat said, wiping her eyes dry and plopping down in front of the TV.

And so I lost it even more.

'No TV today. Nobody turns the TV on,' I declared, stomping outside.

I was still seething as I finished preparing for work. I was angry at her for being so ferocious. I was angry at Ate because she never fixes Laila's things the way she ought. I was angry at myself that I don't have a better Yaya. Oh what I would pay for reliable help!

I was still angry by the time I got to work. And it lingered until noon. I called home to check on Baby Cat but purposely didn't call her to the phone. I just wanted to check how she was and if my No-TV rule was being followed. It was.

By the time I got home that night, Baby Cat was all sweetness.

Today, she went to school without incident.

Little Person, Giant Meltdown

Perhaps it's a rule of nature for small creatures to compensate for their, uhm, smallness.

That could explain why the teeny-tiny ant has such painful bite or why Pinschers have a nasty bark. It would also explain why toddlers and preschoolers have tantrums as devastating as Milenyo. Their inability to orally express themselves adds gustiness to the hurricane that is known by the international designation Tantrum.

Baby Cat had a major meltdown the other Sunday. It was one of those rare supertyphoons that took half an hour to calm down. That's an execptionally long tantrum for Laila.

She was screaming, thrashing, pushing, stomping and hurling all the invectives she knew.

'Mommy, get out! Get out!...You go on time out!...Time out! 10 minutes! Time out!'

And all that for a lollipop with a light-up handle that I mistakenly whisked from her without warning. A lot of blame is on me, I know.

I took the lollipop without asking and it was plain rude. But it was waaay past her bedtime and I knew she was tired from the daylong excursion. And, let me stress this, she wasn't even licking the lollipop. (The morning after I realize that she didn't want the whole lollipop, just the handle! If I knew, I would've thrown out the candy and let her play a little with the friggin stick.)

Poor baby. She was so tired and I ticked her off even more. I tried to pacify her, but she was beyond the point of being pacified.

'Get out Mommy. Leave me alone!' she sobbed.

Of course I wasn't about to let her be by herself in that state. To begin with, we never really leave her alone in a room because she might mistakenly lock herself in. Plus, it was also my bedtime and I was not inclined to stand up from bed.

'Let's just pretend Mommy isn't here, Ok?'

She paused a little, looking at me.

'But you're still there! Waaaaahhhhhhhh!!!'

At that point I hid my face behind one of the pillows. I wasn't about to add insult to injury by letting her see me laugh at her.

+++

Baby Cat calmed down 5 minutes after that conversation. We went to bed snickering that we beat Daddy Cat to sleep.

I've read a lot of literature explaining a little person's tantrums but I can never fully understand how they achieve a full recovery so quickly. They're like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Bruce Banner and The Hulk.

Scaredy Cat

Laila knows her alphabet and can recognize letters readily. That much was evident from watching her play with a typing exercise on Daddy Cat's new Asus notebook.

In the game, you help the Penguin eat or zap letters falling from the sky as fish or as meteors threatening to destroy a city.

She definitely knows her alphabet, although she sometimes mixes up R with Q and a few others that look quite alike. Baby Cat can also remember where some of the letters are in the keyboard.
But she gets nervous when there are too many of them falling from the sky.

This game has different levels of dfficulty. As I found out, I, too, get overwhelmed when there are too many of them to type.

I don't freak out as much, though. At least I'm not as obvious when I freak out.

Babying Baby

I've been accused of babying Laila too much in more than one occasion.

But to the contrary, I believe that I treat Laila in a more adult manner than other parents.

While other parents act as if the kids are not a thinking and feeling human being, I acknowledge that Laila is her own person with her own desires, comfort or pain levels, a sense of understanding. I understand young children are dominated by the id, by basic and instinctive drives and impulses.

As a parent, it is my responsibility to guide her to exercise control over these instinctive impulses. These are life skills she needs to learn if she is to successfully navigate in the treacherous waters of life.

But I do not expect her to have mastery over the id at this point. Because she does not.

Nevertheless, I show her respect her as I would any adult. I believe she will learn to respect others if she is a recipient of respect herself.

For instance, I do not snatch anything (nothing that poses a danger to herself or others, anyway) away from her. You wouldn't snatch a cell phone from a friend. Why would you snatch a toy from a baby?

I had to teach the New Ate, Aiza, to inform Laila ahead of time what activity is up next so Baby Cat will have time to adjust.

Don't you hate it when you realize you need to abruptly cut an activity you enjoy? Like when you suddenly need to turn off the TV in the middle of an interesting scene? Why should we expect kids to simply accept ending playtime so abruptly?

Don't do unto others what you do not want others to do unto you, so the Bible says.

+++

I'm no hypocrite, though. There are times when I get upset when Baby Cat gets too testy for me. What I do is basically what I do when I get too annoyed with a grownup and I can't belt out expletives--I stomp off.

This usually happens right before bedtime when I'm sleepy and tired myself and have less patience than I normally do. I'd turn my back on her and just close my eyes and generally act as if she wasn't there.

It's mean, I know. It makes her visibly upset. She sighs or paces around the bed not knowing where to go, or buries her face in her hands.

These episodes don't last for more than a few minutes, but I know those minutes--to a baby with a very limited concept of time and waiting--seem like hours.

She's usually more cooperative after I go through an episode, like a pliant wire ready to be bent to whatever shape I please.

But that hadn't been my intention nor is it a welcome result. I have no desire to break her will. I want to nurture it, as a matter of fact.

Which is why I have to think of an alternative to walking out when I get upset.

Little Big Baby

'Mommy, teach me how to walk.'

No, Laila doesn't want me to teach her how to walk like a grownup. She wants me to hold her sando straps while she walks tip-toe, like how a newly mobile toddler would.

She'd also gush 'whaaa, whaa' and flail her arms exactly the way a one-year old would. While lying down, she raises her meaty legs and thrash and kick like a little baby.

It's hilarious!

People wouldn't approve of me encouraging these games of her. I've already been accused of babying her too much. To h*ll with that, I say.

I'd keep her little if I could. That she pretends to be a little baby is a bonus for me. She grows up so fast, these little games are a reassurance for me that she's still not so big as not to indulge in these silly games.

+++

By chance we got to sit together in Mass with a neighbor whose daughter, B, was Laila's age.

When Laila got bored, she asked for Dede and so Daddy Cat whipped out a bottle from her bag. I carried her as she finished her milk.

When B saw Laila drinking from a bottle, she quipped: 'Ay o, nakakahiya.'

I really should've just ignored her, but I couldn't help it. I said, 'No, hindi nakakahiya.' A little too forcefully, I'm afraid. These comments really just eat me up.

I understand the wisdom of weaning babies Laila's age from the bottle. Even her pedia recommended we stop giving her milk in a bottle because it could affect how her teeth grows.

But resorting to tactics that implant the idea of being embarrassed for doing something they've been doing all their lives is something I strongly oppose. Explain to them what'll happen to their teeth if they don't stop taking Dede. Explain to them the state of the family's finances.

But do not, not ever, shame them. If you do, then shame on you.

No Cry Baby No More

Baby Cat had been insisting that I go to school with her since classes resumed after Christmas break.

I assume it's because of the New Ate and the renewed newness of the entire waking-up-early-preparing-for-school-and-being-left-in-class-with-teacher-and-the-classmates experience. She cried in school and got teased, I imagine, because of it.

It broke my heart to hear her whimper at night that she wants me to sit in class with her. Her relatively large vocabulary allowed her to express her preference and block my rationalizations.

Me: I can't go to class with you, I'm not a classmate.
Laila: You can be a classmate too.
Me: But I don't have a chair.
Laila: You can sit on my chair.
Me: But where would you sit?
Laila: On your lap.
Me: I'm too big for school.
Laila: Teacher Wedge (Reg) is big too but she's there.
Me: But I'm not a teacher.
Laila: You can help her.
Me: But who'll go to my office if I go to school?
Laila: I can go to the office and you go to school.

See what I mean?

She starts whimpering when she gets tired convincing me of the wisdom of her proposition. Or perhaps she's just frustrated that she can't make me agree with her.

Fortunately, Baby Cat has started enjoying school again. Yesterday morning she didn't cry as her tricycle pulled out of the driveway. This morning she gave me an enthusiastic wave and looked straight ahead with a mischievous grin. I can only imagine what she must be thinking about.

That's my girl.

First Bout with Bullies

We were in the pedia's waiting lounge when Laila had her first brush with bullies.

Laila was playing side-by-side with other children, including a pair of brothers older and much, much bigger than her. The boys were trying to make her feel unwelcome in their two-man gang. Thank heavens Laila really hadn't understood the unsaid messages and didn't pay them any mind at all.

But I did. I was already on alert when I overheard the bigger boy proudly tell his Mom, who happened to share the bench with me, that he and the other boy was 'making bastos to the girl in red.' Laila was wearing a fuchsia shirt, but she was the only girl there wearing a shirt in the shade of red.

The Mom, who I initially thought was the Lola, admonished them lightly. But when the smaller boy walked past Laila I saw him swat her sleeve. The nerve! Did they think they'd get away with it?!

Laila didn't notice but I saw all of it. And my blood pressure shot up so high the air pressure inside the Glorietta 2 mall basement would have been ashamed. I promptly informed the Mom--who would easily pass off as the 'before' model in a skin care ad--about what her son did.

She admonished them again. More forcefully this time. She also made them apologize to me. I would have preferred that they apologize to Laila, but the boys wouldn't have understood the wisdom of apologizing to an even smaller kid. So I just told him not to do it again. The smaller boy later approached Laila and I could discern from his body languag he was trying to make amends.

When Laila sat on my lap I asked her if any of the kids made her feel bad. She said no and chirped that she had fun playing with her new friends.

Bless her for being so benevolent. As she grows up, I should teach her to temper that.

Laila's Baby Sister (or Brother)

No, I'm not having another. Not yet.

But Laila is convinced that her Baby Sister is sleeping inside my tummy. She pats my midsection sometimes or massages it, waiting for her Baby Sister to wake up and come out. One time Baby Cat refused my embraces, warning that the Baby could get crushed.

I don't know where she gets these ideas.

We sometimes talk lengthily about Gestating Laila, how I felt her scratch me from the inside, how she kicks me, how she sometimes stretches her body like sh wanted to get out. She says that's what Baby Sister is probably thinking also.

Laila is full of innocence. She doesn't realize life could get complicated with another Little Person in the house. Her enthusiasm over a sibling and my uncertainties over having another makes me feel small.

It's not that I don't want another. I'm just worried if we can afford another. I'm worried of screwing his or her life because I wasn't a good enough parent.

I already feel I'm failing Laila because I go off to the office every morning and do not return till night. She's been recently insisting on staying home with me instead of going to school. I'm now convinced I'm a bad parent because I don't spend enough time with her.

Fever Again

Laila's been suffering from low-grade fevers for three nights now.

She burns--although the thermometer says her temperature is only at 37.1 degrees or thereabouts--at night and returns to normal in the morning.

Baby Cat got me really worried yesterday morning when she overslept. She's never overslept in her life. Flashes of a four-year old victim of physical abuse overcame me. The victim, a pretty young girl, had a concussion and refused to wake up after going to bed the night previously. Twelve hours later she passed away.

But Laila's pedia recognized the beginnings of mouth sores (canker sores again) and recommended we keep her hydrated and maintain her daily dose of Vit. C to keep her resistance up. The doc doesn't recommend giving her medicine for the fever, though. She wasn't even concerned about Laila oversleeping. The working theory was that baby Cat must've been slumbering soundly.

I again looked like a paranoid conspiracy theorist. But I have no regrets. I'd rather have my worries downplayed than verified.

'Twas an Aksdent!

Laila is wetting the bed again.

The other night she had an accident twice. This morning she woke me up saying she made weewe in her spot.

As a result I've been sprinkling her spot with a healthy helping of alcohol so the room wouldn't smell of pee.

I really don't mind, except that it's a bummer to wake up in the middle of the night to change her jammies and set the mat. The smell of fresh alcohol isn't making the experience any more pleasurable. I worry that our lungs are slowly melting under the fumes.

I'm guessing perhaps it's stress from the thought of going back to school. Or maybe from the new Ate. Or maybe it's just normal regression.

Laila's such a baby and a little girl at the same time. She must realize she's growing up and it could be stressing her to no end and I'm not even aware of it.

New Year, New Memories

It's 2008. The extended Christmas holiday is over. And I cannot help but feel melancholic about it. I can't help but feel melancholic about everything.

We have quite a bunch of photographs taken during the holiday, but this is my favorite.

Laila and I had gone for a snack at the neighborhood Jollibee late afternoon January 2nd. Just us girls. She had some spaghetti and fries and iced tea and a whole lot of playtime in the indoor playground. She also got the lavander Tweety Bird dresser light that the other kids drooled over.

She darted all over the playground, climbed all the way to the top and jostled for space on the slide. She made small talk with some of the older kids, what they chatted about I had no idea. Laila's great with the older kids but she needs work on how to handle the smaller ones. She needs coaching to let the younger kids pass by unmenaced. And she would sometimes complain that this baby or that stepped on or pushed her.

Baby Cat lounged lazily be the playground entrance, minding her own business as the other kids stepped over her. And I literally had flashbacks of the first time we let her play in that very same playground.

Baby Cat must have been around a year old and was still unsteady on her feet. I was watching over her like a mommy lion, ready to pounce at the faintest sign that the older, more boisterous kids might bump or step on her.

She had been content in sitting in the middle of the cushioned giant fiberglass box serving as the playground's entrance. Laila didn't even want to try crawling through the tube that connected the box she was in to the neighboring box. She just sat there, looking passively as the more nimble kids darted past.

Now she's one of them, the big babies.

Baby Cat hadn't needed a highchair this time. She patiently sat on the regular plastic chair, nibbling on a fry and opening her mouth to the next spoonful of spaghetti. We spent an hour before agreeing to go home just as it was getting dark.

She held my hand on the way to the tricycle station.