senti na naman
i’m running out of ideas on how to repay my family or would i ever be able to repay them someday? they practically save my ass every time i fall off. and worse, they never say a thing. not even a complain or an exhausted sigh.
financially, i owe them a lot. and it’s bothering me already to the point that i cannot sleep at night. i want to make bawi but right now or do something about it but i feel helpless like a little kitten.
hay buhay. pansit at gulay.
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The anticipation is killing me.
Art is supposed to be out last January 28 but nobody knows why she won’t budge till now. I am 41 weeks pregnant as of now and it’s still normal, depending on how you see normal, that is. I feel contractions once in a while but it would only last for a few minutes and then, gone. My doctor says Art is still doing fine inside my tummy and in fact is curling comfortably without any plans of hitting mommy’s pelvic. And according to her, if I really want to induce the delivery I better have sexual contact at least two times. The easiest way, said my smirking doctor. Yeah right. Like, where would I get a sex life right now? HAR HAR. And for the record, Art is a 9 pounder. You can blame that on me and my non stop ice cream-chocolate-cakes cravings.
I have gone through several tests, shameful XRAYS (xray pelvimitry is worse than being raped) and scans already, and it’s quite clear that my placenta is starting to deteriorate. So for my own safety and Art’s, I was scheduled for a Caesarian on February 7 (which is a lucky day for the Chinese daw sabi ni mama), 9 in the morning. I was quite hesitant for a C-section knowing how expensiiiiive it is and not to mention, the recovery is pretty exhausting. Plus, the process is quite scary (I peeked on some clips online, eeoow) with all the tusok-tusok on my spinal area and the incisions and stitches, waaaaaaaaah. The only thing I’m looking forward to is, I won’t be sprawled like a frog to be dissected in front of attending nurses and my giggly doctor. Hay.
This feels like a death sentence. it’s almost the same as lining up for the lethal injection. The anticipation is killing me. Though, the thought of finally seeing that pilya inside my tummy is very exciting. It’s like when you were a kid and it’s summer and you’re waiting anxiously for next day when you would all be headed to the beach. Saya.
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I’m afraid of Art ‘much as I’m scared of Dylan. They may ask me questions tomorrow I may not be able to answer. And Art, considering what she’s been through inside my tummy, the problems I have been dealing with while she’s inside me, would not make me wonder if she turns out to be as complex as Rubik’s cube. She could be my karma. I expect tantrums, mood swings, loathe, free-floating anxiety and emptiness that could be traced back to my own doings once she takes up General psychology in college. She would know it’s her mother’s fault and would hate me unconsciously.
So as early as now, I am trying to apologize, Art. Mommy is not in the right mind when you are inside her. Never feel unwanted or unloved, I’m just going through stuff that incidentally pulled you along. I’m sorry.
Uncategorized | Comments (3)hey Dylan
Hey Dylan I’m sorry,
mommy can be bad sometimes
but I didn’t mean to be this worse.
we didn’t mean to.
Life’s not been a smooth slide
on the rainbow,
not like how Care Bears do.
it’s full of nimbus coulds
suspended ‘bove yer head.
and when they’re pricked,
they pour real hard.
washes you off yer feet.
and flowers,
they only spring in story books.
but mommy’s not trying
to ruin your fairytale you
fancy about but mommy’s trying
to say here
why you often catch her cry.
and when you give me that
puzzled, agonizing look hidden
in your Dora eyes, it troubles
me.
troubles me that it makes
me cry harder.
afraid that you’ll hate me
someday.
no, please don’t hate me tomorrow Dylan.
because as complicated as physics
this may sound,
it’s for yer own good, see.
it’s for the sun to beat those
nimbus clouds ‘bove our heads.
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Dylan and I were just about to go to sleep when she embraced me with all her might that it almost made my eye socket bulge out of my head like one of those you see in cartoons. I asked her why she hugged me so tight but she would not speak a word. Instead, she looked directly in my eyes and at a moment, I thought she was Jean Grey trying to absorb something within me then I could just blow off into ashes. It was like an it’s-ok’everything-will-be-alright hug and it’s as if she was trying to say she understood. My tears automatically rolled down and I sobbed like crazy in front of my sleepy daughter and still, she won’t speak a word. She just stared at me as I burst into tears, reaching for another hug. And when I was finally able to say SORRY, she cried. Heartbreaking would be an understatement if you would be me in that moment. Not that it has only happened once but to see your own daughter, so precious and fragile crying mutely over something that is not about lost toys, bruised knees and cartoons but instead your own problem that ought not be bothering her, is indeed bothering. But right then and there, i know my little girl’s trying to follow on what her little understanding can comprehend. I said sorry almost a hundred times and she hastily wiped every drop of her tears with the end of our blanket and gave me a thousand pack of skittle-kisses. We slept in an unyielding cuddle that night.
Please don’t hate me tomorrow Dylan.
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