Lord of the whut nao?

Okay. First things first, the reason for this blog:

I’m bored and pregnant. I’m due in 10 weeks and stuck in the bukid staring at coconuts. The people concerned with the upbringing of this bun-in-the-oven are spread out across the beautiful globe. So to keep from repeating myself everytime each one of you asks how he’s doing, I’m going to write about him. And then we can talk specifics after.

Why the blog title? Well, I’m a pinay of the 21^st century. I cannot help but zone into punny pop culture references. 

Also, when coming up with a list of possible names for the little one, we asked paternal lola for help, who said it was hard to come up with one that would make the family name impressive, considering it derives from “linab-han”.

Apart from the fact that this baby comes from a family named Laundry*, we’re planning to have a water birth in maternal lola’s house. Don’t worry titos and titas, my wonderful OB is coming to the house to assist in the delivery. She’s excited about the procedure. I'm low risk and in good health, and she says as long as it stays that way, there shouldn't be any reason NOT to use a pool.

I consider myself lucky to have found her, because it wasn’t easy at all to look for a doctor who was open to the kind of birth I wanted. The first OB I went to said it was experimental and risky. She also told me to cut my hair because it would steal much needed nutrients from the baby. (I wonder how many more wives tales I would’ve been subjected to if I hadn’t changed OBs. I did cut my hair tho, it was getting hard to manage)

Oftentimes I will use this blog to complain about the limited aesthetics of baby related products and why they’re all infested with cartoon animals. Sometimes I will cringe over the state of the country’s education and what I might be subjecting baby to in a couple of years (unless I can help it). Sometimes I will rant about the unexpected little curve balls parenthood’s going to throw at me. I guess in the end, this blog is the modern equivalent of those baby albums our parents used to show off to guests we brought home. The ones showing off our bare asses the first time we try to take a poop.

I guess this means I understand where that sadistic tradition roots from now.

*The father insists the name has different derivatives and that paternal lola's guess might be negatively biased.