Happy Martyr's Day

My first mother's, and the one who's supposed to greet me is oblivious and completely unconcerned. As long as he's fed, he doesn't have a care in the world.

And I, food receptacle, looked to the partner to honor my day by helping me tidy up. He took advantage of the AC and comforters of the swanky condo and turned his back on me. T_T

And then his own mother arrived and he started doing the dishes.

This, this is probably the essence of motherhood - we bleed ourselves for their every comfort, and then when they come of age, we use this to blackmail them into accomplishing things for themselves.

With this thought in mind, I took a video of Daddy Creature changing Lay's nappies. I didn't expect he'd take such a long time with it, but he took 7 minutes changing that particular nappy. OC daddy is oc. I was going to upload it for mother's day, shooting two birds with one stone (daddy porn + future blackmail for Malaya), but the cinematographer wasn't happy with my shot and wouldn't sign the talent release form. Hahay showbiz.

Meanwhile, Mamita* bought us a Maya wrap as per our request...

because babywearing is hawt

... and a bouncer/bassinet/rocker (with vibrating action!) from Rustan's to keep him from getting used to being carried. It's like attachment parenting vs. the ferber method symbolized.

We've been using the Elroy Jetson bassinet more than the carrier. This doesn't mean we're abandoning attachment parenting though. We're still getting the hang of the Maya, which is too hot to use out in Colon (unless kid is butt nekkid) but warm enough to use in malls and at night, and I haven't figured out how to quickly remove Lay from the sling, because EVERYONE wants to carry him.

I wish I had footage of Auntie Monica and Auntie Bea screaming "BABY!!!" while clawing at the car window the other night, when we brought Malaya to the 24 hour shop to get Manang Fufuy some cat food. If zombies are just people on crack, Monica and Bea were zombies on baby crack.

Not that I'm complaining. I completely subscribe to the idea of letting a village raise a kid. I was raised this way. It might have been confusing for one parent to insist on one thing, and another parental figure to insist on another, or the same unit to insist on two contradictory things without going crazy with cognitive dissonance. But my initial confusion led way to a well rounded understanding of how perspectives work.

Which is why I understand that to my litol boy, I am food.

But I am no mere food.

I am The Food.

*Paternal Lola wants to be Mamita, while Maternal Lola wants to be Nanay. We shall refer to them this way henceforth.