How to spot a fake hands-on-mom

You don't.

You just don't.

You don't check women's nails; you don't see if their eyebrows are perfect; you DO NOT ask them if there's a yaya or a hands-on-daddy willing to take the weight off. Unless of course you're willing to give them a couple seconds' respite. We all have different experiences and different situations. Unsa man ka, fashion police?

There's an article circulating facebook, about how you're supposed to spot fake hands on moms.

I saw it twice, one from a very hands on fashion blogger friend (no yayas in America); and from a mommy who has a supportive tribe. Both of them were upset by the generalisations of the article. I had to read it too.

Someone should tell the author it takes a village to raise a child. Someone should tell her about postpartum depression. Someone should tell the author this kind of combative language does not help us at all.

What if you're a single mother and you have the sort of job where you're required to wear high heels and nails? What if you leave them with someone in the morning and return to them - to the baby food, the diapers, the sleepless nights in the evening? Does that make you a "fake" hands-on-mom?

I wonder how many more mothers were upset by the tone of this article.

I wonder how many more mothers are trying to still retain a sense of self after all the pressure to become second to their children.

I wonder how many more mothers buy this line of thinking.



That the only valid mother is the sort who disappears.



If I were to let my narrative be defined by this article, I would say that I belong to the fake hands on mom category.

I put makeup on to cover the dark circles around my eyes from 3am feedings. I get a mani-pedi whenever I can (which is whenever my mom's around so we can take turns watching Malaya). I can't help color coordinated outfits. We happen to have a very detailed grooming ritual where the boy is a full participant. It also takes hours for us to get ready to go out (and even THAT's a rare event).

We have a helper who comes in the mornings to do laundry and clean the house. Sometimes she helps out with the boy. Half of the time, daddy carries/wrestles/talks to him. In the mornings he talks to his mamita over facetime. We are also (still) breastfeeding. We are also doing a hundred things "wrong", and I am constantly in shambles wondering if I'm raising the next Jack-the-Ripper.

I also happen to think I am in charge of taking care of myself. Sometimes I feel guilty for taking the time away from the boy when I'm writing. But I've trained him to entertain himself so I can have some ME-time as well. And when I'm done with my time, and he's done with his alone time, my attention is fully with him and he is focused on me. No matter if we are playing, or grooming, or eating, or whatever. He is healthy and happy. And that to me is all that matters.

I wish the article instead said "It's okay to be imperfect mommy. So am I."

The toy store litmus test

Toys-R-Us recently opened a branch in a mall near us. The first few weeks, the line to the cashier winded from cashier booth to the end of the store. I overheard one man tell his child not to get in line, lest he contract disease from any of the children in line.

Months later, paranoid parents should be glad to know there are no longer any lines over there these days.

We took advantage of the buzz dying down by setting Malaya down the aisle between the girls' section (Barbies and Pink things) and the guy's section (Cars and Robots).

Before I proceed, I'd like to clarify that not the whole store is segregated by gender. There's a baby section, an electronic educational toys section, a boardgames section (with standard fare, no Lords of Waterdeep here), a party goodies section, etc etc. 

What's interesting is that the gender segregated aisles are at the very entrance of the store.

First, I wish girl stuff came in colors other than pink.

Second, I wish things weren't identified as "Boy's stuff" and "Girl's stuff"

I wish boys weren't influenced at this age that they were limited to cars and robots while girls weren't limited to dolls and everything pink.

They're just playing, but that's how they learn. For all you know, you might be limiting a future formula 1 racer from reaching her potential because "Pang boy man na!"

It also insidiously plants at this very influential stage that your identity is defined by what material things you surround yourself with instead of what you do.

Of course, that's what parents are for - to teach children not to trust advertising and build them up enough that they won't need external factors to affirm them/make them feel good about themselves.

Woe is the gullible.

On the other hand, what he finds entertaining now does not indicate what he will enjoy when he grows up. The boy is as alert and curious in a toy store at this point in his life as he is in a hardware store. He does not have any idea that playdo is for children while plain dough is for bakers. It's the same mushy stuff he'll most likely put in his mouth and I have a feeling plain dough is safer.

Toys have no gender. Powertools have no gender. I wonder if babies even care for any sort of labelling yet.

So yeah, I got sidetracked by a rant there. You wanna know where Malaya went?

Butterfly!

P.S. Daddy put him nearer the girl's side.

Month 7 and the beast that was Yolanda

You picked a strange year to be born Malaya.

We survived Yolanda. After all, we were in Cebu City. Had we been in Tacloban, I don't know. I really don't know.

We were informed days before. We panic bought, and then we comfort ate. We evacuated to Tito Mark's house in the mountains yet again. We had the means to be on higher ground. We did not know what a storm surge meant, but we lived beside a river that frequently overflows after a few hours of rain.

I was a bag of nerves. I've never experienced a superstorm in my life. And I spent elementary and highschool in Region 8 which is frequently ravaged by storms. The Cebuanos around me were passive and cheerful. The day before the storm, we watched Napoles make a fool out of everyone who thought she'd finally dish the dirt on the Pork Barrel scam. No luck there baby-o. 

And then the day came. Tito Mark moved furniture and stuff around while I spoke of gloom and doom. Our housemates listened to me like I was some sort of loony. The shelves were stocked with a week's worth of food. We made sure we had gas, candles and batteries. And then the storm arrived at around 10:30. Electricity was out way before that. We watched inside the comfort of Tito Mark's house. Daddy Chris and Uncle Kit woke up to see the worst of it. Meanwhile, my little man's tooth broke out.

The winds howled and bamboos bent and finally broke. It didn't get worse than that. In metro Cebu, we heard trees had toppled over, a couple of roofs had flown off. In my mind I thought: that couldn't have been more than signal number 2.

Near midnight, electricity was back. I was feeling foolish for being so grim. Cebuano's urbanites were exhaling all over facebook. "Mao ra to?"

And then information started trickling in.

We're so lucky. We're lucky the feeble cement structures we imagine are fortresses did not even have to be tested. Because while we sat here watching her skirt flip and flourish, Yolanda's parade was up north.

Horror stories started flooding into my facebook feed. Stories about death and famine, about how towns and cities were washed away like brittle shells, bodies of the dead littering the street like they were nothing. The horror was not in the zombie apocalypse scenarios people were describing. The horror was that it was happening to our friends and family. Duterte saw Tacloban and said it was as if God forgot about the earth.

My son, there's one thing I want you to understand. The earth is a piece of space rock that just happens to have all the conditions required to sustain life. We are dust. And yet we treat the space rock that we're lucky enough to be on like we could live without it. We are the only inhabitants that bite the hand that feed it. We litter the seas with plastic, we feed the atmosphere with all sorts of chemicals, and we think nothing of it. It's still just a theory that global warming caused this superstorm and I'm speaking liberally here, but it is we who have forgotten the earth. As I type, thousands of relief goods are being packed in plastic bags.

Lola Dinah Palacio died. You probably won't even remember nor will it matter to you, but she met and held you, and for a while you shared laughter and she found joy in your existence. And while we mourn her loss, everyone else in the family survived. We can build houses again but we can't bring back the dead. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you and your Daddy. I think I'd go mad. So many people lost so much. We are so lucky my love. I hope you don't mind that I gave some of your old clothes up for charity.

Lola Nanay arrived from Ormoc this morning and told me about how it is in Biliran. We aren't as hard hit as the rest of the region, but the effect is enormous. Fuel is getting scarce down there. People are desperate for transportation because communication lines have been cut. Since food and supplies are dependent on this transportation, store owners are forced to raise their prices. Because banks and remittance centers are offline, people can't get money out.

I hope that by the time you even comprehend anything I said in the previous paragraph, you'll think it's ridiculous because the Philippines of your time is no longer as dependent on finite resources like fuel as we currently are. I hope by your time, we're better prepared for power outages, food shortage, typhoons earthquakes and other natural calamities. I hope by your day, we've become truly self sufficient and our pride is well placed. I hope by your day, less lives are lost to a lack of foresight.

To those who truly want to help, I'm a part of an initiative of Biliranon volunteers who're allergic to political stickers and labels. We're shipping relief goods to the recently homeless in our island but figured this is not enough. They need housing, therapy, etc etc. If you can help with community rehabilitation and know anything about green energy, permaculture, sustainable but affordable construction, etc etc; pop me an email at mutangpusa@gmail.com and we'll talk.


~~~

MILESTONES:

Malaya is now a fireball. He's crawling and eating everything, with requests for second and third helpings. He eats everything, but isn't too hot about oatmeal yet. He is now actively grabbing things he's not supposed to, like wires. Makes me realize how hard babyproofing is against a curious child.

He is more interested in our cellphones than in his own toys. He hasn't grown tired of peekaboo yet, but you have to hide or he won't give you the time of day. He gives high fives and "Close-opens" his fist on command when he feels like it. With his tooth coming out, he is only a little cranky, but isn't bawling like an orphan boy yet. Will keep you guys posted.

Malaya has a yaya now too. Yes, yes. We finally caved in. Since I actually have time to sit and write now, I'll put a post up about it soon.

Postpartum Past 3 Months (ranty, but not really)

I'm exhausted. They weren't kidding about the sleepless nights. I'm less exhausted than I was during his first month, when I would dream about REM sleep *rimshot* while I nursed him every hour or two. These days, he sleeps through the night, nudging me only thrice throughout for snacks here and there. Sleeplessness can get you on the edge, especially when you have no choice over the matter. It's a little like staying up cramming for exams the next day, except if you snooze, your kid loses. And if your kid loses, oh woe le guilty mom.

The occasional internal outcries of "I want my life back" are muted in the collective wail of hundreds of other first time mothers, and in the collective "Told you so"s by veterans. Remember when blogging was only beginning to become a thing? And most blogs were just rant-fests by angst-ridden pre-teens (hello and goodbye tabulas)? This phenomena shortly led to the Emo subculture. The emo subculture led to just generally not taking suicide seriously.

I learned CHILD REARING is the great sacrifice women bear. NOT Child Bearing as I so naively assumed. Child Bearing, as it turns out, is only the beginning.

I won't lie. This blog isn't a rosy press release of the adventures of M. Linaban and co. I'm tired and depressed. A year ago, I wept over losing my freedom. I was right AND wrong.

Careful, the whites of your eyes are showing. (Warning: Rant)

With the toilet clogged up, our little family went to the nearby mall to take advantage of the comfort lounge. As I waited for the partner to do his thing, I found myself seated between a very pregnant lady and her partner. The following conversation occurred:

Pregnant lady: I like! Where'd you buy? That's "in" naman these days (referring to the ring sling)
Me: It's a gift from the states
Pregnant lady: Oh? How much?
Me: $$, but you can get ring slings from Rustan's
Pregnant lady: But you can make that man noh? Just buy fabric and rings?
Me: Yeah, you can probably get fabric better suited for tropical weather...
Pregnant lady: Yeah, look at him, he's so comfortable. Nakagawas lang iyang tiil, luoy kaayo. ("His feet are just dangling, how pitiful")
Me: He's too big to fit naman.
Pregnant lady: Let's get ring and fabric nalang na? (referring to her partner, then turns to me, who tried to sit down but couldn't because Laya started protesting) Mas sayon pa jud makabreastfeed noh? ("Easier for breastfeeding yes?")
Me: Oo, pero malingaw na gani siya sa sling, di na pabutang. ("Yeah, but once he starts liking the sling, he won't ever want to be put down")
Pregnant lady: Kay nakagawas man iyang tiil, mapilo man. Luoy kaayo. Nabaptize na na siya? ("Because you let his feet dangle like that, it's folded in. How pitiful. Is he baptized yet?")
Me: Dili...pa ("Not... yet")
Pregnant lady: Ha? Unya gilaag laag na ninyo? Asa man ang daddy? ("What? And you take him out like that? Where's the dad?")
Pregnant lady's hubby: (to wife) Ok ra na, uso naman na ron. ("It's okay, that's common these days")
Me: Naa diha sa sulod. ("He's inside")
Pregnant lady: Didto na na natawo or diri na? ("Did you have him there or here?")
Me: Uh, naghomebirth ko... ("I had a homebirth...")
Pregnant lady: Ha?! Wa ka nahadlok ug infection?! ("What?! Weren't you afraid of infection?!" turns to husband rolling eyes)

2 Week Old Malaya (warning: slightly ranty)

He was supposed to be due this week. Instead he's on antibiotics for pneumonia he doesn't even have anymore.

We came home last night, after 3 days of hospital stay. There's still a needle in Laya's foot, where the antibiotics are to be fed until Saturday, and then he's home free.

The kid was pierced 2 more times after my last post. The second IV came out because he kept squirming. We didn't know it was dislodged for a time because he kept silent. A nurse came to take it out and left to get someone else to reinsert the IV. Meanwhile, Malaya was cheerful, with a naughty glint in his eye. As if he'd removed the IV on purpose.

When the people came to insert the needle into his leg, I was without escape. He wanted to feed. I asked the people if I could feed him through it. One of the nurses said he might choke on his milk. I asked to feed him before they insert the needle then. They said their shift had just ended and they needed to leave.

Pregnant Teens and Unwed Mommies: Another rant.

 I'm coming up with so many rants I should just make a whole new page dedicated to ranting.


I did the most horrible thing one can do in the 21st century to another person: I unfriended them on facebook.

It was over a status message he posted. I can't copypasta anymore since I did remove the dolt as soon as I read his post, but paraphrased, it went something like "Why do kids get pregnant younger and younger nowadays? Is TEET really that great? Boys are having TEET!"

I know half of the post didn't make sense, but I didn't like what it was implying, so instead of hiding him from my feed, I unfriended him. It wasn't a major loss since the person was really a work-related acquaintance rather than an actual friend. And if he was ranting about the ails of immoral under-aged coupling, maybe he wasn't such a valuable work-related resource for my lucrative career as a pornographer. Kidding.

I can't call myself a teen anymore, so why the reaction?

Being Gay: It's not a choice. (Warning! Another rant post)

First the embarrassing Anne Hathaway/Ricky Lo video, now this article. Naunsa naman ning Philstar ui.

Maybe they're trying to regain readership by deliberately trolling people.

And you, Madame Tintin Babao, I'd think you'd at least maintain a certain degree of journalistic integrity worthy of your column, AND broadsheet. The kind of integrity that requires you to set personal bias aside in favor of the truth. At the very least you cannot afford to be stupid with such delicate subjects such as this, because too many people listen to you make Unang Hirit on parenting issues and think you're a legit role model because they had breakfast everyday to you reading a tele-prompter.

Alas I forget, as many often do, you are a celebrity and not a scientist. The truth is not your priority, ratings are.

Auntie Faith pointed out that maybe Tintin was pandering to public opinion. The outrage over this article within my facebook stream alone makes me wonder if it IS public opinion. But then again my friend list is composed mostly of university-educated rebels and progressives. Come to think of it, my stream is probably really a carefully curated minority. Because if you're prone to posting images superimposed with revoltingly fallacious text like this...

(because Pikachu needs more than fb shares you gullible second handers!)

... I've probably hidden you from my feed.

Maybe I'm out of sync because I follow websites like Offbeat Families that frequently feature LGBT issues and non-cis gendered families in a favorable light. Maybe I'm out of touch with what the "norm" is regarding gender issues in this country because despite our queer opinions and lifestyles, my partner and I are both straight and therefore above persecution. We assume that the barangay has become honky dory about sexuality just because we never find opportunities to talk about it within our immediate community.

Pregnancy fears and pet peeves (Warning, rant post)

If your sweet kolehiyala cousin suggests you go on a movie marathon, do not fall for her pretty-pleases and her with-sugar-on-top's. Not unless you want to be subjected to a pastiche of nazi-experiment-zombie/jewish demon fetus fests. (Pregnancy brain just kicked in, and I momentarily disconnected "fetus" with its actual meaning. If you want to know the feeling, try repeating the word over and over til it stops making sense.)

Also, when your jet-lagged partner suggests you watch this franchise sci fi feature with a married female lead, do NOT agree. Not unless you want to see a 45-minute (it felt that long) self c-section conducted by said female lead while removing her Lovecraftian progeny.

Guess what those two movies were. I've spoiled you enough with clues.

All I'm saying is that it does not help the pregnant woman's imagination (and vivid dream life) to expose oneself to negative images of birthing. Unfortunately, they're everywhere.

Take for example this photo:

Please.