Although there is no solid evidence that Facebook hears our private conversations, I am still convinced it does. And as much as I hate the snooping, I am still on it because I see it a necessary evil. 

Truth is, Facebook did help me emotionally, mentally, and even financially. And if not for the suggested pregnancy and birthing articles that keep on popping up on my newsfeed since it is what Jan and I mostly talk about, I would not know that Push Presents actually exist.

To those who have no clue what it is (since it is also not a known practice here in our country), a push present (also called a push gift) is a present a partner or family gives to the mother to mark the occasion of her giving birth to their child. In practice the present may be given before or after the birth, or even in the delivery room.  (Source)

Most push present ideas suggest flowers, clothes, bags, or anything the mother loves. The ones that remain most popular are jewelry. But I think those gifts that help make the first few weeks with a newborn extra cozy and easy, like a bed sheet with at least 500 thread count (as if the mother can sleep pa noh?) or automatic appliances, are better.

I already gave birth twice and I would say push presents may not be necessary because the new addition to the family is already a gift better than anything else. But now that I knew about it, I honestly like the idea. I think it's thoughtful and sweet.

So, needless to say, I made a list of MY PUSH PACKAGE. 

Note that I said package because one present is not enough to honor the difficulties of going through all the discomfort, weird cravings, food aversions, raging hormones, labor pain, and pushing a 6-pounder human through a smaller-than-a-fist hole (CS moms count too).

And that is just the easy part.

Nobody tells you about the horrors of pooping and sitting down after giving birth, of sleep deprivation that would last until God knows when, of probably losing the sex drive, but most especially, of motherhood.

And frankly, everything I have mentioned above does warrant a momma-you-did-an-amazing-job-you-deserve-this present. It's a bonus that can make a sore momma feel better.

Anyway.

I do not desire for anything extravagant, not even something that is sentimental. I just want whatever makes me feel like a human and not some milk-making machine. So here goes in the exact order:

1. Tokyo Tokyo bento meal 

Funny how this made it on my list. I don't remember what I ate after I gave birth to my eldest child, probably a hospital ration food. With the second one, I just had a 7-11 rice meal. A lot of food establishments temporarily ceased operations due to the alarming number of Covid cases back then, so choices of food deliveries from my favorite restos were also very limited. 

I hope it's different this time. Well, after denying myself those midnight runs to the kitchen whenever I think I'm hungry, the first thing I want to do after giving birth is EAT A LOT.

2. Whole body massage

Need I say more?

3. Foot spa and pedicure

I haven't been able to reach my toes for four or five months now. I know how much my feet badly need all the pampering and cleaning.

4. Brazilian wax

I have been bare down there ever since I was offered free sessions in 2014 (blogger perks, yay). I love how it makes me feel clean and sexy all the time. Haha. 😁

The last time I have shown my intimate bits and let every hair around it stripped by a total stranger was pre-Covid, two years ago. 

I just miss how refreshing and freeing it is. 

5. Total wardrobe overhaul

Every time I get pregnant, my body is altered in some way forever. For sure most clothes would no longer look flattering on me after I give birth. And I know it could take a while before I get back to my pre-pregnant body. Does anyone want my crop tops and body-hugging tees?

For someone who's turning 37 with three children, I now want something that screams "mature" but at the same time "stylish, comfy, and still hot". It will be a huge boost to my self-esteem and a good practice for dressing well in PTA meetings when the time comes.

Hence, the thrifted dresses.

Popping anytime now. No sleep. Hagardo Versoza. Laspaghetti beauty.

That's it.

I have a strong feeling that I will not have the luxury of time to do these once our daughter is out. But if there is one thing that is realistic for me to have, I would love a bowl of miso soup or authentic takoyaki or a half dozen of choco wacko right after this one last giant push. 😉

Women my age don't get knocked up easily. Or so I thought. It takes a lot longer to get pregnant again. Or so I was told. So we made love unprotected. And surprise, surprise! It only took less than two months to miss a period. While the news was one of the best we received, it honestly got us a little bit alarmed than excited.

Oh shit, are we ready for this? 

Obviously, we're not. But anytime from 4 to 7 weeks now, we will have two handful kids with a 19-month age gap, and a twelve-year old who will probably start to disagree with me in everything sooner or later. 

I haven't really been writing regularly on this blog like I used to. But if I turn this into a parenting blog, I'm pretty sure there will be so much to write and share. A lot of things happen every day when you try NOT to get a toddler killed as he expresses his free will and goes all feral; imposes his preference to play electrical plugs and sockets over his actual toys; exhibits his speed faster than lightning to get him to places he shouldn't be like the bathroom, kitchen, or outside; or shows his determination to become the next Spiderman as he climbs on surfaces impossible for our 36-year-old bodies with 63-year-old back pains to reach. 

But then, I'm already far too busy fussing about this pregnancy and the hundreds of unidentified emotions that come with it to write about anything.

Also, Jan and I are exhausted. We barely have time to do all things we used to do pre-parenting days. We do not have a household help or a nanny (because trust issues + pandemic). While we get some help from both our moms (mostly during weekends), we do everything ourselves. 

Picture this:

• Jan works full-time. Since he works remotely with people coming from different time zones, his working hours are flexible and spread out. He can work as early as 6am and end with a 2-hour meeting at midnight. In between, he does ALL the household chores because I am not allowed to lift objects heavier than our fat cat or do anything that is physically draining (even breathing has become a workout for me).

• I do not have a job right now but I accept web development and blogging projects from time to time (because the world can stop, but not our bills). I also help our 7th-grader with his school modules the whole day all the while keeping a toddler fed, bathed, and entertained. 

• Jan and I take turns with the toddler who can turn the house upside down like a tornado in a matter of seconds and just after we tidied up. 

• We both do not get enough rest. Our little boy wakes up in the middle of the night (at least twice) so Jan puts him back to sleep. And our little girl loves throwing a fetal rage at 2 in the morning. Those tiny jabs and squirming limbs coming from all directions do not exactly feel delightful especially when she hits my kidneys, bladder, liver, or ribs. But of course, I am not complaining because I expect to have that every day. 

Before anybody thinks we've been doing a great job for staying sane despite all these, let me tell you that we have also prepared ourselves to embrace judgment from others because we have not subscribed to the super mom/dad ideals. We acknowledge our limits, and so, we gave in to screen time and fast food deliveries (and we've been doing it so often) to lighten our daily load because, well...

Exhaustion is an understatement and burnout is real.

And that's only having two. It gets trickier when there will be three (I wonder how parents with five children with one-year age gap did it). 

Pero ginusto namin 'to eh.

Moments like this though. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

But heck, we're already here. There is no getting out of this and the best we can do is just wing it.

It was twelve years ago when I pushed a giant papaya out of my lady parts. And fifteen months ago, I did the same thing. I wish I could say that having a baby at 24 isn't all that different from doing it at 35. But nope. I sneezed my first born out. The second one, however, felt like those exaggerated, nowhere near accurate depictions of labor and childbirth in movies. Except, it was real albeit there was no moaning, screaming, or howling on my part. My doctor had to break my water because my labor was not progressing and a few hours later, I was still stuck at 6cm.

It was excruciating. 

And that's coming from someone whose pain tolerance is considered at a dangerous level. You know how many times I brushed off pain only to find out later that it was a more serious injury? Like how a whole durian fell approximately 4ft. from the truck to my arm, ignored it like it was nothing because I was worried about the durian that I already paid for when it rolled from my arm to the canal. I didn't know I was bleeding until a friend pointed it out. Instead of crying "ouch", my initial reaction was, "uy, akong durian!" Yes, I had my priorities sorted out.

This probably stemmed from being born a walking disaster that I got exposed to physical pain at an early age. I have ran full speed into walls, dislocated (probably broken) a few bones here and there, and had deep cuts without flinching or tearing up. If anything, it was the earful, what-have-you-gotten-yourself-into-this-time scolding of my mom that scared me more.

But back to where we were...

I got over that horrifying 17-hour labor without epidural. Of course, it goes without saying that the child is going to hear this story for the rest of his life and I declared I am never having another baby ever again.

But here we are. 24 weeks in and still willing to go through all that labor pain after all. Plus, pregnancy when you are nearing 40 comes with a lot of risks. I do pray that everything will go smoothly and safely though—for I am excited. Really. Because after two boys, we are finally having a girl! Yes, quota na ako.

Anyway.

I am running on autopilot. I refused to believe that mom brain is real until recently when I squeezed lotion on my toothbrush... twice (it was on the second time when I learned what a lotion tastes like). I always find myself pouring water into a glass, leave it on the kitchen table, and never drink it. I oftentimes ask the husband the same question at least three times in less than five minutes. I have an extensive vocabulary but I was reduced to someone who fails to retrieve simple terms on the tip of the tongue. If my recent posts came out incomprehensible, now you know why.

I already gave birth twice. And even though I had few lutang and sabaw episodes, it was only in this pregnancy when I noticed that my brain went AWOL big time. Legend has it that I will have it back one day. Someday. When all three children are old enough to pay their taxes, I guess.

18 weeks (2009, 2020, 2021)

I have been solo-parenting for almost a week now. 

And that's because our cat, Appa, bit Jan on his left leg. While Jan thinks the biting was an accident, I think otherwise. That cat has been plotting to kill me since day one but was miserably unsuccessful so it decided to take it on the husband who has a softer spot for animals than I do.

We have been bitten by the same cat a thousand times. So why is it suddenly a big deal? Jan's leg got infected that it rendered him useless—at a time when I needed him most. SMH. He had high fever, his entire leg got red and swollen, and he couldn't walk. Yes, it was that bad. Judging from the grimace on his face every time he moves a muscle, I could say it's another near-death experience, probably worse than his man flus. But you know what's worst? I had to get my lazy ass up and do everything. 

Okay, I lie. He still did the laundry.

Tip#328 for a lazy wife on how to let the husband do the chores without the reluctance and side comments: Try not to be good in what you do and you'll see him insisting on doing things himself. In this case, the clothes he washes look and smell cleaner than the ones I did. I am a genius, I know. You're welcome.

But still. 

I have been solo-parenting a heavily caffeinated mini dictator who turns into an adorable toddler a second before I lose my sh*t while my hormones are on crazy overdrive because another one is on the way. You see the ordeal I had to go through? Anyway, I am now thinking of fabricating a sob story so I can guilt the husband into giving me a daily massage because once he gets well, I need all the pampering and takoyaki I can get. 

If not, I'll just find ways to screw him up by asking for unreasonable pregnant wife demands. You know, just to spice things up a bit. A sineguelas during this season should do.

Had to drive Jan to to hospital in my pambahays, unkempt, and with a toddler in tow because we don't have a yaya. We had to patiently wait for a few hours outside the hospital. Good thing I was able to transform the back of the car into a makeshift playroom. I can't imagine how hard it for those who are in the same situation-when you don't have a choice but to bring a baby with you-but are taking the public transport. Damn this corona. I really hope this pandemic is over.

Every day I wake up feeling like those Instagram moms who seem to have figured out motherhood only to become borderline psychotic when faced with Rhett's homework.

Of all the evil that's happening in the world, Math is probably the worst. I have been stumped multiple times by elementary Math since Rhett started his online classes six weeks ago. Apparently, I am a moron when it comes to basic Math (read: I pull out a calculator to equations like 5+3). 

My face every time I deal with Math problems.

I never thought I would come face to face with the devil again. I hate that I even have to stop any loathsome chore just to solve a problem you can't even apply in the real world. There is a reason why they are called problems. They are meant to cause a civil war between a parent and a child. We should have just left Math uninvented.

Anyway, I usually spend about an hour relearning and teaching Rhett how to answer his worksheets. Imagine my delight at going through this on a regular basis without the carnage. 

Damn. I should congratulate my awesomeness with sushi bake and milktea.

All this time I thought I am prepared for this. But I must have pushed that button resetting all the things I already learned about newborn care. 

I find myself Googling about things I was certain I knew before. Cord stump care, what a normal poop should look like, how much can a newborn consume, and so much more. Those seemingly ridiculous questions such as why babies pout their lips or why they make funny noises or how much milk tea can a breastfeeding momma consume also fill my search history. Thankfully, Google wouldn't mind the hundred and one weird questions I throw and doesn't judge my parenting skills based on what I search for.

The last three weeks have not been easy but it wasn't horrible either, except for the time when I was convinced that projectile pooping is real. Although honestly, getting pooped on doesn't scare me much, the amount of diaper we use and throw daily does. 😵

Anyway, I am currently doing the laundry. And while the washing machine is doing its wonders, I am able to buy myself some time to blog (the only me-time I can think of that's not physically exhausting). After this, I have to nurse a baby, tend to my eldest who's starting his online classes a few hours from now, and repeat. Hopefully, I can also take a quick shower somewhere in between. I am really exhausted and I don't feel well. But one look at my boys and I know everything is worth it. Well, it better be. Haha. 😁

The daddy can't get enough of him.

TRYING, FAILING, AND TRYING EVEN MORE

It was also then when I regularly tracked my cycle. We bought a lot of pregnancy tests (PT). The good news is, we had sex all the time. The bad news, I wasn't getting pregnant. I even tested on days when I see a pre-menstrual spotting in hopes that it was just an implantation bleeding. It was downright frustrating. The disappointment of negative test after another is something I never thought would be so crushing.

I did it ten years ago. So I thought that it is going to be easy for me to get pregnant again. My periods came regularly. Jan and I are neither malnourished nor overweight. We had no reason to think it would not work right off the bat.

We were already five months into the journey when we both started to feel something wasn't right. I was secretly jealous of people who made conceiving look easy. And even without telling me, I knew Jan was having doubts about his manhood. It did not help that people are constantly asking when are we going to have a baby. Kesyo sayang ang mga lahi namin. Di na kami bata. Malapit na kami umabot sa finish line. Stop! Just stop. We know that. We are desperately trying, but you don't know that.

Then it started to wear on us. To save our sex life from becoming a chore, we decided to simply just stop trying so hard. So eff it! We'll make love when we want to. Doesn't matter now if we get pregnant or not. Good if we do, we'll travel the world if we don't.

LIFESTYLE CHANGE

So things went back to normal. Sex became more enjoyable again. But we haven't totally given up on the journey yet. I continued taking folic acid. We both slept well, gave up on caffeine (yes, no coke and milk tea for me), took vitamins, ate the right food, and became physically active again.

I felt good about myself. I did not mind any question asking for any bun-in-the-oven updates.

I believe the drastic change in our lifestyle helped in this journey a lot. I know a lot of people who had been blessed with a little miracle after trying to conceive for years when they started not just a healthy diet but also an active lifestyle. I'm no expert at this, but for those who have no issues and have been and are still trying, you might want to give working out a try.

OUR LITTLE MIRACLE

Since our goals shifted from trying to conceive to just enjoying what we currently have, I did things that would make the endorphins and adrenaline regularly kick in. I ran miles, danced my heart out, and plotted itineraries for our incoming travels.

Then I started to feel unusually tired. I'd take 2-hour naps twice in a day even when I had a full 8-hour sleep at night. And as cliche as it sounds, I was terribly craving for green mangoes. That's when I had a hunch. I wasn't too hopeful but tested anyway since I still have one remaining pregnancy test lying around. And with wide, unbelieving eyes, I ran to Jan and showed him the stick with two fat lines.

We were overjoyed. And that is an understatement.

WHAT PEOPLE SHOULD KNOW

I know every trying-to-conceive story is different. Ours still fall on the average but even so, it was already frustrating and painful that I would not wish it to my worst enemy. I could not imagine the struggle and pain of those who have been trying for years! That's why I want share our trying-to-conceive journey because it is something we avoid talking about. But I hope this post finds its way to more people and would stop being insensitive about it.

So please, stop asking when are we going to have a baby because we are sick of telling you well-rehearsed lies like we have other priorities when deep inside we badly want to.

Stop asking when are we going to have a baby because even when your concerns mean well, it makes us feel inadequate and it inevitably makes us feel less of a person.

Stop asking when are we going to have a baby because you have no idea how physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausting the journey is.

Stop asking when are we going to have a baby because you have to understand that not everyone can do it. And popping that question is akin to stepping on an emotional landmine. You just don't know how much it hurts when we think—much more when we talk—about it.

Stop asking when are we going to have a baby because it is none of your business anyway.

So if you have the urge to pop that question, JUST DON'T ASK. Period.