I got my new driver's license today. After one year and eight months of marriage, I finally have a valid ID bearing my husband's name. 

Honestly, I could have just waited one more year to have my license revised and renewed at once (would have saved me time and money). But I think I've done enough waiting. I am excited to get slightly annoyed at people misspelling or misreading my new name—which, to no surprise, happened earlier at the licensing office. It's A-T-E-R-R-A-D-O. Not Atterado. Not Alterado. And definitely, not Alternado. It is, however, a hassle I can live with for the rest of my life.

On a serious note, we have acquired properties and signed legal documents with OUR family name because I don't want to go through all the hassle of presenting our marriage certificate every time just to prove that we are already married.

Pre-Covid days. At Samal Island, surveying our hacienda to be. Hehe ☺

I think I now know what hell is like. It's where you have all the delicious food you can eat right before you but can't because your stomach is on a rather violent protest. 

Food poisoning. That's what you get for committing one of the seven deadly sins. In my defense, I was just making sure that no food will go to waste. So I ate the leftover that has been in the fridge since God knows when even though I already had two full meals five minutes earlier. 

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.

Sometimes, I amaze myself with my adulting, considering that my hormones are still on overdrive. You see, I have written a complaint—after making countless of calls and follow-ups on not having an internet connection for almost two months—in the most diplomatic way. For someone whose life depends heavily on memes and cat videos, I would have gone batshit. (Who wouldn't?) 

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.