November 2012

A little over 10 years ago, I developed a love for kids with the birth of my youngest sister, Juno. She became the center of our lives the minute she was born.


Juno with Ate Tina & Ate Karla (fresh from the shower!)


Juno goofing around with Dad one weekday after work.


Juno with Ate Ada & Ate Erika – the 3 bunsoys

It was also around the same time that I found out that things will never be as easy for me as it is for others.

I was 19 then. I had the world at my fingertips and the rest of my life ahead of me.

Fast forward to 2012…I find myself in what I would consider both a personally controversial and physically stressful pregnancy. Controversial because I now make it to the statistical cut of single moms, and physically stressful because my reproductive health problems from over 10 years ago have continued to manifest from the minute my doctor confirmed my pregnancy at 4 weeks. Week after week, it was one new problem after another. From a threatened abortion, to a threatened miscarriage, to 4-week bedrests without bathroom privileges, to a bout with food poisoning. To other physical and emotional factors thrown in the mix of what is already a very difficult period.

Part of this controversial period is the obvious scrutiny and judgment. As bad as it felt to know that the people you expect to be behind you are the first ones to bail on you & make you feel what a big mistake you’re making; as heartbreaking as it was to know that your happiness about this blessing is only secondary to theirs, I had to swallow it all. I knew that as complicated as our “relationship” was, we were doing this whole parenthood thing for a bigger reason — this is the single most significant miracle we could ever hope to witness. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.


Our little one at 13 weeks.

So much has happened from that fateful day at the doctor’s clinic in March until today…about 84 days before D-Day. Each time I look back on everything we’ve been through, I grow only in gratitude knowing for sure who I can count on.


Broken but together in all the right places.


The best girlfriends anyone could ask for.

I also grow more and more in love with that no-longer-unidentified floating object inside my womb.


It’s a boy!


This one I can at least make out. Hello baby love…you look handsome.


Honestly…I fail to see how this is the genitalia.

It is 28 August 2012. I am 28 weeks pregnant with my first (and only?) child — a son I have decided to name Lucas. In 12 more weeks, we will get to hold him and tell him that he is everything to us his name means — Light.  I cannot wait.


Ignorance Is Bliss & Home Is Where The Heart Is

For the first time since college, I can honestly say that I have no idea what direction my life is taking, and I’m loving every second of the uncertainty. Or ignorance, if you would.

Since over a month back, I’ve simply been trying to “pick up the pieces”. When this all started, I was so afraid of the unknown — which is odd because if you asked me to choose between the devil & the deep blue sea, I’d easily pick the deep blue sea. I was so afraid of not having a grand plan for bouncing back. And with all the fear, I was afraid to let myself fall in the trap of depression.

I moved back into our family home around the same time. I have yet to get to the unpacking of everything I brought back home, but my room is back to its “I could die here” comfort — the sound of my sisters bickering right outside my door as they prepare for school; the dogs excitedly barking and scratching the lanai door as Helen comes out with their breakfast; the mocha & chestnut-colored walls that hold Judy & Mickey in all their monochrome glory; even our neighbor’s daily dose of Chris-Tsuper has become music to my ears.

I’ve also always been one to make plans and make sure they materialize, but since unemployment kicked in, I’ve found planning to be an effort of tremendous futility. For one, plans of late never make it past the 5-day incubation period. Second, I’ve come to a point in my life where I start to “desire” for things to just fall into place as naturally as they should. It’s not such a bad thing…

My good friend that I fondly call Scooter asked me a few days ago how the “suffocation” of home made me move back. The easy answer is that it’s the practical thing to do when you’re unemployed. Plus, there’s a strange feeling of bliss the minute I see our front door. The feeling envelops me so warmly, I couldn’t think of a better place to unburden myself, and let go of all my worries. At home, there’s no need to “escape”.

And home makes it easier to not have a plan, and still be just alright.