You Know You're A Mother When....

In timely fashion, I'm dedicating my first post (after a 2 month hiatus) to all moms for Mothers' Day.

Yes, yes - I can spend the first couple of paragraphs explaining my sudden drought of posts (not that I was that prolific in the first place) but can I just sum it up in a few succinct words? Moving houses. No maid. No nanny. 2 small children. Just me.

Get the picture?

Moving on....

Earlier this evening I woke Olivia from a deep sleep, knowing full well a) that she didn't get a good nap this afternoon, b) she was extremely tired and cranky, c) that she might not go back to sleep after. I woke her up because I wanted her to drink some milk. Because I was worried that she'd only had 16 ounces today and didn't meet her usual 24-32 ounce quota. And that she didn't have a good lunch. And only a so-so dinner (even though she did eat a big bowl of sautéed squash and rice. And 2 glasses of chocolate milk. And ice cream.)

I was worried that she might be hungry. Or worse, that she might become malnourished.

Of course anyone who has ever met my hoover-vaccum-cleaner of a two-year old knows that's impossible. But I woke her up anyway. Because I'm a mother and that's what we do - worry excessively and create impossible situations for ourselves. (Thankfully she quickly downed the 8 ounces I was force-feeding her and went right back to sleep. God, I love this kid!)

It got me thinking of the things we do as mothers (or at the very least, the things I do as a mother) that only mothers can, or are willing to, do.

So here's my list of things I know I can do that I'm pretty sure my husband can't. I know I'm a mother because:

1) I can pick up someone else's poop or wipe off someone else's pee/vomit without getting grossed out/fainting/puking/calling the CDC.

2) I can read Goodnight Moon and Hooray for Fish out loud, 8 times in a row, in one night without killing myself or someone else.

3) I can see myself picking up an 8 year old kid by the scruff of his shirt and beating the living crap out of him for hitting my daughter. (I wouldn't do it of course.... but I can certainly see myself doing it)

4) I can sweep the floor with a baby attached to my hip.

5) I can maneuver a stroller, a diaper bag, a hand bag, 2 large bags of groceries and a baby (who refuses to sit in the damn stroller) through the mall all by myself.

6) I can multi-task to the point where I would put CEOs to shame (run laundry, feed kids, check homework, cook dinner and watch Bloomberg all AT THE SAME TIME).

7) I can carry an informed and stimulating conversation about the merits of Adventure Time vis a vis your standard cartoon shows and why Barbie is the best friend a girl can have. Ever.

8) I can sing the theme songs to at least 8 different children shows.

9) I can imagine (easily) giving up my life for someone else's. Literally and figuratively.

10) I can put someone else's needs before my own.

Who knew I had it in me?

That P&G ad had it right: The hardest job in the world, is the best job in the world.

Now if only I could find a way to get paid.....

I Poo, Therefore I Am

So a day after I watch what could possibly be the best marketing campaign I've seen all year (yes Chueys it's the damn Coke OFW campaign), I find myself on the toilet reading the latest Time magazine issue with the 50 most influential women article. And I have an existential moment (the kind that only ever happens when one is sitting on the toilet contemplating the mysteries of life).

I wonder if I hadn't stopped working -- would I be a Marketing Director by now?

Yes I know that is a very, very strange question to ask one's self while on the toilet (or anywhere else for that matter), but hear me out.

Ever since I started working back in 1996, I always knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I was an assistant product manager for the Bank of the Philippine Islands back then, handling auto loans. I reported to a product manager, who in turn reported to the head of Marketing. I wanted to be that guy. Not my boss, but my boss' boss.

And it wasn't about being in a position to order people around, or having the head of the bank listen to you. It was because I knew in my heart, that given enough experience and exposure --- I could do his job. And I could be good at it.

So I spent the next 12 years of my life working on my career with that one goal in mind: become a marketing director before I was 40. Of a major Philippine bank. Or a multinational one. Whichever came first. Or paid me more money.

And I loved my job. I loved what I did. I loved the creativity that it required. I loved the analysis it took. I didn't want to be a Marketing Director who just ran campaigns and advertising strategies for the bank products. I wanted to be the one who built those products. And launched them. And grew them. And eventually killed them. Boy did I love my job.

There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for it either. Including spending half a year in various LTO offices gathering raw data, and churning market analysis based on that data, with my partner Kris. Scouring through piles and piles of car registrations and handwriting the information on it in cramped, smelly, un-airconditioned back offices of various government offices. Subsisting on bottles of diet coke and sky flakes crackers. Oh those were the days.

I've lost count of all the all-nighters I pulled with Tricia and Steve when we were launching/re-launching online banking for UBP when I moved there after BPI.

Giving the ad agency a heart attack when I insisted on doing online editing when they couldn't get my brochures right for CBC the night before my product launch.

Or personally/physically attaching stickers to new ATMs in SCB. And I was already an AVP by then.

Nothing was too big or too small for me to do --- so long as it meant I got my job done right.

----

We make plans, life plans, but never stop to wonder if something will change along the way. The situation. Your circumstances. You.

I met a man. Picked him because we both didn't want kids. Got married. Changed our minds. Fought to have kids. And got them.

And my life changed.

It changed even more when my then 3-year old asked my husband, after yet another long late night of me not being home, if I was angry at her because I never wanted to be around her. And may be that's why I was always gone.

I quit my job.

---

I wish I could say I never looked back since. But obviously I do. Not with regret. I do, wholeheartedly, believe that what I'm doing now is more important. Even if I do constantly speak of Munchausen by Proxy in my posts and blogs.

But I do look back. And wonder.

---

Looking forward, I know I won't go back. To that job. To that life. Even if it is something that John and I have talked about several times, as something to explore when the kids are older. Part of me feels it will be too late. Another part feels that I've changed too much to go back to what I used to do.

I look forward to changing again. I don't know into what. A teacher perhaps? A counselor? A shrink? A person who knows how to drive? Who knows?

Life is change. It's what makes life exciting and scary at the same time. Life's sheer inconstancy is what makes it worth living --- just to see what happens next.

Random Thoughts

I had a number of things I felt like blogging about this week, but couldn't seem to find them time (in between my 3 hour naps) or the compunction to write them.

One was supposed to be another mush blog about John. Another was about this agonizing decision John and I need to make on whether or not to place Pilar in another school. I've been meaning to write an introspective article on my life this past year, and perhaps the last decade. There's also this piece I've wanted to write about happiness.

But... sigh... inspiration eludes me.

So instead I while away my time watching trash tv, surfing the internet, eating my way through boxes of chocolate covered nuts and drawing glitter tattoos on my daughter's various appendages.

There aren't a lot of options open to you when you're stuck in bed.

Still this life half lived is still a life worth living.

Mr. E. Coompy

This is Mr. E. Coompy

He is the latest addition to our growing menagerie of toilet-roll-with-pipe-cleaners-and-glue" pets. Mr. E. Coompy is the name that Pilar gave him.

He epitomizes the quandary that I am in.

On the one hand, he stands for what my life has been this past year and a half: nanny, personal chef, maid, pet, toy, friend, teacher and magician all rolled into one. I am Mommy.

On the other, I see Mr. E. Coompy and realize he is my biggest "achievement" of the day. So I wonder: What the.....?

Growing up, this is never who I thought I'd grow up to be. Lawyer, theater director, writer.... these are things that come to mind. But Mother was never part of that list.

I was groomed to be a Master of the Universe. My father always told me that I would grow up to be someone very important someday.

So as I end my day packing away Dora and her friends, wondering about tomorrow's menu and making mental reminders to arrange for a play date in the afternoon --- is this all there is to me now?

Is my life on hold, as hers goes fast forward?

Because as much as I love being with her, being there to watch her grow and be such an integral part of her life.....I miss the life... the me.. I had to give up to be here.

Not the work, but the sense of fulfillment it gave me. The sense of self, of worth, that I got in a job well done. The little personal achievements, milestones. The ego-stroking. The love of self that I felt knowing that I was good at what I did, and people knew it.

May be it boils down to a question of who do I love more? Myself? Or her?

The answer will always be... her. So much more than myself, or the version of me I'd always thought I'd grow up to be.

So I pack away these thoughts and doubts along with her jigsaw puzzle pieces.... and the other pieces of my life that puzzle me.

I may not be the Master of my Universe. But her world revolves around me (for now) --- so may be I am the Sun in hers.

And at least I was able to fulfill my father's prophesy: I AM someone very important. To the one person who matters the most.