Parent vs. Mommy

We're having a bit of a snafu with one of my siblings and I've been having long talks with my mother over the phone. As she griped over dealing with my sibling and asked for my help, at one point, I thought, "But you're the parent. Thank God, I'm not a parent." Then, I backpedaled, "HOLY MOLY, I am a PARENT!" See, I've always regarded myself as P's "Mommy" and the word evokes warm hugs and cuddles and laughter. However, a "Parent" is about being strict and disciplining and all those serious stuff. 

My parents were really strict with me growing up. I said "me", because they've become lenient with most of my siblings. My mommy was especially strict that I developed angst and was sort of rebellious towards her (as rebellious as a goody two-shoes could ever be, meh). I've since appreciated their strictness when I got older, thankful that I have two degrees without getting pregnant nor involved in drugs and other vices. However, their being strict was at the expense of fun stuff, like I was not allowed to go to concerts and most summers were spent indoors instead of attending summer camps or classes.

With baby P, I hope to strike a balance between being a "Parent" and a "Cool Mommy". I hope I can afford to travel with him and send him to extra-curricular activities which I think I missed out on (I cannot swim nor ride a bike, phoeey). Wish me luck!

Tickle Time and Ba-ba

One of the reasons why I choose to stay in government service is because I can still go home early even if the commute takes one to two hours. Unlike if I'm in private practice where 9PM is probably considered early. Hence, I still have time to play with the little curly top unless he's too tired from playing and already asleep after I eat dinner and shower.

I'm not sure if this comes with having a baby boy, but P's bedtime routines are bedtime shenanigans. There are no bedtime stories or gentle cuddling. He prefers crawling and rolling and jumping all over the bed. The few times I've cracked open a book, he is not interested. Although I should strive to read to him before sleeping. Mostly we wrestle though, and last night there was a tickling session pa.

I now know what it means to consider something as "music to my ears" and for now, that is P's pure laughter. :)

On the talking front, Baby Center is filled with articles about a toddler's talking timeline. At his age, P is expected to say 50 or so words but since he has been late in a few of his milestones, I've decided to wait and see. This morning, I heard a new word, "ba-ba", for "bye-bye", with matching waving motions. When he saw his maternal lolo who wants to be called "Popsy", he said "Pa-pi, Pa-pi." So cute. But you know, still no "Mommy." SOB SOB.

Baho

Baby P can say "Daddy". So much so that last night when he saw his father's laptop, he started saying "Dad-di, Dad-di!"

This morning, as I was saying goodbye to him, he pooped. As I handed him to the yayey, I said "Baho!" And he said "ba-ho". Yet. Still. No. "Mommy". SOB.

Viruses and Working Mommy Guilt

I took a leave from work yesterday to take P to the pedia. He developed high fever Friday dawn. His temperature alternated between 38 and 39 degrees. Sunday evening we brought him to the ER. CBC results were negative for dengue. They put this urine catcher on him so we could get a sample for urinalysis, but as the hours ticked by, he was not peeing. We decide to go home. I checked on the urine catcher and the pee was on his diaper. Ugh.

All Sunday we stayed at home and I checked on his diaper from time to time. At around 4PM, he finally peed on it! Hubby brought the sample to the ER. After two hours, the diagnosis is that he has UTI and was prescribed antibiotics. Hence, we decided to bring him to the pedia.

The pedia saw sores in his tonsils and said that he has herpangina, the same virus that causes hand, foot and mouth disease. Thankfully, his fever has disappeared but antibiotics will continue until Sunday. As I prepared to give him his antibiotics Monday evening, I saw red spots on his face. I immediately texted the pedia who said that these will indeed come out. Tuesday though the rash worsened, and after Google-ing, I thought it didn't look like herpangina anymore. Pedia assured me that it was not measles because his vaccine is complete. But it could be roseola or tigdas hangin which was of the same virus family. He was not complaining but he looked kawawa with spots on his face and body.

This morning, the bumps have subsided. His fever has not returned, thank God. But I found myself wishing that I could afford to stay at home and take care of him myself. :( No matter how hard you work at being a good mommy, one bump like this (yes, pun intended) easily erases everything else and you are weighed down by guilt. Hay.

Nakem

I am such a bad mommy blogger. I thought that I'd regularly update this blog with P's milestones but... life gets in the way. You get swamped at work. Yayas leave. Or I'm just plain lazy.

These past few days, I observed that P already has “nakem”. AFAIK, it's Ilocano for “feelings” or “empathy”. He knows when he is being scolded because his face scrunches up and he pouts. Sometimes, there's crying, and his crying has a different sound from the previous baby wail. Like you can tell that he's emotionally hurt by his crying. Sometimes, his brows furrow and it is the most adorable thing because looks like an adult already.

He babbles mostly gibberish but he says “daddy”, “dede”, “ate”, “tita”, “papa”, “teet-wa” for peek-a-boo, “kaki” for Snorkie our dog, “kaka” for cat and for everything else (like when he wants something, he will reach out for it and say “kaka!”) He attempts to sing the ABC but we only understand “T-U-V”. He will be 18 months this month but still no “Mommy”. Sob.

Hoping against Hope

It's been more than a week since I lost my rings and I still feel incredibly sad about losing them. Especially since I read articles last night about women finding their rings in the garbage. But those are in the US, fat chance of that happening here. How I wish I immediately went to La Union to personally tear apart all the garbage bags of the resort. Or that La Union is near enough so I can check the pawnshops. I even pray to St. Anthony, hoping against hope that my rings will turn up. I feel out of sorts.