Counting the days to turning 39

In 5 days, I will be 39 years old.  Just typing it down feels old.  (I can almost hear my brother, Abril, tell me, “Matanda ka na.”)  But it feels old in a good way.  I don’t feel like I’m outdated.. or past my prime — I just feel wiser, knowing I’m a better person now that I was anytime before this point in my life.

I feel complete, too, now that I not only have Alan in my life, but I have Angelo as well.  At night when I lie down between father and son, and I’m cradling Angel in my right arm as he nurses to make sure he doesn’t fall off the bed (again), I sometimes reach out to Alan and try to hold him, too, if he doesn’t snuggle close to me and hug me from  his side of the bed. 

Being a young family is something very exciting for us.  Alan and I have all these plans for our little one.  Planning his first birthday almost a month after I turn another year older is a major production I’m putting my heart and soul into.

And yet as another year passes, part of me wonders if beyond becoming a mother, I have done anything more to become a better person.  Sometimes I can’t help but wonder where I would be now if I had chosen a different path, or if I had made different decisions in my life.  All I know is that nothing compares to holding Angel in my arms.  Nothing is more magical than hearing his laughter ringing as I play with him.  And even if it tugs at my heart each time he reaches out for me to go and pick him up, it gives me a sense of being needed which compares to none.

So I’m turning 39 looking older but not exactly 39.  I’ve managed to build a family, in my own home after being married for just 5 years.  Being 39 isn’t so bad after all, more so if you wake up each day next to this man I call my husband, and this bundle of joy who lights up my world.

Rainy Monday

For a wet day, I surprisingly got into the office approximately the same time I would get in without the hassle of a wet commute.  I somehow feel like I’m moving about less an arm because I left my pressed powder at home.  (Talk about vanity..)  Otherwise, I think I will live.

Angel was running after me when I was about to go, and I went and gave him a hug assuring him I would be back at the end of the day.  Thanks to “Elmo’s World”, he let me go.  Rather than opt to sneak out, I am trying to teach him the concept of saying goodbye.  Mom has been good at teaching him to wave goodbye, and having Lola there to take care of him while I slowly exit helps a lot.

How I wish I had the luxury of cutting the day short and going home.  Not today, I guess.  I am already neck deep in work but decided to post here.  My way of being with my baby again.  It was a good weekend, I think.  He and I are at a constant tug of war on being carried and not being carried.  I still can’t believe he’s just 10 months old.

A Balancing Act

I promised myself I wouldn’t stay too long online.  I got up from nursing Angel to sleep just a half hour ago, and I’m counting the minutes until I, myself, turn in for the night.  Tomorrow, after all, is another Monday.  Back to work I go.

Angel is asleep in his new playpen.  He likes the sexagon (?) enclosure.  It doens’t fit us as a family but one of us can actually lie down with him.  He is also prevented from climbing up into the two black leather sofas which used to be two of four sides of his “enclosure”.  He was quite a handful today so we didn’t go beyond Easter Sunday mass and our usual Sunday luncheon.  (It was Ground Round today.)

Alan and I had our usual Coldstone Creamery date this afternoon, stopping there before the Gym.  By the time we got to the gym, they no longer let us in because they were closing.  Only in the US will you see establishments closing early on Easter.  Back in Manila, today is the day business roars back to life after falling silent from Maundy Thursday to Black Saturday.

Mom seems to be feeling better.  (Or I sure hope so..)  She seems envigorated by the milder temperature, and the prospect of counting down to her departure on the 20th. 

The 15 year old arrived a few hours ago from his mom’s.  Like his departure, we haven’t said goodbye or hello.  Nothing new.  We used to have complete weekends when he would say nary a word to me.  It used to really get me all upset, now I just accept it as a part of who he is.  Not entirely his fault — his pride was unconsciously molded by the overindulgence of his whims by his elders.  Nothing I can do about that now.  It is a vicous cycle even his Dad has difficult time shaking himself free from. 

I am a parent now so he can no longer tell me I cannot fathom the difficulty because I don’t have a child of my own.  (Remembering him telling me that still feels like a fresh stab to the heart even if it was a lifetime ago.)  I can only pray my son does not fall victim to the same smothering which is now my stepson’s handicap.

I have no say in this teen’s life.  I do have a say in how his presence in my house can affect the wellbeing of my child.  Angelo, for all his innocence, is open game to his environment.

So I have tried my best to shut it all out.  I have ignored he who has chosen to ignore me.  It’s a small house so it is rather difficult to do.  At this point, I no longer have the energy to struggle against it.  Acceptance is the easier if not the only alternative.

I know Alan is desperately trying to do a balancing act — often losing it, but continually struggling to get back up again.