I Am The Walrus

Over breakfast last Tuesday, March 18, I looked at the time —- 830am —- and I thought about "What was happening at exactly this time five years ago". I remember waking up. I was lying on a gurney. Monitors silently beeping around me. I look down on my horizontal body and didn’t see the bump I lagged for nine months. A nurse walked past me and I tried to call her but my voice was hoarse. I just got out of surgery. "San na yung baby ko?" I asked with difficulty. And I was told to rest and not to talk. Yup, as I sipped my coffee last Tuesday, I remembered when I woke up a mother.

It’s been a challenging five years. I can’t call it difficult. If it was, I never really noticed. There were mostly money troubles in the first few years, what with milk and diapers and vaccines, but I’ve managed to work out all the debts and now I earn enough to buy myself something pretty once in a while.

If I were to recall the difficult times, it would be the hospitals. One hospital visit, in particular. Cojie was barely a year old. Our car was broken. It was midnight. Cojie was running a fever of about 38. We doze off to sleep, and I wake up and Cojie’s fever had risen to 40. He started crying. My mother carried him. In a matter of minutes, his eyes had rolled revealing only the whites and I felt my heart explode. We ran out into the dark of night — me, my mom and my dad — and practically threw ourselves onto whatever oncoming vehicle was in our path. A barangay patrol took us to the hospital. And while in the vehicle, Cojie suddenly stopped crying. Imagine — a litttle baby crying for almost an hour suddenly stops —- I let out a stifled scream.

When we finally got to the hospital, had Cojie stabilized, I sat down beside my mom and just bawled my eyes out.

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Boohoo. Enough with the drama, though. The best part about being a mom is having a child as awesome as Cojie.

This year, in particular, was an amazing ride for both of us. You know, during the first few years —- and this is horrible for me to say —- but I thought of my baby more as a little pet I had to feed and groom and change diapers and all that. But the last few years, especially this year, I met Cojie, my son, as a person.

Cojie has a sense of ownership. He values his things. I have made him cry several times because of my lack of tact. Once, I made him a paper airplane. He played with it a couple of times. But then I had to start the grill — fine, may iihawin ako —- and I needed a piece of paper to start up the fire. And the paper airplane was just lying around. So I took it and set it on fire and plopped it on top of the coals. My son passed by and saw it. He cried like an actual airplane was burning. I thought it was sweet. (Epilogue: I made him another one. What kind of a sadist mother do you think I am?)

He is also a great gift-receiver. His eyes just sparkle when you give him something, especially when it’s something he likes. For his birthday, I took the simple errand of printing a wallpaper of the movie cars as a mini-poster he could put in our room. When he saw it, he almost crumpled it when he hugged it. The first thing we did when we got home was to put up the poster. And whenever we have visitors, he drags them to our room to show the poster.

I’ve also recently discovered that my son can be sipsip. For the end-of-year activity, my mother and I went with him to school to watch his class dance to "Xanadu" (Yes. Xanadu. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. Cojie’s hetero. I think.) He was stopping us from going with him to the classrooms where they were to prepare, because the guests should be in the auditorium and not the classrooms. Eh, we were bigger and older and damn it, I paid for his glittery, gold costume, so I didn’t listen.

And yes, my son — like his mother —- kicks ass on the dance floor. He moves to the beat. He knows the steps. (Unlike the other kids, he wasn’t looking at his teacher). And he has a charming little smile when he dances. Also — thank God — he dances like a good guy dancer does. Like a little Mark Herras without the speech defect.

I don’t know why, but I felt proud. I never expected him to know the multiplication table at age five or know all the names of the countries. But the fact that he can dance is a big deal to me.

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Let me answer some of the FAQs I’ve received over the years regarding my single momhood.

How’s your baby?

He’s five and is about four feet. I think we can no longer call him a baby.

Do you still talk to your ex? (Cojie’s dad)

Not in at least three years. Last Christmas, his (Cojie’s dad’s) mother messaged my mother to ask if we know about his son’s (Cojie’s dad’s) whereabouts, and we said no. So it speaks a lot about this man’s character knowing that he hasn’t spoken to his mother for God knows how long. So if you’re my friend, you clearly don’t want me to be associated with him any further.

Has Cojie’s dad offered any support?

Hard to offer support if you don’t know where supporter is. (There’s a green joke there somewhere)

Has Cojie asked questions about his dad?

It’s testament to how wonderful my own father is that Cojie has so far hasn’t asked about it. I guess he knows he has his lolo all to himself. Since we had Cojie, my relationship with my parents has evolved to more like business partners. It’s not a bad thing…. in fact, I think of it as a good thing. I think there’s more respect there somewhere. So they can throw all their maternal/paternal affection onto Cojie and I wouldn’t mind. (I want another kind of affection anyways haha).

If you could get back together with Cojie’s father, would you?

Not after I lost a lot of weight and spent good money on beauty products, no. It’s like saving up a million pesos and buying a million- peso owner-type-jeepney. I think I deserve nothing less than a BMFuckingW.

If you could have kids again, would you?

I’d like a husband first, that would be awesome. But if I could… not until Cojie reached a mature age, like 10 or 12 (I’ll be 36 or 38) probably.

What advice would you give to a newly single mom?

It’s not as hard as it looks, sounds, feels. Especially if you look at the perks of it. Freedom, for one. And not having to argue with someone when it comes to decisions regarding your child.

But a single mom in the dating world… ah, that’s a whole new blog altogether.