Having a child is truly a full-time job… more so when you make the commitment to breastfeed the exclusively, meaning absolutely no formula. Sure you may be away from your baby once in a while but you better leave an ample supply of pumped milk. Should you decide to bring him along, find out where breastfeeding stations are located… bless SM for putting one in MOA albeit facing the ATM queue but Rustans Glorietta even more for bothering to make theirs look like an actual nursery with lovely wallpaper, comfy couches and basic toiletries. In the absence on such facilities, be ready to get creative… find a place with the least traffic and go about your business discreetly with as much nonchalance as you can muster. Wear button-down tops but for the more modest ones, bring one of ‘em shawl-like covers.
So far, Nacho has been well-behaved when we go out choosing to sleep most of the time and poop galore within the comforts of space and equipment of his pedia’s clinic. Feeding was mostly in the car or a mad dash to an unpopular restaurant where you should have the decency to at least order something.
The bigger challenge is being home alone without a nanny… I have mastered the art of not chewing my hurried meals, taking 3-minute baths and catching up on sleep all according to his biological time clock. It’s a cycle of eating, pooping and sleeping, but sometimes he would cry for no reason despite you exhausting all remedies (including a song and dance number). And just when you decide to put him in a basket to be left on somebody’s doorstep, he’d flash either the kawawa-look or his winning smile and you’re suckered right back to pouring your unconditional love and berating yourself for even having bad thoughts – absolute putty in his tiny little hands.
At the end of the day when your husband is home to temporarily relieve you of yaya-duties and your child is happy and content, you give yourself a pat on the back… then take all you can; food, bath and sleep... tomorrow is another day.
