Love Makes The World Go 'Round

Mec tagged me with this blog award.

Behind the award, is a wonderful story of love and survival of a little boy given another chance to live through a heart donor.

Please help raise awareness for Organ Donorship in the Philippines and abroad.

I am tagging the following people and giving them this award for being great Moms, Dads and Human Beings: Pheng, Den, Jonas, John and Johnny.

Borrowed Pixie Angel

Sometimes I look at Oona and wonder if she's really mine.

I know she came from me, fruit of my womb...the scars I have are way too itchy to be ignored and proof that she inhabited me for 9 months (not to mention the poundage I still have to lose!). But sometimes, she's just really her own little person, if it's possible to see such self-possession in someone less than a year old.

Apart from having borne her and continuing to nourish her, I wonder if I really have any contribution at all to this little amazement.

Of course, the words of a certain poet ring true.

I suspect, many more times in the future will this prophet's words echo in my head, the last never more true than the first time, as my little girl marches steady into the fulfillment of her being with those twinkling little stars in her eyes and that mischievious sunshine of a smile.

On Children
Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

The Clinic Chronicles: Part 6

Keeping The Bean

“It’s going to be okay.” The doctor said as she patted my hand. “Just keep on drinking the medicine and taking it easy, alright?”

I just nodded and thanked her as Mr. F helped me out the door. I wanted to escape so badly but needed to keep as much dignity I could muster.

Can you imagine how it’s like to swing from ecstasy to utter despair in the space of a few minutes? I could be schizoid for all I know, but given the circumstances, I would have a legitimate excuse. I now felt like a baseball bat walloped the back of my head, my throat was too tight, and my heart was too big for my chest.

It amazed me how these doctors could take on that kind of responsibility. They literally have their patients’ lives in their hands. They could make or break a person with a few words.

How do they handle it, facing mortality every day?

I think Mr. F and I just went on home afterwards. It was exhausting: exhilaration and the dregs in one unbeatable combination. We just ate something to dull the headachy feeling and talked.

We knew we wanted to keep the Beanie Baby, as the sprout was now called. I’ve stopped smoking (cold turkey since the day before), stopped drinking (last drop of alcohol was the week before), and we agreed that I’d have to stop the helter-skelter pace of my work life.

Curled up on our comforter, we cover random stuff, basically musing about how we would be parents. I wondered which of us would be the disciplinarian and the devil’s advocate. Of course, Mr. F claims to be the spoiler.

“You would be the Supreme Court. I’ll be the Court of Appeals!”

I scoffed at Mr. F. Right. Like that’s going to happen.

Nevertheless, we still felt depressed about the news the doctor gave us.

Scraps Away!

My name is Laya and I am a Scrapaholic. (Hellooo, Laya!)

This happened beacuse we just had way too much footage of Oona being the triggerhappy proud parents of this little girl. We hardly knew what to do with the batches of pictures we accumulated.

Later on I was just surfing through some arts and crafts websites when I came across digital scrapbooking. Needless to say I started right away, combining templates gathered from all over the net, my own stuff and my Photoshopping skills.

Now I am proud to announce that my new Scrapping blog's up! Visit me at Scraps Away!

Yes. I am an addict. Back to my Scrapaholics Anonymous meeting.

Busy Bee Mommy!

8 July 2008

I.AM.UP.TO.MY.EYEBALLS.IN.BUSY.

Nope that wasn't a typo. The BUSY symbol has been permanently attached to my YM since time immemorial (a little over a month ago). And there's no chance of it ever coming down.

Poor excuse not to be writing in but there it is. I am near to being sick of the sight of a computer monitor. But must make time for this every once in awhile!

So...updates, updates! Rewind!

A month or so ago: I used to be Assistant Studio Director for a nice little art services studio. Then I am not. The particulars, which would be savory tidbits for industry gossip over coffee, cigarettes or whatever your favorite poison would be, will not be aired *here*. I haven't been sufficiently provoked...yet. So no evil laughter inserts at the moment.

So career-wise, I have reincarnated in the space of a month from being ASD to my old favorite: Troubleshooter (which is what an ASD is, only I get to work in my pajamas). I wield a mighty pen tablet over Photoshop these days than the almighty memo. I worry about color than the million managerial worries that used to plague me in my old life. I am doing color for comics and flexing long unused Photoshopping muscles to help jumpstart an old dream. And yes, busy up to my eyeballs, sick of my monitor, the seat of my pants acquiring the general shape of my office chair, and on top of that, I'm SO loving this.

It was hard working for someone else's dream, but it's harder working for yours.

With my former boss, we're putting up a little something. We figure we're too old and ornery to work for someone else again and it was the universe telling us to materialize our dreams now instead of putting it off. No time like the present and all that. So officially, we put up our OWN little art studio and I'm ASD still. Unofficially, I'm put wherever I'm needed. Troubleshooter. I'm not much into titles but I'll take that anytime.

Other than work, I play with Oona, go out on occasion on dates with the ever lovable wise-ass Mr. F and assorted family and friends, catch up on reading, binge on episodes of Bones and reconnect with the human race. I find that I really like the respite from two years of stupid office drama and politics.

But busy is still busy does, believe me. Nowadays since we're starting up from scratch, I only have two times: Work time and Other time. Work is work and Other is the category wherein everything else that doesn't involve the computer falls under. It's a strict rule. It's like leaving work at the office. Only I work at home, so a little mental adjustment will have to do.

Hopefully soon I'll have more time to invest in Other time when things get better with Work time. Oona's growing up so fast and I'm nowhere getting any younger. But...Konting tiis na lang. Just a little bit more patience.

Such is the price of dreams.

My First Tag!

28 April 2008, Thursday

Things are getting heavier with my posts lately so I thought something light should provide the proverbial breather until the next "heavy" post.

My on-line soul sistah Mec tagged me recently with the "Desktop Tag". Tags are FUN. Tags are the computer age's Getting to Know You/Show and Tell game. I lurve games! *heart*

So here's my desktop!

1. My desktop has a downloaded wallpaper called Digital Love. I used to have my hubby's face plastered on the screen but it was hazardous to my health as I kept getting caught staring at it like a lovesick teenager on weed. I'll never get any work done if I had my drooly little baby's picture either so I was safe with an abstract representation of the loves of my life.

My icons are on the left side (yep, your left) and my PostIt Lite notes are haphazardly posted all over the majority of the upper right.

Not really very neat, but I know where everything is.

2. Yes. At the moment, I have a bazillion windows open: surfing, email, IM. It's not half of what I usually have open. It's a slow day today and my eyes are a little tired so I don't have Photoshop open. I just finished typing up stuff so I just closed Microsoft Word down.


So there, my work desktop. Later I'll post my home desktop, Mec! :) I tag the few bloggy friends I have: Jonas, Caroline, Johnny, Yaz, Mommy Pheng, G&Chief and Kitts for when they're not saving the world from monsters and they're looking for something to do.

Pislabenrakenrol!

The Clinic Chronicles: Part 5

The Delicate Balance

I was giddy seeing the bean for the very first time.

I forgot about everything else: the thing stuck in my insides, my nerves, my fears. All I could think of was, “That’s our baby! We have a baby!” I was still in shock, but I was now happy shocked.

“Is everything alright with our baby?” We asked excitedly.

“Well, let’s have the doctor interpret these images for you, okay?” the nurse said.

Blissed out, we were content.

Back in the good doctor’s little office we went to wait while she signed for the ultrasound images.

“Well, congratulations! You’re going to be parents in roughly 8 months!” she grins.

”You’re four weeks along and the baby seems to be holding on.”

We beam at each other. We beam at her and back at each other again.

“However…”

However?

There’s a however!?

“We need to put you on this medicine. Do you see this dark area here…and here? There shouldn’t be any. It means the little place where your baby is living in is not fully attached to your womb.”

And that meant?

“We need to help the baby attach more firmly or we could lose it.”

Whoa.

I couldn’t breathe. I think I crushed Mr. F’s hand but he wasn’t saying anything. I didn’t want to look at him at all.

“It isn’t your fault or anything. This can be brought on by the holiday stress, your travelling, work…there’s a lot of factors involved so we really don’t know what caused this. It just means we have to take it easy and be careful from here on.”

She began writing a prescription but I was barely listening.

I thought it wasn’t going to mean much. I honestly thought I was afraid to have the little bean. Now that I’ve seen that it was growing in me, I felt more afraid of losing that little pulse beating in my belly.

“So don’t drink, don’t smoke, watch what you eat, sleep early and lay off the stress. We’ll keep you on this for two weeks then you come back to me and we’ll see. Okay?”

Mr. F answered for us both. “We’ll see you in two weeks, Doc.”

The Clinic Chronicles: Part 4

And Baby Makes Three

“Is that my baby?”

I swear, my nose gets stuffy so fast, I was breathing out my mouth.

“Yes ma’am. That’s the sac, the little circle is where your baby is getting the nutrients. See that thread-like thing? That’s a tiny umbilical cord and the little pulsing thing at the bottom is your baby.”

I wasn’t full on crying,

I was holding it in for dignity’s sake but I did get a headache from trying to tamp down the waterworks. The monitor was getting blurry so I think I pretty much leaked enough.

She said we’d get copies, like snapshots of the bean.

It was just simply incredible. Ginormous.

I know its so cliché but I never felt such a deep-down kind of joy. I’m sure the technician sees things like this everyday so I hope she hasn’t grown numb being witness to the miracle of life. It’s simply awesome to be part of The Moment.

Mr. F and me plus the little bean….our little sprout.

We were going to be a family.

The Clinic Chronicles: Part 3

Open Wide and Say Cheese!

“So, let’s validate those pink lines with an ultrasound” Dra. O said after the cursory questions (and thankfully no IE!).

“Let’s see if your guess is right on the money.”

So with that, off we went with another nurse to what would technically be our little sprout’s first picture.

Of course, I thought it was going to be something like on TV. They put you up on a bed, paint your tummy with some kind of gel and use a contraption on you that look like a roll-on deodorant.

While that DOES happen, it turns out that I’d have to be a couple months pregnant-er to be able to use that particular gizmo (transabdominal ultrasound).

So what I’d get? A Transvaginal Ultrasound. Yep, right up my yahoo.

If anyone hasn’t seen a Transvaginal Ultrasound thingie, all I can tell you is that you had better be nice to everyone in the clinic…especially the nurse in the Ultrasound room. The thing looks like the prototype for a Jedi light saber. It’s a little short so maybe it’s for a tiny Jedi Master (Yoda, maybe?).

Sooo...the thing is put in a disposable condom and lathered with KY jelly. I was told to relax and breathe deep and YAHOOOOO. Needless to say I wasn’t relaxed.

“Ma’m relax.” The technician said. “This is going to be more uncomfortable for you since I have to move it around.”

“You have to what!?”

“I have to get a picture of your ovaries and your fallopian tubes.”

I felt like a popsicle. Cold, exposed and stuck on a stick.

Then, it happens. No preambles, no drumrolls, no heraldic blast of trumpets to announce The Moment.

“Ma’m? Sir? There it is.”

Right on the monitor…our sprout.

The shape of a kidney bean. A little circle in it. A little pulse in the middle of the stillness. I wanted to touch the screen. I looked over at Mr. F and there he was, no longer smiling, but I could see this moment would be something we would both remember for as long as we lived.

No shit.

Remembering it, I still get teary-eyed.

The Clinic Chronicles: Part 2

The OB-Gyne Lottery

So I loosened my death grip on the lounge chair and went inside.

“Dra. O will be with you shortly” the nice nurse said with a warm smile as led us into a little office.

It was definitely quiet in the little office with fresh pastels all around. Since it was a little bit cozy, I felt myself begin to relax.

“See? It’s not that bad, right?” said Mr. F.

I managed a smile. Yeah, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Wow! Pastels really do calm you down! I could feel myself actually loosening up.

I couldn’t care less if we got an old prude. We can always change doctors and never come back here again. Maybe a motherly type would be nice. You know, to take us by the hand and guide us through our impending parenthood?

The knob turns and in walks…a young girl. Who let the interns in!?

“Good morning! I see you’re here because you suspect you’re pregnant?” she smiles and looks up from my patient profile on her clip board.

Good God! Not only was this OB young, she looked exactly like one of my aunts! I can almost see her running straight to my mom to tell her about the nitty-gritty of my inner plumbing as soon as we’re out the door.

Shock must have registered on my face because Mr. F elbowed me into closing my mouth.

“I’m sorry. You look so young and you look like my aunt! I’m seriously weirded out” I say.

*Elbows*

“Sorry!”

The young doctor laughs with my aunt’s laugh (déjà vu) and say she’s pretty sure we’re not related.

Turns out she’s had a few years worth of live babies under her belt, a couple of hospitals residencies, and a big boy of her own.

Besides, she said, virtually her entire family was in medicine. Her father is also an OB, having delivered her kid (his grandson) via cesarean, her oldest brother is in general surgery; her other brother is in neonatal care and pediatrics, and their youngest brother ended up in pharmaceuticals (you know…just for a change of pace).

“So what does your husband practice?” we asked in awe.

“Ooh! I met him on a blind date!” She laughed.

“He’s in construction. So different, no?”

Mr. F and I couldn’t agree more.

The Clinic Chronicles: Part 1

Modesty Aside

The day after finding out I was pregnant found a blissed out Mr. F with me in tow at the local family clinic to have myself checked out.

It was pretty much standard: vital stats, BP, weight check (so that’s where all the donuts went!), and the numerous forms to be filled while waiting for the OB to see us next. I know the nurses have been probably been through this hundreds of times being in the biz and all but I still felt ridiculously shy. Even if I had been reading up a bit on what to expect on my first Pre-natal visit, it was hella different being actually here.

“Babe, just the fact that we’re here announces to the general public that we’re most likely having sex” said Mr. F ever so succinctly.

I guess that’s why they put you through the nurses first, so by the time you get to the doctor, your modesty’s been shell-shocked to oblivion.

I’ve never been truly modest but surprisingly, I still managed to blush when asked about my LMP (Last Menstrual Period) to determine when I possibly conceived. I honestly couldn’t say when we “planted the seed” so we just hazarded an educated guess.

What was really worrying me however was that I’ve never revealed so much about my personal hygiene to just anyone!

I couldn’t even imagine talking about my sex life with own mother much less reveal details to someone I just met. I also had issues about possibly being “felt up” by a perfect stranger. I wasn't kinky that way and from what I heard about IEs (Internal Exam), I just knew I wasn’t going to like it.

We’ve never met the OB on duty at the clinic either so for all I knew we could be getting a prudish old geezer we might shock to death if we ever even mention the word “sex”.

I was working myself up into a real basket of nerves.

By the time they called us in, I had decided to just wait outside and let Mr. F find out what was what. He would’ve done it too if not for one tiny little detail.

I was the one who had the ovaries and the womb.

In The Pink

At 17, I had my life all planned out.

Work hard, party harder, and retire to a little cottage on the beach.

I’ll be everyone's favorite grand-aunt; the eccentric old lady who cooks with her own herbs, the one with all the stories, and drinking wine like it was water. I’ll have a merry, rollicking love life and be the living muse of rock stars, painters and poets.

All shall love me and despair!

Ten years later, I’m dry-heaving into a toilet bowl. Not quite the picture I saw in my head. The toilet bowl was a familiar sight on Saturday mornings after a Friday night’s drunken debauchery. Things were different this time though as beside me was the number-cruncher I married two years ago and I was dry heaving for an entirely different reason aside from too much alcohol.

At least I suspected as much.

Mr. F, my beloved number-cruncher, excitedly whips out a candy pink box and presents it to me. If only it did contain candy.

"It’s a pregnancy kit!” F said as he was opening the box.

“Why wait for a clinic check up when we can find out now?"

How he managed to get a hold of a home pregnancy kit at six in the morning is beyond me.

"Aren’t you excited!? ComeoncomeoncomeOON!”

A pee drop later found Mr. F and I staring in fascination at the two tiny windows that were about to change our lives forever.

“Pink line! PINK LINE, BABE!”

“That’s a fiber, hon” a bit unsurely.

Another minute passes.

“That’s definitely a pink line babe.”

“Yeah but there should be a line in both windows.”

“There’s another forming now.”

“The pee hasn’t gone that far yet!”

As I watched the moisture creep up the pregnancy strip I was suddenly struck with how surreal all this was. Shouldn’t I be excited? What if I am pregnant? Do I want to be pregnant? Why wouldn’t I want to be? What was one supposed to feel in these kinds of situation?

A litany of thoughts started crowding my already throbbing head and, in spite of myself, the suspense was killing me. I plop on the living room couch while Mr. F stays in the bathroom waiting for the result.

Three minutes passes. Total silence.

“So are we or are we not, hon?”

He comes out of the bathroom, holding the thing. He looks at me without saying a word. His face just about breaks my heart. I knew right then he was going to start tearing up, my big softie. I run up to give him a big hug.

“It’s okay, honey, we can try again. My period might just be around the corner. We’ve had a stressful holiday season that’s why my cycle’s all messed up.”

*sniff*…mumble.

“Please don’t be sad, hon!”

More mumbles. I squeeze him tighter, letting him know how much I love him and thinking he’s going to be a great dad someday.

“You’re cutting off my air, babe…and we’re pregnant.”

ABOUT LAYA

Life on the fast lane comes to a screeching halt as 28-year old workaholic Laya develop a heightened sense of smell...and nausea.

Two pink stripes on the preggy test on the bathroom sink some time after a late night tango with the hubby and suddenly, it's life on the mommy lane with its inexplicable stops and starts with a bouncing baby girl in tow.

Now, Laya juggles hormonal spikes, manages a growing art studio, marriage mayhem, and coming to grips with the reality that she is no longer a luscious single chick running with the wolves.

She keeps her sanity by websurfing.

Determined to achieve the pinnacle of mommylusciousness, Laya seeks to unravel the mysteries of motherhood...one diaper at a time.