Three-fourths there. Seven turned nine months-old today. Bigger, stronger, faster, hungrier, smarter, cuter. All the more reasons to be thankful. We are grateful for every day, every smile, every laughter, every experience we get with our boy. Just awesome.
Since February is love month, here's a picture of our little cupid, with an open love letter from pop.
Our dearest Seven,
Years will have passed by the time you actually read and understand this. As you can see, this is your pop's blog for your ninth month of existence. Since February is the month of Valentine's, here's a love letter for you and your mom.
By now you should somehow realize that we love you. A simple look-back on this Diaper Diary and you'll know how happy and proud we are in being your parents. We've never enjoyed life as much as when we had you. You're worth every sacrifice - and in saying that I don't mean to upbraid you or make you feel a sense of utang na loob. I'm saying that with no other intention but tell you how we feel that everything we've done for you has been a pleasure. In the words of Jerry Maguire (look it up, son, it's a 1996 movie starring Tom Cruise), "YOU...COMPLETE....ME."
You complete us.
By the time you see this, the nine months I'm celebrating with this blog could very well have multiplied by, say, thrice? Five times? Ten times? I wouldn't know, as of this writing, how early you start reading and speaking and how soon you develop your comprehension skills. I have a gut feeling you'll be a smart boy (God-willing) but just the same, we will love you if you're average. Or even below-average. We never can tell. What I can tell is you're our son no matter how imperfect you are. We do hope and pray that you turn out to be healthy and good-hearted. God-fearing. Let's thank the Lord that He has already made you good-looking.
By the time you read this, I don't know how close you'll be to me, your pop, or to Anie, your mom. I don't know if you will be just as showy as how we are to you. But buddy, I sincerely hope that you show much love to your mom. Okay, in a bit stronger tone, I firmly ask that you love your mother. Not because of the simple fact that she's your mom, but of the fact that she deserves your love. As she does mine.
We are lucky. Your mom (and my wife) is very lovable. Okay, launch iTunes and look up "Loving You" by Minnie Riperton this time. It starts with "loving you is easy 'cause you're beautiful" and you get the feeling the song's about your mom. By the time you hit that ridiculous high note, maybe you'll be convinced that it was indeed written for your mom. It isn't, but you get the point. I ask that you love your mom because that will make me ultra happy. As I said, she deserves it. You don't know what she went through in her pregnancy of you. How she gained a lot of weight, how it was hard to move around. And how hard it was NOT to move at all when doctors ordered a strict bed rest on her second trimester. She ate healthy, resisted the temptations of bad food for you (and mind you, researching about effects of certain food on babies). She read a lot of books to prepare herself for pregnancy - and she doesn't like reading books. She accepted the fact that she'll undergo a drastic physical change that she knew would take some time to recover from (as you know, your mom used to be a model, not just any model who pose for fun shoots, but a professional commercial model).
Your loving mom was so afraid of giving birth because obviously it hurts a lot. And believe me, if I was in her situation, I don't know how I would handle it. Needles and injections freak me out. She's braver than me. Your mom would cry when she thought you weren't moving inside her tummy, or when she overthinks how you're developing in there. When it was finally time to get you out, you don't know how much pain she had to endure - during and after the delivery. She literally couldn't sit by herself after giving birth. Imagine how weak she was.
And imagine how she coped in raising you. Feeding you, making you fall asleep, cleaning and bathing you, grooming you, getting your needs, et cetera, again and again and again and again. Every single day since. Your mom was too happy to give up her modeling career just to have you. She was content in staying home - though sometimes she admits she gets bored - just to look after you. She's devoted to you a hundred percent. Her days revolved around you. Her happiness relied on how you were doing. She loved it that you looked like me, because she loves us both. And just my opinion, but I do feel she's doing a very good job of making you a better version of myself.
Let me tell you a story. When I was about 12 years old, I wanted to have a Converse brand Kevin Johnson shoe (I forgot the exact model name). Johnson was a star point guard playing in the NBA that time, and Converse came out with his latest signature design. Until then, I never had a Converse or Nike or Adidas or Reebok pair of shoes. My parents would give me World Balance or LA Gear, but never one of the Big Four. Being a narrow-minded kid, I wanted the KJ shoes because I really thought it looked good and cool. I insistently asked my mom to buy me a pair. She said she'll take a look at the mall after work. No assurances that she'll get it, but that was enough to make me expect. When she came home one night and said the shoes were too expensive (about Php 2,200 pesos that time) and it was not practical to buy me one because my feet would still get bigger, I was grossly disappointed. I felt hurt. You know, the feeling you get when you start to expect, then you don't get it. I think I threw a tantrum that night and refused to go to the dinner table with my mom, even after my father demanded so. After dinner, my father talked to me, man-to-man (or man-to-boy) and quoted the Bible about honoring your parents. It's actually one of the Ten Commandments, and he also cited something from the book of Ephesians (obey your parents, for it is right) and Hebrews (submit yourself to those who have rule over you, because they watch for your souls). After that talk, I felt ashamed of myself and how I reacted to a petty thing. I held a grunge against my mother because she didn't buy me a pair of shoes. How immature and selfish could I be? Up to this day, I've never forgotten that episode. I still cringe when I remember how stupid I was. Me and my mom would still have our arguments from time to time, but I've always remembered what my father told me.
I'm telling this to you, so that hopefully you don't do what I did. I'm pretty sure you're going to hurt and disappoint us at some point, but we will always do our best to guide you. Tell you what, my mom was right about the Converse shoes. It was impractical at that point. I've learned since then that good things come to those who wait. My parents (your grandfolks) eventually gave me what I needed - even way more. Believe me, I had it good. They just waited for what they thought was the right time.
And the Lord gave us you. We had to wait, but it was what He thought was the right time. We will do our best to provide your needs - and wants - but keep in mind, everything at its right time. For the meantime, I'll just ask that you love your mother, and I promise you I will do everything in my power (prayers included) to give you what you deserve. Because I love you but also love your mother.
End of request.
End of blog.
Father to Seven. Prefers to be called "Pop" because Daddy is too sosyal, Papa can mean boyfriend / boy-toy or a ketchup, Tatay is too un-sosyal, and Popsie is just three letters too much. I don't like the cola because it's too sweet, but I esteem coach Gregg Popovich because he gets the job done. So Pop it is.