Fallout Girl

I am in love with a sucker. And with sucker, I mean this little tiny baby who feeds off me whom I adore and will do anything for. I have been breastfeeding since November of last year. And really, all those ads in magazines with a mom sitting in a rocking chair serenely feeding her baby wearing a dainty nightgown was NOT me. Breastfeeding was painful, traumatic and sooooo time-consuming. It induced a weird sense of claustrophobia in me. I felt a tremendous amount of pressure to provide nourishment for the adorable little parasite I pushed out of my unmentionable.

And for the past few weeks it has brought me another misery to me. My hair started to fall. First, I didn’t mind, because calling my hair thick was an understatement (thank God for whoever invented rebonding). When I take showers, I would find small clumps on the bathroom floor but I just shrugged it of, thinking “There’s more where that came from”. But recently, after I grabbed all my hair to put in a ponytail, I was caught off guard. I lost about 30% of it! Yikes!  

So I consulted the great modern oracle, aka Google, and I was comforted to know that the hair fall usually stops when the baby reaches about 6 months of age. And it rarely gets to the point where bald spots can be seen.  Major sigh of relief. 

I can't rock the baldy look like you did, Sinead.

 Don’t get me wrong, I love being able to “make” sustenance for my baby. She was born premature. She was only 3 lbs. when she came out so her doctor and the NICU nurses strongly emphasized that breastmilk really is best for baby. Breastmilk is king. And giving birth too early, I wasn’t lactating yet. THANK GOD for the kind souls who so generously donated their breast milk to me. Those donations tided me over until I was producing milk on my own. I saw my tiny, skinny baby literally grow before my eyes. She was like an inflatable doll that kept getting pumped with a little air at a time and now she’s a whopping 12 pounder with leg and arm rolls to speak of. Think Stay Puft Marshmallow Man:) Her pedia assured us that she’s nowhere near being overweight, it’s just the proud momma talking. So,thick head of hair or not, I will soldier on. That’s what wigs are for, right?

P.S. Breastfeeding doesn't hurt anymore ;)

The Yaya Sisterhood

The first time you see each other, tentative smiles, hesitant looks and bashful hellos are exchanged. And then as you get to know each other better, as you spend more time together, little by little you relax and slowly let your guard down. Before you know it, the ice has melted and co-dependence is achieved,. And THEN it happens, she tells you she can no longer be with you, she can’t stay with you anymore, she’s leaving you…

Nope, I’m not talking about a romance. I’m talking about yayas! Yes, yayas.  In a time of severe economic frailty, it never ceases to amaze me why it’s such an effin challenge to find a yaya. My baby’s very first yaya came highly recommended with the usual “contact from the province”.  Apparently this person was a happy character, she works well in the home setting and she plans to be in it for the long haul. Sounds like a catch to me, so I caught. As with any employer, one wishes for the long term.

Maritess (nope, not the Superfriends’ yaya, hihi) was shy, said very little and just kept to herself. She would just do what she was told and that was that.  Which was fine with the hubbers and I. No one can blame her. She is, after all, literally not “at home”. But as the days go by, I began to get used to her quiet nature. She cooked well, she was able to carry out instructions about 85% accurately (which wasn’t bad, right?) and we began to develop a routine.

Being a first time mom, the usual nerves and paranoia are experienced. My husband and I agreed that someone should always be awake for the baby in case something happens. She was born prematurely and had a history of breath-holding so we have an extra helping of fear because of that.

Since I was still on maternity leave, I took over the overnight shift.  At 3 or 4 a.m. I would wake Maritess up and she would take my baby as I would gratefully get into bed and get my rest. When I wake up, she would already have my food ready at the table.  All of baby’s stuff that I used during the night and needed sterilizing were already ready to be used again. Life was good.

I can't wait for my kid to do this! Kidding (maybe).

And then she breaks the bad news. She wants to go back to her family in Cagayan. Insert a visual of me covering my ears and singing doe-a -deer to block out her “Ate, magpapaalam na ako sa inyo” speech here. And so the scramble begins. We suddenly found ourselves on the yaya hunt again.

We’ve had referrals for employment agencies but what turned us off is the fact that the agencies have no liability in case anything heinous is done by their recommendee (not a real word, I know). So I resorted to 6 degrees of separation. Other friends’ and neighbors’ helpers were requested to refer anyone who’s interested.

Finally, my mom’s masseuse came up with a lead, her neighbor’s niece is interested! And her cousin too! After weighing our options, we realized they were the best bet. The only thing is they’re only 18 and 19 and never been to Manila. But beggars can’t be choosers. After only 1 day of being yaya-less, we’re desperate. Plus I’m starting work in 2 weeks and it’s a new job. We’ve really grown accustomed to the much appreciated help Tess has given. And so tomorrow we are sending the 2 girls some money for bus fare. When they get here on Sunday or Monday, we’ll talk to them both and decide who’ll work for us. The 1^strunner up goes to my friend who has 2 kids, pregnant and has no yaya as of the moment as well.  Imagine our desperation.