Dear Corwin,
It’s 1am and I’m writing this from Batanes. Your dad and I are here for an engagement shoot and wedding. This has been one of the most wonderful experiences we’ve ever had, but it is our third day away from you and we miss you terribly. We will be home before lunch though, and are both so excited to see you.
You’ve been quiet during our many phone calls, but Ninay and Grandpa are saying you call out for me often during the day, and that hurts a little bit. I’m sorry, love. I never want to be away for too long, so I try to limit our out-of-town jobs that keep us away for two nights or more. I only say yes to the ones that I feel would enrich us in ways that would benefit not only our work but us as people. Still, I always want to be with you.
This is one of the loveliest places your father and I have ever been to. It’s breathtaking and magical. Your father and I went hiking at Marlboro Hills, and we were the only two souls around. It was an incredible experience. It was just the two of us, an unbelievable expanse of the lushest greens, and the most stunning view at the edge of the hill, just before it drops off. The wind was blowing so strong, I could feel it wrapping itself around me. We held hands and stood there for some time, taking it all in. The moment was heartbreakingly beautiful, and I loved your father even more then. I can’t imagine ever feeling this way about anybody else.
We went to Boulder Beach and for a few minutes, he and I had the entire place to ourselves, too. All I could hear was the crashing of the waves, and the pounding of my heart in my ears. This place gets me on a visceral level.
There’s a tiny little ache in me that wants to stay here longer. It’s just so beautiful and peaceful and the land is rich with stories. I could see myself spending my days just sitting on that hill and writing. I could see myself taking pictures here every day. But this is not my home. Home is where you are, and where you’ll be is the best place your father and I can care for you. Whenever I’m away and you miss me, hug my pillow and remember I’m coming home soon. My heart is always rushing back to you.
I’m looking forward to the day when you’re old enough to appreciate this place. I will probably want to tie your torso with a rope so you don’t fall off and roll down the hill. Don’t laugh, I’m half-serious. My world would shatter if anything bad happened to you. Always take care. Do brilliant things and explore the world, but always come home to me better, wiser, and in one piece.
Then tell me stories. I can’t wait to hear them.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Corwin,
You turned 17 months a few days ago. You’re currently enrolled in a few sessions of toddler summer school with your friend, Hero. I feel an attachment to her because you were born just a week apart. You’re growing up at the same time. Also, because she’s insanely cute. The two of you together is sometimes too much cuteness for me to process. You are the two youngest in the class, and one time you both led everyone in an impromptu dance to Two Little Blackbirds. I nearly died laughing.
It’s a bit of a challenge making you sit still in class. You do fine during the singing and movement activities, but as soon as that’s done, it’s near impossible. You want to walk around, tinker with the toy sink, and explore with your favorite thing, the orange cooking pan.
Every single day we go, you walk up to the most well-behaved kid in the circle, crouch in front of her, and say, “Up! UP!” with a nod or two of encouragement. It’s hilarious. You’re really, really not supposed to encourage them to walk around like you, but it’s sweet that you want to see her more engaged. And today, you befriended the little boy who cries everyday, and you hugged each other tight. I think this was the first class we’ve had together wherein he didn’t cry.
We’re still teaching you boundaries and more rules, but for now, I am more than content in the fact that your father and I are raising a friendly, kind, and empathic child. Sometimes I think you’re much too friendly for parents like us. You wave at all the children and pretty girls and women you meet. But I am happy that you’re secure and confident. And I love your compassion. I love your heart. Never lose that.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Corwin,
We got you a little tricycle. We called it your first bike, but it has three wheels, so nope, not really. It’s insanely cute though how you sit up straight and look around when I’m pushing you around in it, like you’re proud to be one of the big kids now. I know you’ve been wanting your own ride for a couple of months already, and I heard you were borrowing a neighboring kid’s tricycle when she wasn’t using it. Your father and your aunt showed me pictures that they took on separate occasions, of you looking at them and pointing at the borrowed tricycle you were riding in with a face sweetly, earnestly trying to communicate, ‘Look! I want one of these please.’
You say “Please” now, only you say it as “peas”. You also speak in much, much longer paragraphs, with matching intonation and facial expressions. We are convinced you think you’re already having conversations with us, and while you do speak so many words now, you’re not really making much sense yet. Cue endless toddler frustration. I have to try really hard not to laugh. It’s so funny when you furrow your brow in disapproval. You look so much like me.
You’re a cheeky baby, and you make me laugh. You light me up so much, I can feel it spread through me even just from hearing your voice calling me from the next room. I just want to kiss and smell you all the time, and watch you do silly things like hide behind your little chair. You still think that if you can’t see me, I can’t see you. You shriek and giggle with glee when I “find” you.
I love afternoons with you. You grab my phone, say “Dance” and wait for me to play some music. Then you dance your insanely funny dance moves, and I dance along with you, and for the next few minutes, all I hear and feel is our laughter, and an immense, overwhelming love for you, your father, and this little life that we have made for ourselves. It surrounds me, and I am filled with deep and boundless gratitude.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Corwin,
You turn 16 months tomorrow. 1 year and 4 months old. There are so many new things you do each day, I don’t know where to begin. I’ve lost count of how many words you speak already. I think we’re past 3 dozen now. You can grip a ball with one hand and hold it over your head. You can throw a ball overhand and overhead, and kick it around like a football champ. One of your favorite things to do is run around in bookstores. You say “Books!” excitedly then proceed to grab books from shelves, run to the opposite end of the room and place them there. You seem to do this in some order that makes sense to you. You could do this for hours if we let you.
Your father and I had to be away for work for three days last weekend. This was our first time to be away from you for this long, and I was beside myself with worry. I was agitated during the trip out, and I missed you terribly. I called home as soon as we were checked into our room and I found myself crying while I was waiting for the call to connect. I hate being away from you. You, on the other hand, my dear sweet independent boy, seemed to manage just fine without us. We spoke on FaceTime three times, and in none of those conversations and our other phone calls did you seem like you were in great distress that we were away. That made me relax a bit and enjoy my time away with your father. We didn’t have time to swim, but we got to take beautiful pictures together and had lovely dinners by the beach, and I remembered exactly how much I love traveling with him. He makes everything better.
We printed out pictures of the three of us so they could give you one every few hours while we were away. You would grab it, say “Mama” in a high-pitched voice, and “Daddy” in your normal voice, and dance or walk while waving it around. You funny little thing. You make everything better, too.
I woke up at 1am to find you and your father at the dining table sharing a cup of banana yogurt and a Yan-Yan stick. Oh, my heart. You both looked at me sleepily, and as if to explain yourselves, you signed “Eat” to me. I sat next to you and you smiled at me. Moments like this are what I live for — the seemingly inconsequential, little everyday things. These are the things that matter to me. These are the things I remember.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Corwin,
I haven’t written you anything in almost a month. It’s been a busy past few weeks and I just wanted to spend as much time as I could with you instead of writing you. You’re asleep now and I’m taking a break from work at 11pm.
You’ve been wanting to run even before you could walk, but these past four weeks, you’ve been doing it amazingly well. Or it might be that I’m less anxious about you running. Probably that. It takes me some time to get there. You jump in place and clear a few good inches off the floor. Whenever you see a baby, you walk up to him, point at him, snap your finger, and say, “BABY.” It’s swagger from a little person, and it cracks me up every time.
I looked up developmental milestones just to see if we’re on track, and you’re doing great! It says to expect you to dance to music. You’ve been doing that before you turned a year old. It also says you will use three words regularly at your age. You use about two dozen words regularly, but I am still called “Mamama” and you call your father “Diddy”. I laugh every time you call him Diddy. You probably won’t understand why that’s funny. Ask us about P.Diddy when you’re older. Then try to imagine your father rapping.
Right now, you say: moon, hi, bye, up, down, tree, baby, boy, blue, shoes, wow, socks, cheeks, toes, knees, bike, Ninay, duck, bubble, ball, box, rice, done. There’s more, I’m sure, but those are all I remember at the moment. You sign for the rest of the essentials.
We took you to UP Diliman to let you run around. I never realized how much garbage was around my old school until you tried to pick them all up from the ground. I took lots and lots of pictures of you running around like a maniac. I have one of you barreling towards me with the biggest smile on your face, and I will always, always remember that feeling. I also love it whenever your little hand reaches up to hold mine while we’re walking side by side. My heart swells with pride and I want to tell random people, “Look, I’m his mommy.”
You’re getting increasingly attached to me. It’s very sweet. You pounce on me mornings to wake me up. You’re around 10.5 kilos of fun now, and… ow. You hug and kiss me, yelling “Mamama”. I will never tire of that. Never forget how much I love you, even when you have a family of your own. I expect weekly visits, and lots and lots of hugs. When I’m old and grey, you hug your mommy as often as you can, because that’s when I’ll need your hugs the most.
I wrote your father a letter for a change. I am so in love with him right now. Don’t cringe.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Corwin,
We’ve put off your first haircut for as long as we could because I wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of having a pair of scissors an inch away from your scalp. I was also just a little bit worried you’d throw a fit (you don’t really throw hissy fits, but we saw a boy do it while having his haircut recently and it kind of stuck with me), but your hair was getting to be a bit of a mess, and it was time, so I sucked it up and we did it yesterday. You were 14 months and 12 days old then.
Your dad convinced me shaving your head would be safer and faster, so we went with that. You didn’t cry one bit. We let them play Dora on the tv to distract you, but you weren’t that interested. You played with a little piano and that kept you occupied. Halfway through, you stood up and extended your arms to reach for me, so I held you in my arms and we finished it together. I saw you flinch a couple of times, but I didn’t hear a single peep of complaint out of you. You were cautious, but not scared. You always manage to surprise me, my brave little boy.
And that’s just what you are now, a boy. When your dad and I ask you, “Corwin, where’s your hair?”, you touch your scalp then sign “no more”, grinning that mischievous boyish grin of yours. We’ve done this quite a bit today and it’s still funny. There has been a bit of crying on daddy’s shoulder though, while you’re not looking. I was still adjusting to the idea of you not being a baby anymore. I didn’t realize I still wasn’t all that ready to actually see it. Don’t grow up faster than you have to, my love. Always at a steady, even pace, and never ever hurried. And maybe occasionally look over your shoulder and wait for mommy’s heart to catch up.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Corwin,
You ran a fever for 48 hours and we had to rush you to the emergency room in the middle of the night, when it started to seem like your fever just wouldn’t go down. You cried for four hours at the ER. That caused me so much stress, I thought I was going to have a stroke. I’m not used to you crying for anywhere near that long. Your fever topped at 40.5 degrees Celsius. You finally fell asleep in exhaustion, tucked into a fetal position on my lap, with your arms wrapped around me and your head on my chest.
You were admitted and we got a semi-private room because all the private rooms on the pedia floor were taken. So we had you crying, and a 10-month-old girl with dengue on the other side of the room crying when you weren’t, all hours of the day and night. Sigh. When they took her blood for some tests in the middle of the night, she screamed bloody murder. You were asleep, but you cried with her. Sweet baby. I had to wake you up because you were inconsolable.
They had to hook you up to an IV. Your father made me stay outside the room because he knew I would bawl along with you. You put up quite a fight, so he had to wrestle you and hold you down while the doctor attempted to insert the needle inside your hands. She failed three times on your small hands, because you were so dehydrated that your veins kept bursting. I could hear you screaming and crying across the hallway in a different room, and I cried with you. You went out with bandages on both your hands. Your dad looked at me and tears welled up in his eyes. He said you looked up at him as if to ask why he was letting them hurt you. It’s safe to say this has been very, very traumatic for the both of us, maybe significantly more than it has been for you. When we praised you for being so brave, you clapped your bandaged hands. That’s my boy.
You and your dad had to do that again, this time on your arm. It took longer and you screamed and cried louder, and I stood outside the door of the examination room weeping. I wanted to go in but I might’ve done something crazy like inject the resident doctor with needles four times, too. Okay, that’s a joke. Sort of. Your father and I pride ourselves in being strong people, and brave almost to the point of being foolhardy. But seeing you that way was nothing we were prepared for. You’re still so little, and it hurt us so much to see you so ill.
We had to wrap your arm in a diaper so you wouldn’t tug at the wire or needle. We called it your robotic diaper arm. And we tried to make our hospital stay an “adventure” as best as we could. You charmed a nurse and she lent you toys from the locked play room. You spent some time pushing a toy car around the hallway, because apparently, pushing it is way more fun than riding it.
We were able to take you home this afternoon. You haven’t had a fever in 24 hours and we’re thankful. You’ve erupted in rashes though. You have roseola, and are finally on the mend. We’ve missed watching you play on your mat. We’ve missed watching you walk around, talking to yourself. Our hospital stay wasn’t completely unbearable. We actually had a bit of fun with it despite the circumstances, but we are so very glad to be home.
I just stared at you as you slept. It sounds a bit creepy when you’re not a mother, I guess, but I do that sometimes. You’re sleeping so peacefully tonight that just watching you this way is making all the stress from these past few days melt away. I think one of my most basic needs is the need to create. I need to write things, take pictures of things, just make things with my hands. Funnily enough, I have never felt the need to create a baby, and yet here you are. You are the purest, most beautiful thing I have ever made. And if you are the last thing I could make this perfectly, I could live with that.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Corwin,
You’re 14 months old today. You’re so tall and animated that people always assume you’re older. But you’re a brand new toddler, and you definitely remind us whenever we forget. You cry a little bit more these days. Thankfully, your crying spells don’t last longer than half a minute, although it feels much, much longer in my head. Sometimes you go limp in my arms like a wet noodle when you cry. It’s equal parts funny and frustrating, but it’s okay, I know you’re going through some growing pains right now. We will ride this out.
I sense your immense frustration over growing all your teeth all at once, and not being allowed to do things like going underneath tables to tug at electrical wires. You try every day and check if my mind has changed. You started walking on your 11th month, and have been tugging your hand away from mine to walk on your own ever since. You are a stubborn, independent little thing and you are definitely my son. You will follow our rules though whether you like it or not. These rules are not for our convenience, but to keep you safe and well.
We’ve made a point of not letting you watch TV since you were born. You will become a parent eventually so let me tell you, it’s hard work. I’ve been tempted to just let you space out in front of a TV at times when you were difficult and I needed some calm and peace, but I didn’t. Some people think I’m a mean mom for denying you this for so long, not to mention cake and ice cream. They delight over how bright and communicative you are, but don’t consider that this might be because of how your father and I have chosen to raise you. I’m a picky eater and it’s terrible. I consider it a personal achievement that you aren’t.
Sometimes you’re not going to like me. I deny you things. It’s going to make me sad, but I will accept it. And you not liking me won’t make me budge.
But sometimes when the time is right, things will change. We’re letting you watch Dora the Explorer for just a few minutes every day now. You try to interact with the show as best as you can. It’s funny and sweet. Your eyes light up and you definitely don’t space out. You clap your hands when the characters do, and love it when they sing and dance. Sometimes, you decide you want to stop watching before your tv time is up and stand up and walk towards your toys or books, and that makes me happy.
You will never feel more self-doubt as you will when you become a parent, when you become completely responsible for someone else’s life. It’s nerve-wracking. People will judge you for your parenting choices. There are times YOU will judge yourself for your parenting choices. But you can study and do your research so you can make choices that are just right for your family. There’s no one right way of doing things, and what works for us might not work for other people. We just have to educate ourselves as best as we can, and make judgments based on each other’s cues.
Yesterday, you and I were waiting for your dad and we happened to walk past a barber shop for babies. We saw a boy your age getting his hair cut, crying hysterically, and scrambling to get away. We stopped by the window and waved at him. He slowly stopped crying and eventually smiled back. You played peek-a-boo with each other through the glass and you took out your pacifier and extended your arm to offer it to him. And my heart, my poor heart, felt like exploding all over again. I’m so proud of you, little one. I am pretty sure your empathy is something far beyond what I should be expecting of your age, and everything inside me lights up at the possibility that maybe I’m not such a bad mother after all. Haha. The little boy’s mother smiled at us gratefully, and I wanted to hug her and say it’s okay, shit happens.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Corwin,
We started reading to you when you were just weeks old, I think. We’ve been reading to you almost every day since then. You started turning the pages on your own quite early, maybe on your 7th month. Now, we’d say a title of a book or mention a book character, and you’d go to your pile of books to hunt for it and bring it to us.
Olivia was one of your first books. Recently, grandma gave you a stuffed Olivia and the look of recognition on your face was just precious. You kissed her snout. But then I hugged her. You grabbed her, threw her down, kicked her around, and sat on her. We’ll need to work on that. :p
You’re so animated when you read. You absolutely love Rocket Town. You get more and more excited the further we go into the book, and when it’s finally countdown to takeoff, you look like you’re about ready to jump out of your skin. It makes me want to pick you up and squish you ’till you pop.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Corwin,
We celebrated your dad’s birthday yesterday. It was so perfect that it almost felt like it was my birthday, too. I love him more than I know how to put into words, and it melts my heart, how much you adore him, too. When he enters the room, you run to him and hug his knees. You do that more often with him than you do with me. I’d be jealous, but I’m just so proud that my husband is such an amazing father that our one year old son runs to hug him that I can’t really mind.
He hurt himself during his 31-kilometer “birthday run”, his longest run to date, so I had to patch him up when he got home. (Nothing serious, don’t worry.) You tried to remove the bandages, so we explained that daddy’s hurt and no, you can’t do that. We each signed “hurt” by putting our index fingers together, and said “Ow” with a sad face. You walked away and carried on playing. Later, you walked up to your dad and sat beside his knee, put your index fingers together and said “Ow” with a sad face, too. Then you kissed him on the cheek. Oh, my heart.
We’ve been teaching you how to sign, and it’s amazing how you’re just picking it up. You sign the following words now: milk, eat, drink (water), finished / no more, hurt, brush teeth, diaper, and wash hands. This makes communicating significantly easier for us now, much to your delight.
What else is new? Well, we got you new shoes, and you proudly pointed to them and said “wow” when your tita and grandparents were around. You like balloons and our neighbors’ Christmas lights. You engage in pretend play. You’ve actually been doing this for months now, but I’m not sure if I’ve written it down anywhere so I’m writing it down now. I’ve been making you felt toys with my own hands. I made you a mobile and hung it over your playmat. You pointed to it with a huge smile on your face and said “Wowwow.” Mommy got a double wow. I felt like a preschooler who got an entire sticker sheet of gold stars. You said the same thing when we showed you our little Christmas tree all lit up.
We considered buying a bigger Christmas tree for our new place, but we love our little tree. We bought it at a bookstore along Katipunan 8 years ago, when we lived in a tiny flat there. It was our first Christmas since we moved in together, and we weren’t going to put up a tree then, but it was on sale. It’s 4 feet tall and all we could afford at the time, but it made us so happy. It looks especially tiny here, but it feels right keeping it. Your father and I have a Christmas Eve tradition of watching A Charlie Brown Christmas. We’re all about the little trees.
You’re 13 months old today. Sometimes when I look at you, I see the young man you’re going to be. He looks a lot like your father. They say not to marry a man unless you’d be proud to have a son exactly like him. I hope we raise and nurture you well enough that you become your own person, but if you turned out exactly like your father, I wouldn’t mind in the least. I would be damn proud.
Love,
Mommy
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God Lisa, could your writing be any more beautiful?
Oh, wow. Coming from you, that means a lot. Thanks, Jess. *hugs*