Deconstructing Magnus’ Linguistic Genius Gibberish

 

Yes, he does talk now. Yay! And no, you will not comprehend 95% of his talk. But because I have (fine, most moms in general do) the uncanny ability  to understand Magnus’ mono-syllabic speech and body language, we can pretty much have decent conversations nowadays.

Oh wait, this is actually the first time i am writing about Magnus in this blog. Ladies, meet Magnus Galen James S. Quizon, my second born son. He is 17 months old today.

And to celebrate this milestone, I am “showing off” his ever expanding vocabulary (aka his baby blabber interpreted any way i like it):

1.  “Mama” – There’s no mistaking the meaning of this, he says this when he needs the most important person in his life
2. “Memem” – Milk from Mama, of course, the 2^nd most important thing in his life and probably the only reason why he wants me around all the time
3. “Uya” – He is calling Kuya Qube. Nothing beats his look of pure love and delight when he calls Kuya. This is usually followed by a smack on Kuya Qube’s cheek.

Now, here is when it goes a little tricky.

1.  “Ba” – This is probably the most versatile word in the English language. It’s usage depends on what he is currently doing and where he is ATM. Some possible meanings could be:
   • Baba – When we are upstairs and he wants to go down. Easy. Could also mean from downstairs when he wants to go up. Beats me, don’t look to me for any rational explanation.
   • Banana – No, not the fruit. He means the yellow minions from “Despicable Me”
   • Bath – When he is all soiled and sweaty and wants to freshen up, which is about every time he sees or passes by the bathroom.
   • Spongebob – Maybe he confuses him for the minions?
   • Bad – Whenever he accidentally bumps his head on the wall or the floor, his way of reprimanding the object he bumped into – “Ba!”
   • Ball or Book – Depends on whether he wants to read or to play, and on what object is pointing to.
   • Bye – When Mama is around and he wants everyone else to leave him alone, he will most definitely wave you away and shut the door on your face
   • Bye – This is the straightforward “ba” when he wants to go out of the house to go down the playground
2. “Pa” – This is how he calls his dad, of course. Though most of the time, I fear that he actually meant the “iPad.” In other words, it’s iPad > Papa. Bad parenting, i know, but sorry, not sorry.
3. “Teee” – could mean the following:
   • Ate – Admittedly Magnus’ and my lifesaver. Oh, what would i do without my “Ates”?
   • Water – Next to milk, this is his favorite beverage. Supercold please.
   • Dirty – He says “Teee” when picking up leftover food from the floor, then eventually eats it, which automatically makes me scream – “Eeeeek, Magnus, yuck yuck spit it out!” only to be met with a smug smile
   • Teeth – No fancy explanation about this, he just calls it as it is.
4. “Eee” – He says this a lot these days. And I would literally jump with glee whenever he does want to “Eee”.  Though we still have to work on making him have a regular meal time schedule. Yup, “eee” means “eat.”
5. “Cluck, cluck” – This is the sound that he makes when he is calling the dogs. This is quite embarrassing, but he learned this long before all other words in this list. Yes, even before “Mama.”

According to Parents.com,  most kids this age are able to speak 10-15 words. Counting the words associated with different meanings – we are getting there, Magnus. Good job, anak!

The Dad of Awesomeness!

Dear husband*, upon seeing this, I’m pretty sure you instantly knew that this is an excuse for not having and not planning to have a Father’s day gift for you. That question being out of the way, let me now proceed to tell the world how much of a trophy husband* and father you are (but hey, let me point out that you have hit the jackpot in me too!).

Some of the items here were taken from the “A Thousand Excuses” note in my mobile phone. It was written with the intention of “saving” me should a make or  break situation arise for us. I realize though that it should not have to reach that point for me to show some appreciation, or more importantly, to be able to diss you publicly, knowing that you will not retaliate in the same manner.

• Last Dec 21, 2010, you stood perplexed inside the delivery room and could hardly catch up with the nurse who wheeled Qube away to the nursery. My instructions were very clear before the epidural claimed all sense out of me: “Take lots of photos and don’t take your eyes away from Qube, else we end up bringing home another baby”. As a consequence of you freezing instead of making sure that the hospital staff tagged the correct baby, we are now not sure that he is really ours. On the flipside, I still feel a little warm inside knowing that it took all of your courage (and almost, your job)  to choose to stay with me during the entire ordeal. But because this is too sappy even for me, my official story at work it that you stayed because I threatened not to give you  naming rights for Qube.

• You were clueless as all new fathers are. And despite Qube’s incessant crying and my helplessness the first day at home, you refused to feed him formula milk when I suggested we give him some. Instead, you braved the infant section of the mall and bought me my very first breast pump, together with a supposed breastfeeding pillow that does not look anywhere near a breastfeeding pillow. Without you or me realizing it at the time, this turned out to be the best parenting support you had given me yet.
  

• I could not assess how effective or ineffective you were as a baby sitter when Qube was little. In my mind, you were always playing poker while I was busy trying to be the perfect mother. You never told me about the hands that you folded or the online tourneys you’ve lost because you were changing soiled diapers and failed to act on your trips or pocket aces. Or maybe you’re just really a lousy poker player. So when you started introducing Qube to poker chips, I could not immediately decide whether to hope that he’d become a poker genius by the age of five, or worry that he’d get broken-hearted over and over again by bad beats and miscalculated calls.

• What kind of father would quit his job a mere five months into parenthood? Apparently, it is also the kind of father who gets sick whenever his work demands him to be away for days on end. It is the kind whose weekend plans always revolve around his son and who feels guilty and makes me feel equally guilty whenever we spend more hours at work than with Qube. It is the kind of father who conveniently uses “the wife did not approve” as an excuse for not going out on a drinking spree with friends, when the truth is he is usually just lazing around playing with Qube whenever he uses that excuse. And for everyone else’s info, I am not that kind of wife.

Fast forward to two years:

• I was trying to get some work done one weekend so you volunteered to go malling with Qube. Needless to say, you were so happy to spend some alone time with Qube without me hovering and sharing the attention. Everything was perfect:  Qube was full, he fed the fishes, he was happy, and every now and then you would text me an update about your day out with Qube. Five hours later, you arrived home from your little adventure. You were one proud daddy. Then Qube looks for his milk. Then you look for your backpack. Then we all began looking for your backpack. It’s gone! Together with Qube’s milk and several bottles. I did not care about your bag. But the milk bottles. The milk bottles! Note to self: No more working at home on weekends.

• You know how much I hate the fast food-dependence that I see in a lot of kids today. That is why I really appreciated you taking him to Fruitas while waiting for me in Landmark one grocery day. Until I asked Qube where he has been and what he ate while waiting for me, and he proudly told me: “I ate fries in Jollibee, Mama!” You should have seen your face when I turned to you for an explanation. Another note to self: No more staying in the office beyond 5pm, especially when Qube is waiting.

• You are usually the one to remind me about Qube’s check-ups and I always make it a point to personally take Qube to his pedia, except during his last check up when I really couldn’t get off work early. You assured me that you can do it since it was your rest day anyway. And once again you saved me. Except you forgot everything that Doc said during the check-up so I had to call her the next day and ask her to repeat all of her instructions, including the next vaccines and vaccination dates. Don’t worry though, I did not take this against you since Doc assured me that all Daddies are the same, and went on to tell me her complaints about her own husband.

• At two year old, Qube seems to have already formed an opinion about each of us. And yes, you are his preferred playmate while my role seems to have been confined into all things related to food and sleep. Boo. Maybe because you allow him to do stupid things. Remember when he bumped into a chair and fell headfirst on the floor because he was running with a shirt covering his face? You were both playing NINJAs then! Well, one downside to being as hands-on as you are is that all of his little mishaps happen with you. And I get to accuse you again.

I know that this list hardly sums up your being a father to Qube, and you might even argue that this list does not include your more noteworthy achievements. But if I were to rate you using only this, I’d still say that you exceed all expectations and, believe me, my standards are not low. And even without asking Qube, I know that he looks up to you like a god, even I get a little jealous sometimes.

Wet Summer Nights

I opened my eyes and saw Qube standing over and intently staring at me. At 230 in the morning! Then when he saw that I am awake, said: “Mama, maihi ako!” (Mama, I need to pee!). And just like that, drowsy and still half-dreaming, I had to jump out of bed and dash to the bathroom with Qube amid all the pillows that have already become our nighttime fortress.

It’s been like that for the past few weeks. Whenever I hear the word “maihi (pee)” in the wee hours of the morning, I swear I could literally feel adrenaline surging through my brains and see sirens flashing rapidly in the background as I carry Qube off the bed and into the bathroom.

And success for both of us means being able to outrun his wee-wee. Afterwards, Qube would proudly say: “Wow, dae basa ang briefs!” (Wow, the briefs did not get wet!”)

When we go back to the bedroom, he’d go right back to sleep, oblivious to the mini heart attack that I just went through.

Let me make it clear though, these early morning frenzies are great sources of pride for all potty training moms like me. And no, I am not exaggerating when I described how it is like whenever Qube feels the urge to urinate in the middle of our sleep. Oh, and yes, the husband* is usually fast asleep while this is happening.

Things have not always been like this, though. We’ve also had our share of waking up to a wet mattress and blankets, and being forced to change clothes and replace the bed covers with extra thick ones at three in the morning. And if it is not obvious enough, these instances also equate to having to sleep with dried urine on our bodies. So, you have to understand my panic to reach the bathroom when a chance presents itself to save us from literal wet sleeps. And lately, it’s been presenting itself every night. To my relief.

Sometimes  it’s tempting to go back to the comforts of the disposable diapers. But, as pointed out by the husband*, this is a necessary step for Qube to achieve diaper-independence.

I have long readied myself emotionally for these, though we only started to seriously train Qube to use the potty during the Easter break. And forgive me for bragging, but I can proudly say that despite being a working mom and all, I was the one who made him pee inside the bathroom. The first time, the second time, and the third time the same day. While there were lapses during the next few days, that first day success was what convinced him to try the potty again the next day, and the day after, until it has become his daily routine.

These days, whenever Qube says: “Tara, maihi kita!” in the middle of his play, you’ll be amused to see all of us (Yaya, me, the husband*) drop whatever we are doing and run to his side to usher him to the bathroom.

To be rewarded with his grin and this statement: “Wow, very good na ako!”

UPDATE: At 21 months, I am still night nursing my little boy.
Which means, I still get to use my Medela during travels or when I have to be away from home for more than eight hours.
Let’s see how long we will be able to keep this on. 🙂

miracles are real.

My Medela sits forlorn on top of our dinner table.

And there’s a part of me that feels guilty each morning when I leave without my not-so-little black bag that has become my closest companion since I resumed work after my two-month maternity leave.

Before this week, the longest goodbye that I could endure between me and my Medela Swing is four hours. Beyond this length of time is inconceivable. Long separations from it are literally painful and heavy to the chest.

So, you see, this relationship is really very intimate and is incomparable to anything I have had or am still having with anyone. You can even say that I have been too clingy and dependent in this case. And this has been going on for more than nine months, which is also longer than most past relationships that I’ve had.

Most importantly, this is the only relationship…

View original post 183 more words

Here’s hoping this does not become another failed attempt.

For a lot of things.

Creating a worthwhile blog entry, for one. Because it has been six months since I last published here – either I have been busy or been simply too lazy to think, much more to write. 

The impenetrable web protocols at work is not helping either.

Qube’s babyhood has gone by in a breeze without me being able to document each monumental step, literally and figuratively. Save for the occasional twitter and facebook posts, I haven’t been able to write at all.

Even the sort of writing that one just keeps to herself.  Hmmm. Now I am suddenly reminded to put in writing the mental notes that I have been keeping for quite a time now. Though I would have to muster enough courage for that.

Just a few hours ago, I was torn between panic and amusement because I (again) noticed posts in my twitter feeds which I did not make because I was then in the office, working my ass off, oblivious to the rest of the world. Well… not entirely true, but still. The point is, somebody else was posting on my behalf – of high scores in slam dunk, song quiz and fruit ninja. And if you think a one year, nine month old baby can’t do that? Think again. 

Sometimes Most times, I am convinced that my child is a genius. How else could I explain him being able to recognize numbers zero through nine, regardless of what he is doing when you ask him? Or his ability to distinguish colors and make it sound like the most normal thing that a baby should know? Or, just a few minutes ago, the way he was searching for the “clear page” icon on his drawpad, and successfully finding it on the first try, the second, and all other succeeding tries, moments after he saw me pressing it to erase his scribbles to make space for new ones? 

Well, truth is, all mothers feel the same pride for their children. On my part, this pride is coupled with the prospect of us getting famous through him, and probably earning millions when, being the “superbaby” that he is, he’d discover something big that would revolutionize life as we know it. Hehe.

If the above does not prove successful, yours truly would seriously consider being a stagemom, given the “ahem” really good looks that he has. 

WARNING: Do not, for one moment, mistake this as conceit on my part. I am merely playing with possibilities. And a chance to earn BIG.

Like the possibility of him becoming a basketball superstar at nine-years old (that would be less than eight years from now). In our plans, the husband and I have even gone as far as planning to bribe his grade school coach so that he’d get drafted in his school’s varsity basketball team. Justifying it as a necessary move so he won’t be disillusioned so early, just in case.

If that, too, fails? There’s football.

Anyways, what’s so special about this stage is that I could look at him building his LEGOs and think that he’ll probably design the next skyscraper wonder of the world, with his name etched on top of it (and probably have a lady CEO named Pepper). Or see him obsessing over his small stable of cars and conclude that he’ll become the first Filipino F1 car racing champion. Or see him playing Punch Hero on the iPad and decide that, well, he’ll probably get over it in a few days.

All these dreams I could see in him without (yet) being pressured to fulfill any one of it. Let’s see where it takes us in a few years.

But tonight, what’s real is the sleeping baby on my lap who clings on whenever I make an attempt to put him down on the bed, refusing to let go even to just let Mama pee.

When I see you smile…

I see your upper incisors cutting through.

So expect that in a few more days, Qube’s smiles will have a totally different look.

Though I am sure that they will be just as lovely.

There was no way to compromise, so now we’re living SEPARATE LIVES.

My Medela sits forlorn on top of our dinner table.

And there’s a part of me that feels guilty each morning when I leave without my not-so-little black bag that has become my closest companion since I resumed work after my two-month maternity leave.

Before this week, the longest goodbye that I could endure between me and my Medela Swing is four hours. Beyond this length of time is inconceivable. Long separations from it are literally painful and heavy to the chest.

So, you see, this relationship is really very intimate and is incomparable to anything I have had or am still having with anyone. You can even say that I have been too clingy and dependent in this case. And this has been going on for more than nine months, which is also longer than most past relationships that I’ve had.

Most importantly, this is the only relationship that did not disappoint me. All that was promised, it delivered. It gave and did not take anything in return. (Well, except for my initial investment which is, of course, necessary in every relationship.) It secured for me unrivaled benefits that not even the father of my son could provide.

But numerous demands at work leave me no time to nurture this relationship. That is why I have to give this up.

But no, this is not total non-commitment – because, as in all relationships, getting over does not happen overnight. And, in my case, I relapse much too often.

So, every night, when I arrive home from work – after kissing my Qube and asking how his day was – I lock myself up in our bedroom to have a little private time with my Medela.

And emerge right back with two 5-ounce bottles full of breast milk.To be stored for Qube’s consumption the following morning.

Footnote: Despite having given up my pump-at-work routine, I am still night nursing Qube, and hope to do so in the months to come.

You got me stranded (in your smile).

Reposted from my facebook notes. Dated May 22, 2011

Just this morning, you flashed me your beautiful toothless grin and there, I decided I want to spend another hour in bed with you – all the while knowing that by doing so, I’d have to cramp taking a bath, getting dressed, kissing you and your Papa goodbye into the 10-minute window I have left before heading to work, then returning from the door to give you another round of kisses.

And just this morning, while walking down the flight of stairs from 501, I thought of how much you’ve grown from the 4-pound little boy that we brought home from the hospital last December 24. You can now sit by yourself in your wheels (that is how your papa and I refer to your stroller) – a milestone that I proudly shared to my fellow moms at work – my Qube is becoming independent na.

I remembered how small and fragile you were when we brought you home. And you were yellow – as in jaundiced yellow.

Sunbathing to remove the yellow.

Qube at 8 days.

But being the little fighter that you are, you got over the jaundice, grown at the pace that your pedia has had a hard time believing, and turned into quite a looker. In fact, as early as now, girls already swoon over you. Of course, I am on top of the list. The English-speaking-pretty-five-or- something-little girl in BHS who came from nowhere and started kissing you the last time we were there,  the strangers who stop us in malls and at the airport to greet you and to ask if you are of foreign blood and not to be outdone are your Lolas and Titas who are understandably biased towards you.

There are many other small things about you that I should have written from day one. But I got so engrossed witnessing and marveling at your day to day growth that I couldn’t get myself to leave you, to write. Besides, we take photos of you every day… and if there’s any truth to the saying that a picture paints a thousand words, there would be several volumes of books about you by now.

But you see, I realized that it’s not enough. So while you are asleep beside me, I decided to start writing. And there will be separate stories about your first smile, your first turn, your refusal to do “close-open” until now and your papa’s insistence that it’s still too early to push you to “close-open” your hands, your first real laugh, your excitement when you want me to get/hold you, and many many others.

Happy fifth month Qube.

a lazy friday is the perfect ending to a busy, busy week.

I have been told that the effect of my epidural extends beyond childbirth, so before it eats away my memory, here’s my Friday list: Qube’s toys, teethers, food, the firsts that i have not yet written about in my previous blog posts. 

Welcome home gift from the hospital – from Kuya Jigz, first toy ever! Qube’s activity with Spongebob mainly consist of biting both hands and feet, and all protruding parts that he could get his teeth on.

 

First Happy Christmas gift from Tita Monita. He uses these pails as baskets to shoot his mini basketballs.

 

First stuffed best friend: Panda Q., from Papa’s last Macau trip.

After a while, his interests shifted to this ugly Leopard fiend from Animaland:

And eventually, with his legion:

First food tasted (from Auntie Glen, with some  pamahiin to go with why it should be the first food taste)

First food feeder. Because I could not bear seeing him look at us longingly every meal time, I bought this from Munchkins. We just put fruit pieces inside, then have him chew away to get the juice. This helped me worry less about choking.  

This worked for about 2 weeks, but after that he wanted to directly eat his fruits.

 .

First teether. Thought of buying this because Qube developed the habit of biting everything within biting distance.

Bought also but he hated these:

So when the fish died (probably by overuse), i bought these:

And his first real food, but it did not take long for him to realize that he hates the taste.

So, we tried this and he loved it:

and he loved these other variants as well:

Now, he eats everything: Real rice, real squash, carrots, potatoes, papaya, chili leaves, chicken tinola, pork sinigang, fita, skyflakes, everything that his father approves.

And he plays with everything: Isoprophyl Alcohol, my office ID, TV remote control, everybody’s mobile phones, his face and hand wipes, diapers, his hand sanitizer, and all others that he could get his hands into.

A few years from now, when Qube starts asking, I’ll give him a link to this blog.

Missing.

Thirteen hours away from home, and i am already missing my little imp.

I promised the husband* that i won’t be writing any blog entries tonight.

But what the heck, this is my first night free of motherly responsibilities and wife duties, so i will celebrate it by….

…staying in my hotel room writing about how  much I am already missing Qube I want to cry. Only that I’ve been told not to think of him a lot, else he won’t be able to sleep through the night. I hope he does.

I hope I’d be able to sleep too. I’ve already forgotten how it feels not to have Qube sleep beside me.

And for the husband*, I also will not pass the chance to tell the world about how, at 1:30 in the morning, you had me brought you to the ER because of pins and needles on you arm, heart burn, backache, nausea, headache, and what have yous – the night before my very first overnight trip away from home. Go figure.

Haaay, I miss you both.