by rossanahead | Aug 16, 2011 | children, family, Jing Lejano, parenting, woman
By Jing Lejano
I breastfed all of my children. Yes, all four of them.
At the time, breastfeeding wasn’t the big thing that it is today. Still, I knew that I had to do it—something in my gut told me that breastfeeding was the way to go.
And so, in a span of six or seven years (I had my kids about two years apart), I always had a little babe suckling on my teat. And here’s what I learned from all those seemingly endless days and nights…
- Breastfeeding is still the best—and fastest—way to lose post-pregnancy weight. Forget about going on a diet. Breastfeeding your babe will help you shed those unwanted pounds. P.S. I was stick thin for most of those six or seven years.
- In the case of breastfeeding, size doesn’t matter. Just because you have big boobs doesn’t mean you’ll have lots of milk—and vice versa. I think milk production has more to do with supply and demand than anything else. Your breasts will produce as much milk as your baby needs, so it’s best to keep your baby suckling. If you do it less frequently, it’s sort of a signal to your body to produce less milk as well.
- Don’t ever forget to put on those nursing pads! When I started working, I’d sometimes forget to put on nursing pads. Lo and behold, I’d be in a meeting and I’d start feeling my milk come out, and I’d have to excuse myself and hurry to the bathroom. Boo!
- Gear up! When I say gear up, I mean get the proper underwear support. Your breasts are going to bloom like crazy. You have to give them proper support or else, it’s going to be such a pain.
- Yes, malunggay (moringa) helps! One of the first meals that my mom prepared for me after I gave birth was clam soup with lots of malunggay leaves. She told me that it would help increase my milk supply, and I believe it did. I also remember drinking lots of water then—I was always thirsty.
- Find the position that best suits you and your baby. Whether you’re sitting on your sofa or lying on the bed, you have to find that one position where you and your baby are most comfortable with—or else, it wouldn’t work.
- Make sure your baby feeds on both breasts. Otherwise, you’ll find the breast which hasn’t been completely drained aching. Ouchie!
- Your experience will be different with every child. Just because it was easy with your first child doesn’t mean it would be the same with the next. Every child is different; every breastfeeding experience is different. Don’t feel guilty if you’re having a hard time with your third child when everything went smoothly with the first two. That’s just the way it is.
- Some babies are just lazy. What can I say? Some babies just don’t like the experience all that much. OK, I might get some hate mail from fierce breastfeeding advocates, but when you’ve tried and tried for many days and many nights, and you could only make your baby suckle for a few minutes or so, don’t beat yourself up. Try pumping, putting your breast milk in a bottle, and then feeding baby. It’s the same thing.
- Don’t worry about how your breasts would eventually look like. When I was single, my breasts were firm and perky. When I got pregnant, they got big. When I started breastfeeding, the size of them just went crazy. But after breastfeeding my fourth child, I found my breasts, well, kind of depleted, and for a year or two, I felt like a flat-chested teenager. Today, I’m somewhere between my single and first pregnancy breasts—not so big, not so small, not as perky true, but just the size and shape I like. Coolness!
August is Breastfeeding Awareness Month.
by rossanahead | Aug 13, 2011 | children, family, Karen Galarpe, parenting, woman
By Karen Galarpe
“Oh look, it’s Domo-kun!” I said, pointing to stuffed toys of the brown Japanese character at Toy Con 2011, the annual toy convention recently held at SM Megamall. “And Angry Birds, and lots of anime characters. Do they have Lucky Star?”
Yup, that’s me talking. Thanks to my son’s interest in Japanese anime, I am not so unfamiliar with what some kids and teens are into these days. When Miley Cyrus was in town recently, someone in the office asked, “Does Miley Cyrus have a lot of fans?” And I said, “Hello? Hannah Montana!”
And when the video of that 4-year-old Fil-Am boy singing a Warbler song a la Darren Criss on “Glee” became viral, someone in the office again said he’s not familiar with the song as he doesn’t watch “Glee”.
I know who Miley Cyrus is, and I watch “Glee.” And “Lucky Star.” And some years back, “High School Musical” and “Gundam Seed Destiny.”
I try to make time to get to know what kids today like because it’s a way to bond and build relationships with today’s generation.
I know I’m not alone in this mission because when Taylor Swift was here a few months ago, two of my friends watched the concert with their daughters and their daughters’ friends. And they realized Taylor is really a great performer and a good role model for today’s kids.
Same thing when Justin Bieber arrived in Manila this year. Guess who were photographed with preteens and teens in the crowd? Their parents.
What is your child into? Find out, get into it yourself, and in the process get to know your child more.
Since my son loves cars, I have seen my share of auto shows and even drift competitions from which I have come home smelling like burnt rubber. Is it worth it, grime and all? It is. Our children are priceless, and time spent with them is valuable.
by rossanahead | Aug 11, 2011 | children, Education, family, Lyra Pore, parenting, woman
By Lyra Pore
Hogwarts. Quidditch. Wands and spells. The first time the Harry Potter series hit bookstores back in the late ‘90s, I couldn’t stand the books.
“I’m too old for this.” I dismissed Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone after just a few pages of reading the book. If the series had been published when I was in high school, I would have loved it. But I was by then a new mom to a baby girl ― my world was filled with diapers and formula, not owls, wizards and some fictional beings misguided by a Nazi-like obsession with the purity of species.
Last Christmas, however, my baby girl who had since turned ten received the children’s edition of the complete Harry Potter set for Christmas. Keen to find some bonding moments with her, I picked up the Philosopher’s Stone and tried reading it again.
I couldn’t have chosen a more auspicious time to take up Harry Potter. My daughter, just like Harry in the first book, was turning 11 in a few days. And like Percy Weasley, Ron’s older brother, she’d just been elected school prefect.
Over the next two months, the two of us would explore the Harry Potter world together. It would soon become a family affair too, as my husband and our other children would join us in watching the film adaptation each time we finished a book. Not only did we form a mother-daughter book club, we’d also organized family Friday Night Movies. We’d all sit on the couch on Fridays, watch the Harry Potter DVD and talk about how the movie differed from the book.
“It wasn’t Neville Longbottom who gave Harry the gillyweed in Goblet of Fire. It was Dobby!”
“How come the other elf Winky wasn’t in any of the movies?”
At times, our Harry Potter journey turned into a writing lesson. My daughter, who was starting to develop an interest in fiction writing, would comment on J.K. Rowling’s style and how it differed from that of Rick Riordan, author of the Percy Jackson series. I worked in publishing; I took delight in talking about books especially with my children.
The excitement over the release of Deathly Hallows 2 took over our household. My husband would buy our girls Harry Potter souvenirs that were being sold with every purchase of a local newspaper. The family also organized a weekend trip to an IMAX theatre to watch the movie in 3D. Making a day of it, we set out at 9 a.m., picked up some friends who were also going to the movies with us, went to lunch at a restaurant just a short walk from the cinema, and spent the rest of the afternoon not just enjoying the last movie of the series but savouring gelato that IMAX moviegoers could get free for each scoop they bought.
“Lord Voldemort’s wand will be out with the Sunday newspaper,” I told them after dinner on Friday. “I thought it was Dumbledore’s,” my husband replied. “Oh, you’re right. It’s Dumbledore’s. The newspaper says it is.”
Upstairs our two year-old daughter was fast asleep. She’d been playing the whole week with Harry’s wand, yelling “crucio!” and “stupefy!” at her older sisters.
by rossanahead | Aug 2, 2011 | children, Education, family, Lyra Pore, parenting
By Lyra Pore-Villafaña
My family has had a number of conversations lately about the best high school for our oldest daughter who’s now in Grade Six.
“I want to go to OLMC,” she declared last year. OLMC is an exclusive girls’ school run by the Sisters of Mercy in Australia. It prides itself in educating Catholic girls in the Mercy tradition for over a hundred years.
My daughter has been particularly impressed by the breadth of extra-curricular opportunities that OLMC provides. There’s a string ensemble, a cake decorating club, a debating team. Name any activity that will catch the fancy of teenage girls, and they probably have it. They even have a strong swimming team that my child, who loves racing, is looking forward to joining.
We’ve already made up our minds about OLMC that we’ve enrolled her there one-and-a-half years before she’s due to go to high school.
Then a few weeks ago, my daughter received an offer from one of the government-run academic selective schools. These are like the Australian equivalent of the Philippine Science High School system. Each year, thousands of Grade Six students apply for admission to selective schools, but only a few get offers because places are limited.
While we are all extremely happy about her passing the test, the good news suddenly throws our plans into disarray. My daughter will have the opportunity to study in one of the best high schools in Australia at a very minimal cost to us. All we have to pay for are the school uniforms and supplies and a small contribution to educational resources. The decision to forego private schooling seems to be a no-brainer ― but it actually isn’t.
Yes, the quality of education in an academic selective school will be superior. Yes, it will save us a fortune. Foremost on our minds though is this: Will she be happy in a highly competitive environment that these schools are known for? Will she thrive in a school where she’s constantly striving for good grades, leaving her with very little time to pursue other interests?
My husband and I have been in the workforce long enough to know that building a successful career isn’t all about having the brains to do the job. Don’t get me wrong. Having walked the grounds of the University of the Philippines in Diliman myself many years ago, I am all for academic excellence.
My experience in the “real world”, however, has also led me to appreciate that doing well in life doesn’t depend on intelligence alone. Equally important is one’s ability to build relationships, to bounce back from failure and rejection, to keep one’s focus even when the going gets tough.
What type of school will help a person build that character? It depends. Some children excel in a highly competitive environment. Others blossom when allowed the time to pursue arts, music, sports, and other co-curricular activities.
We decide to give our daughter room to weigh her options. Though she’s only 11 years old, we feel that she should have a say in the matter. It’s her future after all.
“I’ll go selective,” she announces just a few days after mulling things over. “And why is that?” I ask, amazed at how quickly she has come to a decision.
“Well,” she begins. “I checked out the school uniform, and I think I will look good in it.”
“And I have some friends who are going there too.”
So there. I seem to be making things more complicated than they really are. To an 11-year old girl, it’s all about the outfit and the friends.
by rossanahead | Jul 30, 2011 | children, family, parenting, woman
By Tina Arceo-Dumlao
The realization that I was truly and absolutely responsible for someone else’s life came without warning one quiet morning in 1996, a few days after my son, Miggy, was born.
My mother had left that day for work and left me home alone with my two brothers with the firm instruction that we should give Miggy – who was a little over a week old at that time – a nice, relaxing bath as soon as he woke up from his early morning nap.
She neglected, however, to tell us exactly how to do just that.
Because I delivered via caesarian section, it was my mother who had been giving Miggy a bath since we came home from the hospital, and I did not see for myself how she transformed the little life form into a sweet smelling baby since I was mostly in bed recovering from my operation. My husband, Jerome, who was an executive at that time in an office in Makati City, was not around to help because he had left early for work.
And so there we were, three siblings without any idea how to give a fragile, crying baby a refreshing bath.
We argued over options: Should we just put him in the tub? But he might drown! Do we just put him on the bath mat? But we might miss some spots! Should we use a sponge or a small towel? But it might hurt him. How much pressure do we apply? Will he get scratched?
There were too many questions and just us three loudly arguing over what is the right thing to do.
In the end, I took over and made the final decision. I was the mother after all and the call was mine and mine alone to make. Talk about responsibility on a young and first time mother’s shoulders.
And so I told my Kuya to carefully hold him over the bathtub while my younger brother and I took turns soaping then rinsing him.
Of course, it was the wrong and inefficient way to do it, but he did end up smelling like only newborns can – a faint mix of milk, baby powder, and baby soap. I came out feeling oh so proud of myself because I, who was 24 years old when my son was born on Feb. 2, 1996, had made my first major decision for the good of my son. I had become a mommy!
Armando Miguel Arceo Dumlao is 15 years old now and in his final year in high school at La Salle Green Hills, and it has been one decision after another since that time I gave him a bath for the first time.
Some do not require much brain activity: Mom, can I go to the party? No. Mom, can I stay overnight at a friend’s house? No. Mom, can I get a new pair of shoes? No. Others you have to agonize over: Mom, can I ask somebody to be my date to the prom? Ummm….Yes (Sigh). Mom, can I start driving soon? I’ll think about it.
But through everything, I was guided by the same overriding, singular thought that crowded my head that time that I was splashing water on my baby’s tiny, wriggling body: What is the best for my son?
My decisions are not right all the time, but I rest easy knowing that right or wrong, I tried to do what is best for him – always for him, not about myself. And that sacrifice, that heroic act of putting my son’s interest before my own (even if it kills me) is, for me, what motherhood is all about.
Tina Arceo Dumlao is a multi-awarded journalist and desk editor of the Philippine Daily Inquirer. She has a Journalism degree from the University of the Philippines.
by rossanahead | Jul 28, 2011 | career, children, Education, family, Gina Abuyuan, parenting, woman
By Regina Abuyuan
My friend R, who partnered with D and me on this new venture of ours, a pub in Cubao X, has an ingenious solution to the never-ending quest for work-life balance and spending time with his kids even when he’s at work: letting his kid work alongside him.
For two weeks now, his son R2 has worked Fridays and a couple of Sundays waiting and clearing tables at the pub. Unlike most teens, he’s not into video games and girls (thanks to his ultra-sensible, well-grounded parents). However, R thought he could use some boosting in the get-your-nose-out-of-your-book-and-relate-to-the-world department. Don’t get me wrong—R2 is no sullen, emo-type nerd. He’s always smiling; chatty when he wants to be. But parents like to push their children’s potential, so here we are.
The first night, R2 was learning the ropes, trying to gain his footing. And he did—fast! Now he automatically hands guests their menus, knows how to serve beer, and wipes down tables after.
“It’s about building confidence,” his father likes to explain to people, after joking about child labor, when they inquire about the bespectacled lad handing them their drinks. “How to relate to different kinds of people—people skills.”
The best feedback I’ve gotten from R about his boy waiting tables, though, is this: “Papa,” R2 told his father after one (his first!) particularly busy Sunday. “I will never get irritated at waiters again.”
And what about my kids, you may ask? Why haven’t I asked S to join in? I don’t think it’s for her. I’ve asked her to serve customers a few times, but I know she wouldn’t be the eager learner like R2 is. Instead, I let her watch and witness how hard D and I work at the kitchen and bar—and her reaction has been just as rewarding.
“Are you sure you’re OK?” She texted last pay day, a Friday, when she learned D was going to be late for service and R wasn’t around. I was basically running the whole show, with the crowd growing bigger by the minute. “Yes, I’ll be OK,” I answered.
“Uhm, well, at least you’re earning…and you like it…I hope Tito D comes soon so he can help you.”
I rediscovered what I taught myself and S when she was little and would sit beside me while I wrote: If you can’t bring your kids to work, or have them experience what you do, at least make them understand what you do, how much you enjoy it, and how much it means to you. That way (hopefully!) they won’t resent your work—or at least resent it less.
