Our resident cutie pie, Jeff Junior, is one year and four months old.
He is adorable.
I say that, of course, with all the biases and favoritism in the world because he is my son. But really, any person who came across our Jeffrey Peter Jr. speak of the same cuteness and that he is a perfect combination of his father’s European blood and his mother’s Filipino race.
JJ is Jeff’s answered prayer.
The twins were one year and six months old when we learned of our second pregnancy. We were in China then but since, based on my last menstrual period, I was only eight weeks pregnant, the Chinese doctors said they don’t want do an ultrasound on me.
That was unheard of.
It was timely though that we were going to the Philippines for our 2015 vacation. The idea was to leave the twins with my mother and then Jeff and I will go on a Royal Caribbean cruise around Southeast Asia.
The pregnancy was confirmed in the Philippines.
We moved to the US the same year in May to give birth in September. We confirmed the baby’s gender late August.
JJ was more than eight pounds when he came out. I labored and pushed for more than 20 hours because I was stubborn and wanted to try vaginal birth after a C-section.
But he was a huge baby so no matter how good I pushed, the doctor said JJ’s shoulders already as wide as football players prevented him from going out the natural way.
Jeff was taking pictures throughout the entire process and all I wanted to do was to give birth so I can finish my two papers for graduate school. Ha!
It was a challenging time.
But JJ remained a very happy baby.
Five days after he was born, a paper was due for graduate school. I kicked out Jeff from the master’s bedroom and converted it into a war room. Sheets of paper, photocopied research notes, notebooks and my laptop were placed on the bed.
I would breastfeed JJ in between writing the Statement of the Problem and completing the Review of Related Literature. I had to take breaks every two hours because my breasts were already full of milk and therefore needed to be emptied.
JJ was not a cry baby.
He was such an easy newborn that it made graduate school more manageable. Of course the twins were there usual lovable and crazy shelves and the house was a circus.
It was Jeff who glued us all together.
Not me.
I was an emotional, mental and physical wreck.
My breasts served as my clock. When they were full, it means the baby must be very hungry. Full breasts means it has been two hours since the last feeding. Two consecutive full breasts mean it has been four hours so… if I had full breasts at 8:00 a.m. and I fed the baby, I should give the twins their bath and then give them their breakfast. Full breasts after, two hours after that is, that means it’s time for our class and then snacks. See how powerful those boobies?
Living in American was a crash course on domestication, a course I suck at. I’d like to believe I’m good at cooking but I fail in dishwashing. But in America, you don’t have any choice but to do it because no one else will do the task for you.
I look at JJ and I am reminded the adventures we’ve gone through to bring him out of this world.
Jeff told me that angels don’t have wings.
I am about to agree because right here, sleeping in my arms, is a boy with plump cheeks sucking his right thumb while his left arm is embracing my arm.
Sleep tight, boy.
Sleep tight cutie pie.
