Nursing a debilitated rib cage and back, I rise from bed albeit unsteadily from an all-night side-lying breastfeeding position. Last night was one of those nights when my daughter would latch on for the entire time she’s asleep (Not kidding) and whining when she’s not.
These words swim through in my head:
“Desperate for changing, starving for truth. I’m close to where I started, I’m chasing after you.”
I know, I know. Lifehouse is so pop rock, so teeny bopper in the caste of rock. Maybe somehow my subconscious misses being one.
As I savor the rare and exquisite taste of being able to listen to my MP3s while working on some
long-overdue articles while sipping coffee while Lia’s asleep, I remember how privileged I was to be young once. I don’t think many single ladies appreciate their freedom while they have it. Many of them are consumed about life’s little stresses like a chip on their nail polish after an overpriced mani-pedi, the heavy commute to work, or that daily serving of sermon from their moms during breakfast.
|…And now. When being able to do the groceries
even with an infant on your hip seems like a holiday.
I tell you, when you become a mother yourself, even you would miss your mom’s wails (and her cooking) and the daily squish-and-grind at the MRT. There is much youth to be displaced, much pride and vanity to be grounded, much resilience to adopt like you never thought you should.
Motherhood changes EVERYTHING.