I am Ina and I am a mother
In the latest edition of the clan newsletter, my Nana described each of her grandchildren with a short summary of recent academic or career achievements. Except me. Who obviously has no academic or professional career to speak of at the moment. My summary was all about my children. Desi who just turned 1, and Lia who reads and recites nursery rhymes.
I don't mind. And I wondered a bit why it didn't bother me, that there is less of *me* in my life, and more of my kids. And I realized that this is just natural. That somehow, becoming a parent means one's sense of individual identity fades as one becomes a part of a greater whole. Me and Lia, Me and Desi, and all three of us together, greater than the sum of all parts. I am them and they are me because whatever I do or say from the moment they are born, or even conceived, molds and shapes the human beings they become when they are adults. That I am not the most important person in my life anymore. It's someone else. And everything else in my life must be organized around that person/persons.
It sounds really daunting but also so amazing, because in turn, all their triumphs and failures in the future are also mine. Last night, I attended my cousins' graduation party and listened as my uncle spoke with such pride at his children who both graduated from UP with honors. He shared that it was all he could do to keep from crying as he stepped up on stage at their recognition rites. I'm willing to bet he didn't stay up with them to write their papers or study for exams, but their success is also his, because he is their father, they are an inseparable part of him.
I remember when we announced I was pregnant, I was so scared that my parents would be so brokenhearted and disappointed in me. But my mom immediately pushed whatever negativity aside and immediately declared that she was happy for me. With less than two months to prepare for the wedding, she insisted on throwing me a big Despedida de Soltera, as is the tradition of all future brides. She urged my sister-in-law to organize a bridal shower. She organized my baby shower, and she didn't shy away from being called Lola when everyone else was claiming they were too young to be called that.
I understand now why our parents are our staunchest allies, why they want to help and support us even when we should be independent and on our own, why they will defend us even in our most grievous mistakes, as they privately push us and expect us to always be better and excel. And why they bother to offer pilgrimages and novenas for our safety and success. Or in my mom's case, be penpals with a Carmelite nun who prays for all of us morning, noon and night.
I understand it now as I have endured years of sleepless nights and still adore every single thing my babies do, whether it's to memorize a nursery rhyme or to draw on our bedsheets with colored markers, for some reason I am equally proud.
Just as we will always be our parent's children, our children will always, always be ours. There is no greater burden and blessing in the world.
I don't mind. And I wondered a bit why it didn't bother me, that there is less of *me* in my life, and more of my kids. And I realized that this is just natural. That somehow, becoming a parent means one's sense of individual identity fades as one becomes a part of a greater whole. Me and Lia, Me and Desi, and all three of us together, greater than the sum of all parts. I am them and they are me because whatever I do or say from the moment they are born, or even conceived, molds and shapes the human beings they become when they are adults. That I am not the most important person in my life anymore. It's someone else. And everything else in my life must be organized around that person/persons.
It sounds really daunting but also so amazing, because in turn, all their triumphs and failures in the future are also mine. Last night, I attended my cousins' graduation party and listened as my uncle spoke with such pride at his children who both graduated from UP with honors. He shared that it was all he could do to keep from crying as he stepped up on stage at their recognition rites. I'm willing to bet he didn't stay up with them to write their papers or study for exams, but their success is also his, because he is their father, they are an inseparable part of him.
I remember when we announced I was pregnant, I was so scared that my parents would be so brokenhearted and disappointed in me. But my mom immediately pushed whatever negativity aside and immediately declared that she was happy for me. With less than two months to prepare for the wedding, she insisted on throwing me a big Despedida de Soltera, as is the tradition of all future brides. She urged my sister-in-law to organize a bridal shower. She organized my baby shower, and she didn't shy away from being called Lola when everyone else was claiming they were too young to be called that.
I understand now why our parents are our staunchest allies, why they want to help and support us even when we should be independent and on our own, why they will defend us even in our most grievous mistakes, as they privately push us and expect us to always be better and excel. And why they bother to offer pilgrimages and novenas for our safety and success. Or in my mom's case, be penpals with a Carmelite nun who prays for all of us morning, noon and night.
I understand it now as I have endured years of sleepless nights and still adore every single thing my babies do, whether it's to memorize a nursery rhyme or to draw on our bedsheets with colored markers, for some reason I am equally proud.
Just as we will always be our parent's children, our children will always, always be ours. There is no greater burden and blessing in the world.