Happy Birthday, Mom!

Dear Mom,

Happy, happy, happy birthday!

Dad says this should be your happiest birthday ever because you have the most precious, and most expensive (molto cara, he insists) gift a mom could ask for – me. He’s been brainwashing me to tell you that there should be nothing more you can ask for because my eyes sparkle brighter than any Tifanny diamond, my feet are classier and more fragrant than any pair of Manolo Blahnik, and my cheeks are more soothing to touch and hold than any genuine Louie Vuitton.

There, I’ve gotten it out of my system. Now for my own advice – don’t let dad get away with it. You deserve a royal treat on your birthday.

For my part, for now, a little royal secret. When I was still in God’s timeless bosom, I prayed to have you for a Mom. Seeing how much you loved Dad and how happy Dad was because it, I told God I wanted you for a Mom. God granted my wish and I promised him that I will make you and dad the happiest parents in the world.

See, this makes two of us wanting you for a mom. Remember how puppy dog Isabella jumped and barked non-stop with glee the moment you walked into the pet shop. You both knew you were meant for each other didn’t you?

The moment God granted my request and planted me in your tummy, I knew we were meant for each other. Remember how you felt so certain I had come even before Dr. Dondee told you that you were going to be a mom? Remember how ecstatic you were when the pregnancy test turned positive and announced my presence?

From that moment, you welcomed me and never stopped telling me “Hi Baby, I’m your mom . . . your daddy and I love you very much and we can’t wait to see you.” Countless times, you gently stroked me (your tummy was in the way though), told me stories, asked me what I was up to, sang lullabies to me, and allowed dad to press his lips on your tummy and talk to me. Even then, I knew I had a crazy dad with multiple personalities and a thousand voices.

Every now and then, you’d ask dad if you are a good mom. I agree with him, you are the best mom in the world. Thanks Mom, for wanting me and loving me unconditionally. It’s not my birthday but it feels like it is everyday, because each morning I wake up to the best gift in the world – you, my mom.

Daddy and I love you so much,

Carli Coochie

Four Legged Babies (Puppy Love 2)

If you've read my earlier blog on the four-legged and two-legged puppies in my life, here's another one to boggle your mind.

As I've mentioned before, my dad whom my mom calls Daddy Puppy, is himself a dog lover. This trait seems to run in his family because his brother, my Ninong Martin (shown in this picture with me) is also an avid dog lover. In fact, they have a huge and hairy Golden Retriever named Buddy.

Ninong Martin and Tita Nina consider Buddy as their baby and shower him with many of perks we two legged babies enjoy. Buddy sleeps in their room, eats formula dog food, takes regular baths, celebrates his monthly birthday, gets photographed a lot, and puts on hats and custom made t-shirts for special occasions. He does not use diapers though, maybe because he is already toilet trained. And oh, we seem to have the same purpose in life -- eat, sleep, pee, pooh, mess up the house, roll over on command, and entertain adults.

I have not tried playing with Buddy yet because he is so much bigger than me. Honestly, he kinda scares me. Whenever he yawns, I feel he could swollow my whole arm or leg. I think, I will have to grow much bigger before we can start playing. I'm really looking forward to ride him like a pony.

Ninong Martin loves babies, I mean dogs, and I guess real babies as well. He showered me with lots of attention last Sunday and I can't help but hope they also have a real two-legged baby soon. Otherwise, I will just have to enjoy all his "puppy" love for me too. Yehey!! Don't have a baby nalang ninong Martin!! He,he.

Who Are the People in our Neighborhood?

Every morning on weekdays, soon after mom and dad kiss me goodbye and speed away to work, I begin my walk around the block, with my Yaya Menchi of course. Yaya and I survey the block and observe the neighbors and their morning rituals.

I see our senior citizens enjoying their retirement and taking their brisk morning walks. I coo at the children getting ready for school and "wow" at the mom driving her twin girls to Manresa on board an electric golf cart . I throw curious glances at male construction workers flirting with "Indays" and exchanging cellphone numbers with them. I smile at all the other yayas taking their own "alaga" for a morning stroll. And last but not the least, I bid goodbye to all of the other parents rushing off to work.

I live in an international neighborhood. The neighbor on our left is a German married to a Filipina. They don't have kids but dote on a large black Rottweiler. Across us is a Korean expat married to a Filipina. They have a baby boy who hardly leaves the house. Behind us is Yuki, his Filipina mom, and Japanese dad. It's a multi-cultural, multi-racial and definitely multi-lingual neighborhood. The only thing that unites us, is our yayas who speak one language - that is - a language where their "alaga" is always "bida".

I am delighted that Yaya Menchi thinks I am the prettiest in the block, but of course, I'm the only baby girl anyway. I live in a nice and quiet neighborhood and I can't wait to explore the rest of it.

Here in this series of pictures, mom and dad have just given me their long sniffy goodbye kisses and bear hugs before they drive off to work. As soon as they disappear around the bend, I turn to my trusted escort and say, "Let's go Yaya Menchi, the subjects of Princess Carli (that's what yaya calls me but pronounced as "Pran-sis") await her.

Fan Mail

Yesterday, I got my first fan mail from my biggest fan -- Lola Betty. How many babies get a taste of stardom this way? I'm so lucky to have my Lola around. She says I make her laugh. Truth is, she does too and I'm her biggest fan as well.

Dad read Lola's letter to me -- two pages of it written in her perfect Assumption handwriting -- and Mom cried as she listened in. I will forever treasure this priceless letter -- funny, full of wisdom, and unmistakably Lola Betty. I love you Lola .

I'm keeping the original but asked my secretary to share the transcript with you.

September 26, 2005

Dear Carli,

You were only a few hours old when I first saw you. You are the cutest baby in the world! Your hair was so nice and tidy. But the next time I saw you, your hair was so so unruly and you looked like a pretty “bruha.” And then your pug nose does not make you pretty but beautiful. Your earrings make you girlie girlie.

You smell sooooo good! Your sweaty feet smell like Happy cologne. Your laway hands smell like my rosary pressed rose petals. Your breath – wow – baby’s breath talaga. When your daddy brings you to my room in the morning before your bath, your head at the back smells like a pillow.

According to your Yaya, when you make “kisi-kisi” your feet, that’s a sign that you are “chiplada.” That’s not true. You will be the kindest girl in the world.

Your cousin Gio says I laugh like a witch – hehehehe. But at least he is polite enough not to say that I also look like one. You are my favorite “apo.” But don’t tell Tito David. Hindi ba, I’m your favorite Lola? Anyway you can tell that also to your other Lola, behind my back.

When you can talk na, tell your Daddy and Mommy that your first word was “La.” I am sure you remember that. Nobody believes me. Now I am suppose to teach you how to say “Ninang and Ninong” because Christmas is fast approaching.

Thank you Carli for teaching me how to laugh again – no inhibitions, no excuses to act childish and foolish, and to say “abajingay-jingay” without being mistaken for a mental case.

When you are big na, I don’t want you to be too “goody-goody.” I want you to be naughty. My mama, your great Lola, was naughty in school but she turned out to be the best mother in the world. She used to get 0 for conduct but 100 for studies.

When you are already in school, I’m sure your Daddy and Mommy will pressure you to study, study, study, so you can be at the top of your class. Just ignore them. No tutors. Tell them you can study on your own. Like your Great Lola, you will be naughty and bright. Enjoy life and be happy.

I agree with your Daddy that you can have a boyfriend when you are 30. But I will be more lenient. You can have one when you are 29 ½ . In life you will be making a lot of mistakes. I hope I will still be around to support you. Lots of love and xxxx, hugs, hugs, hugs. Bye for now.

From you crazy hehehehe ….

Lola

Milk Monster

I'm a big baby now -- 17 pounds and 27 inches long with my hair down, of course.

To keep up with my phenomenal growth, my Mom has recently switched my milk (Enfalac A+ Lactofree for little babies), to a super enriched formula (Enfapro for big babies six months and up).

Because of this, my appetite has remarkably increased. Just last Sunday, I gulped down 42 ounces of this new milk. At the end of the day, my tummy felt so distended that I ended up crying for help.

I feel this new formula has also made me more active. I find myself more uppity and charged with a lot of extra energy for challenging stunts like scaling up Mom's chest, jumping on my Dad's tummy, wrestling with Yaya, or crawling away from Lola.

As you can see in this picture - I was my giggly self trying to entertain everyone at the family get-together last Sunday.

I will have to see how far this adrenalin pumping formula will take me. I seem to have become not only a milk monster but a diaper monster as well. A few minutes after downing a bottle, my milk processing plant goes to work and soaks up Mr. Kimbies' butt pads in no time.

Mom and Dad will have to get ready for a more active (and more expensive) baby Carli. Thanks a lot Ninang Nona. Without your discounted formula milk from Mead Johnson, my parents would be out in the streets begging for my upkeep.

Inner Child Stress

It’s tough being a baby in an adult world. Everyone wants your undivided attention. If you can’t give them that, a piece of you will do – a cheek, a nose, a toe, a finger …. or whatever they can lay their hands on.

Picture this. We were at Ninang Joji’s condo yesterday. Mom was carrying me, Lola was making funny faces over Mom’s shoulder and babbling “abajingay-jingay” to get me to giggle for everyone, Daddy was wiping drool off my chin and cheeks, Ninang Joji was nibbling on my toes, Cousin Carlo was trying to extract me from Mommy, Ninong Martin was shaking my hand, and Tita Nina was ordering me to smile for her camera.

Would you blame me if I did what I did – screamed my head off and cried! Goodness. These big people! They complain when just one of us kids bother them when they’re in the middle of something. Yet they expect us to handle a mob of adult attention seekers when we’re just six months and two feet tall? Hello, I didn’t sign up to be a rockstar hounded by a hoard of maddening fans.

Hey Ninang Joji, 20 or 30 years from now, this blog will be a valuable source of insights into my inner child.

Sleeping Beauties

I have recently become more attached to mommy, especially during sleeping time. I long to bury my cute nose on her chest as she lulls me to sleep with her beautiful singing voice. Since Dad can't carry a tune, he's utterly useless during sleeping time. With him it's playing, horsing around, exploring the neighborhood, and story telling.

So don't be deceived by the cleverly contrived picture here. It's a fake. Dad had nothing to do with my falling asleep. After lulling me off to dreamland, Mom carefully laid me down on dad's chest. We look so relaxed here -- like Sleeping Beauties tired from all the day's work.

Hey, Mom. I have a feeling you put something in my drink. What wazzzzzz it zzzzzzzz?

Crystal Ball

Yesterday, we celebrated Lola's 52nd wedding anniversary with a get-together lunch at Ninang Joji's place on the 28 floor of Robinson's Regency Condominium. There were lots of food and although I had none of the regular food, I made sure I drank as much milk to match their eating frenzy.

It takes me a few minutes to get used to new surroundings, but now more than ever, I have become more sociable because of my new two front teeth. I have another reason to smile and giggle at anyone who comes to sniff and kiss me, hold my hand, or nibble on my toes.

Now mom and dad think that introducing me to different textures will improve not only eyesight, but also my perceptions about the world around me. Their latest "feel project" for me was the head of my cousin Carlo. Here I am exploring his crystal ball-like head. It gave me a tingling sensation which I really enjoy.

The Nose Knows

Lola Betty has been insisting from day one of my birth that I have a small nose. Mom and Dad refuse to believe this and say my cheeks are just so puffed up that they make my nose look small.

Now there is no reason for me not to have a nice nose. Mom's nose is rather cute and Dad's is quite prominent -- I can grab at it with both hands. I have looked at all of mom's brother's and sisters and cannot find anyone with a teenyweenee nose. I've also seen the noses of Dad's brothers and his one and only sister - and they all look fine to me.

Look at this picture of Daddy and me (taken this morning before he left for the office) and judge if I need a nose job. And oh, by the way, if I stay out a minute too long in the sun, the first thing that gets burned is my nose. That wouldn't happen if my nose didn't stand tall in the first place, would it?

After many sleepless siestas, I realized that the only reason I might possibly have a small nose is because Lola Betty herself has a pug nose -- look at our picture last May 22. So, after much sniffing, I realize that the nose does know! Very sneaky Lola Betty! I guess, this is your way of saying that I've inherited something from you.

I really don't mind having your nose. And you shouldn't too, because this gives you an added reason to say "Carli is Lola's Girl too."

Puppy Love

Did you know that there is a whole gamut of definitions for the word puppy in my household?

First of all, my mom calls my dad - Daddy Puppy. Sometimes she calls him Pooch (which I know also means PUPPY!) and other times Cooch. His full name, from my limited knowledge is Jack Puppy Pooch. To return the compliment with rhyme and reason, my Dad calls my Mom -- Mommy Moochie or just Mooch.

Now in the picture I have here, I also have a small puppy which they call BABY PUPPY. This little puppy apparently is one of the first babies my parents had, which also makes me a PUPPY if that's the case. There is another baby puppy (not in this picture) which is a big brother of this little pup. These little cuddly creatures are my mom's companions when she goes out of town.

Then there's SAB (or Isabela). Sab, is a REAL puppy, whom my Mom and Dad also call PUPPY DOG to distinguish her from DADDY PUPPY. She's a poodle my mom gave to Lola Grace for her birthday and she's the only puppy I know who barks and wags her tail.

Mom and Dad call me by my pet name (no pun intended!) Carli Cooch, Coochies or Coochi Pooch. This has led me to conclude that in a household of adult PUPS (Mommy Mooch and Daddy Pooch), I am indeed one lucky puppy surrounded by a lot of puppy love . It's great being a puppy!!

Bad Hair Day

Mom and I have been struggling with my hair ever since my second month birthday. As you can see, unruly as it is, it's so difficult to find the right clip, snap on, or ouchless band (aha! do you know that this is what they call rubberbands for babies?) to hold it down. More often than not, these trinkets slide off because my hair is so soft and slippery, and when they do get a hold of my hair, I eventually end up removing them out of sheer boredom.

Mom has bought me all sorts of clips, and as of the moment, only the Goody flower ones are the kind that work for me. I only wear them when I have a party to go to or some get-together with Daddy's siblings. I don't know how long my hair will be by the time I turn one year old. I just hope I don't end up having a bad hair day on my first birthday party.

In this picture, I am sitting on Daddy's tummy looking like I literally just got out of bed. I'm glad my friend Gia doesn't have this problem yet. Believe me Gia, when you're hair eventually grows, your mom will go crazy trying to hold it down. See you soon Ninang Evie!

Put your foot in your mouth

My first two teeth which recently erupted have finally become more prominent. My parents are delighted with this new development and I have been rewarded with various kinds teethers, all of which can be cooled and served for my teething pleasure.

The latest teether mom has gotten me is one shaped like a foot. This gives new meaning to the cliche' "I've put my foot in my mouth", simply because I do have to put my foot in my mouth to soothe my itching gums and teeth. I think my parents get a kick out of having me put my foot in my mouth just to teach me valuable lessons in life like - you sometimes DO put your foot in your mouth KNOWINGLY.

With my latest skills of grasping and letting go, I have begun to see what cause and effect means. If I grab everything in the bed (toys, toilet paper holder, diaper, etc..) then that will get my parents' attention. Cause - my ability to hold anything and everything - and Effect - fear in my parent's eyes that I might ingest something dirty or small enough that I might choke on it. Well, I do enjoy watching them try to grab everything ahead of me. :)

I think for now I will have to settle putting my foot (teether) in my mouth, its cold and rubbery and enjoyable to chomp on.

Gasper the friendly Goat

During my routine afternoon walks with dad on weekends, I see a number of animals around our neighborhood. One of them is a goat I have fondly named Gasper (he,he when he dies I will call him Casper!) Now Gasper is usually tied to a tree where he nibbles on the lush vegetation of our park. Other kids play on this park because there is a playground area too.

When dad and I go around, we normally say hello to Gasper and ask him if he has had a good day and whether he will be sold or eaten soon. He has not really answered us, but I think he is someone's pet and will not be eaten any time soon. Here is my picture with dad right after our visit to Gasper.

The Price of Beauty

I finally had my ears pierced last Saturday. It could have been a painless experience had it not been coupled with my measles vaccine.

We got to my pediatrician late in the afternoon and mom happily chose a hypoallergenic set of flower earrings with a stone in them for me. They looked cute up until Dr. Carol fitted one onto a gun-like contraption and aimed it at me. By that time I thought they looked deadly.

With a pen, my good doctor proceeded to mark the puncture spots on my earlobes. She had a tough time doing so as I squirmed in fright at the thought of being a "marked" baby. After five attempts at marking the spot on my right earlobe, she had agreed with mom that the dot was aligned with the one on my left. That signaled the shooting to begin. I squealed helplessly while Mommy, Yaya Menchi, and the doctor's assistant restrained me.

Despite my screaming, I heard two distinct gun shots and felt the flower-earrings firmly planted into my earlobes. I let out a sigh of relief and thought to myself "Haaaay! This is the price I have to pay for trying to be more beautiful."

Now, after three days of wearing my earrings, I have gotten used to them and think they do make me look prettier. Finally, I will be able to use all the other pretty earrings given to me by my Ninangs at my baptism. I'll try all of them on as soon as I'm allowed to change this "gun-dispensed" pair. Check out my blog around a month from now and see me wearing my "Ninang Collection."

Lola Betty

My daddy's mom has been staying with us for over a week now. My parents have invited her to teach me "assumptionista" english, and to make sure that my yaya's are well supervised. Now that was the plan, apparently, she has not yet begun teaching me assumptionista english, but rather has been talking to me in assumptionista baby gibberish. What the hell does "bajinggay jinggay" mean? She repeats that everytime she is delighted at what I'm doing. I guess it means "you're so cute" or "you're so pretty", because it definitely seems that way.

She has kept herself busy by watching DVD's, and puts the sound on mute in the hopes that she will not disturb my sleeping. She's become a DVD addict and watches anything and everything available. In her spare time, she entertains me by trying to read my books to me. I find Lola Betty funny because although she is already 82 years old, she seems just a tad bit older than me.

At night she sleeps early like me and in the morning we both take things slow - we eat, take a bath and then take short naps, we play and then sleep again. Lola's are great to hang around with because they're like big babies. They know our routine and stick to it. I'm so happy I'm with Lola Betty because my mom says she never met any of her Lola's.

I hope Lola Betty stays with us until she has gotten around to teaching me her assumptionista english. Di ba lola? Let's make tusok tusok the fishballs soon!

Daddy and Me

There seems to be an unspoken rule among dads and baby girls -- every baby girl is always DADDY'S GIRL!

Dad says he likes having a baby girl because he's been deprived of girls much of his life. I don't know what that means, but mom tells me just to take dad's word for it. Every day, dad patiently talks to me and plays silly games with me. I love hearing him read from my animal cloth books or from Ninang Joji's Dr. Seuss collection.

Just a few days ago, mom decided to take a series of snapshots of me and daddy in the hopes that I would indulge in "funny face"- making just like dad was teaching me to do. Here are some of our pictures, and obviously, only one of us has a funny face. I won't say who, but you can easily guess because one of us in the picture is obviously preoccupied with a toy on the floor.

When I see these pictures, I can't help but be thankful I'm a daddy's girl. I am smothered with kisses everyday, and sniffed to the max till I am scentless. I enjoy his undivided attention and I can choose to be attentive to him or not. When I'm in a cranky mood, I know dad will do everything to cheer me up. There is a certain magic in being daddy's girl you know, and the part I like best is when I can hug him tight and he will never want to let go. I hope dad stays like this with me forever.

A Visit from the Tooth Fairy

I have recently been showing some strange signs - rosy cheeks, rosy chin, as well as strange behavior - like irritability, scratching my nose on my dad's (or mom's & yaya's) shoulder, overflowing saliva, etc. etc. My mom suspected that I may have developed allergies, but upon my dad's investigation, he learned that I have the textbook symptoms of TEETHING.

Now the book says that the visit from the tooth fairy varies from an overnight painless kiss, with teeth magically appearing the next day, to a prolonged visit entailing heavy salivation and a slow eruption of baby teeth. Sad to say, the tooth fairy has decided to take a long vacation and has happily been staying with me for quite some time now. She has in fact blessed me with two front teeth, half-erupted and very itchy pearly whites. A bit crooked for now, I'm sure she has plans of straightening them out before my next set of teeth come out. Although I'm excited by this new development, I am more excited about mom's stories that I will get rewarded for taking good care of my baby teeth.

Last Saturday, we visited Tita Lally, mom's friend who is an orthodontist, just to show her my teeth, and she gave me some tips on how to take care of them. I will soon be posting some pictures showing my teeth off, but for the meantime, here's my latest picture with saliva pouring out of my little mouth.

Intensity 7

I used to need to belt out a ten decibel MWAHHH to have my needs served. Not very lady like really. Now everything is so easy. When I’m hungry, I just have to open my mouth, or coo, or lap like a thirsty puppy to have a full bottle of milk dock into my gaping mouth. This usually works during the day but it’s a different story at night when you’re squeezed between Sleeping Beauty under a double spell and a pretending Rip Van Winkle.


For this desperate situation, I shake the whole bed until Beauty or Rip wakes up. I know you’re wondering how a 17-pound girlie girl can do this. To all you babies reading this, here’s the secret. Lie on your back, raise up your two feet and your arms to the side as high as you. Take a deep breath and as you exhale, let all fours come down on the bed as hard as you can. Do this in rapid succession until someone wakes up. With practice, you should, in no time, register an intensity 7 bedquake. I guarantee you this -- no Sleeping Beauty or Mr. Pretender can resist this.

What's in a Name?

I’m six months old today and as in all mid-points in life, my mid-year existence calls for some serious reflection. So today, I’ve decided to give my identity and destiny some thought.

My Dad says the function of one’s name is to answer life’s most important questions – Who am I? What am I in this world for? Pretty profound, don’t you think, for someone named Jacinto Ciriaco?

Cara Callia. Carli for short. This is my name, my identity, my destiny. Cara in Italian means “dear” or “precious” and Callia is Greek for “beauty.”

My mom, Monique Therese (definitely a very pretty name), who knows all too well how a name could impact one’s self esteem, made sure that name giving in the family would not be left to someone named Jacinto Ciriaco.

Anyway, back to Cara Callia. Cara also means "face" in Spanish. Well, you be the judge if "beautiful face," the Spanish-Greek version of my name fits me well. I really think that this is a reflection of the vanity of my parents who presumed that two beautiful people cannot but have a beautiful baby.

Cara, by the way, also means “expensive” in Italian. This, I have no problem living up to. My Dad often calls me Molto Cara (very expensive) each time he comes home with fresh stocks of diapers and milk.

I love my name. It’s profound, pretty, inspiring, and very much like precious china – used only for special occasions. When I’m in my diapers and Divisoria clothes, I’m called all sorts of unflattering names – Coochi, Coockoochie, Schooch, Squirt, Baby (how generic), Anak, Anakis, Bajinggay-jingay (patented by Lola Betty), Stinky Butt, Chunky Butt, Chubby Cheeks, etc, etc.

Anyway, thanks for the beautiful name, Mom and Dad. I hope I’ll be able to live up to it and fulfill my Cara Callia destiny -- to be God’s precious and beautiful gift to the world.

The Quick Brown Pox...

Last August, mom finally contracted chicken pox. Being the late bloomer that she is, all she could be thankful for was the fact that she did not have the "pox" while she was pregnant with me.

Her chicken pox, however, took a turn for the worse when she started (which she always does) scratching the small pox. The pox on her head got so heavily infected that she had to be hospitalized. Mom has this way of being hospitalized for the most seemingly harmless illnesses.

Anyway, she consoled herself with the thought that she she didn't pass on the virus to me because a week and a half after she recovered, I still showed no signs of the infection. Her optimism bubble soon burst when a week after she had been hospitalized, I began to show signs of infection. As you can see in these pictures, I was not a lovely site to behold. There were large lesions everywhere in my body ... even in places the medical books said they would not appear (like palms, under my feet, butt, etc.)

The only good thing about this "quick brown pox" is that I hardly felt anything. Mom took me to my pediatrician and my good doctor gave me medicines which made me sleep like a log to prevent me from scratching. In the end it was ok to have contracted the chicken pox when I did. It gave me another chance to bond with mom. We were both spotty, dotty lady bugs. I guess this also saves us some money, cause I won't have to get my immunization for chicken pox anymore. Yehey!

Exhausted!

That’s me at the end of the day. You would be too if you were in my shoes (socks actually) and had my mom and dad for parents.

I need a lawyer (not my mom please) to sue my parents for baby labor and harassment. Imagine the things they make me do. I have to drink 6 ounces of milk (at least six bottles in a day) through a tiny hole on the tip of a rubber nipple. Try doing that yourself and tell me if you don’t develop jaw and neck muscles after the first bottle.

Each morning, I have a tug-o-war with my dad over my favorite book. I love “Fuzzy Bee and Friends” so why doesn’t he let me eat them? Oh yeah, he lets me use his body to wall climb. But try it yourself with only nostrils to latch your fingers on.

I also can’t have a stretch of undisturbed sleep with them around. As soon as I’ve fallen sleep, my dad would nibble on my nose and say “this is the best gummy bear I’ve ever tasted. He would also poke my cheeks with his fingers as though he was trying to puncture a balloon. And oh, he has been using me as weights for his bench press exercises as soon as I reached the 10 pound mark.

Although I’m barely six months old, I’ve already been to boot camp. They’d make me lie on my tummy, put my favorite rattle a foot away from me and order me to crawl and get it.

And there’s the endless photo sessions without any talent fee. My mom and dad just click away and have me strike a different pose each time they order me to smile for the camera.

I have a case against my Yaya too. She wrestles with me until I’m red in the face when all I want is to bite her nose and see if it’s better than my teether. My Lola too pesters with her constant sniffing and Halloween inspired laughter.

I could go on and on but that would be be ungrateful of me don’t you think? What else can I do but to try to understand adults and the deprived childhoods they had.

Dadhood

I’m an early morning person. I’m usually up before the house mouse dashes back into its hole in the wall.

Whenever I wake up, I find myself trapped between my mom’s voluptuous (she prefers to call it “sexy) curves and the great wall that’s my dad. I don’t even attempt to wake my mom up because only a tsunami alarm will. Besides, she deserves a break from waking up to my stomping for my midnight milk ration and 2 a.m. diaper change.

My dad pretends to sleep when I stomp or cry 911, so it’s really impossible to wake him up in the middle of the night. But, when my body clock strikes a wake up call, I use all my charm to wake my daddy up. Resistance, he knows, is futile.

As soon as I discovered the use of my fingers, I learned to push the right buttons. At first a flick or a punch on my daddy’s nose did the trick. After a while, he learned to ignore me so I had to resort to drastic measures. Each morning, I hook three fingers into his nostril and pull him to me as hard as I can. I flash my disarming smile and signature giggle and he’s all mine.

Daddy sits up against the head board and props me up on his tummy. We stare at each other and share father-daughter intimacies. He asks me how I will spend my day and I dutifully tell him about my grand plans in ooohs, ahhs, mwahms, coohs, and ghrrrs. He throws in some crazy suggestions like writing a journal or reading instead of watching TV. After this, Daddy gives me his daily pep talk, usually about growing up stuff like not getting a cellphone until I’m working or not having a boyfriend until I’m 30.

To all babies reading this, just let your dads be dads. Make them feel you’re listening -- oooh or ahhh from time to time. Men need this wisdom passing sessions to make them feel they’re exercising their dadhood.

For your own sanity, though, don’t let them ramble for more than 3 minutes. Usually drooling on them will stop them on their tracks. But if your dad is in the mood to wax philosophical or talk about the birds and the bees, you might have to try sinking your teeth into his fingers. If this doesn’t work, farting and pooping will definitely bring him back to the harsh realities of life. And boy, there’s no better way to prepare him for the office.

Sweaty Feet

I wonder if other babies like me also have sweaty feet? Mommy and Daddy are baffled by my extremely sweaty feet. You see this phenomenon has yet to be explained to my new parents. Whenever I get out of our room, especially when its airconditioned, my feet tend to sweat profusely. As if my toes had water holes in them, my feet leak like a broken faucet. They also sweat when I'm going around the block. I think I have more sweat glands in my feet more than I have in my arm pits and neck. Is that strange? Mom and Dad are thinking of asking my pediatrician about this. Frankly, I think its just because they want to find a reason to visit the doctor so they can check on my weight. I hope my friends like Gia and Vito can let me know if they have sweaty feet too!

Peek-A-Boo

Ordinarily, peek-a-boo is a game dad plays with me, but in this picture, he seems to be enjoying using me to play peek-a-boo with mom. Here's one of those pictures, and as you can see, i'm still so sleepy. I think i just got out of bed when this one was taken. Z z z z

Boy-friends!

Hello there, its me again. This picture was taken by daddy last July. I was much smaller then and my hair was more wild too. Can you see my hair all standing up? You won't believe how spiky my hair can be when it was at this length. I'm thinking of growing my hair long so that Yaya and mommy wont have a hard time fixing it. Sometimes Daddy makes fun of my hair and ties it upright making me look like a japanese sumo wrestler. He gets a kick out of making me look funny. I don't really mind, so long as I get to see him giggle all the time.

I have lots of friends in our neighborhood, and mind you, all of them boys. Dad says I shouldn't entertain boys yet, but I can't help it if they visit me in the house. I'm the only girl in the block you know!

Yuki is a boy who lives just behind our house. He is two months older than me but he's so fat. I think sometimes he can't carry his head anymore because it's so heavy. His mom says that his doctor is asking him to diet. I feel lucky being fit. I don't want to diet at such an early age.

Sam is also a boy who lives around the block. He's much older, around 1 year and 3 months, but his Yaya hardly lets him walk. I'm starting to think he doesn't know how to walk yet. He's not so cute, and he's not my type.

There's also Ken, he's older than Yuki but I think younger that Sam. I think his dad is Japanese too like Yuki's dad. I think I'll have some adventures with these boys when I get a little bit bigger. Don't worry mom, I won't entertain boys... just yet.

Till the next posting.

Hello World!

Hi, I'm Carli! My mom has just created this blog for me. This will help her and daddy's friends be updated on my tricks and latest activities.

I was born last March 14, 2005 and am quickly gaining weight and growing tall too. I was just a measly 6.6 lbs when I was born but now I am almost 16 lbs.

I'm turning 6 months tomorrow and mom and dad plan to celebrate my birthday by getting my ears pierced. I'm not sure if I'll be excited or terrified at the though of having more holes in my body than God has planned. Oh well, I'm sure mom and dad know what they're doing.

Recently, two of my first teeth came out. I was pretty upset about that and my saliva kept flowing like anything. Now that they are partially out, they are still so itchy. Mommy puts some xylogel on my gums and that really makes it feel a bit better. I think more teeth are coming out soon cause I'm still feeling really itchy in my gums. Sometimes, I feel like biting Yaya Menchi. She is so funny, I sometimes think she's just a few months older than me. Ha,Ha.

I will make sure I keep on posting on this blog so you'll know the latest from me. See you soon.