It was an ordinary Monday morning when two red strips changed my life forever. I have missed my period for over a week. And I have already set a deadline. As proof, I have bought a home pregnancy test. I knew that if I didn’t get my period by Sunday, I’ll do the test the following day, December 6, 2004. I feel weird doing it. Probably because that was a time when I really wanted the two red strips. Although I somehow knew that I was pregnant, those strips would seal the deal. It would discredit what doctors have predicted many years ago. It would confirm that at the end of the day it was nobody’s call but His. And most importantly, it would prove to be the greatest miracle of my life. Yes, it might be an unassuming Monday morning in the month of our Lord’s birthday. But it certainly was the start of the most important journey of my life.
I got what we prayed for. It was so clear - two lines… horizontal… parallel… pinkish and purplish at the same time. It was as clear as a red ink but this looked like it was blotched with water. I was positive. As positive as the home pregnancy test I took. I tried to say something, to myself of course. But my mind seemed to be elsewhere. I couldn’t remember where but I knew that at that time, my mind wasn’t with me. I cried. I remember being engulfed by a feeling of deep love and gratefulness. I probably uttered “My, God!” so many times because even when I had my mind back, those two words were the only words that I kept on repeating.
When I was a kid, I had a back operation. I was 10 years old. At that age, I was already anxious about what my married life would be like. I remember asking my surgeon whether I would bear a child. He said, I remember so vividly, “Probably not.” It was a bomb. When I was operated on and was forced to wear back braces, I knew my life would be different from other kids. But when I heard the doc’s answer, I knew my life would be different, period. I never entertained the idea of having a special someone by my side. I trained myself to be independent… to rely on myself alone. It’s my way of coping. I never allowed myself to be attached to anyone. I have mastered the art of self-restraint. I have decided that I won’t take any chances. I protected myself from possible hurts and frustrations. I have surrendered even before the battle started. I have thrown in the towel. I have my two hands up in the air. Earlier on, I have already given up. I have decided that any relationship would be doomed. It would be a detour… a road not worthy of travel. But my life wasn’t 100% mine. The decision of whether I’ll have someone by my side, for better or for worse, wasn’t exactly mine to make.
It was a nothing-seemed-special day. I decided to visit a gayfriend. Little did I know that it would be the start of my ever after. Incidentally, my gayfriend already had a visitor – a highschool classmate. They were talking about someone – a guy, who later I would found out, just lost her girlfriend from cancer. They told me that they took it upon themselves to “tour” him around. “Touring” meant they would bring him with them as often as possible to meet new acquaintances. It’s their noble way of helping… their own way of trying to put back some meaning into his life. Since I can fall under the classification of “new acquaintance,” I was tagged as the semi-willing prey.
Yes, I have exchanged “I dos” with the guy they were talking about on that unassuming-nothing-seemed special day. But before I did, I told him this, flatly – “I may not have the capacity to bear your children. If you’re marrying me because you have that dream of propagating your surname (which is ironic because his, I think, is the mostly used surname in the whole Philippines), I guess you have to rethink your proposal.” I hate to live with disappointments. I want a no-pressure, no-finger pointing married life. But more than that, I want to be fair. I love this guy. He’s loved me tremendously. The least I could do is to tell him the truth. I must understand that for an unico hijo, propagating one’s surname might be on the list of “top things to do before dying.” And really, it wasn’t exactly a bad thing to aspire for. I’m glad it wasn’t exactly on top of his agenda.
So he married me. I knew it was a gamble. And he’s bet all he has. Fourteen days short of our first anniversary, he was bound to reap an unexpected reward. It was confirmed. I was pregnant. I knew it wasn’t luck. It was destiny. It was meant to be. We are now proud parents of an opinionated, funny and lovable one-year old little miss. My husband and I have conversations about the blessings we received and how our lives have changed through the years. Both of us only have gratefulness in our hearts. On our most ordinary days, there were extraordinary moments, and we live for them and they were the ones that matter the most. Our road wasn’t easy but we believe that what we have now are our prices - for braving our storms, for taking our chances, for hoping, for believing, for not giving up.
I got what we prayed for. It was so clear - two lines… horizontal… parallel… pinkish and purplish at the same time. It was as clear as a red ink but this looked like it was blotched with water. I was positive. As positive as the home pregnancy test I took. I tried to say something, to myself of course. But my mind seemed to be elsewhere. I couldn’t remember where but I knew that at that time, my mind wasn’t with me. I cried. I remember being engulfed by a feeling of deep love and gratefulness. I probably uttered “My, God!” so many times because even when I had my mind back, those two words were the only words that I kept on repeating.
When I was a kid, I had a back operation. I was 10 years old. At that age, I was already anxious about what my married life would be like. I remember asking my surgeon whether I would bear a child. He said, I remember so vividly, “Probably not.” It was a bomb. When I was operated on and was forced to wear back braces, I knew my life would be different from other kids. But when I heard the doc’s answer, I knew my life would be different, period. I never entertained the idea of having a special someone by my side. I trained myself to be independent… to rely on myself alone. It’s my way of coping. I never allowed myself to be attached to anyone. I have mastered the art of self-restraint. I have decided that I won’t take any chances. I protected myself from possible hurts and frustrations. I have surrendered even before the battle started. I have thrown in the towel. I have my two hands up in the air. Earlier on, I have already given up. I have decided that any relationship would be doomed. It would be a detour… a road not worthy of travel. But my life wasn’t 100% mine. The decision of whether I’ll have someone by my side, for better or for worse, wasn’t exactly mine to make.
It was a nothing-seemed-special day. I decided to visit a gayfriend. Little did I know that it would be the start of my ever after. Incidentally, my gayfriend already had a visitor – a highschool classmate. They were talking about someone – a guy, who later I would found out, just lost her girlfriend from cancer. They told me that they took it upon themselves to “tour” him around. “Touring” meant they would bring him with them as often as possible to meet new acquaintances. It’s their noble way of helping… their own way of trying to put back some meaning into his life. Since I can fall under the classification of “new acquaintance,” I was tagged as the semi-willing prey.
Yes, I have exchanged “I dos” with the guy they were talking about on that unassuming-nothing-seemed special day. But before I did, I told him this, flatly – “I may not have the capacity to bear your children. If you’re marrying me because you have that dream of propagating your surname (which is ironic because his, I think, is the mostly used surname in the whole Philippines), I guess you have to rethink your proposal.” I hate to live with disappointments. I want a no-pressure, no-finger pointing married life. But more than that, I want to be fair. I love this guy. He’s loved me tremendously. The least I could do is to tell him the truth. I must understand that for an unico hijo, propagating one’s surname might be on the list of “top things to do before dying.” And really, it wasn’t exactly a bad thing to aspire for. I’m glad it wasn’t exactly on top of his agenda.
So he married me. I knew it was a gamble. And he’s bet all he has. Fourteen days short of our first anniversary, he was bound to reap an unexpected reward. It was confirmed. I was pregnant. I knew it wasn’t luck. It was destiny. It was meant to be. We are now proud parents of an opinionated, funny and lovable one-year old little miss. My husband and I have conversations about the blessings we received and how our lives have changed through the years. Both of us only have gratefulness in our hearts. On our most ordinary days, there were extraordinary moments, and we live for them and they were the ones that matter the most. Our road wasn’t easy but we believe that what we have now are our prices - for braving our storms, for taking our chances, for hoping, for believing, for not giving up.
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