The funny things babies say - Part II

"Buh-bye! Call me!"

Makayla as she exits a room.

Life Goes On

I haven't blogged in weeks. Too busy trying to get through life to actually blog about it, although I find blogging as very therapeutic.

The past few weeks have been hectic. The baby was quite sick throughout Thanksgiving and when we brought her to her pediatrician's office, the doctor did some blood work then told us to bring her to the Emergency Room at the Children's Hospital. The doctors at the Children's Hospital confirmed she has a Urinary Tract Infection. Poor thing has lost weight but, thankfully, with the antibiotics kicking in, she is slowly regaining that wonderful appetite of hers.

At work, it's been a full 6 months since we have had a receptionist. (I no longer count the 1 1/2 weeks Katie "worked" here). I am now the unofficial receptionist - on top of my usual duties - and I am slowly dying inside. I don't know how I can explain it to people who think it's an easy job. Big deal, just pick up the phone and redirect, right? It's not that simple. It also involves hearing complaints and profanity from angry, greedy people every day. I have worked on no less than 500 cases and I have had only 2 clients actually say "Thank you." The rest usually just call me a lying bitch. Needless to say, this daily dose of negativity is wearing me down.

Things were looking up for me, mentally, for a few days. Now, I'm finding myself growing depressed again. So many things on my mind, so many worries, so much sadness and regret. After spilling my guts out to my husband about my feelings, he said I could quit my job and look after our daughter full-time until we move to Canada. He knows how much of my feelings of sadness and regret are tied up with missing so much of her every-day life at a job I am growing to hate intensely. The questions remain: can we survive if I quit? Can I survive if I don't?

In rememberance

November 11 marks Veteran's Day in the US and Rememberance Day in Canada. It's a time to think about all the men and women who fought and died in wars.

Around this time of year, I think about the stories my parents would tell my siblings and me about the second World War. Both my parents were very young at the time but they remember horrific details of things that occurred during those years of their lives in the Philippines. They would recount walking past the bodies of neighbors killed by the Japanese. They would tell us how Japanese soldiers would make a game of killing infants in front of their screaming mothers. They would tell stories about how my grandparents would hide American soldiers in the cellars and sheds behind their homes, keeping them secret from the Japanese soldiers who would patrol the streets. The American soldiers would call my grandfather "Pop" and give my mom and her sisters Baby Ruth chocolate bars. My grandparents risked their lives, and the lives of their children, to shelter and feed those American soldiers; any Filipino civilian found aiding American soldiers were beaten and, usually, killed.

As I walk the streets in Boston, I sometimes wonder if any of the people I pass are related to one of the American soldiers who took shelter in my grandparents' homes. I wonder if they would ever guess the invisible ties that bind us: we are here today because of what our ancestors did for each other.

The funny things babies say

"You farted?"

-Makayla to her teddy bear this morning, as she lay beside him in her crib.