For a lot of things.
Creating a worthwhile blog
entry, for one. Because it has been six months since I last published here
– either I have been busy or been simply too lazy to think, much more to
write.
The impenetrable web protocols at
work is not helping either.
Qube's babyhood has
gone by in a breeze without me being able to document each monumental step,
literally and figuratively. Save for the occasional twitter
and facebook posts, I haven’t been able to write at all.
Even the sort of writing that one just keeps to
herself. Hmmm. Now I am suddenly reminded to put in writing the mental
notes that I have been keeping for quite a time now. Though I would have
to muster enough courage for that.
Just a few hours ago, I was
torn between panic and amusement because I (again) noticed posts in my twitter
feeds which I did not make because I was then in the office, working my ass
off, oblivious to the rest of the world. Well… not entirely true, but still.
The point is, somebody else was posting on my behalf – of high scores in slam
dunk, song quiz and fruit ninja. And if you think a one year, nine month old
baby can't do that? Think again.
Sometimes Most times, I am
convinced that my child is a genius. How else could I explain him being able to
recognize numbers zero through nine, regardless of what he is doing when you
ask him? Or his ability to distinguish colors and make it sound like the most
normal thing that a baby should know? Or, just a few minutes ago, the way he
was searching for the "clear page" icon on his drawpad, and
successfully finding it on the first try, the second, and all other succeeding
tries, moments after he saw me pressing it to erase his scribbles to make space
for new ones?
Well, truth is, all mothers
feel the same pride for their children. On my part, this pride is coupled with
the prospect of us getting famous through him, and probably earning millions
when, being the "superbaby" that he is, he'd discover something big
that would revolutionize life as we know it. Hehe.
If the above does not prove
successful, yours truly would seriously consider being a stagemom, given the "ahem" really good looks that
he has.
WARNING: Do not, for one
moment, mistake this as conceit on my part. I am merely playing with possibilities. And
a chance to earn BIG.
Like the possibility of him
becoming a basketball superstar at nine-years old (that would be less than
eight years from now). In our plans, the husband and I have even gone as far as
planning to bribe his grade school coach so that he'd get drafted in his
school's varsity basketball team. Justifying it as a necessary move so he won't
be disillusioned so early, just in case.
If that, too, fails? There’s
football.
Anyways, what's so special
about this stage is that I could look at him building his LEGOs and think
that he’ll probably design the next skyscraper wonder of the world, with his
name etched on top of it (and probably have a lady CEO named Pepper). Or see him obsessing over his small stable of cars
and conclude that he’ll become the first Filipino F1 car racing champion. Or
see him playing Punch Hero on the iPad and decide that, well, he’ll probably
get over it in a few days.
All these dreams I could
see in him without (yet) being pressured to fulfill any one of it. Let’s see where it takes us
in a few years.
But tonight, what’s real is
the sleeping baby on my lap who clings on whenever I make an attempt to put him
down on the bed, refusing to let go even to just let Mama pee.
