Motherhood Is For Me Too, The Woman Trying To Conceive

This month that celebrates mothers, Smart Parenting asked different moms and moms-in-waiting to write to their fellow mothers. This is the second article of the series. The first, on the necessary sacrifice of mothers, was written by Smart Parenting Editor-at-Large Rica Peralejo-Bonifacio, and may be read in this link.

TTC, AF, DPO are just some of the acronyms I never thought I would use in my lifetime. To put things into perspective, I have polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) which makes it difficult for me to conceive. I found out roughly a year before I got engaged and married.

I always knew I wanted to be a mother. My husband and I adore children so we knew we wanted to build our family as soon as possible. We decided to start trying the moment we married, but it’s been two years since.

During the two years we actively tried to conceive, I was very present in various community groups—from Reddit to my period app’s community which required me to subscribe. I asked questions, I monitored my cycle, and all that but still nothing. At this point in our marriage, my husband and I decided to take a little breather and focus on other things. Mainly, “Y”, the five-year-old girl who has captured our hearts.

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Now, most newlyweds would think of moving away from home, but not us. We live with my parents which makes life easier for us (sidenote: I have depression so it’s difficult for me to be left alone on some days). “Y”, is the daughter of our home’s kasambahay who has been with us for over 10 years. Both she and her mom live with us full-time.

“Y” arrived in our home in 2019 at six months old when her mother decided to return and work for us after giving birth. During that time, my father warned me, “Don’t get too close to her as it might break your heart if they decide to leave our employment.” Of course, I didn’t listen. I would spend countless hours by her crib, playing with her, talking with her, basically loving her.

I thought of her initially like a baby sister or baby cousin that I would constantly look after. I didn’t realize until recently that while I wanted to have a child of my own so bad, I already had a daughter of my own.

Our household may not be her biological family and “Y” may not directly call us Mom and Dad, but to her, we are. She calls her mom, Mama; my mother is known as Eomma Gramma while my father is the loving Lolo. My younger brother she calls Kuya, while my husband is Bubba. I was Atsi. If you asked her who her mommy is, she’d say Mama, Eomma Gramma, and Atsi Mommy. Her dad? Dada Bubba. She’s found her way into hearts to the point that she was even a flower girl at our wedding with my husband’s nieces whom she considers her best friends.

The arrival of “Y” in our lives taught us how to be parents and what type of parents we want to be. My husband took on the role of the strict Dad, while I realized I was the more loving Mom who “Y” knew she could always turn to but didn’t want to disobey. I taught her arts and crafts and various games. I took her to her first play place, children’s party, Disney on Ice, and any other milestone events you could think of for a child.

We may not look alike but she is my daughter. Her mannerisms, the way she talks—it’s as if she’s a mini-me. At least according to the people around us.

Pat Villarica is the managing editor of SPOT.ph.