Farting and dressmaking.

I woke up to the ringing of my Vonage phone and I know my husband was on the other end. He just got off work, and I was trying to wake up. I was awake most of the night trying to find a solution to all the gas build up in my stomach. In short, I was trying, for 5 hours, to burp and fart, so as to make myself feel comfortable enough to get some sleep.

"I sent it already." Those were his chirpy first words. I tried to grasp what he meant by the phrase, while finding a nice position to let my buttocks let out pent up gas. " I sent you a box, with all the patterns for maternity wear and baby clothes and I also threw in a Betty Crocker cook book." My husband is just the sweetest man. He knows I'm bored stiff trying to make sure that this baby grows well inside my uterus, he took the time to find me a hobby.

My sister Paw, has a really expensive sewing machine, because she has this far fetched dream of becoming a well known fashion designer. And all she has done so far is check out the different stitch patterns and run it on a piece of white cloth. Very creative.

Now, I can't wait for the box to arrive. Bill tells me that its really easy to make. I hope that it is.

I never felt so domesticated in my life. I thought I would revolt against it, but now, its fine. Actually, it feels good. Making baby clothes will be something new for me and I think my husband is a great guy to think so much of me and finding solutions to my boredom.

What a great way to start my day - farting and looking forward to a box filled with patterns and lessons on dressmaking. This is such a great combination.

The wisest woman in my life.

I just got off the phone with my mother and I feel relaxed, peaceful and content. Before that phone call I was a total wreck and picked a fight with my husband just because he couldn't keep up with my energy while having a conversation. Petty. I know. But he easily gets into my nerves these days.

My mother seems to know the exact words to say. She makes me laugh, she makes me see things in a better perspective withough being pushy. It must be all those years of experience that makes her the wisest woman in my life.

I miss her dearly and I wish she were here with me now. Funny how we always argue about everything but she is still the person I love to have around the whole time. Her presence is like a soft, comfortable blanket. Everyday is okay when I see my mom come down in her floral house dress and soft slippers. She can command this household while reading the morning paper and she is the only person who can make me instantly better when I'm sick.

She's the best mother there is. Hands down. It makes me think if I can be as good as her when my time comes - and its coming soon on December. Its a big responsibility I know. But as mama would say, even if you make mistakes, just give your child lots of love, through giving a lot of your time. Yes, she has always been around for me and my siblings. Every school activity, picnic, beach outing, birthday, graduation, sport event, you name it. Mama was always present.

I love her so much.

The Guitar Man

I picked up my guitar and started playing this afternoon. I haven't plucked those strings in a long time now. My fingers were a bit uneasy at first, but after a couple of minutes, they were warmed up and started hitting the chords the way I wanted to.

Then it made me think.

Guitar was the first thing Bill and I had in common. If it wasn't for guitar, there wouldn't be us. Bill loves the blues, while I like acoustic pop, religious and classical. The first present he gave to me was a set of cds of his favorite artists. I still have it until now, safe in its blue cd bag that came along with a very touching note.

We loved listening to each other play. We would take turns appreciating a certain rhythm, trying to outplay the other. It was fun.

Now I noticed that we just play for ourselves. I understand that playing the guitar does not only derive pleasure for the both of us, but more as a means of solitude and privacy. Bill plays to calm his nerves and soothes his mind.

I guess when you get married, you get to know the other better.

But I still miss those times we played together. I'm always tingling with anticipation at what Bill would play for me and I always love listening to him. It could be a simple strum or a complicated finger style, he is amazing to me.

I wonder what he thinks of me when I play. Weird, that I never asked him.

I've always loved playing for him. He's is my best audience and my worst critic. Hope we can play together next time.

My boring, pregnant life.

Carla's Day-to-Day Activity Schedule

8:00 a.m. Open eyes, looks at the clock and try darn hardest to go back to sleep.

8:10 a.m. No use. Opens eyes. Looks at Paw's snoring face (sister) and try to contemplate if she should wipe off the dried up saliva on the side of her mouth. . . Nah.

8:15 a.m. Slowly gets up and sits, takes deep breaths, hoping, sincerely hoping that this is a good morning and that this nasty thing called morning sickness and nausea would give her a break today.

8:16 a.m. Tough luck amigo. She feels it creeping up her gut. Reaches for water to drink. Trying not to scream. Heads for the toilet.

8:17 a.m. First saliva deposit in the morning, swears off sex for the rest of her life.

8:20 a.m. Teary -eyed goes to her room, opens the Daily Bread Journal and looks for the current page, reads the page and say morning prayers.

8:25 a.m. Goes down and sits at the dining table. Rolling eyes over oatmeal and hot water in front of her. Oh, not to forget her maternity milk that tastes like crap. Everyone else is having eggs, corned beef and nice rolls. Argh!

8:35 a.m. Finishes up gulping the remains of a dreadful goo called milk and gets water to drink a lethal combination of folic acid, calcium and progesteron hormonal pills.

8:40 a.m. Goes back to her room to turn on computer and check on her email. Admires her blog for ten minutes and finds that the music makes her sick.

8:45 a.m. Toilet.

9:00 a.m. Calls Bill and is happy for 10 minutes.

9:15 a.m. Starts setting up laptop to start writing parts of her masteral thesis.

10:00 a.m. Note: from the start to the end of that writing part, she urinates how many times(lost count) and throws up one more time.

10:01 a.m. Takes a 10 minute nap - exhausted.

12:00 nn Lunch - vegetable soup, rice and fruit. Healthy. Yummy? Nah.

12:15 p.m. Toilet

12:30 p.m. Settles to watch SCRUBS - getting sick of it too.

3:00 p.m. Swears off watching SCRUBS.

4:00 p.m. Plays with Elmo.

4:30 p.m. Swears off playing with Elmo because he's too stinky.

4:45 p.m. Takes a shower and contemplates on dressing up and getting the car keys and driving off somewhere to kill the boredom.

5:00 p.m. All dressed up, car keys at hand and stares at the car for ten minutes, remembering how she puked a couple of days ago trying to drive the car.

6:00 p.m. Texts siblings asking when they are coming home. Demanding that they come home NOW!

6:45 p.m. Call Bill and say good morning, happy for 2 minutes.

7:00 p.m. Dinner - you don't wanna know. It's healthy.

7:30 p.m. Watches the news.

8:00 p.m. Brother Siga comes home - yipee!

9:00 p.m. Paw comes home - yipee!

10:00 p.m. Washes face, brushes teeth. Says prayers. Dreading bed time

2 a.m. Wakes up and throws up. Eat crackers, drink water, try to go back to sleep.

I HATE THIS SCHEDULE!!!!!!

I can't wait until the first trimester is over then I can have a normal life again. I don't care if I'm big, as long as my body feels normal, puhleaaaasssee!!!

My buddy, Bill. The love of my life.

How do you describe your husband without getting mushy?

I'm willing to make a bet that it is possible.

You see, Bill is my best friend and when I mean best friend, he is my buddy, my gym partner, masseuse, person-who-walks-my-dog-when-I'm-too-lazy, chef, grocery runner and all time chat listener and responder.

But don't start ooh-ing and aaah-ing yet, everyone has their imperfections and so does Bill. It's amazing how one person can be so endearing to you and yet be so annoying and a source of irritation at times. Like the fact that he hates my schedules (or my constant goal of having a schedule), the clothes that I force him to wear ( he always prefers his basketball jerseys), eats fast and leaves me to finish my food alone in the table and sleeps facing the wall.

They say that marriage is a reality check. I met Bill, became friends, married him, fought with him (fairly), made up and fought again, made up.It's a never ending cycle. But you know what, every fight we have is a new issue, the old ones were always settled.

That's the reason I now begin to hate romantic flicks, they paint a perfect picture. Sure its easy and its a big fairy tale but it fails to tell those who are still hoping that the real thing is still the best.

My husband is my bestfriend. Even if he is all sweaty, hasn't brushed his teeth, wearing his bright yellow jersey that makes him look like an oversized canary, he never fails to make my heart skip a beat every time. Our love is true and unconditional. We don't need to prove it everyday, but once those moments come, it makes me believe that this partnership was blessed. We know in our hearts that our marriage is always top priority.

Let's just say I found a frog, who told me he is a prince. So I kissed him and poof! he turned into a man that I can actually live the rest of my life with. Now, all I need to do is find a way for him to stop making me understand football. (This is going to take years.)

Darn! and I said I wouldn't get mushy. . .

7 months and 2 weeks more to go. . .

I'm feeling nauseous right now and I'm trying to distract myself, listening to music, looking out the window, wondering where my lemon mint candies-that-can-save-me-this-very-second, is located. I hate this feeling.

My mom is not here, my husband is just as far away as she is.

God help me. I hate throwing up.

Green Mangoes - My Savior!!!

For the past few weeks I have been suffering from "whole day and part of the night" sickness. I wonder who ever coined the name MORNING SICKNESS. It's a big Duh!

I always dread going to bed in the evenings, because I know a couple of hours later, I will wake up, go to the bathroom and throw up saliva, go back to bed, toss and turn for one hour before being able to go back to sleep.

Then I discovered the magical healing of Green Mangoes. IT MAKES ME BURP all the gases out of my system. ALLELLUIA!!!! Now, whenever I feel queezy, I make sure I eat something first, then feast on a green mango. Now, I'm nausea free. . . For the meantime.

All I need to worry about is my hyperacidity and allergies. One at a time girl, one. .at. .a . . time.

"MY SAVIOR!"

Macho Gwapito Elmo!

Cool Slideshows

The one thing that keeps me sane during my hormonal mood swings is Elmo. Elmo is my 1 year old American Bulldog whom I simply adore. We take long, lazy walks in the afternoons. I enjoy the breeze and watch the sunset, while he munches on all the foliage he can find. Yes, he loves leaves - the greener, the better. Let's just say he is very particular with his diet.

Every afternoon, when I come down for a drink or a snack, he always sits in full attention knowing that I'm there. Then when I peep through the door, he always gives me that adorable cute puppy look, complete with the bending of the neck to the right, to make him more irresistable.

I like walking with Elmo, because he doesn't leave my side. When we get to a lonely street, where there are hardly any pedestrians, cars and houses, I let him loose. The first time I did it, I was expecting that I would be running after him,shouting for him to come back. But surprises of surprises, it seems like he maintains a 2 meter radius from me. That when I try to walk away from him, he instantly runs to my side. He's such a big baby.

When I sit down and give him time to check out the new greens in the area, I talk to him. Maybe in a weird way he understands, because I told him about how the neighbor's roosters were getting to my nerves. Well, when we got home, maybe he felt I was irritated by all the noise the roosters were making, he was ready to pounce at them. Thank God he listens to my whistle or there would've been one dead rooster that I would have to pay for.

"Elmo sneaking up on the roosters."

I wish I can just flush my head down the toilet.

This is the nth time I've been to the toilet to puke. Since I found out that I was pregnant, all the excitement seems to dwindle little by little every time I flush tons of saliva and morbid food particles down the john.

"God, help me . . . " this is all I can mutter with every breath I take to try to keep it down. It drives me crazy that I have to feed myself so that I might have some "ammo" to throw up later.

There are times when I just want to scream my head off. I am confined to a bed, can not do the simplest of things that would at least make my life the tiniest bit interesting. It is freaking hot, my neighbor's roosters are killing me. . . I just want to take them by the neck and pluck out each feather with a tweezer.

My mother says to suck on lemon candy, my aunt says ice chips, my weird sister keeps putting liniment on my back and my brother whose a nurse says this is normal - I know he's frantically searching through his books for better answers.

To make matters worse, my husband says "You're just pregnant, and you'll get through this." AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!! When? When? When? When?!!! It was like saying - You just have a cold honey, get over it. I hate him so much right now. I want to claw him.

I wouldn't be surprised if the toilet bowl starts talking to me. I spend more time there now. Besides, I caught myself talking to my dog, Elmo, yesterday, telling him to bite everyone that I hate right now. First on the list: Bill.

Grandpa Carlos 100th Birthday

My Lolo is a great man. He was an officer during World War II, survived the Death March, sent 9 children to school and was the head honcho engineer of the Balara Water Works. I am very proud of him. Having his family name is like being given a shining gold medal that you wear around your neck the whole time. This is the reason I insisted on hyphenating my husband's last name. I am proud to be a Berroya.


Last March 9, 2007, all of my Father's siblings came home to celebrate a grand, momentous event. Lolo turned 100 years old! For someone who still has a sharp mind, can do algebra and multiply double figures mentally - he sure is one hell of a centenarian!

Bill was able to come home at the nick of time. He arrived on the morning of the 9th. I had to look for his wedding barong which, thank God, still fits him. He looked really nice.

Let's just say that the party was a huge success! Well, every Berroya party is always fun because being wall flowers was never in our gene pool. The band had to keep up with every uncle or cousin who wanted to sing on stage.

I wonder what the color motiff would be next year? Please, don't let it be butter yellow. Ewww....