DAY 1 (Tuesday)

Yes, an angel came from heaven, transmogrified himself into a baby boy, and presented himself to someone I would refer to as ate (a-te) Baby. Ate is how we call in Filipino a sibling (or any woman) older than us.

That Tuesday morning, while I was preparing for work, ate Baby came. Even without me seeing the one calling out my name from outside of our house, I was pretty sure it was her. That bass-booming voice was so familiar.

As I opened the front door leading to our terrace, what greeted me was like a scene from a movie – an old frowzy woman standing cleaving to a newborn infant slovenly swathed in an old blanket. She inquired if I still wanted to adopt a child and entreated me to get the baby she was clutching.

Of course, my wife and I wanted so badly to have a son or a daughter. We have yet to have one at that time. We wanted so badly to hear in that house the reverberating cries and the timorous laughter of an infant. But that notwithstanding, I could not grab that lovely angel from the hands of ate Baby. I wanted to make sure that there was no monkey business involved. I needed to do some investigation. Besides, I wanted to discuss it seriously first with my wife.

I then told ate Baby that we would inform her later in the day about our decision regarding the infant.

My wife was still in bed, probably half asleep, when I re-entered our room. Before leaving, I informed her about the baby. I saw her eyes sparkle in excitement, and told me I should have woken her up when Baby came.

I told her not to make any decision without us talking about it. Besides, at that time, I was talking to another party regarding a 7-month-old baby named Niña, whom I saw when I brought my students to an orphanage. Then I left hurriedly, for I did not want to be late for my work.

But as I was having a meeting with my colleagues in the college where I was working, it was almost noontime when I received a call from my wife. She told me that another party was interested in taking the baby, thus I had to make up my mind. I told her to give me until evening to decide. But she was adamant, demanding that I had to decide as soon as possible.

That’s her, what she wants, she should get immediately. It has always been like that. She told me a mouthful –  about being indecisive and the likes.

I tried to figure out how to best navigate around her pressuring me. I called her back and told her that, personally, I had second thoughts. So, I would leave the decision to her. But, I assured her of my support for whatever she wanted to do. I ended the call telling her that it was my turn to report in the meeting we were having. The truth is I was already done reporting. Had I not done that, she might have continued talking, and we would be coming full circle.

As far as I could recall, she had never made a major decision. I doubted if she would do so that time. She never made a big decision for our family. It has always been me making decisions.

After a few hours, I called my sister-in-law and asked about my wife’s decision on the baby. Surprisingly, she told me my wife had already brought the baby home.

It was a mixture of emotions that I felt. I was WORRIED but EXCITED!

Worried because she made a major decision without us seriously conferring with one another. That wasn’t me. It would normally take time before I make a decision. But I was excited too. I felt an inexplicable excitement. There was seemingly a magnet pulling me home. Indeed, it was different because, in the past, I wished that I could just stay in the office and work a little longer. But at that time, I knew that there was an angel at home, and I would like to be acquainted with him as soon as possible.

I have not clutched a baby I could call my own for a long time. The last time was when my girlfriend, when I was in college, gave birth to my first son two months before I earned my undergrad degree. We eventually decided to live separate lives and took our 2-year-old son with her.

Anyway… on my way home, I whispered a prayer that He may make me and my wife ready for whatever responsibilities and challenges we were about to face.

When I got home, the baby was sleeping under the staircase – in the daybed where I would be lazing off while watching TV in our living room. Seated beside him was my wife, all smiles and enthusiastic, essaying her newfound role as a mother.

I approached them, knelt, and gazed at the baby. He had fair skin, softer than cotton. I kissed those rosy cheeks. He reacted, and what a wonderful sight I beheld – his skin turned crimson, and let out a short shriek, probably feeling delighted by what I did.

I visited ate Baby in their house after dinner. It was an angel she brought to our doorsteps, and words are not sufficient to express my gratitude for such. However, I had to tell her about my reservations. Firstly, I clarified that I don’t like that the baby’s parents live nearby. It would make our situation, and most especially that of the baby, so complicated if the real parents were just around. Lastly, I don’t like that anyone, not even her, would take advantage of our situation – childless for a long time – and play with our emotions. As it is, the long wait for a child of our own is already emotionally distressing, and if the one given to us is taken away for whatever reasons there may be, the pain will be much greater.

I told her that I could rebound easily from emotional distress, stressing that I am a tough hombre. But it may be different on the part of my wife.

For all those, ate Baby said the magic words – “Trust me.” Then she told me that I needed to accompany her the following day to the midwife who attended to the baby’s mother. After that, I went home happily armed with an assurance of someone saying I should TRUST HER.

Many “firsts” happened that evening. There were no disagreements that transpired between me and my wife. We ate happily together. We talked. We planned together. We woke up together to attend to whatever our baby needed. I would say it was a miracle – a miracle that happened because of the presence of an angel. And that was only the baby’s first night with us. We also had a lengthy discussion about how we should call him. We decided to name him MARC ANDREI and his nickname Santino.

I slept approximately a couple of hours. I could have gone sleepless, and I would not complain.

DAY 2 (Wednesday)