DAY 2 (Wednesday)

My emotional rollercoaster was still at the highest point in the tracks. Life taught me though that it will not remain up there. I wanted to cheat. I wanted to put a stopper. I wanted my rollercoaster to end its journey right there. I didn’t like my ecstasy to end. The ecstasy that having Marc Andrei brought. If ever I’ll be drowned I’d like it to happen in the lake of overwhelming joy, not in the quicksand of despair.

As I head out of the neighborhood, I passed by both well-wishers and hecklers. The well-wishers expressed their happiness that we finally have a baby at home. I didn’t mind the gibes and taunts of the hecklers. They were unsuccessful in demolishing my resolve of embracing Marc Andrei as my own. They did not even succeed in uprooting the joy that the baby planted in my heart.

The hecklers don’t understand the simple truth that to be a parent, your son or daughter need not be biological. That’s probably the simplest way to explain it.

The whole day of Wednesday that my emotional rollercoaster traveled in a plane of happiness on top of the tracks. There were no bumps. It was a joyful ride, indeed, making me forget momentarily to anticipate that anytime there may be an unexpected twist or bend or I may reach the end of the plane and then plummet down.

I thought of a lot of things for Marc Andrei. He instantly became an additional source of inspiration. Like an excited first-time father, I informed my colleagues and friends at work about my baby, my son, our son.

Some of them warned me to proceed cautiously in handling matters related to Marc Andrei.

In the evening, accompanied by ate Baby and ate Claire (a first-degree cousin of my wife), I went to the lying-in clinic where Marc Andrei was said to be born. It was something that I wanted to do the other day before deciding whether or not we will take Marc Andrei. But my wife hastily made a decision which at the end, as a husband, I respected and supported. Actually, I admired what she did.

I listened intently to the midwife. From her accounts I learned that the mother of Marc Andrei is a 19-year old student from Manila whose pregnancy was kept from her parents. She did not intend to keep the baby for it would complicate matters for her and her family. She wanted badly to finish her studies and having a baby will be a hindrance. Thus, she wanted the baby to be given to a childless couple for adoption.

I thought I was listening to a synopsis of a story. It was too familiar. I read a story (or is two?) that is similar. I teach literature and how many have I told my students that “Literature is a reproduction of life.”

But I have no choice but to believe the story.

I believed the midwife (or shall I say I didn’t care whether it was the truth or a lie she recanted for I was so blinded by my yearning for a baby). Besides, the midwife is a distant relative of my wife and a close friend of ate Claire who happens to be a midwife also.

When I asked that a document be prepared and signed by the mother, a document expressing her willingness to give the child to whoever, the midwife said it was unnecessary telling us that we can rest assured that there will be no legal impediments that we would be facing much as the mother was not keen on keeping her son. I felt uncomfortable when I heard that but what choice do I have.

The midwife also added that I need to pay P6,500 for her services and requested that an amount be given to the mother. She did not specify how much and pointed out that the mother just needed a little financial assistance having spent so much in her effort to hide her pregnancy.

I promised to pay the midwife and give the biological mother of Mark Andrei a certain amount as soon as possible.

I was exhausted upon reaching home that evening but seeing Mark Andrei gave me a different kind of high. I planted a kiss on his cheeks and my exhaustion was gone. I was still in cloud nine.

Then I thought of the financial obligations that parenting would require. I just closed my eyes at that instance and murmured, “God will provide!”

A couple of hours before midnight, I prepared everything needed by Marc Andrei – the bottles, the milk, the diapers, and the cotton. That was something new in my routine and I think I did it so well.

On the bed, I sat beside my wife, and recounted what transpired in the lying-in clinic. She just listened. I noticed that the enthusiasm she had the previous night was gone. Probably, it was due to exhaustion and lack of sleep.

Then she said something that almost made my world cave in. She wanted us to return Marc Andrei to ate Baby. She realized taking care of a baby was difficult. Then suddenly my emotional roller coaster hit a twirl and a bend then started to plummet down.

I rarely blow my top but when I get angry things could go ugly. I bombarded my wife with harsh words. I have never spoken to her that way since we got married. I told her to imagine how shameful it would be if we would turn our backs on Marc Andrei. That was exactly the reason why I was telling her that we needed to be careful in making the decision, but she did not listen. And when she experienced how difficult it was to take care of a newly-born infant, she wanted to give up so easily.

I asked her many times if she would not reconsider her decision. She responded negatively.

I felt a mixture of emotions.

I was so sad. I was facing the specter of losing my son. I wanted to think that my wife was just kidding. I was already so emotionally attached to Marc Andrei at that point.

I was also infuriated. The fickle-mindedness of the lady of my house is unbelievable. Marc Andrei is not a toy that could be dumped just that. If she actually gave birth to our son I would think that it postpartum depression. But it wasn’t. I wanted to think that she probably got overwhelmed doing things she wasn’t accustomed to.

It was hard to  imagine the heckling we will receive from the people in the neighborhood. Should that happen, I was sure we would be the topic of gossips for months to come.

How would Marc Andrei feel if in the future he’ll get to know about this unfortunate event in his life? What will a grown-up Marc Andrei and the well-meaning people around us think about my wife… about me?

DAY 3 (Thursday)

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)