BECAUSE babies tend to mutter a lot of gibberish, there’s a chance that she will get lucky and cobble a couple of syllables that would sound like a legit word. So the rule the wife and I had for determining Isay’s first word would be that she actually has an understanding of what she is saying.
Isay’s first word was mama. Sometimes, that would morph into ma-me. But it was her first word because she understands what she wants when she says mama. She wants her mother.
It’s understandable. Not only is mama made up of the two easiest syllables for babies, Isay and her mom are like best friends.
(Before I begin, allow me to apologize for not having posted for quite some time. Three months, yes? Between covering Manny Pacquiao’s last fight and some seismic shifts in the office, things have been pretty hectic my end and there was little time to update my blogs. Hope this post makes up for lost time.)
I had always been fascinated with the word ever since I encountered it a few years ago.
It is said that the word, which has Welsh roots, has no direct English translation. After cursory research on it, I understood why. English even struggles to define hiraeth. I came across several attempts to define the word in English, and three caught my attention. There are dictionaries that refer to it as that intense longing or yearning for one’s homeland. Some define it as some sort of melancholic homesickness for a home one can never return to. Then there is my favorite: A longing; a heart-gutting yearning to belong that dissipates only after one finally finds his home.
That last definition is what resonates with me a lot.
LONG before Isay turned six months old, my wife and I had already discussed getting her on solid food. The little bunny had been exclusively breastfeeding before that and it was time to amp up her feeding time.
(Note: She still breastfeeds. When my wife is at work, she nurses expressed milk from the bottle. We are hoping this lasts as long as it can. The benefits have been invaluable, to say the least. We always tell friends and family how, during a flu epidemic that rocked the house, Isay was the only one untouched.)
We had previously spoken to Isay’s pedia and read up on every available literature we could get our hands on. We went through everything we learned and deciced to begin the next chapter of Isay’s life.
There’s been a lot of activity lately in the office and in between raising a child and running to different meetings, it was difficult to wedge in blogging hours into the schedule. Every real available break would be spent resting. I guess it comes with age, this need to pause and slow down after every stretch of living life at breakneck speed.
And it’s not like there’s a lot of available rest hours, not when you have a tiny bundle of smiles grabbing at your shirt and eager for playtime.
Plus, even when the little one decides to sleep, you can’t join her. Not now. Not until she’s old enough to realize it isn’t wise to roll over to the edge of the bed.
I’VE been chronicling Isay’s journey in this world via different platforms. I have a little baby journal where I write letters to the little bugger when I feel like it. Lately, that means once a month—on her monthsary date. There are photos in the journal too. Over at Facebook, I have a public album where I post one photo a day, a selfie with Isay accompanied by random thought balloons.
In almost all of those photos, I make up comments that she cracks based on how she looks in the picture. What’s unwritten, but implied, is my end of the conversation.
It will be too much of a hassle to import the whole set (as of this writing, Isay’s been with me for 74 days already) so I’ve decided to share some of the best ones in this post. And then from hereon, I’ll try coming up with a best for the week based on the likes each photo gets.