While my four-year-old daughter looks freakishly like me ('See that image of me on the left side of this page? Lisa looks just like that.), proof that she carries Mel's DNA jumps out at me every so often.
LISA: Mommy, why is your tummy so big?
MONA: Well, when your Kuya Carl was was a very, very little baby, he lived in my tummy. It made my tummy stretch so he can move and play. When Kuya Digs was a little baby he lived in my tummy too. And when you were a little baby, you lived in my tummy too. My tummy is big because all of my babies grew inside and then came out of tummy. (The more logical Mommy-ate-too-many-pizzas-and-burgers version was not whimsical enough).
Life has taken me to four countries in six weeks. That's seven airports in two continents. Four time zones and two climates.
The trips have not been without their hiccups. Like when I rented a car in the US with GPS, entered the wrong hotel address and drove into the belly-button of the American midwest. I was 20 miles off course before I realized the oversight; and by then, all I could see was corn and truckers.
But no threat of missing my transfer, of facing power-tripping immigraton officer or of being crushed by my kabayans scrambling for their balikbayan boxes can compare to the scare I faced when I got home: getting caught between a hoard of sugar-fuelled children in Halloween costumes and a giant bag of candy. I swear I saw a rabid three-year old in butterfly wings.
