My dad, education, and the #DayoftheGirl

I only found out late this evening that October 11 is International Day of the Girl, the second one being celebrated by Unicef. It could not have been more opportune than today... for today is also the eve of my late father's birthday - who was my number one fan when it came to supporting me on the education I wanted to pursue.

When I graduated from high school, I pursued a path much different from the path my own parents took. I went to a university and took a course that were not exactly the first choice my parents had for me, but I insisted. The four years that followed were probably the most difficult years in my entire scholastic life... but I persevered and managed to graduate from the degree I had chosen. Soon after, I joined a multinational bank and managed to carve out a small niche for myself. I knew it made my father proud that he had a daughter who worked for a multinational bank in Makati. 

Years later, I ventured into the next scholastic adventure I wanted to take - I wanted to take up an MBA, and I preferred for it to be from an institution outside the country. It was not an easy battle... for my parents believed that the next adventure in store for me was not an MBA, but more like a husband and a family. I insisted on it, paying for all application fees and prerequisites out of my own savings. While all of this was happening, I was slowly convincing my dad to let me go. I had to do that because my savings were only enough to get me through the application phase! Everytime we talked about it, I would get gentle reminders that no man would want marry someone who was much smarter than him; that boys tend to be wary of girls who had too many degrees; that instead of wanting to spend money on another degree, I should worry about my own dowry. It wasn't as if my dad was a chauvinistic pig. It was just that in the family I was born in, the background that I grew up in... a four year course was enough. Anything beyond that was unheard of.

Eventually, with a lot of facts and figures from Business Week, The Financial Times and other business magazines (stuff I was bombarding him with), he let me go. And when I changed his mind... I really changed his mind. Suddenly, it was his great idea that I was going for an MBA. From that day on - til the day of his passing - I strongly believe that he really believed in his heart that it was the best decision to let me go. And for that, I will forever be grateful to him. He (and my mom) rooted for me, cheered me on, scrimped and saved to get me through that one year. What I am today, I owe it to them.

Why do I care about girls getting good education?

1. I am the recipient of a good education, and I am thankful for it every day.

2. I have daughters and nieces. You or someone you know has daughters too.

3. Girls are easily half of the world. Imagine how much better the world could be.

4. We all (whether boys or girls) deserve that one shot to get a better life. Education is key.

And if you're not yet convinced, check out this infographic.

We, in the Philippines, are much better off than the rest of the world. Men and women, boys and girls are treated as equals here. I just hope that even at the more marginalized levels of society, the girls are being given equal opportunities as their male peers/siblings when it comes to education. 

 Finally, this tweet puts such a wonderful, basic perspective to educating little girls.

The Force Behind My Breastfeeding Success #BestStartswithDad

My siblings and I grew up drinking formula. In fact - I remember drinking powdered milk well into my teenage years; I drank powdered milk every single day until the day I graduated from high school. My youngest brother drank (a different brand of) powdered milk well into his college years. One of the questions strangers would ask us at the grocery check out counter was "who's drinking all that milk?" - after seeing the cartload of milk and four fully grown children with my mom. Needless to say - none of us were breastfed. I probably never tasted a single drop of breastmilk until I had my own.

Fast forward to almost two decades after high school - married for over two years, pregnant with a singleton. I've had a few friends who's had kids of their own - and I saw them successfully breastfeed their kids. I also knew of people who were not successful. If you asked me what the success rate was for breastfeeding (at that time) - I would have said 50%. I personally knew that breastfeeding was going to be good for my baby - but I did not have (in my brain) a single fact to even start explaining why I wanted to breastfeed. 

I started reading about it - the hows, the whats, the whys and the why nots. I went to social media and followed people who freely and openly talked about breastfeeding on Twitter. It helped that - a year before I gave birth - my sister in law had herself given birth to her third child, and I saw her own struggles. I saw her lactation consultations. I saw how hard it was to teach a baby to latch. I saw how precious each drop of liquid gold was. I also saw how she fed her baby with donated breastmilk whenever she ran out of her own. It was a theoretical and a practical lesson all rolled into one.

When I finally gave birth in the summer of 2009 - K was overdue (almost 41 weeks) and I gave birth via C-Section. 24 hours from delivery, K still had not peed - and my husband and I had to consent to letting her have some formula (thinking it was the best option at that time). As a first time mom, the task was daunting. I had no idea whether I could produce any milk at all (I could not see it), and it was not exactly a walk in the park to have a baby try to latch on. Still, I was determined to breastfeed her. She took only 1 serving of formula and never had taste of it again, until she turned 1.

Looking back - despite all the physical effort coming from me - it would have been mentally and psychologically impossible if my husband did not share the same determination to breastfeed our children as I did. As with any marriage issue/concern, the husband and wife has to have a united stand.

thepinkinkdoodle.blogspot.com

He cheered me on. I refused to buy an expensive breastpump until I could prove that I could produce milk. On my first month, I used an Avent handpump (thanks to my sister in law) and pumped around the clock. It was not an easy task - but having my husband around to celebrate each precious squirt sure helped reduce the pain of the aching wrist tendon.

He talked about it. There was no shame in talking about it to family, friends and even strangers. It was the sharing of a good thing that mattered. He picked up the facts that I had fed him (I would often repeat the benefits of breastfeeding to him - as he's not a reader) - and relayed them to other soon to be parents. He would ask me for more information and tips whenever he needed to share with his friends.

He scheduled (and paid!) for the lactation therapist. We contacted Lita Nery to help me - with how to get the baby to latch on, how to treat lumps and blocked ducts.... He asked Ate Lita so many questions that I think Ate Lita probably remembers him more than she does me.

He never looked away.  It honestly feels more embarrassing for me to feed/pump when my companion is embarrassed. If my companion were comfortable, I personally had no qualms about it. Over the combined 40++ months that I've nursed my 2 girls, I've had to feed/pump in the oddest of places - from restaurants to train platforms to bleachers to amusement parks. He never looked away.

He lost precious sleep time and comfort. If you know my husband, you will know that sleep is of utmost importance to him. In order for me to nurse my girls round the clock - we chose to co-sleep, which meant he had to give up precious bedspace for the girls. There were also nights when he would get disturbed by fussy, hungry babies. If it weren't the fussy, hungry babies - it would be the sound of my Medela pump, whooshing and swooshing the night away.

www.brandmill.com

Fathers play a very important role in the breastfeeding success of families. That single voice makes a difference - against all the many potential questions that will come your way as you start your breastfeeding battle. It could be the one single tipping point - whether the breastfeeding relationship will last for one month or one year. It definitely made a difference in mine.

To my husband, and all fathers out there - Happy Fathers Day - and may you always stand for what is best for your family!

Papa, can I ask you something?

If my papa were healthy and alive today, he would be turning 54 years old today. It's not the ripe, old age of 54... because 54 is young. He would be young enough to carry my two girls, play with them and spoil them like grandfather's do. I grew up with a grandfather figure - my father's dad doted on me (I shamelessly admit that) - and I feel sad that my daughters will grow up not knowing a grandfather figure (my husband's father has passed on as well).

Now that I have daughters of my own - I really wish that my dad were still alive so that I can ask questions about my own infant and toddler years. How similar or different were our experiences in rearing up daughters? If he were alive today, these are some of the questions I would have asked him:

1. When did you find out you were going to have me?
2. How did you feel the day I was born?
3. When was the first time you carried me?
4. Did you feed me milk? Change my diapers? Washed my poop?
5. How did you play with me as a baby?
6. What did you do that made me smile? Laugh? Cry?
7. Who did you think I looked like?
8. What were the things we liked to do together?
9. What were the dreams you had for me when I was a baby? When I was 1? 2?
10. Was I as you expected me to be?
11. Can you tell me anecdotes of my infant/toddler years?
12. What were the things I said that made you smile?
13. How different/similar was I to Shobe?
14. Did you like having two girls?

Papa, it would have been wonderful to exchange notes, talk about the girls, and let you experience having little girls once again since Shobe and I are both all grown up. It would have been wonderful to give you back the experience of going back in time... seeing us again when we were small. Now, you can only do this from afar - and I do hope you are watching over my two girls like a guardian grandfather. I hope you enjoy watching them grow up - seeing their beautiful smiles, relishing their bubbly laughter, and chuckling over their little girl antics. Happy birthday, Papa! My two girls and I wish you were here to celebrate it with us.