But really, she could not put the blame on her innocent water bag. She was probably up against the cosmos. Perhaps, it pulled a prank on her by letting a stream of blood gush down her thighs instead. It was very alarming so it was about time for her baby to go outside.

So, what else could she do other than lying on a stretcher for 17 hours, with her muscles trying all their very best to push her firstborn out of her womb? Nada. Oh, uhm, maybe, cry over spilled milk for having a foiled plan? But, that was pretty petty – she had two more shots at naming her succeeding progenies Maria Immaculada Concepcion (and perhaps, Mary Immaculate Concepcion? Yeah, corny) anyway. The problem though is, they don’t have eggs. But, they’ve got balls.

But her firstborn still lives. Maybe, not as the Maria Immaculada Concepcion who might be hell bent on living up to her name. She is actually far from being… Maria Immaculada Concepcion. Most of the time, she finds herself at a crossroads, living her life in extremes. One minute, she feels like conquering the universe with her tiny triumphs. The next thing she knows, she feels like drowning herself in self-pity for being beyond repair. She’s having a hard time dealing with such extremes. But, with the help of her loved ones, she still knows how to get by.

That has always been the cycle Iam’s firstborn has been entangled in for two decades. But hey, she’s still a work in progress. Nothing’s really set in stone.

But she hopes that Maria Immaculada Concepcion’s happy living her life in some other universe for she’s already happy being Marielle Dianne.