‘Sinulog’ and the Child

Sinulog,” I am reminded, is derived from the word “sulug” which means water current. I was raised by a religious woman, and what I had retained all along was that Sinulog had something to do only with the Infant Jesus, and nothing with water, or its undercurrents. Piecing it together was my husband, who explained again why the dance is always forward and backward like the waves. Sinulog would thus mean “carried by the current,” or, as one may have it, dancing with the wave.

My encounter with pregnancy teaches that water, rhythms, currents — all have everything to do with the child. As I write this I am 12 weeks pregnant and experiencing for the first time the powerful works of the human body, which my doctor and I see through moving fluids over transvaginal sonogram, how the womb can bring, aside from the embryo, other new organs — a sac, a corpus luteum, a developing placenta — needed to sustain and develop what first appears to be a motionless speck into a vigorously moving fetus after only four short weeks.

I am 38 years old and my first pregnancy is classified as high-risk. I seem to be a candidate for pre-eclampsia, diabetes, and, yes, even miscarriage. My own undercurrents with pregnancy bring with them both the beautiful and dangerous. At 38, I am also placed on complete bed rest for yet unexplained spotting/bleeding.

Praying to the Santo Niño, especially around this time of the Feast, is a natural to-do for me. When I was a child, my mom made sure to bring me along to pay homage to the Patron of Children. As an adult, I go there because in the sea of prayer, I often find myself helpless and slowly picking up faith. I find myself drowning in the cries of the crowd, and, raising my arms in song, I, too, begin to acknowledge my humanity, sometimes my shame, sometimes my gratitude, mostly my need. And more often than not, I feel my arms being met, too, and my spirit lifted.

My husband and I have been TTC (trying to conceive) for a few years now. It is no secret that we have petitioned the
Santo Niño for a child. Nearing 40, I have been warned by my OB-Gyn that “God’s time” for us to bear offspring might not be available five years down the road. She had asked me to consult a fertility specialist. In mid-2017 we finally saw one, who explained to us the numerous (costly) processes and tests to undergo.

My husband and I, unconvinced by the procedure, decided to put it off for yet another year. So a little more than a month ago, it surprised us, my husband and me, when we finally tested positive on a u-stick. We rejoiced. Everyone in our family got so excited that I ended up with heaps of maternity clothes and books over the holidays.

As with any other family in Cebu, the holidays extend up to the feast of the Sinulog. On bed rest, I am taken by the feast to a different celebration: one that is bodily and at the same time completely spiritual. With each worded plea to shape me to be the bearer of new life is the unspoken prayer: Unshape me, Reshape me. With each petition to progress the pregnancy is the unsaid prayer to possibly double or triple my discomforts. But always with each prayer is the greater need to just trust.

Outside, while the drums beat and the streets come alive, I listen to the new rhythms of the body: sometimes of pain, of fear — and sometimes, at the rhythm of delight: the picture of this tiny fetus on the ultrasound, kicking, waving whatever extremities it had, as if to say, “I’m here, I’m here!”

My initial thought that the Sinulog always has something to do with the Infant remains. On pregnancy bed rest, I throw myself completely to praying as my refuge. On pregnancy bed rest, I have my own translation of Sinulog: “The Child carries me.”

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Margaret Labella-Alejandro just got her law degree from the University of San Jose-Recoletos, Cebu City, but has “put aside the bar for this wonderful event of pregnancy.”