The Skin911 Consolacion Series: Microneedling.

A little backgrounder: Skin911 is one of the leading facial and slimming centers in the country offering affordable non-invasive cosmetic procedures such as laser hair removal, facials, whitening injectables, slimming treatments and so much more. 

These services, which are widely marketed as beauty treatments for the stars, the rich and famous and the affluent, are made accessible by the Skin911 franchise to people like you and me. We read about these in magazines and browse thru instagram posts but our budgets have no margins for facials that cost 2k per session. #truestory

With Skin911, these flights of fancy are aspirations no more. Self-love achieved. Within our budget. 😉

You’d think that after almost 10 months in operation for Skin911 Consolacion, I would have tried all our clinics services. But no no no, opening the clinic while 7 months pregnant, breastfeeding, maternity leave, going back to work, eldest son starting grade school, the prophesized 7-year-itch marriage drama; life has been one big, hectic, chaotic beautiful mess. And in recent weeks, I have come to realize that in the process of trying to juggle and keeping it all together for everything and everyone else, I have lost all sense of ME.

So here I am, in an act of resolution slash desperation to love myself a little bit more, starting my Skin911 Consolacion Blog Series.

Procedure: Dermapen or Microneedling. 

Microneedling is a dermaroller procedure that uses small needles to prick the skin. The purpose of treatment is to generate new collagen and skin tissue for smoother, firmer, more toned skin. Microneedling is mostly used on the face and may treat various scars, wrinkles, and large pores.

I have always had bad oily acne-prone skin. I have tried a lot of treatments, facials, ointments, creams, oral medication, you name it I’ve probably tried it. Microneedling or microdermabrasion is a non invasive procedure designed to rejuvenate collagen production aiming to give you younger, fresher, more refined looking skin.

First, the aesthetician gives a simple facial to clear your skin and applies a coat of anesthesia and leaves it on for 30 minutes. After this, a dermapen is used to mildly penetrate your skin. A dermapen is made up of tiny, sterile needles. This usually takes around 15-20 minutes and is absolutely pain-free, thanks to the topical anesthesia applied earlier. Post procedure, an ointment is applied and your skin will typically show signs of redness.

The second session has yielded far more visible results than the first. 24 hours post treatment, the skin on my cheeks have started to peel off and my acne spots have dried up. As advised by our trusted aestheticians, no make up, minimal sun and dust exposure in the next 72 hours after treatment.

Crossing my fingers for more positive results from my Microneedling treatments.

Skin911 Consolacion October promo for Microneedling 4+1 sessions for only Php5,000. For inquiries and appointments, send me a message or call us at (032) 423 4536.

Follow this blog for more #MarketingMama and Skin911 Consolacion updates. 🙂

The Eyelash Experiment.

After a series of meetings at SM Seaside, walking from one wing to another, I suddenly felt cramps and back pains, signifying I needed to take a rest. As I was walking and looking for a place to sit down and put my feet up, I passed by Stylash Eyelash Salon and saw the perfect bed to rest my tired, swollen feet and my aching back and asked the kind lady to explain to me in super slow motion the options and procedures for eyelash extension because, number 1: I have quasi virginal eyelashes, with only the occasional glued-on falsies for weddings and events and number 2: I wanted to maximize my time lying prone on their beds while my cramps subside and my feet stop screaming bloody hell.

The Stylish lady walked me through the procedure and was done in less than 20 minutes because I chose the Nude look – 100 pieces of lashes for only Php 550. I ended up staying there for more than an hour and talked to the lady about vanity during pregnancy and told me I shouldn’t feel so guilty in wanting to look pretty even when I feel that I am at my worst physical state. We deserve a little pep talk every now and then. Besides, having nice curled lashes while you bloat like a balloon would be a nice, twisted touch.

Stylish is located at SM Seaside City and SM City Cebu. Current promos include 50% off on their Full Diva and Superstar lashes.

P.s. Excuse the zits. I am going through an extremely hormonal phase of unparalleled portions complete with sporadic cravings, wolf-like hair growth and teenage acne. 

#17weeks

The Beautiful Miracle That Is Pregnancy.

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The beautiful miracle that is pregnancy. This tiny miracle mutant in your body begins to dictate every single aspect of your life from the way you sleep, to the way you eat, how you function at work, why you cry when you watch Revenge Body with Khloe Kardashian. Mothers do not own their bodies for nine whole months. For you to willingly accept a tenant in your own body who manipulates and controls every aspect of your being for a long period of time, that, that my dear friends, is True Love.

Did you know that your body can do a multitude of tasks at any given second? Yessss. Men have no idea about the maximum capacity of bodily functions because they never get pregnant. Yessss. You have not truly lived until you become a mother. Say for example, the mundane task of sneezing. Did you know that you can sneeze AND burp at the same time? Ha. Bet you didn’t know that. Bet you also didn’t know that brushing your teeth, regurgitation and peeing could happen at the same exact time too. Ha. You know nothing and your life experiences pale in comparison to the beautiful miracle that is pregnancy.

It’s awesome being pregnant. I also didn’t know you can produce so much saliva you start to think you can hydrate yourself without drinking any liquid. Bet you also didn’t know the super power of your olfactory nerves. You can actually smell what your neighbor three doors down is cooking for dinner, or what exact liquor your husband drank 18 hours ago. Ha. Bet you didn’t know that. Also, pregnancy is a contradiction of sorts, you don’t like the smell of cooking oil but you want stuff yourself senseless with fried spam, fried hotdog, fried pork, fried chicken. You become completely bipolar and you know it but you can’t really do anything about it. The things we find out during the beautiful miracle that is pregnancy.

It’s great being pregnant. Once the morning sickness goes away, the indigestion and the constipation takes over. Have you tried belching and barfing in supremely high decibels it would put the exorcism sound effects of Linda Blair and Emily Rose to shame? I didn’t know my vocal chords could do that. Seriously. The things we discover during the beautiful miracle that is pregnancy.

It’s lovely being pregnant. I go to work and when I come home at night, and ask the sperm donor husband if he bought me fuji apples and Chowking chicharap and he says, “I’ve had a long day. I forgot about it, I’m sorry. I’m tired.” And my head snaps and faster than you can say sperminator, the pregnant lady can start a verbal and physical assault of nuclear proportions, husband will want to go back to his mother’s womb and come out as a girl instead. Tip to Fathers: You are not growing an arm or a foot or building someone’s brain and liver, therefore, never, ever say you are busy, all the more, never ever say you are tired. And never ever forget the fuji apples and Chowking chicharap. Just breathe. And follow instructions. It’s only for nine months. This beautiful miracle that is pregnancy.

I heard somewhere that the second pregnancy is easier than the first. Ha. My first pregnancy was easy breezy compared to this! I ate like a vacuum and drank like a pirate. Zero physical drama.

My husband and I have fervently prayed, and fervently tried, haha, to give my son a brother or a sister for four years. After several unsuccessful attempts, false positives and mini heartbreaks, we prayed that if we were meant to have a bigger family, we will leave it all up to God. And by some divine intervention, here we are, despite and inspite of the high velocity barfing, zero control over bodily functions and mental and emotional instability, we are “enjoying” and above all, just GRATEFUL for the beautiful miracle that is this pregnancy.

 

 

Post Baby Blues.

Five years ago, I sat in the hospital nursery, staring at my beautiful newborn son. It was less than 24 hours since I gave birth. In the past 10 months, I had a new husband, new job, new family, and now I had a brand new baby too. And I remember feeling ecstatic but exhausted; feeling like laughing and crying at the same time; feeling excited about motherhood but also feeling melancholic because I had to let go of many parts of the old, pre-mama me. I felt proud of myself, for pushing out a 7.2lb human out of my very own vagina but at the same time, questioning if I had the actual balls to raise a child. The list goes on.

miggy 1

I remember asking the nurse to teach me how to hold him. And as she placed my son in my arms, I remember feeling overwhelmed, my heart pumping like crazy as I tried to hold back tears. I had pictured this moment in my head a million times, but here I was, right smack in the middle of it, and the only thought running through my head was – F*ck. I’m not good enough for this.

I asked the nurse to teach me how to help my baby latch on for breastfeeding. And after a few tries, I started feeling like a huge failure. I shifted my chair and faced the wall, afraid that the nurses, that the other parents in the room have judged me. And I sat silently crying and telling my son to please please please just drink my goddamn milk, and as if he understood my whispered pleas, he started feeding and after a couple of minutes, stopped, and gave me this big, beautiful smile. And amidst a flood of tears and noisy sniffling, I snorted out a laugh.

miggy 2

And I knew then, this baby, this tiny, helpless, noisy, semi-belligerent human being, had unfathomable power over me. And in that highly emotional, confused state, I was certain of one thing: I loved this baby more than anything or anyone else in the world.

On the day, the nurses showed me how to bathe my baby, I cowered behind my husband. The feeling of being incapable to be given such a monumental task of taking care of another human being  was overwhelmingly real. My hands were sweaty, trembling and I was an emotional and mental mess that when they asked me to comb his hair, I cried. I f*ck*ng cried. I knew everyone thought those were tears of joy, but really, tears for fears would have been a far more accurate description.

When we got out of the hospital, I was a happy spectator rather than a doting participant. I was tremendously relieved when my mother or my sister or my husband or anyone else for that matter would take my son.

Before my Mama Hat, I wore my Events and Marketing Hat with far more courage and bravado. Rubbed shoulders with famous personalities and even met the president of the country without breaking a sweat and batting an eyelash. Yet, there I was, a quivering mess of disoriented mama jelly, scared sh*tless of my very own tiny human.

Don’t get me wrong. Again, I knew I loved my son. I just wasn’t so sure about myself. Would I ever be the perfect mother I was in my imaginations? Would I be enough?

Post partum depression is real. Nobody just talks about it because everybody just expects you to wear your Mama hat as if it was as easy as that, wearing a hat. Or putting on a tshirt. Motherhood, or parenthood, is like any other adventure: preparation is the key to success.

Today, I sit in my messy kitchen, watching my beautiful, gregarious, smart-mouth five year old wreak havoc in the living room. And if only I could turn back time, I will give myself a hug and tell my weepy new mama self, “It’s going to be okay”.

Miggy1

To all the new Mama’s out there, stay-at-home or working, millenials or not-so-millenials, you are not alone. And yes, it’s going to be okay. You are going to be okay and your adorable screaming baby will turn out just fine. 😉

 

Supermom Swagger.

I’ve been staring at piles of laundry for quite some time. Channeling my inner telekinetic powers so they will fly off towards my brand new washing machine and speed dryer by themselves. I’m developing a massive headache and they haven’t moved an inch.

I give up and segregate them into three piles: polychromatic, absence of color and unclassifiable. And being the maniacal obsessive compulsive that I am, all of these piles must be tediously arranged so that it could be pretty enough for Instagram. I digress.

You see, my Facebook / Instagram newsfeed are flooded with pictures of friends… Pictures of travels and fancy shoes and nice bags and dogs whose fur look better than my greasy hair and wine nights and sparkly jewelry. And being the bright ray of fucking sunshine that I am, I start to wonder: Why the hell do they all look so shiny?! And at the heel of that question comes this: What the hell am I doing wrong???

Sure, I’ve got this Superwoman swagger down to T. Wife to hunky devoted husband, megastar mom to a charming and terribly cheeky son, hardworking marketing gal, grad school student plus I have a new washing machine and dryer and flat screen TV so my son could watch Despicable Me in high definition 812 times in a day. Sure. I could do it all. And in my mind, I could have it all. On paper, life looks peachy.

So I look at all these photos and start feeling sorry for myself. Out of 365 days in a year, how many days do I go on wine nights (4 for 2013) How many times did I travel (once for work, local not international)
How many times did I buy myself something nice (estimate: four times – 3 blouses, 3 colored jeggings from a bargain shop, a ring on super sale). And for the past two years, I haven’t had a tequila shot. All these numbers and tallying and I get sucked into the abysmal crypt of depression. Did you know that 10 out of 10 working mothers lose their mind an average of 3 times a day? I have become a statistic. As I strive harder for excellence (at work, in school, at home), I end up farther than where I started. This Superwoman swagger is a boatload of artfully constructed bullcrap.

You see, I WANT to become Superwoman. I NEED to become Superwoman.

Truth is, nowadays, I’m more of a damsel in distress than a superhero. On nights when my son wakes up crying and screaming I want to kick my husband awake and let him cradle Miggy to sleep while I curl up in a corner. On paydays, there are times I’d really rather spend my hard-earned money on that lovely Prada bag than buy toilet paper and dishwashing soap and chicken fillet. You should hear my pep talks/ monologue to myself on cold mornings when it feels so nice to just stay in bed and under the blankets and smell my son’s unwashed hair rather than get up and go to work. On Saturday nights, I seriously would rather watch Joseph Gordon-Levitt on HBO than go clubbing. Seriously. And I do prefer drinking chocolate milk on the rocks compared to beer and vodka and mojitos.

In short, the world I currently live in is a far cry from the glittery galaxy these current social butterflies of friends of mine thrive in. And as I continue to debate on which Downy variant to use for this batch of laundry, I console myself by saying that this is me, this is the life I chose to live. And I should be thankful. And grateful. (Superwoman resolution #1.) And appreciate the things we usually take for granted every day, like having a house to clean, a job, food to cook, family to feed and clothe and do laundry for.

So there. I will stop complaining and start being grateful. Excuse me while I go use my new washing machine and dryer.

Mommy is Me. (1st,2nd,3rd month.)

Miggyboy01Month 1:

After Lizzie got new cute husband, party girl Lizzie became Lizzie the housewife.

Lizzie the housewife became grumpy and bored so Lizzie got a new job.

New job = adjustment period+ stress + long work hours – sleep x  nicotine + alcohol.

Let’s drink to my new job and unhealthy lifestyle. Everyday after work and on Saturday nights.

Month 2:

Way past the quarter life marker. Beer was my water and nicotine was my air.

Thought I was growing old when I couldn’t finish three glasses of ice cold beer and one stick of cigarette.

Something was wrong. . .and it wasn’t old age. OR. Maybe something was finally going right…

Month 3:

Week 1: Period is three weeks late. blamed it on the job. blamed it on the erratic schedule. blamed it on the beer. blamed it on the  husband.

I got one right.

Positive for pregnancy. Super sperm meets super egg.

Pregnancy test 1: Two pink lines.

Cried in the bathroom. “Thank-you-Baby-Jesus,nowwhatthefuckamisupposedtodonow?”

Showed to husband. Jumped for joy. Happy for you mister.

Went out and bought two more pregnancy kits just to be sure.

Pregnancy test 2: Two pink lines just before bedtime. One more and we’ll hit the the jackpot.

Pregnancy test  3: Two pink lines before going to work. Dear God, I am woman hear me roar. Functional vagina and uterus. All smiles.

Week 2:

The scariest words you will ever hear: Threatened abortion.

Pre-term contractions. Right after watching Thor at the cinema. Maybe baby didn’t like the dimsum dinner and movie?

Bed rest for a week. Hello bed.Goodbye salary.

Week 3:

ME: Crying over Judy Anne and Ryan Agoncillo. Crying because my blazer doesn’t smell like downy. Crying because of my husband’s imaginary new young girlfriend who weighs 80 lbs. and fits into size 24 jeans. Crying because I want to be a billionaire. Crying because i don’t like Anmum. Crying because i want panit sa lechon all day everyday. Crying just because.

Crazy hormones. Raise your hand if you think I’m a drama queen. (Raise)

BABY: Great balls of fire! 😀 Hello Baby Boy Palermo-Olitres! 🙂

Week 4:

Bikinis for sale.

Monologue of the week: My, what lovely stretchmarks you have. Thank you, they kinda distract the viewer from my disappearing waist and they’re so lovely I think I’d like to put a whole bunch at the back of my knees.

Sleeveless tops for sale:

Midweek prayer: Dear Baby Jesus, please save my lovely white iloks.

(to be continued…)