snuggled into his amniotic sac. He’s already gone through two earthquakes. The
one last night had its epicenter west of
Tagaytay and kept the blinds swaying madly at least a minute before rumbling to
a halt.
A couple of books fell, and I
heard from my sister (who arrived home some minutes after) that people had
rushed down to the ground floor. I’d stayed put on the couch, with my hand over
Belly, keeping my eyes closed to fend off dizziness. I’d weighed the odds of the
earthquake becoming stronger and leveling the building, versus having to run
down ten flights in my ratty gray shirt and floppy gray shorts, and figured it
would be safer for Belly if I hid under the table in case the tremors worsened.
Thank heavens they didn’t. I’ve read that if you stay in a building of medium
height (like ours), your chances of surviving an earthquake improve if you are
on a higher floor – I expect because you’ll get buried under more upper floor
debris if you’re nearer the ground.
My
mom remembers running while carrying baby Bit during the earthquake that destroyed Ruby Tower.