DALAGS, DA VINCI CODE, AND MY EASTER HANGOVER

Believe it or not, I still have my Easter hangover.

Maybe it's because I miss those "Toys 'R' Us" bunny rabbit commercials, which beckoned to my son, Troy, like a siren call. As soon as Troy heard those little bunny voices, he'd stop what he was doing and make a beeline for the TV, standing before it entranced with big unblinking eyes until the last bunny hopped out of sight.

Maybe it's because I'm getting sick of egg salad sandwiches. Maybe it's because my dyed eggs left indelible spots of color in my fridge. Even Spot the Pit Bull didn't escape unscathed. He now sports a bright pink tuft of fur at the base of his collar. Whether it's Easter Egg dye or strawberry Bubblicious, I'll never know. (And don't get me started on gum. I will forever rue the day Lance and Troy discovered gum.)

Or maybe it has something to do with "The Da Vinci Code", which I just finished reading. This book is just crawling with fertility, fruitfulness and fecundity. It was aptly fitting that I started reading the book during Holy Week. With Easter fast approaching, it was impossible to dismiss the book's main premise, highlighted by the barrage of fertility symbols associated with the Easter holiday.

I've always loved Easter. When we were younger, Easter Sunday was a day of deliverance. Deliverance from boring Cecil B. De Mille movies on TV (yay, cartoons again!), deliverance from dead air (and worse, institutional religious spiels) on radio (what, no Siouxsie and the Banshees?!), and most importantly, deliverance from eating dreaded pinakbet and diningding with no meat in sight. If your family is Ilocano, you'll know what I mean.

Yes, Easter to us kids meant deliverance from suffering. Just as Jesus was delivered from his torment to his rightful seat by The Father through his resurrection. Resurrection. Coming back to the living. Being reborn. Which brings me back to my former conundrum. Even before reading DVC, it had always been paradoxical to me that the Lenten Season, which was supposed to be observed with self-discipline, fasting and abstinence (and not just from FOOD), culminated with a holiday which was covertly, if not overtly sexual.

Indeed, Easter has become synonymous with abundance and proliferation. Flowers springing from the earth, scattered eggs in all hues of the rainbow, bunny rabbits multiplying exponentially...these are symbols more mundane than divine, all of them glorifying sex one way or the other.

This brings to relief an incident during the Sereno family's Easter egg hunt. Lorenzo and I were right in the middle of the fray, purportedly helping Lance and Troy look for eggs (they were much younger than their cousins, providing us with a convenient alibi). When most, but not all of the eggs had been found and the kids were starting to get antsy, my sister-in-law, Selina, pointed at me, saying, "Look, that's the biggest egg of all!" My nephews and nieces ran to me laughing, and Christa, Selina's youngest, claimed me as her egg.

I guess I DID look like an egg, with my big, pregnant tummy. "Well, if I were to be an egg, I would be a Faberge egg, thank you", I thought to myself.

And then it dawned upon me: I AM a walking fertility symbol. A life with another life hidden within, ready to spring forth at God's alloted time. Even my name, Renee, means "reborn" in French. A coincidence, mind you, but nonetheless apropos.

With five boys shared between us and our first daughter coming soon, I guess my fertility is beyond question, and neither is my husband's. I am reminded of my Lola Elvie's initial reaction three years ago, when I told her I was pregnant with Troy:

"Ano ba 'yan, para kayong mga dalag!"

I wonder what she thinks, now that another baby is on the way. But I'm not too worried. After all, the lady has five children of her own, all born within two years of each other. After witnessing my grandmother's example, I guess it's no wonder my Mom became a demographer!

And besides, nothing beats a clean conscience. I did everything by the book. In fact, when our daughter was conceived, I was on the pill and still breastfeeding Troy, another supposed hindrance to conception. And yet, here I am, blissfully pregnant at the ripe old age of 36. Given those odds we could only see this baby as a gift from The Lord.

Which brings us back to the "Da Vinci Code". How can I, an avowed Christian whose name LITERALLY means "Born Again", find such pleasure in reading what could possibly amount to heresy in certain circles? I guess I prefer to keep an open mind.

Without losing my faith.