2004, goodbye

We're at the cusp of the new year.

Even as the death toll from the horrific Christmas tsunami killer waves continues to rise, I continue to clasp my hands and give thanks every day for what I have (even if I'm not Christian I think there is a God).

For the record, this is my Thank List:

My healthy happy baby
My healthy happy husband
My healthy happy loved ones / friends
Health happy me
... & may things continue to be the way they are

I really want my child to grow up in a reasonably nice world and every piece of bad news now strikes with much greater force than before.

I wonder, where would I be if the waves HAD struck us and baby Day was missing or dead? Mad, I think. I would have gone mad.

Blessedly, the year in retrospect has been good. I'm happy and fulfilled in a way I have never been before. For the first time, I am not rushing to achieve or learn something for myself, and am quite content to just rot (in brain and body) watching baby Day for hours, day after day.

The eight months since I gave birth have passed in a blink. For once, time passed faster than I expected. (When I was working, time always seemed to crawl by) and I think that before I know it I'll be middle-aged and breeding some more.

But if all things remain the same, it will be a pleasant journey.

oldest living relatives

Baby Day has two great-grandmother relics. Both his great-grandfathers are long gone (which just goes to prove that women last longer).

PATERNAL GREAT-GRANDMOTHER



The purpose of our going to Malaysia was to take part in great grand-mom's 82th birthday celebration, an annual affair which baby Day's daddy has unfortunately missed for the last 20 years.

This time, we had to go because baby Day has to see her.

And she is really something. She singlehandedly brought up 12 children - 9 of which weren't even hers (they were from her husband's first wife and her stepchildren all love her) - and now is quite the tycoon. She owns two petrol stations on top of the medical hall. When we tried to give her a red packet for her birthday, she kept the packet and gave us back our money.

Despite her age, her hair is black (dyed I presume) and she can carry bags up the kampong staircase which is super-steep.

Makes me think how useless women are nowadays. I quit my job to look after ONE child. Jeez.

MATERNAL GREAT-GRANDMOTHER



Tai-po is really baby Day's Oldest Living Relative. She's 94.

She can't see, can't speak, can't walk and lies in bed all day, enjoying food and doing her prayers. But she has got a very sharp memory - she can whisper telephone numbers and remember all our birthdays, which is more than I can say for myself - and she clearly relishes baby Day.

When he visits, she likes to feel for his round chubby arms and stroke them. She also doesn't mind him crawling around and on top of her, when we chuck him into her bed.

a malaysian christmas III

We took the opportunity for baby Day to have a super-cheap haircut. It only cost us 3.50 Malaysian ringgit, just over a dollar, which is maybe 10% of what we'd have to pay in Singapore.

THE HAIRCUT

It took all of 5 minutes. Here's the process.



Baby Day wondering: Who is this man?



With the scissors snipping away, things were fine. Until the barber whipped out the noisy machine. Things started getting a bit tense.



What baby Day hated: Having his head held in a pincer grip. That's when the wails and tears started but luckily it only lasted a minute because the barber very very quickly did a chop-chop job towards the end.



Happy and light-headed! Everyone's happy with the result.

a malaysian christmas II

We left Singapore on Christmas eve morning and came back in the wee hours of the 27th.

THE STAY



For the 1 1/2 days, baby Day stayed in a structurally traditional kampong cum shop house which had been updated with airconditioning, ceramic tiles and cable television.

In front was a medicine hall "Chop Fook Heng" which has been in his Nai Nai's family for decades. The shop was filled to the brim with baby products, especially powdered formula milk, and it made me wonder if anyone breastfed there.



Upstairs, baby Day slept with us in one of two cluttered but nicely airconditioned rooms in the house. For the first time, we did the co-sleeping thing and slept throughout the night with him between us (he usually sleeps in a cot). The pleasant surprise: He never woke up once throughout the night.



Otherwise he spent most of his pottering around the kampong: playing in the room, being carried by his multitude of relatives or walking (with help) on the sandy ground outside.

a malaysian christmas I

Baby Day's first Christmas was also his first overseas trip.

He spent it in a dinky little Malaysian town near Segamat, where we had been summoned by his great-grand mother for her 82nd birthday.

Did he behave? Let's count the ways...

THE DRIVE

Four adults and one baby in an Opel Meriva. Most people have their babies safely trussed up in car seats. Baby Day has never been in a car seat in his life as his poor parents do not own one. So a car interior, like any other interesting spot with buttons to push and nooks to pry open, is a playground for the entire duration of the four-hour drive.

Most dangerous moment: Driving back to Singapore. Baby Day's sleep-deprived daddy in the driver's seat, was driving an unfamiliar new car (it belongs to Day's auntie) in pitch blackness (6am) on an unfamiliar road at high speed. He was figuring out how to switch on the high beam while driving. No one was wearing safety belts as we all had to grab him at some point or another. The little one was cheerfully lolling from left side to right side, banging on the window panes and trying to open the door. No photos, everyone was too busy. Thank God we're alive.

To his credit, he was lovely and sweet sometimes.

private pool

Baby Day has got his own private, exclusive little pool!

The neighbours (yes, Sophie's parents) gave it to him for Christmas. It fills up beautifully with a (mind-boggling) 300 litres of water.

We've chucked it in the garden, plonked some toys into the pool and when not in use keep it covered with a piece of tarpaulin. It would be madness to re-fill baby Day's pool everyday.

He loves it anyhow. Apart from one little incident when his head was completely submerged, it's splashing good fun.

christmas presents

When baby Day's daddy zoomed home from work tonight on his motorbike, later than usual, dangling from the bike handlebars were two plastic bags.

For a man who had once given an ex-girlfriend a tin of butter cookies for her birthday, seldom bothers with important dates and never gave his wife (me!) an engagement ring, the last thing I expected to find in those bags were Christmas Presents.

But they were. He, a crowd-hater, had battled the shoppers in an anonymous shopping centre (which he won't name) to find stuff for us.

Nonchalantly swinging the bags, he pronounced: I got something for you and Day.

Me? Too?? Thrilled, I quickly turned on the twinkling Christmas lights on the tree. Out came two gift-wrapped (I can't believe it) boxes.

Tearing the paper off mine, I discovered a pair of Nike shorts. Not the stuff of romantic legend, but infinitely useful because I keep pilfering his.

Proceeding to tear the wrapping off baby Day's present, we (me and Day) discovered a Barney Dinosaur handphone! Baby Day took an instant fancy to it because he has a thing for handphones. He later drank his milk rather half-heartedly as his eye was on the phone.



It's funny but for the first time I think I begin to see what our little family unit means to baby Day's daddy (clearly a man of few words).

And I am profoundly touched.

girlfriend: sophie

The little neighbour's girl Sophie is nuts over David.

She now wants to see him every morning and sometimes in the evening as well.

Calling him "Da-beed", she loves to hug his head (as his head is at her chest level) to plant a kiss on his (usually) sweaty head.

And whenever I hoist baby Day by the hands to let him patter around the house, she trails along, repeatedly tugging at my hand so she can hold baby Day's hand instead.

Sad to say, he still isn't having any of it and rebuffs her advances.

the right way to communicate

How are you supposed to talk to a baby when he catches no ball?

The key, it seems, is REPETITION and EMPHASISING certain words. Or so I gather.

First off is making sure that he does not bite us as he has been treating our necks as his teether.

Just now, he bit Daddy twice. The automatic reaction:

Ow, you stupid boy!

I, the child expert, roundly chastised Daddy:

a) you are not supposed to say STUPID in front of the boy, his self esteem will suffer.
b) you must say NO because he has to learn that no means, well, no.
c) you must mention the word "bite" so he knows chomping his jaws together is the action known as "bite".
d) you must tell him the consequeneces of his action. Otherwise, No has no meaning.

So everytime baby Day bites his father now, Daddy grits his teeth before slowly, obediently and loudly intoning his memorised spiel word for word:

No, Day, please don't bite Daddy. It hurts me.

* Daddy added in the "please" for good measure so he can teach him his P's and Q's in the process.

is day smart?

I just asked baby's Daddy: Do you think he's smart?

The reply: I don't think he's stupid.

Touche!

* That is one of the few pictures of baby Day where I reckon he looks smart because his tongue is not hanging out.

* Daddy does have a thing about NOT letting baby Day's head get knocked in any way because he thinks baby will get stupid as a result. He has a relative who had a soft skull and some...problem because he got knocked up, on the head that it.

For the record, the first time baby Day got his head knocked was maybe two months ago and that was the worst to date, touch wood. Then six months old, he launched himself off a sofa in Starbucks Coffee - where we were foolishly sipping coffee in blissful ignorance behind newspapers - and hit the floor forehead-first. It was panic station, we thought we had to call the ambulance.

All the knocks thereafter were piss minor in comparison. Though daddy does get mad when he gets injured on my watch and I, sadistic though I cannot help it, secretly rejoice when baby Day's head gets knocked under HIS watch and I make sure I hammer home the point: See! Even you (Daddy) are not infallible!

On the other hand, my lip has been bloodied and my nose sorely whacked from baby Day's violent head turning. Him? Don't think he felt a thing.

kieran

Yesterday I took baby Day on a long train journey across half of Singapore to meet a new friend: Kieran.

When baby Day's daddy and me got married, Kieran was but a teeny little red-faced mite, still content to have his arms and legs tightly wrapped up. Kieran's daddy was our wedding compere.

Now he's a strapping 14-kilogram hulk of a 20-month-old who happily stomps through his apartment but is completely still when he watches TV. Apart from the eyebrows, Kieran and baby Day look quite, quite different. Baby Day has half the eyes and twice the mouth.

The two boys didn't really play much either. A year is a BIG difference in baby's world. But maybe when they grow up they can become friends! How cool would that be?

first steps

The staircase railings have become a hot new spot for baby Day. They're like guide posts for him to practise walking. Before I know it I'm going to have baby Terror on my hands as I am fairly sure he will be a runner and I won't be able to catch up.

first tooth

Finally, at 7 3/4 months, baby Day's first tooth has emerged! (for the record, it's on the bottom right)

We thank our lucky stars that apart from floods of saliva, he has been behaving perfectly. No temper, no irritation, no fever. Still taking four hours worth of naps in the day and knocking off for the night before 9pm.

God knows, The Tooth took its own sweet time lying just underneath for weeks, so when he bit (and he DID) it HURT but there was nothing to see but pink gum.

Now it's out it hurts even more when he bites. Frankly it looks a little crooked but it's hard to see from the photo because everytime I manage to snap while his mouth is open, either his tongue is in the way or the copious amount of saliva reflects too much light.

double eyelid: gone

Well whaddaya know?

The double eyelid was a one-day wonder. He woke up this morning and it was gone. Good!

one double eyelid

Baby Day has suddenly acquired a double eyelid on his right eye.

It's the latest and most significant change towards Looking Like Mom.

When he was born he had small slitty eyes and we were convinced he looked like Daddy.

The eyes got progressively rounder and bigger, eyelashes longer and spikier (with an upward crimp at the end) and the double eyelid tops it all. Now his double-lidded eye looks bigger than the other. He's also been mistaken for a girl, which never used to happen.

We are hoping that whatever happens, both eyes look the same. Single or double eyelid for BOTH. Now he looks a bit shifty.

bath time evolution

Now we call baby Day a water boy.

Bath time is probably one of his daily highlights and the slightest sound of trickling water never fails to perk him up as his eyes dart around, trying to find out where the water is.

It wasn't always like this though!

His first proper bath in a yellow plastic bathtub was when he was a day old, still wrinkled and blood-red from the trauma of squeezing through the birth canal. They say babies SHOULD love water from the onset, for they have been swimming around in the womb for 9 months. Dunno. He looked traumatised, probably as 20 pairs of eyes were watching him. He was the "demo" baby for a class of new mommies and daddies.



Two months later, water still scared him. His morning baths were a petrifying experience and he looked worried.



Now it's a a different story. Why? Who knows? Sometimes we chuck him into the red laundry tub because it contains more water, and he's quite happy to splash around for ages. It's probably part of a growing sense of confidence that he can do ANYTHING and that NOTHING can hurt him.

first words

Baby Day calls me "Ne ne" but he only does it in moments when he is in a thumping rage and is yelling for attention. I wonder if he knows "ne ne" also refers to the mammaries, but as I have always maintained that my breasts - lefty and righty - are his best friends, that's no surprise. Maybe he's calling my breasts, who knows?

He also goes "Dada" as in Da(re) when he is in his thinking moments, usually when he is looking at something on the ceiling like a fan. A soft, reflective, questioning "dada" as opposed to the angry "nene".

And he sighs, hums and yells according to how he feels.

How fun!

a month as a mom

People ask if I have any regrets quitting my job.

Yes, on a number of occasions in the last month, I have.

When I put up with a skin rash so I don't have to see an expensive skin doctor, when the taxi driver gives me an incredulous look because I have no cash to pay him, when I realize that credit card companies who are hounding my husband to death are no longer interested in my business because I have nothing to give them, I do think: I no longer count.

And sometimes, I rue quitting so early. The odd thought strikes me, is it worth quitting for just ONE child? And couldn't I have tolerated another six months at the job so I can get my (ahem, well-deserved) bonus payout next year before I vamoose? What difference can it make if I re-appear in baby Day's life next year?

But those are just the odd twinges.

I love being with baby Day and I love how he leeches on to me. I love that he's a happy baby (apart from episodes of fury) and I love hanging out with him. I love just being able to watch him sleep and admire his fat bun of a face.

If there's no money, there's more than enough love to go round. (That's me being super-optimistic and maudlin.)

In any case, the qualifier is that I AM earning money. My biggest $400 job in the past month involved playing the violin and swaying in a swimming pool pretending to be Vanessa Mae but that's another story.

The best thing is that, I don't earn enough to be taxed and credit card companies give me a wide berth.

My stay-at-home-mom tag is a badge of honour.

fists of fury

Oooooh, baby Day has a temper which is beginning to show.

The show usually starts when he is in his high chair. The tension starts to build from the time he is stuffed in (and I mean STUFFED because it takes two people to manouvre him in - one to dangle him by the armpits and the other to grab from below his reluctant legs which are flailing everywhere else, to pull through the holes) to about 20 minutes later when it reaches boiling point.

In his little mind, the wordless thoughts whirl: Why the HELL am I still in this stinking high chair?

From the pit of his tiny stomach, fury swirls up to his face which starts to turn red and even then, a steaming head isn't enough.

Balling his tiny hands into fists like he wants to fight, he sticks his arms straight out, squeezes his eyes shut like he has constipation and screams in baby-ish: I want out, out OUT!!!!

Quivering in fury, he flaps his arms stiffly up and down until we hoist him out.

It's usually quite a good show. We unsympathetic adults always laugh ourselves silly.

origins

It's quite natural for people to wonder which parent babies resemble when they first emerge from the womb.

It was a bit hard at first when baby Day was all squashy-faced and red. But after a few days, everyone said he looked like his Daddy. Why, he had the dimples (three, no less: 2 on his cheeks and one on his chin, which even his Daddy doesn't have) the slitty Chinese eyes and the big mouth.

It was quite unanimous. Even baby Day's doctor would comment that he looked like a "big boy" everytime he went for his jabs, which was mighty often. I was pleased. I wanted my boy to look Japanese like his Daddy, I don't want any boy to look like me.

But if there is any one thing that is quite marvellously constant about babies, it's CHANGE.

Though he's still got the dimples, the big mouth and a big tongue which is so long and thick it's always hanging out of his mouth (kinda like a dog), his eyes have gotten much bigger and his eyelashes are not only long, they are curly and girly.

In short, though we spot signs of us here and there, he doesn't look anything like either of us.

A few times, we wondered if we had brought the right baby home. But Daddy assured me that he tailed baby Day out of the delivery room and took photos right after so we could compare pictures. He appears to be the right boy.

I guess it's wait-and-see from now, to see who he resembles. Could be one of his grandparents, horrors.