Mis-takes and mis-haps

It is September. There is somehow a feeling of in-completeness about things in general. We received keys to the new flat ages ago but still have not got renovations going beyond the re-tiling of the bathroom alls and floor. Still waiting to hear back from the bank about the loan despite responding urgently to their requests for this and that document. Work has become more demanding and time together as a family challenged.

And where is the little white Dobbes in all of this?

Leonard and I have a gesture and saying for when we are making plans together and Dobbes somehow can't be a part of it.

"But what about Dobbes?!" we would say to each other dramatically, faces frowning, hands held palms up, heads shaking side to side.

It is because we know that whatever we do without Dobbes as a participant is an aberration. Sounds kind of hardcore, but the feeling of completeness when we are together, the three of us, is hard to describe. It is comforting, yet fleeting, with a certain sense of precious time passing.

*

Dobbes fell off the bed the other day.

The creepy thing about it is that I have always had morbid thoughts of him falling down, someday. It is almost as if I had asked for it to happen, but of course I didn't, could never ever want him to be hurt the way he was.

But the thoughts had always been at the back of my mind.

"What would I do if he falls down?"

"If I turn away for just one second, is he going to fall off?"

"Is it safe just buckling him onto the changetable for a while?"

"I really need to just quickly run to the toilet and not another soul is free to watch him..."

So anyway, he fell off the bed. It happened in a split second, WHILE I was there with him and watching him. One minute he was leaning back against the pillows (somewhat close but not really to the edge of the bed) quietly playing with his hands, and another he was on the floor, face down and wailing.

The sound of him falling was a soft thump like a sack of potatoes suddenly dropped to the floor.

Mobbes heard the noises and poked his head out of the loo.

"What happened?!" he yelled, obviously fearing the worst.

"He fell off the bed," I said sheepishly, Dobbes now in my arms and howling incosolably. Tears rained down his fat cheeks and his eyes were screwed tightly shut, making him look like a little red-faced Chinaman.

"WHAT?????"

Mobbes and I rubbed his forehead and chubby knees, searching for bruises and other signs that he was physically injured. Apart from the red cheeks, there seemed to be none, no swelling, nothing, not even later on.

He demanded milk and then proceeded to nap at my breast. A couple of minutes later, he woke up pacified and wanted to jump around again.

Oh to have the response and resilience of babies!


*

Dobbes is about 10 months and one week now. We celebrated his tenth month with a slice of lemon meringue pie from an anonymous cafe in Siglap. It was pretty good. Dobbes had some too, mostly the fluffy meringue bit.

He is beginning to eat more "normal" foods that are not pureed to death. Apart from fruits and vegetables, he eats mushy rice and pasta, ricotta cheese and baby potatoes.

His Grandpa like to sneak him a little taste of ice-cold orange juice and Coke! He thinks we don't know it but we grew suspicious when Dobbes would always be grinning triumphantly and licking his lips, everytime he comes out of his Atuk's room.

Bad habits begin early...

The other day I was eating keropok lekor (okay, who am I kidding - I'm always eating it these days...) and Dobbes was in my arms. His eyes traced the movement of my hand holding the keropok as I fed myself. I directed the crispy cracker towards his mouth and it automatically opened to receive the treat.

I didn't want to disappoint him so I poked it against his tongue for a split second.

It didn't kill him.


*


There is a youtube video going around Facebook of a little Chinese baby boy lighting up, starting and then smoking a cigarette. He was leaning against his father (I am guessing) and his father's mates were standing around him laughing at the freakshow.

I cannot understand why anyone thought it was funny.



*


About an hour ago, Dobbes woke up gasping and screaming in bed. I tried to give him my breast to comfort him but he wasn't having any of it, pushing me away. He was sweating buckets in his onesie, the flat little pillow he aways used completely drenched.

"Is he having a nightmare? Is he teething?" I thought frantically.

Mobbes was soon awakened by the loud wailing. Dobbes' face was wet with tears even as I sat up in bed and tried to cradle and comfort him. For a moment I had the dumb idea that he was still asleep and shook him but then he opened his huge eyes and looked at me in agony.

The feeling of not knowing what to do is overwhelming when you are a mother. It's like you're supposed to know because your child needs you to and otherwise, how can you help him?

"Get the teether from the fridge," I told Mobbes. He got up dutifully (albeit sleepily) and came back with the object. I put it in Dobbes' mouth but he turned his face away and continued crying. I did it a few times but nothing doing.

I stood up and brought him nearer the air-con vent to cool him down. He leaned his head against my shoulder and complained softly. At least he had stopped howling. I started singing to him.


Hush little baby don't say a word

Mummy's gonna buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird don't sing

Mummy's gonna buy you a diamond ring


(... although what on earth would a baby do with a diamond ring? I'd be better off having it, 'cos it probably wouldn't fit him...)

The complaining dimished to become soft, sleepy sounds. He was still fidgeting so I asked Mobbes to help me change him into a tank top and thin cotton pants. Of course the minute we took off his clothes, he started screaming again.

We made a quick job of it and I settled him against my shoulder again, facing the air-con. This time he was quiet.

Mobbes collapsed against the pillows, exhausted. I clambered onto the bed with some difficulty but managed to lay Doobbes back down on his side. He made motions to suckle, so I let him. Minutes later he was out. His Dad lay on my other side, snoring lightly.

And of course, here I am, at 0539, unable to get back to sleep.