"You're such a big boy for just a 1-year old!" gushed nurse Charlottle when we brought Dobbes down to Prof Lee's clinic on Sunday. He was to have his MMR vaccination then.
Dobbes tramped around the clinic in his huge, white Adidas Superstars and grabbed everything in sight - from important-looking documents on the desk to tiny bits of dust on the floor - with his quick little fingers.
"No, baby!" seems to be a constant refrain of mine these days, as I leap to snatch away whatever his cunning fingers have managed to get at and then freakishly wipe his hands clean or if a sink is handy, submit them for a wash.
He has four little pearly whites in his mouth now and knows how to use them. Everything goes right in and his favourite teethers are my Blackberry holder and Mobbes handphone, both definitely crawling with a magillion germs.
Not that Dobbes has shown any ill-effects from gnawing at them whenever he has the chance. And part of me has accepted that I can't keep saying "no" to him and that efforts to constantly sterilise his movable parts are futile. More than that, I simply cannot repress his natural instinct of simply wanting to grow and discover.
"He is very robust. What kind of formula is he on now?" asked Prof Lee, the Paed who is also a Clinical Paediatric Immunologist/Allergist at Mount E.
"Just breastmilk and lots of food," I said, a little embarrassed thinking about the way Dobbes gobbles up a large bowl of potatoes, rice and vegetables at each meal. "Oh and by the way, he was born with a right aortic arch. I didn't get a chance to tell you that before."
Both the doctor and nurse were silent for a while as they examined him. Dobbes gazed back at them with his enormous eyes, a dancing smile on his lips. Who knows what naughtiness he was plotting behind all that baby charm?
In a second, he reached out for the nearest toy on the table and threw it resolutely on the floor. I jumped but the doctor chuckled benignly.
"Wow, what fast fingers you have! You're so expressive, aren't you, handsome boy?" she said to him.
It took me only a second to realise that she probably says kind things to all babies in order to soothe and prepare them for the discomfort that was to come but it was little a while longer that I knew as his mother, I could be just as tolerant and calm with him. For now, Dobbes days of being quiet when content, helpless on his back and merely watchful are long over. Now he's walking around with tremendous speed, experimenting with different taste textures and flavours and screeching at the top of his voice when especially delighted.
And who am I to say he shouldn't?
"I wouldn't worry too much about him," said the doctor, referring to his heart anomaly. "He doesn't in any way look like anything but a happy, healthy child."
Words that would comfort any mother. As Dobbes squealed his discontent at being poked in the arm and almost immediately allowed himself to be distracted by Mobbes waving a musical tortoise in front of him, I was convinced that he would be allright. Even though I knew that he, like anyone else would eventually face life's risks, dangers and challenges, I allowed myself to be happy that he is here at the moment, experiencing with all of his senses what life has to offer him right now.
And whether it is the crashing sound of a toy being thrown or his fingers happily tearing into a piece of paper, I am grateful for it. And thankful for Dobbes being with me the way he is.
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