Jiyann - The Birth Story...

When it happened, it happened quickly.

Not the most original way to begin a tale, but I'd say sincerely that it's the most apt. Jiyann took all of two hours to arrive and that included everything from the time of the first surge (contraction to most of you) to faffing about at home then driving to the hospital and popping her out. With Dobbes the fussy firstborn son, it was a 24 hour active labour in the hospital peppered with bouts of puking every five minutes and severe exhaustion/dehydration. When fully dilated, it was another 30 minutes before he finally decided he was ready to come out and meet the world.

So this short, easy birth was my karma. And no coincidence that it occurred on 20-11-2011. An occasion blessed by God's perfect timing.

It all began 50 minutes past midnight after Mobbes finished massaging my severely aching buttocks with Ortho-Ease oil. With both pregnancies I experienced terrible nerve pain in the final month and my glutes needed the nightly muscular assuaging. He had just heaved himself off the bed when I felt something shift within me - yes, in more ways than one. It felt like a deliberate settling of some sort, like a thud and then came the wave of sensations.

"Get pen and paper. Or your iPhone. You need to time this," I told Mobbes. "It's been about 20 seconds so far..."

I got out of bed and put on earrings while Mobbes looked for a notebook. He eyed me suspiciously.

"Er, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm putting on earrings so I will look nice when people come visit," I said calmly as the surge subsided. Then another one came. After the second one ended, I began packing some make-up items into a bag.

Mobbes, ever-the-predictable: "Why are you packing make-up?"

Me: "I might want to put some on for the photos."

He rolled his eyes and started to make the essential calls to my Dad, our doula Catherine and see that the trundle bag was packed and ready to go. Meanwhile, my surges were coming along swiftly and intensely. I was determined to stay at home for as long as possible, having regretted my first experience of checking into the hospital too early when in labour with Dobbes. I decided to get into the shower as both a comfort measure and to get clean. After all, what if it turned out to be another all night, all day affair?

When Mobbes next came to find me, he found me crouched on the floor under the shower-head, on all fours. I was breathing deeply through the surges as well as trying not to clench my jaw and toes. I was also a bit confused as to whether I was about to give birth or having really bad runs. Tried pooping but no go and didn't want to strain myself on purpose. So I stayed under the shower. Mobbes stood by the bathroom door.

"How long are you gonna stay there," he questioned. I can't remember exactly but he may even have been chewing gum.

"Hmm, leave me alone..." I mumbled, a bit drunkenly. A few more surges came and I tried leaning against the wet walls of the bathroom instead, which helped better. Every time I had a surge, I would call out to Mobbes, "Starting!" and "Finished!" when it ended. Next thing I knew, Mobbes was back in the loo.

He said, "Okay, I think you should get out of there now."

I told him I didn't want to and wanted to stay five minutes more. He said, "you've already been in the shower for half an hour". So I agreed and decided to step out. Then all of a sudden a tremendous surge came and along with it a huge desire to puke my guts out. No, no, no, I thought to myself, anything but the nausea... I can take anything but vomit, especially not at frequent intervals during a long labour. How long is this going to last? Please come quickly, baby... I'll forgive you for being a Scorpio girl if you would only come out QUICK, I prayed.

Having heaved the entire contents of dinner into the porcelain God, I actually felt much better. My head cleared and I managed to put on clothes and make it to the dining room table to have another surge. Then I put on shoes and had another by the door. And another in the corridor on the way to the lift. I didn't realise it then but the waves were only about a minute apart.

In the lift, I experienced such a gigantic surge that I could not help but tense up. And looking back, I'm pretty glad I did, otherwise I would have given birth to Jiyann then and there. I held it together, had another earth-shattering one at the lift door and made it to the car porch where Dad was anxiously waiting.

"Slowly, slowly," he said, trying to be calm. I refused to sit down in the car as I was feeling as if I had a beach ball stuck between my legs (yes, down there). So Dad pushed the front seat all the way forward and I crouched on my knees on the floor, resting my head on Mobbes' camera bag. Dad zoomed off towards NUH at top speed. Later Mobbes told me he was doing 110 on the highway.

Arrived at the A&E and as can be expected a wheelchair rolled up to the car. "No, no, I don't wanna sit..." By this time I was dazed and possibly drooling slightly. Tears were involuntarily sliding down my face. It was not from pain or suffering, it was just the feeling of being so... ripe with transformation and surrender.

They made me sit and while Mobbes quickly handed over our documents at registration, the porter wheeled me crazily into the delivery ward. Each hump on the floor felt like a violation; the guy kept muttering, "sorry, sorry!" every time we went over while I shrank into the chair.

Finally we entered the delivery room. It was a small one; not the spacious den I had before. All the ones with the tub for water birthing were taken. No matter. I told my doula Catherine that I thought I needed to poop.

"I'm just not sure if what I'm feeling is 'that' or the baby!" I said.

"Just go if you feel like clearing your bowels. I'll take a peep and tell you if it's ok," she assured me.

We got into the loo and she peeked between my legs. "All's clear, there is no dilation. Just go ahead and do what you have to."

I sat down on the bowl and relaxed into the sensation. Then immediately I stood up.

"Ok, there is no way this is poop." I said. Catherine hurried over and looked.

"OH! The membrane is bulging! The baby is near; get into the room again."

WHAT? Already? It was barely three minutes since I got wheeled in. I waddled into the room,legs wide apart. Mobbes was there, as well as two nurses who hurriedly rushed in when Catherine told them. Get on the bed, they said, we'll do a pelvic exam.

I gave them the evil eye. I am absolutely NOT going to do that, I told them. Seriously, get on the bed?! Seeing that I wasn't about to take any shit (haha! literally...) they hurriedly rushed at me with some absorbent liners in anticipation of the blood and water that would come.

Catherine said soothingly, "Just lean into Leonard, put your arms around him. You are safe here, go ahead and let baby come..."

I thought, oh my God, this is really it. I breathed and leaned my entire weight onto Mobbes - almost choking him, he told me later - and as the last surge came, gave kind of a low moan, I had to somehow put a sound to it and just LET GO. No struggling no pushing, no puffing. Definitely no medication.

Two seconds later, she came.

Actually, she shot out between my legs like a bullet. I was standing up, leaning slightly forward onto Mobbes who was sitting on an armchair, so she slipped out easily and naturally, right into the waiting hands of one of the delivery nurses. She passed a healthily wailing Baby J to me between my legs, cord still attached to the placenta inside. Mobbes and I switched places, I sat down and had skin to skin time with baby. Less than a minute later, Jiyann started to suckle.

We managed to take some photos after that but there were none during the labour. In fact, there was no labour at the hospital. I had planned candles, different types of oils for different purposes, "rice socks" to act as warm compresses etc. etc. etc. All packed for nothing. All plans foiled by a wee little babe who decided that she wanted to make her grand entrance on the sacred morning of the twentieth day in November, 2011 at 3.02am.

And it was a perfect birth, just like the last one.

Six months in...

Well, this is a sorry state of a blog! So much for blogging every month, what more every week... still, this you must know, Dobbes: your mommy is NOT a "blogger". Bloggers in the Singapore "blog-o-sphere" blog because they want hair, nail and cheap trashy clothing sponsors. You must know I only go for the good stuff (like fun and meaningful vacations I can take you on).

From what I see, they also take a lot of pictures of themselves (your Adda and I prefer to take pictures of you...)

Like this one. Cos you're a far more interesting subject.

Still, this blog was meant to be a regular source of information for you later on in life, so that you have an idea of what things were like when you were growing up. I'm sorry I'm not half as consistent as the fake Chinese American Google Dad who wrote emails to his kid every time anything both significant and insignificant happened, but know that it is because I am WITH you living and enjoying the moment, not just writing about it.


(Thank God for pizza places with colouring stuff. I can only remember to bring the iPad out for you and only sometimes at that...)

Besides, I only write here when I'm feeling ruminative and (more importantly), when I have some time. So you're not going to get any: "Today we went to Wild Wild Wet and had fun!" kind of posts from me.

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Which brings me to the elephant in the room... namely me. I'm almost six months pregnant with your baby sister now but I feel much, much bigger...



See?

When we got the news, Adda and I were a little bit surprised but happy of course. I was actually planning for a Dragon girl, like myself, but this is good too. Having your sister due in November this year means that you would be almost exactly 3 years older than her, which I think is a perfect age gap. Last year you would not have been ready and neither would I; I enjoyed having you all to myself too much and didn't want any other baby in the picture!

I've been explaining you all about having a baby sister since we found out. You have been in equal parts suspicious, mutinous, resigned and now excited to see my tummy ballooning outwards. You would say, "Tummy! I want to touch!" and know that "Adik" is growing safe and warm inside. From time to time, you would suddenly come to me and say, "I love YOU, Mummy..." (emphasis on the "you" to make me feel better) and often when I'm having aches and pains or a bad day.

Other times, you've been developing and changing out of the little round being that you once were. You are elongating and stretching; a little too fast for my comfort although I hardly can stop you from growing up. Adda says your "terrible two's" are upon us and you do seem to test us at every turn: challenging what we say, not being as easygoing as before, demanding your way or the highway.



Not that we let you get away with it.

But you know what? I'm actually thankful for this. You are making us adapt and think and choose. You are turning us into better parents than if you had just been a quiet, docile child who only moves within our comfort zone. With every breakdown, you force us to decide, "ok, how will I handle this? what will I do?" and even though it is hard sometimes, it makes us grow along right with you.

It will be interesting to see you and our fourth cat member play, live and learn together. Exciting times are upon us.


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This was the year you started school and it came about quite haphazardly although it has been relatively a smooth take-off. We got a place in Bethesda Kindergarten almost literally a few weeks (or was it days?) before the term actually began and it was a whirlwind of getting uniforms and explaining to you how you would be away from home for a few hours every day.

So far, you've done as well as any other kid in school, but because this blog is all about the real stuff, here's the absolute truth: you don't like school very much.

It is something that I struggle with a bit. When I was young, I always liked school, right up until University and post-graduate studies. I even wish I were still a student now. School for me meant friends and having fun; books, libraries and being good at exams; holidays to look forward to but even more so when they ended.

But you'd rather just be at home with your toys and TV and grandad. And us.


School has also made you physically sicker more often than you've ever been before (which everyone says is a normal thing but I'm not sure if you have something to do with it...)

So I'm trying to accept the main idea (which I think is something all parents will grapple with at some point in time or other): that you are and will be different from me and that's ok. Besides, not liking school now doesn't mean you'll always not like it.

The challenge will be to get you to keep trying out new things beyond your comfort zone because you never know when you'll find something you'll fall in love with.

The best times I've had so far with you is when you discover something so new and fun that you exclaim (in a totally unironic way): "I TOTALLY ROCK!!!"

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Meanwhile as a rainbow child, you have been showing on quite a few occasions, your eerie sense of intuition and sensitivity. Like how you suddenly wanted to go over and "play with Nyang Mum now" the night before she passed away. Or the time when you suddenly said, "Uncle Terry, Uncle Terry!" and there were no Mini Coopers around but then on my iPhone, the WiFi showed up a hotspot called "Terry Trading'.

Now how could you have known that?

All parents think that the sun shines out of their kids' bottoms (some more than others) and I wouldn't be a good one to you if I didn't think that you're special in many ways. But the rainbow colours of your spirit are frighteningly palpable to me; when you stare at corners and smile for no reason I can discern and talk as if to fairies and sometimes suddenly kick and scream desperately for awhile in the middle of the night that only whispers of prayer calm you down, as if to remind me to pray too.

This has been a year of deaths and births so far, for me. The Universe has placed in my way many incidents, signs and reminders to stop, think and choose how I want to go on; what I wish to shape and create for myself and our family. It's a new experience and at times it's scary but you must know that you are my greatest strength and comfort when I feel uncertain and vulnerable. As much as you need me, sometimes maybe I need you more...

Round-up

Wow.

Where did the year go?

How did the minutes, hours, days, nights, weeks and months slip by so quickly?

I would say I did not notice, but it would be a lie. Already you are stronger; you communicate better and as far as I can see, are ready for more than just me, your Dad, Bibik and Grandpa.

You had a great Pirate-themed 2nd birthday and were more interested in the smaller toys scattered around rather than the giant indoor play-scape you and the other little ones had the run of. But when we took you to a similar place a week later, you were as energetic and enthused as anyone could expect.

Who are you?

Not suitable reading...

I’m still getting to know, little stranger.

With you I have learned to adapt and not jump so quickly to conclusions. You are very much your own person and not the kind of child who is weak and easy to coax. You are determined yet affectionate, more inclined to the physical but just as sensitive with little details.

I can only feel my way through the decisions I make on your behalf at this point in time. I read, educate myself and talk to your Dad and our friends for advice but ultimately, I can’t say for certain that I’m doing the right thing. I just trust that there is someone bigger up there, guiding me while you are in my care and looking out for us.

What is next?

Two years has been an adventure: not really a roller-coaster ride but more like being on a massive schooner, sailing under bright blue skies as well as cloudy grey. Sometimes the waves are a bit choppy but mostly it has been a gentle swell in a wide-open sea of cozy days at home and happy travels abroad. Thanks to your Dad (and Canon – Delighting You Always…) we have the images to prove it. :)

I often fantasise about things staying the same yet I know that change is the only constant I can count on. Living in the moment, enjoying your little-baby voice and cuddly form will not last forever. So I remind myself to also look forward to the future, of golden stars and packed lunches, excursions to the zoo and a time when you will probably cherish the company of friends, perhaps even a little more than mine.

It is all part of what I signed up for, after all.

But until then, I won’t wonder too long about where the year has gone. Because I have been here and for as long as I can, you can count on it that I will be.

My Little Vader

Eat, Drink, Mom, Baby

Dobbes has been feeding himself during dinnertime and sometimes lunch also for slightly more than a month now. He is 19 months old.

Some findings:

1. He eats faster on his own than when we try to feed him. Like 45 minutes faster.

2. He loves food. All of him. Even his hair and clothes.

3. He is very imaginative and picks up on things quickly. After seeing the kompang performance for the first time in his life at a friend's wedding last Sunday, he has started to use his plate to imitate the percussive instrument.

4. He loves penne carbonara. With full-fat cheese.

5. He can eat dinner after eating dinner.

6. They don't make "learning-to-feed-myself" spoons for babies in anything but metal. Why is this so?! My Mum-in-law gave me this spoon, which in terms of shape, is great for him:



I have been trying to find a plastic/rubber version of this. searched in Mothercare, Kiddy Palace, Ikea and many other kiddy sections of department stores to no avail. If anyone has any leads for me I'd appreciate it.

In line with the other aspects of Dobbes' learning and development (playschool, enrichment class, Chinese language skills), we have been bucking up. Somewhat. Mobbes manfully makes it a point to converse only in Chinese to Dobbes (this elicits varied responses ranging from laughter to disbelief and suspicious confusion) while I grab him for a reading session every week and began colouring yesterday (he ate the crayons and I had to dig the pieces out of his mouth with my fingers. I don't know if he swallowed anything but doesn't seem worse for wear).

Dobbes preferences seem to be rambunctious living room soccer (with Mummy, not Daddy), playing camping underneath the comforter and manipulating keropok out of unwitting victims in between mealtimes.

We live in hope and love.

Schools Of Thought

It is slightly dreaded yet necessary. The time has come to consider putting Dobbes in school.

I write/think of this with a kind of sick feeling that makes me slightly ashamed yet it is true. Not too long ago, I had just given birth to Dobbes, was breastfeeding him and saw him take his first steps. And now it s already time for uniforms, schedules, school??? It seems unbelievable! Before I know it, he'll be in a suit and tie (or hardhat cap and steel-toe boots - I'll love him all the same...) going off to work and forgetting to have breakfast...

Of course I have the choice to keep him at home for another year; school for Dobbes right now is by no means compulsory in the legal nor developmental sense.

Yet, weighing our options, Mobbes and I feel that it is something that would be good for him.

Like it or not, we need to face facts: Dobbes, along with being the sweetest/cutest/nicest smelling baby we know, is also starting to get clingy, suspicious of "small people" and feverishly energetic in the way that the confines of our humble house and the little playground downstairs leaves him wanting.

Also a fact: most if not all the time, when I'm home after work, I'm too tired to really engage him with reading or numbers or any kind of academic-type learning. (I do try pathetically from time to time but I doubt it does him any good...)

Dobbes turns two in November and before you know it he will be of an age to enter Kindergarten. Much as we'd like to keep him small and cute forever, we had to shed our frivolous tendencies and summon up the streak of parental responsibility we didn't know we possessed (maybe it came free in the hospital goodie bag they gave out when Dobbes was born...)

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Pre-school is the precursor to Nursery, Kindergarten and then even more dreaded, the P1 registration. I can't even believe I'm even thinking about it at this time, but I really am. And I can't help it! Because considering a pre-school (even with the intention of it being just directed playtime for Dobbes so that he gets to socialise with other kids and have some concept of "school") makes one think of choosing one where he will also be able to continue at for the nursey and Kindy part.

Then there is the question of, gosh, will this kindy prepare him well for elementary school, especially if he is entering the nightmarish local school system?

Spanner in the works.

Okay, okay, I have an idea! How about if we enter him in a good pre-school, one near our home, that has a good mixture of local and expat kids (so he doesn't develop a "katak bawah tempurung/frog in a well" insular mentality) a good environment, and a fun learn-through-play curriculum....

Then for kindergarten we send to to a PAP neighbourhood one! Cos I heard they are really rigorous in their P1 prep!!!!!!!

*warning bells, no sirens, resound*

I am hating what I can become..... the most dreaded of them all..... THE KIASU PARENT!!!!


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I have lurked around the kiasuparent.com forum from time to time, of course. I mean, I'm a Singaporean living in Singapore, and the people of the site can really, really be bothered to comment/list/kaypoh/exchange info to the best of their ability. So it is very useful to scan the discussions and pick out what is ... er, useful.

But for some reason, I simply cannot bring myself to participate and register. For the reasons below:

1. I'm really too lazy/busy having a good time with my life/kid to really participate, what is more contribute anything very useful

2. I'm afraid of becoming like them. Even if I am already (ineveitably) kiasu as a parent, birds of a feather flock together. And I'm not just not one of the flock.

3. Do parents really need to be so kiasu? I wonder. Sometimes I'm ready to just throw in the kiasu towel and just let what will be, will be. Draw straws or lots or toss a coin or whatever. As long as I love my kid and stand by him and make sure he knows it, how much can go wrong???


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Anyway, shopping is the one thing I will always love. And in a way, shopping for a pre-school is kind of fun! You get to attend trial classes or at least walk around the various kiddy premises to see what goes on.

I'm doing the shopping mostly vicariously through Mobbes as he is the one who is free during the day to check out places while they are in operation.

And even though he is not at all, the shopping type, he has - of his own accord - began rating places on a scale of 1 to 5. Mobbes' Meter for Preschools.

His gradings thus far:

Cherie Hearts Kids Kingdom: 2.8 out of 5
Pros: Walkable distance from the house, super convenient
Cons: "Cheena" environment, very new so not sure about reputation, only 4 kids in the playgroup

Shaws learning center at Mountbatten: 3.2 out of 5
Pros: Good basic play environment, teachers speak well, good mix of local/foreign kids, cute uniform
Cons: Dilapidated dwellings, construction site beside school, not very spacious, teachers a bit "auntie"

Schoolhouse by the Bay: 3.8 out of 5
Pros: Large, beautiful compound, nice outdoor/indoor areas, is like a town for kids! Teachers seem professional and energetic, Chinese native speaker teaching Mandarin
Cons: Mixed reviews on the Internet about school's administration system and curriculum (based on my virtual kaypoh-ing)

Odyssey at Wilkinson Road: 4.2 out of 5
Pros: Wonderful facilities, large outdoor play area, friendly teachers
Cons: Expensive!!!!!

The one below we went to look at together:

Rosemary Hill Montessori at Marina Square: 3.5 out of 5 (my grading)
Pros: Very structured curriculum with good progress report processes in place, near my office
Cons: Small, very small indoor area only and shared between preschool/nursery/kindergarten levels! Shared outdoor area at Mall. Not sure how safe...

So the preschool search continues. Today Mobbes will visit Rosemount and The Little Skoolhouse At-Fidelio. We have five months and counting. Let's see which fit is right...

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Almost all the mothers I know (with the exception of one or two) are worried about their kiddy picking up Singlish in school. On some level, I commisserate. After all, for the first six years of my life, I mostly spoke standard English with a smattering of Malay. Singlish was alien to me. English Language was an easy score in school but later on, at Uni and Teacher College, I struggled to explain good grammar and proper pronunciation. I didn't know how to explain grammar rules as I have never been taught them properly. I just knew certain things were correct and others, not.

But back to the issue of Singlish. Is it really someting to be feared? The child will inevitably pick it up, if the family plans to continue living in Singapore. In fact, would it not be worse for your kid to be ostracised as "the loser who don't understand us one" and have no friends?

Of course there are no worries of Singlish usage if he is placed in an international school. At $19,000++ a year, your worry will be elsewhere...

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Ultimately, the most kiasu thought of all when it comes to your child and schooling: "Will he do well?"

Left unsaid: the fear that your child will be either the dunce of the class or just stupid, in a class of his own.

Growing up, I was well-acquainted with the parental pressures of doing well in school. My first foray into formal academia only began at age five when I entered school, a Madrasah (Muslim religious school) in nearby Ipoh Lane. I had not attended preschool/nursery/kindergarten but on my first end of year exams, I topped the class.

Okay, granted, being in such a school I was not up against tough competition. No offense to my old primary school classmates (but come on, I'm sure you guys know that it is true, Malay-minah stereotypes notwithstanding).

But the thing is, once I was top, I had to be nothing but top... at least for my Dad. To get second, third or worst, 10th in class is a cause for punishment, long lectures and my favourite storybooks taken away.

The teachers didn't help much either. I remember Ustazahs (untrained Malay-Muslim female teachers coaching English, Math and Science, oh my!) who laughed at me and said I was talkative. Ok, maybe I was, but I was only trying to help them out by pointing out the mistakes they made in class.

Was I incorrigible? Maybe. Stupid? Well, I have a whole life to find that out.

The lesson as a parent? Being aware, remembering my own childhood and think about what I'd like to do differently (or for that matter similarly) for Dobbes.

And when all is said and done, it's really all about letting him go. Stupid or clever, I'll let him make his own mistakes. And love him anyway.

If only there is a school who can teach us that.

When Bibik's away...

I've always thought that a mother's toughest challenge this day and age is not to lose touch with her child growing up. Working a full-time job, no matter how hands-on I try to be, ultimately I miss out on something while I am away at work.

Then there is that challenge of staying engaged with him after a day's work, when I honestly just feel like zoning out and doing nothing more invigorating than stare at the ceiling.

But there is simply nothing more enlightening than spending a full day at home with your little one. And I mean, no distractions, no going out on playdates or walking around in a mall with baby sleeping in the stroller.

What I am reminded of time and time again is what a humbling experience it is to be a Mom. Because you are in the presence of someone who is discovering things at a rate beyond what you can now ever hope to achieve yourself.

That is the most powerful thing I learn from you Dobbes, that I only get to experience when I am present with you, not away at or tired from work. Otherwise, I just take for granted that, of course you will learn new things and say new words, after all you're growing up aren't you?

But to be there as witness to your acts of discovery makes me want to learn along with you, and be better myself at being open and seeking.

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Dobbes reaches out furiously as usual to grab his sippy cup, just beyond reach.

"Uhhh, Unnnnghhhh!!!!" are his usual methods of making demands. It doesn't matter what he is asking for.

"Dobbes, if you want a drink of water, please ask for it," I said carelessly.

Dobbes gave me a look, then wailed, "Waaaaa-teeeerrrrr! Waaaaaa-teeeeerrrr!!!!"

Now, whenever we say "water" he will chime in loudly as well.

"WAAAAA-TTTTTEEEEEERRRRRR!"


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Not having been acquainted closely with Dobbes' routine during the day, it amazed me to know that he will reach for the bidet as I take off his diapers in the bathroom to clean him.

He will also race ahead of me into the room and position himself on the bed to receive his bottle of milk when it's "my milk" time. Once done, he will give me the bottle, burp, flop over on his front and go to sleep.


Bibik being away has not really hit him very hard. He does not miss her especially, although once or twice he looked a little confused, as if he had misplaced something very important. But he has not gone moody or off his food.

Instead, he seems to relish having his parents attentively around him 24/7.

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Mobbes is clearing leave and at the same time taking on stay-at-home-Dad duties since I'm at work the whole day.

I think he's already lost a little bit of weight, cooking Dobbes food, cleaning the house and most of all through chasing Dobbes around the apartment.

The boys have a nice time with the women away from the house. They burp, dig their noses and read comics in peace, both lying down on their stomachs on the bedroom floor: Mobbes with his Marvel characters and Dobbes with his new flipbooks on Things That Move.


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Dobbesian Vignettes...

The baby babble has given way to caveman-like grunts (in a cute, high-pitched voice however), demanding and purposeful.

"Hnnnggh!" + pointing finger = "Give me my drinking cup/nearby toy/bird outside the window!"

On another front, words are flowing liberally out his mouth. Repetitively, but still considered speech.

New words:

"Hot!"
"Don't!"
"Touch!"
(see a pattern?)

"Nose"
"Mouth"

"My milk!"
"Mammmmmma?! Mammmmmmma?!"

(said angrily when I'm not home yet...)


More often than not, the most demanding thing of all is when he gestures for Mobbes and me to get close together, with him in the middle (carried by either of us). The he will put his chubby arms around each of our shoulders and just be happy.


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Dobbes hair has a life of its own. It is a far cry from the days when he had a bald patch on the back of his head and a few comb-over like strands across his brow.

Now he has a full head of hair which I let grow long, because it suits him. Now he looks like a little Beatle.

Of course it also means that the mop of heavy fringe always gets in his eyes and during sleep he is forever scratching at his face, waking up with cuts. His fingernails grow at a vampire-like rate too.

Sue's solution is simple and cute. But it will definitely not stop strangers from remarking what a cute "girl" Dobbes is....