During my sixth month of pregnancy, an ultrasound showed Dobbes to have an abnormality of the heart: a mirror image right aortic arch. The cardiologist was concerned that the veins would form a ring around his trachea and, given time, may choke his windpipe.

Such news for a mother indeed.

It did not help that the sonographer running the tests was a curt, tactless woman from mainland China who displayed all the stereotypes of her people. She rudely told me in the middle of the examination that my baby's veins were "not forming properly" (as if I somehow caused it to happen on purpose) and even complained when Dobbes refused to turn into a convenient position for her and kept hiding his heart with his hands (like, can you blame him, with her attitude?)

I chose not to take a recommended amniocentesis to ascertain if Dobbes had other chromosomic abnormalities yet undiscovered. What use would that have been? I was sixth months along already and even from the beginning, there was nothing on earth that would stop me from wanting to have him in my life.

But it did not make the knowledge of his heart condition any easier for me to accept. The only way I managed to get through the following months was to not invest energy into negative thoughts. I was aware that nothing could be done before he was born and also at that point in time he was still forming and growing. Even the cardiologist admitted that there was nothing wrong with the way his heart was functioning.

But it was a different story after he was born and we had to revisit the cardiologist three days ago. I was totally unprepared for the level of anxiety, fear and helplessness I felt when I saw little Dobbes lying on the huge white hospital bed, being prodded in the flesh by the sonographer and cardiologist. There was no escaping this time; my uterus no longer provided him the hiding place he wanted.

That was when it struck me that there would never again be a time like those magical ten months when I was all that my little white dot needed to feel safe. Conversely, I am now powerless to protect him.

Even if the monitoring eventually shows his condition to be safe or if he recovers from any surgery needed, there would always be something in this big bad world for me to worry about for my son. From diaper rash and baby acne to skinned knees, bullies, unrequited love and job politics, Dobbes may either suffer or pull through any one of these or more.

While all my life, I have always been very certain that this is what I ultimately want -- to be happily married to the love of my life with kids in tow -- nothing has quite prepared me for the possibility of experiencing love this deep, when hurt is felt most intensely when the one you love is in pain.

Maybe this is something that only Mothers ever feel. I only know that when Dobbes is peacefully asleep and cooing in his cot, I drink in the sight of this greedily, vowing that I'd throw myself in front of a speeding bus if it can guarantee his health, safety and well-being.

My Angel-Monster

When I was pregnant, I was the kind of mummy-to-be who did everything she could to bond with her would-be baby. From Day One. Well okay, starting from when I was six-and-a-half-weeks along.

The shock and trepidation gave away quickly to borrowing baby books, Mozart CDs playing every night and reading stories out loud to Dobbes. Any excuse to be close to him, to commune and to eke out whatever information I could about the being within me.

What I got was such a strong sense of his personality from very early on. Call it sixth sense or a Mother's intuition but I knew what made Dobbes Dobbes.

It was in his insistence for making his presence felt, his need to be spoken to, to feel close to the people around him and his enthusiasm to meet the big bad world. He somersaulted his way through 10 months in the tummy, always excited, so much so that he would get hiccups more than twice a day.

The first few days after he was born, Dobbes was in neutral mode, pretty much a benign baby who seemed watchful and observing of the ways of the people around him. He slept a lot and fed just enough, but when he was awake, he was alert and quiet, as if planning something. More than one person remarked on how wise he seemed, how it was as if he knew what whoever carried him was thinking.

Then the days passed and Angel-baby very quickly became a force to be reckoned with. Not for him the clockwork two-hourly feeds and being googoo-gaga'd to. In defiance of what the baby books said a newborn ought to be capable of, he started showing strength very quickly, raising his head high by the end of his first week, standing on his little feet determinedly for a couple of seconds before his quivering knees bested him. He cries at night for conversation and companionship and demands to be spoken to in proper sentences, else he'd look away or roll his eyes.

It did not really come as a surprise to me nor was it a complete turnabout. My sweet monster is the same baby who used to nudge me violently in the ribs from my seventh month of pregnancy and who would kick me reassuringly when his Daddy was away in camp and I was sad.

He seems to save the basic baby 'tude for his Daddy. He has already peed on Mobbes twice and shat all over him once. It's like him saying, "Well, you didn't have to carry me for ten months like my Momma, so here's some extra payback."

Most times Dobbes just wants what every baby want: breast, clean diaper, the room temperature just so and to be jiggled to sleep correctly. But sometimes when it's just him and me again, I catch him smiling that sweet, secret smile and I know that he remembers a time when we were joined by a cord, blood, body and soul.

I was put on Earth...

... not to be an only child, a Madrasah-attending Muslim girl, a PSC scholar, a half-hearted schoolteacher, a show-off Lindy Hopper, a writer, a globetrotter, a party gal about town, a heartbreaker or a paid smooth-talker. All these roles I have played, some with aplomb, others grudgingly. Some I still enjoy and can even get excited about.

But now that I am where I am, it's like finally coming home.

Bobbes was made to fall in love with Mobbes, have Dobbes and fall in love with both all over again.

I'm convinced that I waited all my life for this.

I Could Write A Book...

Synopsis: Boy and girl meet, fall in deathless love amidst trials, self-protestations (as well as from others) and lots of food and travel. A story as old as the hills. But better for being real.