Feeding grapes

My dearest E.,

First the beers. Now grapes. You fed me delicious seedless grapes from a huge glass bowl on Thursday night while we watched TV.

Like the gentle whirr of a ferris wheel, not unlike clockwork, you popped the little grapes into my mouth, one by one, a cheeky grin on your face throughout. I struggled to swallow the grapes quickly before the next one came, your little fingers clutching the ripe red fruit and pushing them excitedly into my mouth.

You're such a dear.

Helping Daddy with the beers

My dearest E.,

I walked into the kitchen a few days ago to prepare your lunch and what did I see?

Your Daddy and cute little you, Daddy sitting spread-eagled and you squatting on your chubby little legs, both on the kitchen floor in front of the refrigerator. Daddy had a crate of Carlsberg beer between his legs. He was going to refrigerate and get the beers chilled for the gathering we were having in our house that night.

As for you- you've found some great calling: you began handing single beer cans to your Daddy whilst he stocked them in our refrigerator!

I wish I had taken a picture.

I love to see how helpful you are to Mommy & Daddy.

Fever

My dearest E.,

You had a terrible bout of the viral flu last week. That worried me tremendously, and I missed a day of work to ensure that I was constantly at your side, reassuring you that I would be there no matter what the circumstances, and if you were in pain, hopefully, that my presence would soothe you into some form of comfort.

Your grandparents told me yesterday that you had a fever again during the day. When your father picked you up and brought you home (I had to work late last night), he told me over the phone that you were tired and listless, but still obliged to play about and smile. When I saw you upon reaching home, my heart almost broke when I saw you standing in your play pen, your arms outstretched towards me, you saying "Mama, ooh...". I dropped my bag and keys, ran to you and lifted you up into my arms, folding you close to me, kissing your head and cheeks, never wanting to let you go.

My sweet brave little girl. You laugh even in the face of adversity. Your body was warm to the touch, your eyes were red-rimmed with tiredness: but yet, the light of joy at seeing your mother after a long day being apart, still shone brightly in your big round eyes. I felt my soul being cleansed of all the day's happenings, the insecurities and unpleasantries, and revelled in your beautific smile.

You have that effect on me, cupcake.

When you fell asleep, I watched you sleeping as I stroked your hair, quietly singing "Twinkle twinkle little star".

You awoke this morning with a mournful cry, with a strange low moan in your throat, and then you began to cough a hacking, phlegmy cough. It broke my heart. I carried you out of your cot, into the warm bed beside me, and you snuggled close to me, faintly calling out in your delirious sleep, your small hands reaching for me. Your body was hot and looked so tiny beside me. I mixed you a batch of formula, which you drowsily guzzled, and then had to do the cruel thing of forcing you to take the sweet, pink baby Paracetamol down your throat. You certainly didn't like that, and screamed at me, tears running down your face.

My sweet E. Please get well soon. I can't bear for you to be enduring this suffering and discomfort. If I could, I wish I could simply hold you and all your sicknesses would melt away. If only God had given all mothers that ability to heal their sick children. But then again, I should be grateful that He had given you to me in the first place.

Mama

"Mama...Mama you know I love you; Mama...Mama you're the queen of my heart; Your love is like tears from the stars; Mama I just want you to know; Loving you's like food to my soul..." ~ extract from the song "Mama" by Boyz II Men

My dearest E.,

I don't need to remind you how motherhood has changed my life. And that change is a positive one, an energizing one that gave new meaning to me and the realisation that I could do anything with you by my side. Becoming a mother has made me realise how much I love my own mother, too, and how selfless she has been all these years to ensure my happiness and comfort. Till this very day, her motherly love is strong and loyal- and I'm so happy to know that she is passing on the love she did to me, to you now.

I did something rather uncharacteristic of me last weekend when your father and I were at the Boyz II Men concert (perhaps someday, you will learn to appreciate their music the way we have, although by then, their songs may be 'oldies' to you). Boyz II Men made popular a very beautiful and enigmatic song called "Mama", written, of course, for their mothers. With sweet emotive lyrics and moving music, it has always been one of my favourite songs. So, when they sang that song during the concert, and urged us, the audience, to pick up our mobile phones, call our mothers and tell them how much we loved them, I did! Your father looked quite astounded that I did it. And frankly- I was, too, at myself.

Let's face it, cupcake. At some point in the future, you and I- we are almost certain to have issues we will not agree upon, we may be at logger-heads with each other. But I will never stop loving you. Just like I know, that although my own mother and I had experienced some pretty rough times together in my younger years (I was selfish and rebellious, and I hope you never become like me), I learnt to understand where she was coming from when I grew older- and wiser. As my appreciation for her grew, so too did my love, respect and admiration, for that brave lady who had left her homeland for Malaysia, not knowing a single person except for her husband, your dear dear grandfather (and my idol), not knowing our language- and yet persevering and bringing up selflessly and wonderfully 2 children who love her tremendously.

So when she picked up the phone that night, I had to scream over the loud music and the chorus of the audience singing along and tell her, "Mum! You have to listen to this song!" And I had lifted my mobile phone high into the hair, a smile wreathed on my face, hoping that she could listen to the music and hear those meaningful words I found so difficult to utter. I told her then that this was a song for mothers, and I wanted her to share that moment with me. And I told her "I love you, Mum". I could hear her smiling into the phone, her voice choking ever so briefly as she lovingly replied, "I love you too, darling". I hung up with a warm feeling in my heart. Just that one action, sweetheart, was enough for her. No other words were needed.

Perhaps one day, when you're at a concert, or in the bus, or sitting at your work desk thinking how dreary life can be, all you need to do is just pick up the phone and call me, and tell me you love me, and you need me. And I promise you: after that phone call, everything- everything will be alright.

Pretty in Purple

My dearest E.,

Purple is the new pink- and for little girls, it's hot, hot, hot! Here you are looking like the perfect vision of loveliness in your new chiffon & silk dress. Auntie Josephine from L.A. bought this for you. Slip on your black patent leather shoes, and you're ready for a party or a fun-filled afternoon of joy & dancing!

A family portrait- but you don't look too pleased here..

You're not amused by my antics

I wonder what goes through your mind when you look like this

Here you are, looking for your Barney plush toy

Your Daddy and you- isn't he gorgeous, sweetie?

Here you are, giving us some sexy eyes

Another family portrait- sorry, I may have squeezed you too close to me!

New Shoes

A woman can never have too many shoes ~ Lau Pin Lean

My dearest E.,

Hahaha, that was my quote. And I still do believe in it. Look at your new shoe collection below.

Real leather T-bar Mary Jane buckle shoes

Adidas for kiddies- gorgeous!

The side view of the famous 3 stripes

The Adidas logo

Birkenstock's for kids- from your Godma!

Another pair of dark pink Mary-Janes from your Godma

Radiantly intelligent

What a distressing contrast there is between the radiant intelligence of the child and the feeble mentality of the average adult. ~Sigmund Freud

My dearest E.,

Yes. You are radiantly intelligent. Your father and I marvel at your developmental rate each day. You surprise us with your radiance, taunt us with your intelligence. We are dumbfounded at times; gleeful and proud at other times.

You recognise sounds. Associate "woof" with a dog (particularly, our 4-year old Rottweiler, Roxy); "meow" with a cat. Sounds of cars and motorbikes passing by. You recognise displeasure in your father's voice when he clears his throat very loudly, or just say "Emilie!" in his booming, stern voice. You love "Baa Baa Black Sheep" (your grandfather loves to sing you this song when you're sleepy and ready for beddy-bye)- and can sing almost in tune to it, except that you can't say "black sheep" yet, and substitute everything with "Baa baa baa baa". It's too delightful to hear. Your eyes light up when you hear "Twinkle twinkle little star", instrumental or otherwise- you shake your little tush, regardless of whether you're sitting or standing, and you clench and unclench your fists high in the air, mimicking blinking stars. Your grandparents taught you how to do that.

You interact with your grandmother with such ease and fluidness, even if she speaks to you completely in Thai. I marvel at that. You're certainly turning into a gracious princess. But only when you're spoken to in Thai.

Otherwise, you're a terror around the house. Your toys and games are constantly littered all over our living room floor. You don't spare our remote controls (TV, DVD player, ASTRO & fan) as well. No cup is left unturned. No tissue paper is left unshredded to bits. You squeeze out my brand-new facial foam from its squeeze tube. You pick at my wallet and credit cards. You throw a few building blocks in a paper bag that I've given you, with an assortment of things like a key chain, a small figurine, my empty powder compact case, and you sashay around like a socialite out to tea. I have since stopped picking things up after you, mainly because you're so energetic now that I can hardly keep up.

My little Einstein. "The Little Einsteins" is, incidentally, one of your favourite TV programs. You've learnt to twist your parents around your little finger. Feign innocence. Pretend to cry. You're adorably manipulative in your baby ways. I'm worried it will shape you as a person- being too manipulative is cruel and unkind. Uncle Calvin has predicted that you'll break some boys' hearts when you grow up, because you'll be so beautiful and self-possessed and they won't be quick enough to keep up with you, and your intelligence. But that's a long time away, sweetcakes, so let's not think of such unpleasantries.

So I sit in the hall long after you've gone to bed, picking your toys and cleaning up the hurricane-like mess you've created, smiling to myself in a dream-like state, yet marvelling at the angel that you are that God has sent to us.