Sleep, the final frontier

Once upon a time, there was a nice little boy who went to bed every day at about 8pm, made no fuss about having to turn in and drifted off to dreamland without the need for any parental encouragement.

Sonny, however, is nothing like that nice little boy (who may not even exist, though Pa claims he used to be 'no trouble at all as a toddler'). Our little fella is temperamental when it comes to bedtimes. Some days, tuckered out from a full day at the infant care centre - bullying younger infants, or so we strongly suspect - he is yawning mournfully by 8pm and asleep by 8.30pm. On such days, Mum - who is left to handle him with Pa at work till 10pm or so - can simply deposit Sonny in his cot and then skip away to surf the Internet or do a bit of quiet reading.

Most of the time, however, the little monster has vast resources of energy and is still wide awake at 10pm. Pa will typically let himself in, creep into the bedroom - and find an exhausted Mum spreadeagled on the bed with Sonny prancing to and fro between her limp limbs. Mum's first words will be "He wooon't sleeeep!" or some variation on the sentiment, even as Sonny gains extra oomph from seeing his other parent return, and scampers cackling forward.

As it happens, Mum knows full well that with Sonny now almost a 14 months old, he should not need 'liquid encouragement' (a spot of breastfeeding) to transition to sleep. But nothing else really works - and, as you would have realised, filling the fella up with milk doesn't necessarily work either. Reading is useless, since he doesn't understand much of whichever nursery rhyme or silly story Mum starts on. Indeed, the book itself may prove an additional distraction. We don't have a rocker, and Sonny's getting rather too heavy for any handrocking - not that that works either!

For now, therefore, we remain mired in quiet desperation. Eventually, after multiple milk sessions and much quiet time tucked into Mum's side, the little fella will drift off and his rejoicing parents can sidle off. Our earlier efforts to just 'let him cry himself to sleep' (as chronicled in an earlier post, which you may access by clicking here) have been largely abandoned due to Mum's soft-heartedness and Sonny's obstinate bawling: Despite initially hopeful signs, he is still fully capable of wailing for over an hour and then immediately going silent once picked up.

Wilful sort of fellow. We just wish he could will himself to sleep.

Tossing everything out, trousers included

Sonny has been basically unable to function without at least one adult in the immediate vicinity: The little fella goes into hysterics if left in a confined space and almost always has someone with him, whether at home or at the child care centre. The other day, therefore, Mum - following the strictures from our trusty 'What to Expect' parenting guide - began a programme to teach Sonny some independence.

The idea was that we would deposit him in his cot with fulsome 'Goodnight's and 'Sleep tight's, then vanish for five minutes before reappearing to reassure the little fella that he wasn't being abandoned to the ogres under the bed. We would then reappear after ten minutes, then 15 minutes and so forth until he fell asleep on his own. But Sonny didn't waste any time behaving like an insane rabbit once placed in the cot. Even before we had left the room, he was hopping and yawling and pumping out tears with that vacuum pump he must have hidden away somewhere.

Five minutes later, with his shrieks echoing through our little apartment, we ventured into the bedroom again - to find that Sonny had not only tossed one of his soft toys over the side of the cot, but had managed to strip off his pajama bottoms and hurl them over as well. Here was a mystery! As far as we could tell, the crazy kid - who was standing in exactly the same posture as five minutes ago (his face a picture of rage) - had managed to either calmly sit down for a spell to take off his trousers, or do so upright - a feat even adults might have trouble achieving.

Anyway, we replaced the toy, jammed the pajamas back onto the intransigent little one and then escaped. The screaming followed us. To keep a long story short, over the next one and a half hours, we would return on schedule, find ever more things tossed overboard (pillow, blanket, soft toys, trousers) and Sonny determined to outlast us. In the end, figuring that we had tortured him enough for one day, we rescued him.

Ah, but that's not quite the end of the story. The next day, we recommenced the treatment. Again, there was screaming and howling - but after 40 minutes, silence flooded our condo. We snuck in - and Sonny was soundly asleep still in a sitting position. We straightened him out and tip-toed away in satisfaction. Which is to say that this cruel-sounding technique seems to work. Something tells us that the little fella was perhaps just plain tuckered out from all the yelling, but we'll test out the regimen again soon to see if his newfound 'independence' has taken hold.

Just hope the decibel levels haven't already sparked multiple complaints by our neighbours...

Escaping the bed and other clues

Some of the most truly heart-stopping moments for us over the past year have been when Sonny has wriggled free of our grasp and done a dive from his cot or the bed we use as a changing station. Having no concept of fear, he would crawl right off the edge and topple sickeningly to the parquet.

It's a measure of his growing confidence that the little fella has learned how to escape beds and sofas in a more efficient way. He employs two methods. With the first, he reverses his stance and gingerly lowers himself feet-first with his front facing the chair or bed. He uses his arms to support himself. The second, of course, is the lazy route: If we are with him, he'll simply affix us with his best 'pleading' expression, raising his arms slightly in what we have come to recognise as his 'Pick me up, chop chop' signal.

It is in such small, incremental ways that we are reminded that Sonny is quickly gaining in motor skills, intelligence and awareness. Other clues include the way he has become increasingly skilled in picking up small objects, especially the raisins we strew on his high-chair to try and keep him from clambering out. He can pop them into his mouth at a fearsome rate, though he hasn't yet mastered holding a spoon and can only shovel corn flakes or porridge in flailing arcs. When we are bathing him, too, he has become irritatingly prone to reaching his arms out to grasp the nearest object (usually a just-washed milk bottle, since Pa bathes him on what was formerly our computer table and is now the 'Sonny paraphernalia storage centre'). Coupled with the little fella's tendency to splash and sploosh, this has led Mum to abandon bathing Sonny at the table altogether; she now does so in the bathroom. Yep, he's learnt to play and be playful.

Maybe, therefore, a fixation with the standard yardsticks of baby maturation (his first tooth, his first word et cetera) blinds us to the accelerating rate at which the little fella is blowing past other milestones. Less-spoken of ones, to be sure, but no less significant. If so, we are the ones who are trapped - if not on a sofa or a bed, then in the conventionalities of parenting.

It's time to escape.

So cruel is Pa's lot

If you'd like an object lesson in how whimsical Fate can be, in how suddenly life can turn, we suggest you be Pa for a day. There's nothing like seeing how our little fella treats his father to ram home the point.

Basically, Pa is the Eternal Second-best Man. Sometimes, Sonny will be keen to spend some time with him, crawling all around and whimpering to try and draw attention. Sometimes - especially when peckish - the little fella will come galumphing up demanding a few juicy raisins or a ready-cut square of cheese. Sometimes. Let's spell out the 'sometimes' here: It means, 'when Mum's not around'.

When Mum is around, on the other hand, a sorcerous and instantaneous change is effected. Pa is turned into a teacup, or perhaps a flowerpot (Harry Potter, eat your heart out) and ceases entirely to be an object of interest to Sonny. Instead, the heartless creature will bash his way past Pa like a stampeding elephant (well, a very small stampeding elephant) in order to get to Mum.

In fact, while we're on the subject of magic, we should note that Mum can electrify Sonny in this way without necessarily even being within the little fella's line-of-sight. All she has to do is, say, whistle two notes (presumably Mum's whistling pitch is unique) from, oh, a mile away or simply bustle around the kitchen in her normal manner. Maybe the sound she makes when she slots a fork into a tray is distinctive. At all events, Sonny will perk up prairie dog-like - you'd swear he sniffs the air as though to catch a scent - and then hurtle past the forgotten Pa.

The peculiar tie linking child and mother (especially one who is breastfeeding, or so we're told) is obviously not a discovery worthy of a paper in a scientific journal. But watching Pa go from hero-to-zero can be a sobering thing. Life's like that, too - or can be.

Call it a useful warning.

Save good money with DIY child distractions

In these economically-challenging times, we've recently found a simple way to shave dollars off the childcare bill. The key insight is this: Basically, kids don't need toys.

That probably needs unpacking (especially since we famously splurged on a 'Big Time Toy' ourselves a while back). The thought crystallised yesterday when we saw Sonny (who's all of 11 months old) converting one of our plastic four-legged stools into his personal walking aid. He was happily pushing it along - making an infernal screeching sound on our second-rate marble, it must be said - and marching from place to place. He managed to stay more or less upright, though at times he ended up on his knees - still manfully shoving his walker in front of him.

It then occurred to us that the same improvisational spirit could be extended to much of the constellation of toys needed to keep the little fella occupied. Remote control units, for instance, seem to hold a special fascination for him; since we have television and air-conditioning controls malfunctioning with boring regularity, a good supply could easily supplied for his delectation. Clean shoeboxes have been known to hold him in thrall for a good spell of time and bottles of mineral water double as 'roll 'n crash 'em' devices as well as handy counting aids ('One bottle', 'two bottles'...). Pa has also experimented with umbrellas, with encouraging results.

Sometimes, of course, a baby will appreciate a purpose-made toy just for variety's sake. Here, the name of the game seems to be 'flexible' (or 'dual use', to use the terminology we employed in 'Big Time Toy still eludes us'). Toys that can only be played one way are quickly discarded. But things that can be come at from different approaches - that make a range of sounds (changeable by pressing an easily-located button) or offer a great variety of textures for happy chewing - are much better value. Then, too, you want toys that can be absorbed into whatever fantasy or elaborate story that the slightly-older child will begin constructing. If you leave the young 'un with more imaginative work to do, he may actually get more fun out of the item.

Naturally, the trouble with DIY toys is that we have to look out for unintended 'side-effects'. For instance, our amazing stool-cum-walker may need to be sparingly used due to the potential for extensive, crisscrossing scratches all over our floor. And some things are just plain dangerous (no plastic bags now! and might Junior gnaw off toxic paint flecks?) for conversion to kiddy-playtime activities. So a good seasoning of good sense should always be on hand - not to mention a good wash to remove any encrustations from the item's previous child-unfriendly existence.

Sounds like more work than its worth? Take it as a parenting game of sorts. How inventive can you get? Everyone can get in a bit of play...

Updated ranking of baby care rooms in Singapore

This is an updated and expanded survey of baby care facilities in major shopping complexes in Singapore. Mum has now had almost 10 months to conduct her investigations; the original ranking was drawn up last November.

Mum's assessment system:
Three pacifiers: Clean, spacious, full facilities. Shopping centre is almost worth visiting just to luxuriate in the baby care room. Space for at least two mothers to nurse.
Two pacifiers: Adequate facilities. Maintenance could be improved or otherwise short of nursing perfection.
One pacifier: Sorely lacking. Better than nothing in a crunch, but not good enough in these family-friendly times.


Top-flight facilities

1) Tangs: There're two nursing rooms near the cashier at the baby department on the top floor. These are the only baby care rooms in Singapore where one will find steam sterilisers, along with instructions on how to use it pasted on the wall, are provided. Each room also has a comfy chair, sink, hot water flask, cheery kiddy pictures and even a toy mobile atop the nappy changing station, presumably to distract the little one when you're wiping his bottom (though the batteries were out when mom used the room). The only grouse is that the lighting is too dim, then again, maybe the idea was to put baby in the mood for nursing. Three pacifiers

2) United Square, Novena: At the ground floor baby care room, there are multiple changing stations with two sinks for easy cleansing. There is a hot and cold water dispenser for mixing milk formula (or a quick drink), three nursing rooms - each of a good size with comfortable chairs - as well as a bench for fathers to relax on. The place is clean, spacious and brightly-lit, but can get quite busy on weekends when parents throng the shopping centre with kids in tow. Elsewhere in the shopping centre there are standalone changing areas. Three pacifiers

3) Raffles City Shopping Centre: There's an award-winning baby care room on the third floor, where there are four baby changing stations, nicely designed with a trash bin and thoughtful roll of toilet paper provided under each. There's also a sink, some seating - including mini chairs for toddlers - but just one nursing room with a slightly uncomfortable-looking chair. In case more than one mother needs to nurse, there's another baby care area in the basement in the toilet near Shokudo. There's a shared sink, paper and two nursing rooms with sofas. There's even a family room nearby, with toilet facilities for the whole family - a general wash-up area, a kiddie loo and separate large adult toilet. Three pacifiers

4) Suntec City: Baby care room on third floor in tower where all the baby shops are (kids' mall). Brightly lit with sink, changing area and two nursing cubicles with comfortable sofas and separate sinks. Three pacifiers

5) Causeway Point, Woodlands: Two good-sized nursing rooms with comfortable chairs, three changing stations, a sink and two chairs in an anteroom for fathers to chill on. However, heavy usage on weekends means you may have to queue up with wailing baby. Three pacifiers

6) Takashimaya, Orchard Road: Baby care area near Children's Section. Large changing area with plenty of chairs for fathers, but only one nursing room that is meant to be shared by three or four mothers at the same time. Three pacifiers

7) Velocity, Novena: On the third floor there is a baby care room with two nappy-changing station, hot and cold water dispenser and two nursing rooms with comfortable sofas. Paper napkins provided. Three pacifiers



Acceptable facilities

1) Forum Galleria, Orchard Road: Baby care room on the ground floor. Two good-sized nursing rooms. Three changing stations that looked a bit grubby, possibly due to heavy usage. Two pacifiers

2) Paragon, Orchard Road: Two baby care rooms on different floors. On the fifth storey, the baby care room has one nursing room (a bit tight for space), changing stations and a hot and cold water dispenser. No waiting chairs for dads. Gets really crowded on weekends. Two pacifiers

3) Wheelock Place, Orchard Road: Nursing room next to toilets on ground floor near the lifts. The long room is decorated with kiddy pictures, sink, a fold-down changing station and two comfortable chairs - that can seat two nursing mothers if needed. Two pacifiers

4) Marina Square: The renovated shopping mall has various individual baby care rooms (near toilets where signs show there is baby changing area) littered around - at least two on the ground level. Each is roomy with a comfy bench, sink and baby changing station. The rooms can't be locked but the doors have occupied/vacant sign to allow parents to indicate usage. Two pacifiers

5) IMM: There are at least two baby care rooms: One is near the second floor toilets opposite Best - it is rather small, with just a small bench seat, baby change station and sink; another is in a sectioned room next to the toilets near the mama magazine shop on the ground floor - it's much more spacious, with the same facilities plus a hand dryer. Two pacifiers

6) Centrepoint, Orchard Road: Feeding room at Mothercare outlet. One nursing cubicle with a changing station and chair inside. Convenient and clean, thought a little cramped. [A reader wrote in anonymously to inform us that there is also a baby care room on - for some reason - the sixth storey]. Two pacifiers

7) City Link: Near Godiva Shop. You'll have to get the keys from the information desk opposite New York New York restaurant before HMV. Otherwise, a nice private room with sink and separate nursing cubicle. Two pacifiers

8) Thomson Shopping Centre: Baby care area on the top floor, next to the toilets near Swensen's. Section for nappy changing, a huge toilet and a nursing room with bench and uncomfortably hot lamp. Two pacifiers

9) White Sands Shopping Center, Pasir Ris: Baby care area near toilets in basement. Sink, changing area but only a pull-curtain to draw when using single sofa for nursing. Two pacifiers

10) Parkway Parade, Katong: There is a baby care area inside Isetan that's very nice - two spacious nursing cubicles, two diaper changing stations, hot-water dispenser and sink. Rather crowded though on weekends. Also a baby care area in the basement, with a rather stuffy nursing room and two diaper changing stations. Two pacifiers

11) Ang Mo Kio Hub, Ang Mo Kio: On the floor that boasts many shops selling baby-related products, there is a baby care room with three spacious nursing rooms equipped with comfortable chairs. Multiple changing stations. No sink, though. Two pacifiers



Substandard facilities

1) Junction 8, Bishan: At least one nursing room next to the toilet on one floor. Very cramped, with a bench to sit on and a changing station. One pacifier

2) Northpoint, Yishun: On Basement One near the toilets in the older building. Brand-new nursing room with changing station, but already cramped and shabby-looking. New family rooms on nearly every floor adjacent to the toilets in the new Northpoint annex. Hot-water dispenser and two cubicles, supposedly for nursing - once the chairs arrive. So far, only the family room on library level has chairs. One pacifier

3) Plaza Singapura, Doby Ghaut: One nursing room on level 3, with two nappy changing stations - one in the room and another just outside in case room is used. Not enough for such a large shopping centre. Parents can be heard waiting outside for turn. One pacifier

4) IKEA, Tampines: Baby care room on cafeteria level. It's very small but comes with a chair for nursing, changing station and sink. Another well on Level 3, but more a toilet. Not enough facilities for such a huge family-oriented shopping complex. One pacifier



Baby care facilities in public but non-shopping areas:

a) Botanic Gardens: Nursing room near the cafe is a cramped broom closet-sized area, perpetually wet but with many cute baby pictures.

b) Changi Airport: Lots of baby care areas in T3. The one on arrival floor is spacious with sink, hot-water dispenser and pull-down changer; and a comfortable separate nursing cubicle. Terminal One has only one, a new room near toilets on western end of arrival wing that is of similar design with the one at T3. One nursing room at Terminal Two, Departure Lounge. Spacious changing station and waiting area for father. Baby care room at Budget Terminal is only available to passengers who have gone through Immigration: Small basic room with pull-down changing station and sink. Inside T1, a baby care area up the escalator near Harry's that is complete with TV area with sofas that have in-built speakers, playground and of course, two or three nursing rooms and changing area. Also other baby care areas scattered throughout the check-in areas.

c) Singapore Immigration and Checkpoints Authority (ICA): We were surprised to find baby care facilities at all. Spacious room with changing station and nursing room. Hot and cold water dispenser and big sink, but with staff and cleaning crew frequently walking in to use facilities.



Other places with nursing rooms (but which Mum has yet to use):

- Isetan at Shaw Centre: Nursing room behind cashier at baby section.
- John Little (opposite Somerset MRT station): nice-looking and little-used changing and nursing stations)
- Woodlands library (a spacious room with comfortable-looking chairs for feeding: No other branch library seems to have any baby care facilities at all)

Nothing stays constant but the changing

While we were in Abu Dhabi a couple of weeks back, Sonny's uncle swung the little fella up and onto his shoulders, expecting to reap a squeal of delight. He heard only a wail of terror as Sonny - unfamiliar with the stunt - clambered desperately to escape the unwanted boosting.

Funny, the change a couple of weeks can bring. Yesterday, Pa yanked the little fella skyward again, depositing him so he could pull on his father's ears if he had a mind to. This time, there was no shriek of fear. There wasn't any explosion of excitement either; Sonny simply surveyed the newly-adjusted environs calmly, a confident smile on his face (or so it seemed to Pa, upon trotting up a flight of stairs at a hotel so as to access a large mirror). He might have done this a thousand times, going by his relaxed demeanour.

It just goes to show the truth of the comment often made by sundry experienced parents, including Pa's mother, that a young child cycles through a dizzying succession of changing dominant moods, characteristic behaviours and even general facial appearances: Sonny, on that last point, can apparently look more or less like one parent, then the other, with each passing week. The almost-10-month-old, we must conclude, has no set "personality", whatever we may like to believe. He goes from being a "happy, generally placid thing" at two months to a "grumpy, demanding monster" at four to a "jealous, withdrawn creature" at six. Scanning through this disordered series of posts, we are struck by how often our pronouncements about Sonny's behaviour, preferences or quirks are effectively negated sometimes a few days later as the wheel of fortune turns.

It could be argued, of course, that even adults are immune from this phenomenon; that our character continues to evolve throughout our lives. Naturally, the swings are typically less violent and less frequent - and the factors that bring about alternation need to be much more pronounced. This would contrast with the apparently random switches seen in toddlers, which can leave us reaching for empty generalisations or cliches like "well, that's just how it is", or "growing up is like that" by way of (non-) explanation.

At the end of the day, however, Mum and Pa must somehow pretend that the set of their child's characteristics is fixed, if they are to ever go about their parental duties. How could we plan meals or structure our days if we foreground the fact that Sonny's tolerance of different foods, or his sleep times, vary like the wind direction in autumn? Could we ever buy a toy or plan activities if we continued to remind ourselves that his preferences might change in a twinkling? No, we have to stay nimble and perpetuate this great myth of there being something called "what Sonny is like" - even though if we wanted to be exact, we should add to that descriptor the words "... at the moment", thereby upending every tenuous hold on control.

Hey, it keeps things interesting, right?

The cuts that appeared from nowhere

One day, Sonny's wrist were pristine. The next, ugly red slashes were screaming for our attention.

Not too long ago, we had to grapple with bruising that we could never properly account for (click here for more). But these painful lesions presented an even more frightening twist. You have to remember that the little fella, now less than a fortnight away from completing nine months with us, is an active critter who's forever exploring surfaces with tongue and hand. So when we discovered the marks, it wasn't just concern or sympathy that filled our minds.

It was mystification. The problem was this: Where in our home was there a dangerously sharp surface that could leave Sonny with such cuts? Things worsened when, a day on, new slashes appeared. It appeared as though he was still touching the mystery surface, with the scars to show for it. It was the weekend, and we hadn't really gone anywhere with the young 'un, so our home was really the only "area of interest", as police investigators might put it.

You might wonder why Sonny didn't simply avoid any place that could sting him so. But he's not very good at processing such "lessons": He may have fallen twice from beds, suffering nasty bumps on the head, yet he still barrels merrily along to the edge of any high surface (chair, bed, et cetera) - as though desperate to topple again.

We have to report that we still haven't pinpointed the guilty surface. However, our exhaustive search has reminded us again of the many dangerous spots that litter our apparently-innocuous home. There are nasty corners and edges where a spill could have unfortunate consequences. There are objects (like our tower fans) that Sonny could push over without too much effort. Less-than-clean items abound that he could seize and lick.

In short, our apartment is a nothing more and nothing less than a collection of traps and threats to the unwary baby, especially one that isn't being trailed closely by a gimlet-eyed parent. So although we have yet to identify the cause of the cuts that appeared from nowhere, at least we've had a reminder of how much baby-proofing still needs to be done.

Sonny marches to own tune - and eternal rhythm

So it's back to normalcy again, after the controlled madness of the year-end holiday season. Just take this blog: We've posted far less regularly than in previous months as we balanced see-sawing schedule disruptions at work and at home.

But one thing hasn't altered: The steady rhythm of Sonny's acquisition of new skills and blooming interests. He can't walk yet, but with the steadying help of a few friendly surfaces, he's already taking his first dodgy steps - albeit swaying like a drunk and with many a yip of concentration. His first tooth is all the way out (and sinking into Mum's soft flesh all too regularly), with reinforcements clearly champing at the bit. And he's begun directly mimicking our actions - a frightening reminder that we must soon be very careful with our gestures and words.

In short, then, the little fella - now just about a fortnight short of completing nine full months with us - is impelled by his own programme and schedule, one that does not give a hoot about our job timetables, vacation chaos or ever-so-important career milestones. It's a catch-it-or-miss-it situation: "Sonny's Growing-up" is a 24-hour reality show that does not repeat, ever: Snatches caught on videocam or on photographs don't count, though we've been very tardy even in that department.

You might think, then, that such reflections - coupled with the hoary traditions of each New Year - would lead us to rather mawkishly resolve to attend more closely to the little fella's adventure. After all, he already spends much of every weekday in the embrace of professionals at his infant care centre, leaving Mum to spend the evenings with him and Pa to re-engage late at night or over the weekends. But a little humility is always a useful corrective. Sonny isn't growing up for our benefit: He isn't a show for us to enjoy, so that we must be sure not to miss the next exciting instalment. He's been launched on a voyage powered by Nature's millenia-old rhythms - and we're only along for the ride: We may be able to decisively influence its course, but we are not its be-all and end-all.

Really, then, the point isn't that we should be there to enjoy the myriad parenting highlights. It is that we should be doing what we can to ensure the highlights hit the true heights; that we should be executing our responsibilities so that he learns the right lessons during these early years.

Happy New Year.

Hiding from the Eye of Doom

In any number of science fiction or action films, there will be a fraught sequence in which the hero is confronted by the preternaturally alert, ever-swivelling gaze of an enemy sentry or surveillance camera. He must duck, hide and think up distractions, since alarm klaxons and certain doom will follow if the "enemy eye" catches the merest glimpse of him.

It sometimes seems to us that we are living out this drama on a daily basis. Sonny may have wriggled and crawled his way into his ninth month of babydom, but he's certainly not showing any signs of becoming more able to function on his own. On the contrary: He now seems to insist on the conspicuous attention of at least one adult at all times. If left to sift through his generous sprinkling of toys, he'll almost certainly ignore them all in favour of loud wailing. The chance of this happening increases to 100 per cent should he spot either his mother or his father in the immediate vicinity, doing anything other than paying court upon him.

What this situation has brought about is a chilling cat-and-mouse game. As we wheel him about on Mac the stroller, for instance, we make sure we keep out of Sonny's line of vision, even if he were to suddenly look about with his feral acuteness. If at home in our bedroom, with Sonny peeking about in his cot at the foot of our bed, we scrunch up our bodies so that he won't spot us when his gaze burns its way in our direction. When we are trying to gobble down some food, we try to position the little fella in his rocker so that a convenient settee blocks us from view.

The reader may feel there is something rather odd about parents trying to conceal themselves from their offspring (chances are said reader isn't a parent himself, but that's quite all right, quite all right, you'll get your... that is, you're entitled to your opinion). We should clarify that we are normally quite willing to expose ourselves to his attentions, and have been known to spend many minutes drawing his chuckles and keeping him more or less clean. But if you think about it, there's a broader case to be made for absenting ourselves on occasion.

For instance, we wouldn't want Sonny to become totally bored with us, as might happen if we were to be perpetually hovering at the edge of vision. At the same time, we want to ensure that he is able to interact cheerfully with as many adults and children as possible, which might be tricky if we were to monopolise his time. It may even be helpful to the cultivation of good child discipline to have him undergo short bouts of stress and deprivation, so that he is better disposed to respond to our orders and instructions over time.

Plus, perhaps he actually takes Spot-your-Parent to be a splendid game that is a highlight of his days. Might as well make a virtue out of necessity, wouldn't you say?

High chair, high jinks

Mum and Pa clambered all over the floor, aligning bits of wood and laboriously inserting screws and dials.

No, we weren't building some sort of escape-from-the-child raft; they're stuck with Sonny, for all his infuriating quirks. Rather, they were setting up for another one of those 'conventional milestones' that pepper these ramblings (see, inter alia, 'Milestones, not millstones' and 'The great eruption'). In this case, it was Sonny's First Time in A High Chair. Said seat (a discounted number from a department store, with assembly instructions squeezed into one sheet of double-sided paper) took the little fella's parents half a day to put together.

So, naturally, when we popped Sonny in, he nearly slid right out, like - to sanitise a famous comment by World War II general George Patton - 'food through a goose'. He was a tad too small to safely occupy the space. But that wasn't going to stop the party. No sirree.

Mum hauled up a cloth mat provided by Sonny's aunt and slid it in to pad things up. The gap was reduced, and then it was once more into the breach for Sonny. This time, he stayed put - for all the good it did us. After a few minutes, he began to subtly hint at his disapproval (though the neighbours might have suspected extensive chicken-slaughtering activities). When Mum tried to feed Sonny with the little fella ensconced in his new seat - since it was the idea of anchoring these feeding sessions that had sparked our assembly of the chair - he stoutly refused to play along.

We're still trying. But perhaps we were just a little too quick off the mark, and that Sonny simply needs a few more weeks to reach an optimal height or size for high-chair dining. Parents are apt to hope that their children reach their "targets", whatever these might be, with all possible speed when, sometimes, they just aren't ready. Apply too much pressure and a backlash could develop, and we're talking here not of anything as innocuous as feeding patterns as of educational achievements and the like.

In any case, it's not as though we're ever going to run out of new targets emerging even as the original ones are satisfied. We need to remind ourselves to just relax, lean back - in any sort of chair - and enjoy the parental ride.

Sing along to gibberish

They say music hath the power to soothe even the snarling beast, but it can also rouse the gentle one - though describing Sonny as "gentle" is probably a stretch.

Way back in May, with Sonny less than a month old, we had discovered that the little fella could be lulled into somnolence by crooning made-up ditties (click here for that post), even if it was possibly the attendant rocking action that was a crucial factor. Anyway, the practice fell by the wayside over time, replaced by Mum's attempts to introduce Sonny to the world of nursery rhymes, with less than stellar success.

Recently, however, we've found that the young 'un's musical bent has not eroded. Turns out the best way to get him loudly cheery is to balance him so he's almost standing up and begin singing a hearty marching tune. After a stanza or two, he will begin to yelp along enthusiastically. It's not a particularly pretty noise that he emits, and coyotes howling at the moon are more melodious, but it's uplifting to see him having a good time belting out a gibberish classic or the latest baby talk hit. Since the activity does grate, we've never deliberately extended it just to see how long he'd be content to continue torturing everyone's ears. There's been little sign of flagging energy, though: Indeed, he looks as though he can't wait to start bashing away at pots and pans to keep time.

We're aware, of course, that we could be blithely fanning what could become a nasty flame that burns away our quiet time forever. Still, musical leanings should be encouraged, we think. It certainly beats sucking one's thumb (but don't get Pa started on that) or trying to swallow anything that crosses your path. There's also the fact that both Mum and Pa spent several formative years learning the piano and so are fairly well-disposed towards the playing of musical instruments. And this, after all, is to stumble upon a terribly important aspect in a child's development. Babies come pre-packaged with a host of predilections: Adults can only help to selectively encourage them if they know something about the relevant subject matter. A child may be artistic, for instance, or physically gifted in some way. Yet a completely ignorant parent would simply ignore the signs or might even try to innocently snuff them out.

The foregoing implies, if you think about it, that parents have a standing duty to bone up on as many things as possible, so as to be able to recognise childish interests and guide them accordingly - even if it is to steer Junior to a teacher or coach. We could, of course, sit on one's haunches and trust to dedicated staff at school or kindergarten to talent-spot. But that seems just a tad irresponsible.

Call it a discordant note in the symphony of child-rearing.

Bruises must not remain mysterious

The media feeds us an endless diet of reports about children who have been abused by parents or other care-givers. In many cases, the youngsters being too young to tell on their tormentors, the truth only emerging after some sharp-eyed adult spotted some telling bruise and began to poke and pry.

It was with a jolt of foreboding, therefore, that Mum yesterday discerned what seemed to be faint bruising on Sonny's shoulders. A careless glance might have put it down to a birthmark, as Sonny has more than his share of these, but something made Mum look more carefully. Our almost seven-month-old wasn't behaving abnormally, yet there definitely appeared to be faint outlines around his shoulder blades.

For now, the most plausible guess is that someone has gripped the little fella so firmly that he was left black and blue. After Mum alerted Pa and we spent a while searching our memories, we could not recall any incident that would supply the explanation. That left us with the distinctly unpleasant possibility that someone at Sonny's infant care centre is being a little too free with her hands. Mum's suspicions immediately fell on one staff member in particular, whom she has always found sullen and ill-disposed towards Sonny.

If we roam the more remote reaches of possibility, other theories could be constructed. Perhaps there is a medical cause, and the bruising is a symptom of some malady requiring investigation. Or, when Sonny fell from the bed the other day, he might have somehow bruised his shoulders (though it's hard to see how he might have, given that the impact was primarily on his head).
Finally, perhaps it really is just a birthmark.

It will not do for us to let the matter soak in the realm of speculation. But we are uncertain as to how we should proceed. Subtle inquiries must probably be made at the infant care centre: Staff there have several times commented on Sonny's inveterate crawling, so it is possible that someone's self-control snapped (there being several persons there, all of whom would automatically become suspects). Perhaps, though, the first port of call should be a doctor, who can verify with his expert eye that these marks are indeed bruises, and dismiss the medical angle from all consideration.

Still, if anyone has a suggestion, it would be very gratefully received.

Baby care rooms in Singaporean shopping centres

NOTE TO READERS:

[This ranking was updated by Mum in February. Please click to visit the new, expanded version]


Having lugged and strollered Sonny all around Singapore for over six months, Mum has investigated the baby care facilities at a good number of shopping centres. Here's how she ranks ten places that she's visited.

Mum's ranking system:
Three pacifiers: Clean, spacious, full facilities. Shopping centre is almost worth visiting just to luxuriate in the baby care room.
Two pacifiers: Adequate facilities. Maintenance could be improved or otherwise short of nursing perfection.
One pacifier: Sorely lacking. Better than nothing in a crunch, but not good enough in these family-friendly times.


1) United Square, Novena: At the ground floor baby care room, there are multiple changing stations with two sinks for easy cleansing. There is a hot and cold water dispenser for mixing milk formula (or a quick drink), three nursing rooms - each of a good size with comfortable chairs - as well as a bench for fathers to relax on. The place is clean, spacious and brightly-lit, but can get quite busy on weekends when parents throng the shopping centre with kids in tow. Elsewhere in the shopping centre there are standalone changing areas. Three pacifiers

2) Causeway Point, Woodlands: Two good-sized nursing rooms with comfortable chairs, three changing stations, a sink and two chairs in an anteroom for fathers to chill on. However, heavy usage on weekends means you may have to queue up with wailing baby. Three pacifiers

3) Ang Mo Kio Hub, Ang Mo Kio: On the floor that boasts many shops selling baby-related products, there is a baby care room with three spacious nursing rooms equipped with comfortable chairs. Multiple changing stations. No sink, though. Three pacifiers

4) Forum Galleria, Orchard Road: Baby care room on the ground floor. Two good-sized nursing rooms. Three changing stations that looked a bit grubby, possibly due to heavy usage. Two pacifiers

5) Paragon, Orchard Road: Two baby care rooms on different floors. On the fifth storey, the baby care room has one nursing room (a bit tight for space), changing stations and a hot and cold water dispenser. No waiting chairs for dads. Gets really crowded on weekends. Two pacifiers

6) Takashimaya, Orchard Road: Baby care area near Children's Section. Large changing area with plenty of chairs for fathers, but only one nursing room that is meant to be shared by three or four mothers at the same time. Two pacifiers

7) Centrepoint, Orchard Road: Feeding room at Mothercare outlet. One nursing cubicle with a changing station and chair inside. Convenient and clean, thought a little cramped. [A reader wrote in anonymously to inform us that there is also a baby care room on - for some reason - the sixth storey]. Two pacifiers

8) IKEA, Tampines: Two baby care rooms, on cafeteria level and check-out level. The one near the cafeteria level is very small but comes with a chair for nursing, changing station and sink. The other one slightly larger, but is more a toilet. Not enough for such a huge family-oriented shopping complex. One pacifier

9) Junction 8, Bishan: At least one nursing room next to the toilet on one floor. Very cramped, with a bench to sit on and a changing station. One pacifier

10) Northpoint, Yishun: On Basement One near the toilets in the older building. Brand-new nursing room with changing station, but already cramped and shabby-looking. New family rooms on nearly every floor to be ready soon near the toilets in the new Northpoint annex. Mostly, with hot-water dispenser and two cubicles, supposedly for nursing - once the chairs arrive. Hopefully, better than the one presently available. Half a pacifier


Additional notes:

a) Botanic Gardens: Nursing room near the cafe is a cramped broom closet-sized area, perpetually wet but with many cute baby pictures.

b) Changi Airport: One nursing room at Terminal Two, Departure Lounge. Spacious changing station and waiting area for father. Baby care room at Budget Terminal is only available to passengers who have gone through Immigration: Small basic room with pull-down changing station and sink. (Terminal One and Terminal Three should also have facilities).

c) Singapore Immigration and Checkpoints Authority (ICA): We were surprised to find baby care facilities at all. Spacious room with changing station and nursing room. Hot and cold water dispenser and big sink, but with staff and cleaning crew frequently walking in to use facilities.

d) Wheelock Place: Nursing room with two comfortable chairs, sink and fold-down changing station next to toilets on ground floor.

Other places with nursing rooms (which Mum has yet to use):
- Isetan at Shaw Centre: Nursing room behind cashier at baby section.
- John Little (opposite Somerset MRT station): nice-looking and little-used changing and nursing stations)
- Woodlands library (a spacious room with comfortable-looking chairs for feeding: No other branch library seems to have any baby care facilities at all)

Crazed Crawler II: Caged beast

The mission was simple, as made clear in 'Crazed Crawler I: Reign of Terror': Our rampaging baby, suddenly gifted with the ability to crawl everywhere with impossible speed and assurance, had to be stopped. So, yesterday, a desperate Mum and Pa combined this critical quest with their previous hope of purchasing a so-called 'Big Time Toy', something that the little fella could really get his teeth into (well, once his teeth emerged from seclusion) and engage with.

The solution then became obvious: A lightweight play pen that could corral Sonny's roaming instincts, but which would feature child-friendly features that he could have fun with. Within a day, we had made a lightning raid on the local Kiddy Palace and lugged home our new purchase, which Pa wasted no time assembling.


In the second photo above, you can see Sonny entranced by some of our new purchase's tactile play features (whirling, creaking, spinning, plastic "telephone", et cetera). What you don't see, unfortunately, is Sonny becoming bored within 30 minutes and howling the house down. He even began ramming his shoulder against the walls of the pen, which fortunately held - thereby saving us a furious trip to the Kiddy Palace demanding a refund.

It turned out that Sonny's hissy fit was partly attributable to hunger pangs. We've since established that, when on a full stomach, he's willing to spend a little while spinning and twisting before deciding this is all too silly for words and so begin yelling for attention. Since we can now safely keep him and his bawling at a distance, the play pen is inevitably on its way to becoming a sort of discipline shack. Soft-hearted Mum, though, has crawled in to spend some time there with the little fella, just so he'll have a warm and fuzzy feeling about the place too.

The tears are still flowing. The whole affair has even gotten us into thinking about how we adults are also caged, by our jobs, monetary obligations, habits and convention - yet are so used to it that it never occurs to us to stage a noisy protest (similar sentiments are expressed in 'Breaking the milk barrier'). At least babies are devoid of such conditioning: Theirs is as honest a response as can be imagined, stripped of even language and issuing as mere wordless cries. In the face of this, there's something tragic about deliberately crushing a child's curiosity, even temporarily: Something heartless and cold.

But, heck, it can be jolly convenient.

Carrots today, tomorrow the world

Fine dining it ain't, but it must still be a nice change. And at least the young 'un hasn't choked and required an application of the Heimlich maneuver.

It's been about a month now since Mum started Sonny on solid food (click here and here for previous posts on this subject). She began with powdered rice out of a carton, mixed with milk: About four or five spoonfuls as a starter before the milk main course. Sonny slurped it up so enthusiastically that he's already graduated to the next stage: Boiled carrots mashed into a pulp. Sure, it sounds dreadful, but the little fella has been attacking it with gusto. Mum makes up a big batch, then pops an ice-cube tray's worth of carrot cubes into the freezer for daily use.

Back when we were growing up, we were sold the idea that carrots were so good for your eyes, chomping on a few would all but give you x-ray vision. These days, our understanding of nutrition is slightly more advanced. By introducing carrots, therefore, we mainly want to get Sonny used to eating different sorts of things as early as possible. Mum's already plotting sweet potato next, plus rice and even egg yolk. We've heard more than our share of horror stories about children who - at the ripe old age of 3, 4 or more - insist on mother's milk direct from the 'tap'.

In a way, our dietary strategy mirrors our broader parenting plan (this sounds grander than admitting we're muddling along with little more than an amorphous skein of strategy points). "Mixing it up" would be a handy shorthand: The idea is that the little fella should be comfortable with constant change, a variety of inputs and strange new things invading his space with regularity. Life, after all, throws us surprises almost every day. We wouldn't want fear of change - whether it is in food or cast of familiar characters or much else - to become ingrained through maintaining too controlled an environment.

Mind you, we all know that children require certain bedrock assurances to keep them emotionally rooted and secure. They must know, for instance, that their parents will always be there to provide for their needs, dispense advice and clarify things when confusion threatens to swallow them up. Until they are seven going on 18, in other words, it will all be about maintaining a balance of unshakeable certainties and constant variation: Such are the emotional nutrients that will be needed to raise a well-balanced young fella.

That, and plenty of carrots.

Sonny hits the six-month mark

Incredibly, six months have flitted past.

It's now officially half-a-year ago that Sonny emerged to torment... that is to say, brighten our lives. There Mum was, worried to all heck because the doctor had been just a little too generous with the epidural and she couldn't feel the lower half of her body at all. Push, the doctor and nurse had said... and all she could do was sort of heave, except she didn't know if her muscles were responding at all.

Luckily, she did enough. Sonny duly arrived - looking (if this makes any sense at all) initially impossibly big, and then impossibly tiny. He's been making up for that ever since, staging a still-astounding demonstration of accelerated growth powered solely by the rather thin-looking milk that Mum produces. By now, he moves much more, yells much louder and responds far more readily to stimuli than just a couple of months ago. "Things will be pretty good till he's about two years old," a friend told us the other day. Obviously, he hadn't spent much time with our little fella, who's by now enormously more of a hassle than before.

The weird thing is, though it's only been a half-year, it's really not that easy for us to remember what life was like without Sonny. Sure, we can pack him off to the infant care centre and zip over to Starbucks for lattes, telling ourselves 'Ah, how we miss this freedom'. And we do, sort of. But Sonny still lurks as a mental presence in our minds, an inner clock is always ticking down towards when he must be picked up from his caregivers. There's a perpetual reminder of the Sonny-fication of our lives, whether it's the photo in Mum's wallet or the overflow of toys and clothes at home. He can't be gotten away from, we wouldn't really know how to start - and it's not as though we'ld ever want to (save during the odd stressful moment).

Looking forward, too, a whole host of fresh milestones are already swimming towards us (including, literally, Sonny's first dip in the pool; Mum's already bought the infant trunks). His teeth are impatient to erupt and get chompin': We know because we can feel them when Sonny decides our fingers will make a nice snack. His full-bore crawling days are almost upon us, and he's half-way towards being able to sit up. Mad mumblings and burblings point to the life-changing moment when he will utter his first words. By the way, Mum and Pa are still vying to see if he'll say 'Mum' or 'Pa' first. Place your bets if you like.

Now that we think of it, that competition was brought up in our very first post (click here to revisit it). And all the coming milestones, trivial or momentous, will continue to be chronicled in these ill-disciplined ramblings. Of course, the blog is just another appurtenance of Sonny's baby-faced takeover of our lives. Six months down... a lifetime to go.

When Mum's a bad influence

There's no doubting it any more: it's not good for Mum to be around our son.

All right, even if we're exaggerating for dramatic effect, this might sound like a sacrilegious sentiment to voice, unless talking about deadbeat parent-types who soak themselves in alcohol each night or abuse their children. Mum, it need not be said, does not fall into this category. But we've noticed that Sonny, who is roughly a fortnight short of being six months old, becomes distinctly harder to handle once she floats into the picture.

Just today, for instance, Sonny was sitting placidly in the tub being washed by Pa. He was pensive, contemplating his toes and how the soapy bubbles obscured different toes in turn (well, this is what you might call a creative reconstruction of the little fella's thoughts). Then Mum darkened the doorway. "How is it that he's always thrashing about whenever I bathe him, but so quiet now?" she said a tad too loudly. Sonny perked up and promptly began to kick at the water, sending spray over the side of the tub (and onto Pa's clothes). Sensing a hostile glare, Mum scuttled off - and Sonny subsided to his customary calm.

Now, you might say this account is unfair to Mum, as Sonny was probably just expressing joy at her presence. Or perhaps it was mere coincidence, you whine, that she was in the room when the young 'un got frisky. Sadly, however, there's a definite pattern that can be discerned: Whether it's an increased propensity to suck at his thumb (and toes) or a tendency to bawl in hopes of eliciting sympathy, Sonny is likelier to misbehave when Mum is present.

On, then, to the 'his/her' preferred explanation segment. Mum's is that Pa is what you might call, to use technical language, a wicked monster who barks at Sonny in such threatening tones that the poor mite is too terrified in his presence to utter much more than a peep. Pa suggests that Mum is indulging Sonny, fuelling a childish cunning that already knows how best to draw fawning attention from susceptible adults. In grander terms, then, one might even see here opposing worldviews: Pa's a darker vision in which we must perpetually avoid being taken advantage of, set against Mum's willingness to embrace a lovey-dovier, everyone's-an-angel universe.

Of course, there's nothing earth-shattering about the situation. Children have been trying to play one parent off against the other since time immemorial. We'll just make sure we firm up a common front in time for when his demands accelerate. As they surely will.

Preparing for Bandit Sonny

In medieval times, there would come a time in a manor home or fortress when the alarm would be sounded: "Bandits! Bandits!" The populace will scatter to bring in their prize possessions as the drawbridge is drawn up, windows slammed shut, weapons readied and water levels in the moat carefully checked.

We're at pretty much at that level of organised panic, as Sonny lumbers ever closer towards being able to range beyond his little mattress. Already, with utmost effort and heavy breathing, he can half-crawl, half-roll his way towards us when he sees us sipping our evening coffees. His eyes dart everywhere, just like that of a highwayman seeking booty. And it won't be long before he'll be galumphing about our home, grabbing any thing he can reach and testing it with his busy lips.

So what are we doing about it? Pretty much what you might expect. Sharp objects are being withdrawn into drawers and high shelves while we now have a little supply of gadgets designed to 'baby-proof' dangerous edges and corners. We are probably going to have to vacuum the floor much more regularly, to remove any tempting morsels that are not fit for human consumption. And any object can be easily toppled by a curious shove is being redeployed to harder-to-get-at nooks.

People always imagine parents eagerly egging their children on to the next level of achievement, to speaking at an earlier age, mastering their ABCs and running about like mini-tornadoes. Maybe we're just lazy, or - as we prefer to see it - perhaps we're just so well-adjusted we want Sonny to take his time in savouring each mini-stage in his march towards ever-widening awareness and sentience. We're not desperately trying to fast-forward things to when we won't be able to enjoy a cuppa without springing up at least once to stop Sonny from slithering into the shoes. We've seen friends' children (and our own nephew) barging about - and even climbing about - too many times for the prospect to hold any charm.

After all, who ever heard of anyone welcoming the depredations of a bandit?

We are magicians now

When Pa was a child, he enjoyed watching magicians make doves disappear or pour an endless stream of tea from tiny pots. With his clumsy fingers, he never did master any David Blaine-type tricks: And he didn't have to. Becoming a parent, it turns out, confers upon one the ability to perform impossible illusions. Unfortunately, you don't necessarily get to choose when these moments of magic will come.

The other morning, for instance, Mum was wondering where her little handkerchief was - the one she uses to wipe Sonny's mouth after he performs his own bit of dribble magic (so much saliva overflows onto clothes, toys and assorted people, there must be a huge tank hidden somewhere on his person). Anyway, abracadabra and all that, our once-tidy house was suddenly overflowing with handkerchiefs. They poked out of every pocket and corner. All of them soiled, of course, although Mum couldn't for the life of her remember when she had used so many. We even seemed to have ended up with more handkerchiefs than we started out with. Applause!

Our real forte, however, is disappearing tricks. Two days ago, Sonny was beginning to fidget and fuss. Recently, the only sure way to soothe him has been to put his new best friend - Rainbow the multi-coloured fish - in his hands. Except - fanfare, please - it was Vanishing Time. Though both Mum and Pa had only just seen Rainbow lying peaceably atop the toy box, it took only a Shazam! for it to wink out of existence. Mum scoured Sonny's play area, rummaged through the toy box and then began methodically turning the flat upside down. No Rainbow (plenty fussing, alas). When Pa got home, Mum told a dramatic tale of a disappearing fish. Ah, but it was time for our magic again. Zap! Pa opens the toy box, and there's Rainbow nestled next to Wordster the cloth book. Looking innocent as a saint, too.

We're aware that these are relatively small-scale feats and are expecting our repertoire to expand as Sonny (who is, of course, the talisman that makes it all possible) gets older. We've already seen his more or less magical ability to flit across his mattress while asleep, even though he can't even crawl when awake (read 'Sleep-crawler alert' for details). Like the great Houdini, too, he's hard to truss up nowadays (as Pa used to, to keep him from sucking his thumb): Pa's knots are increasingly no match for Sonny's wriggling skills. But as a taste of the little fella's sorcerous potential, we're already seeing some cosmic time-bending performances. However many minutes we might allot beforehand to readying him for an excursion, it's never enough: When the deadline is reached for departure, there is always an emergency toilet visit, a spill or some critical item gone missing from his pack.

Now if he could only make some of our bills vanish...