Round the world in 5 seconds

Toddlers are notoriously curious, and Sonny not only takes the cake in that department, he could single-handedly supply a whole confectioner's. So it's no surprise he's developed his own unique way of quickly taking stock of the world around him, to more promptly identify points for further exploration.

Typically, when plonked into a less than totally familiar environment, the little fella will cross his legs and flex them so that he begins to bounce in a jittery 360-degree revolution. He does this very efficiently, his eyes shrewdly taking in the environs as he rotates. He can even multi-task, perhaps munching at a plastic cup he has filched from some tray, or dramatically waving a walking stick snatched from a stand.

Once the grand tour is complete, Sonny will have gained a grasp of all nooks, hidden crannies or concealed corners worthy of thorough ransacking. Without fail, these will include any place potentially dangerous to a toddler, such as a live power socket with many appliances attached, drawers that can easily be opened and then slammed into young fingers, especially dirty areas that have escaped cleaning and any heavy objects that might be accidentally toppled - causing destruction of expensive antiques or damage to undersized noggins.


As a result of this, Mum and Pa have a painfully wrought relationship with Sonny's round-the-world scan'. On the one hand, it's pretty amusing: A toddler doing a full-circuit while sitting upright earns a few laughs every time. On the other hand, it is the harbinger of nightmarish chases and grab-the-Sonny activities as he plunges after each danger spot, seeking out a new one the moment he is foiled or headed off his original target. Since Mum and Pa have arrived in Malaysia for a weeklong break with Pa's mother, the little fella has suddenly acquired vast reserves of fresh energy. We're not quite sure where from, but he's scampering tirelessly from cranny to nook, pausing only to scan for more places to explore.

At the moment, we're at wit's end as to how to corral these surges of enthusiasm. Undoubtedly, it is better to have an insatiably curious child than a listless, inattentive one. But having to deal with a toddler with his very own Instant Investigative Technique - his spin-round-the-world - is a bit much. Anyone with tips or suggestions on how to slow the rampaging Sonny down are very welcome to write in. And please do so yesterday...

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.

Our little cleaner

A number of entries in this series of often-disjointed posts have to do with tidying up after some typhoon-like mess wrought by Sonny, or with salvaging a situation turned parlous thanks to his roving adventures.

Last week, however, came a stunning twist: There he was, actually helping us clean up. It happened on a day much like any other. Sonny had ruined our neat row of mineral water bottles by playing his own version of ninepins, had scattered some toys and was otherwise working manfully to meet his quota of chaos. Then he saw a discarded wet wipe that Mum had left about (possibly after being drawn away to respond to some Sonny-related emergency). The little fella picked it up, toddled over to our TV console and commenced a diligent wiping of the surface.

Mum and Pa were both present and managed to avoid fainting, crying out in shock or otherwise overreacting. Instead, we both rushed forward to unleash great blasts of "positive reinforcement". That is to say, even if it was a completely random activity on his part, we had - right then and there - a chance to imprint it onto his neural pathways. If we made enough of a fuss over him, praising him to the skies and clapping madly, he might begin to regularly scrub and rub for fun. In the same spirit, Mum has been played the exciting game, 'Put The Stuff Back To Where You Found It' with the little fella, and Sonny has shown some promise as a practitioner.

Let's come clean here: We're hoping that, in the not-too-distant future, our son will be building his character the old-fashioned way, by helping out with a good number of household chores. We've no intention of turning him into a cruelly-oppressed slave, but even a child of - oh, say - four can make himself useful by washing the dishes. Then there's the sweeping and the dusting and the laundry... he needn't be the only one saddled with these chores, mind you, but he can certainly take on his share of them. But more important than that, we want him to be doing so voluntarily - and how better to manage that than by introducing the key aspects of it when he's just a wee tot so he can learn them as play?

Some folks might cynically dismiss us as heartless monsters bent on squeezing every bit of utility out of our child, perhaps even defacing his childhood and robbing him of innocence. That is just so much hooey. Child labour is bad, but a labouring child is one who learns discipline and the joy of hard work.

Know the difference. Ahem.

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.

An infant and a control freak

Our little fella is turning out to be quite the control freak.

Not that, at 11 months and change, he is already trying to order us around - though he can be wilful enough when he wants to be. No, we're referring here to his enthusiasm for remote controls of all descriptions. It's remarkable, if you think about it: Our TV remote and cable TV control are fairly alike, but they look nothing like our air-conditioning control, which has neither their multi-coloured, multi-buttoned character nor their narrow shape. Yet these three are together pretty much the Holy Grail as far as Sonny as concerned. He will crawl any distance, clamber over any obstacle and make any amount of noise to try and get his itchy paws on them.

Initially, we thought we'd outsmart him by ostentatiously hiding (but not very well) an air-conditioning control that had malfunctioned. The first part of the plan worked a treat: It took Sonny less than a couple of minutes to retrieve the gadget from its 'hiding place', and he promptly began to pound away at the controls. But somehow, he seemed to sense very soon that he was being sold a dud - without even needing to peer at the air-con units to see if any were operating. He began slamming the device to the ground and tossing it about vigorously. If we wouldn't give him a 'live' control, he seemed to imply, he could at least enjoy the oddly-shaped football he'd been granted.

For now, therefore, our evenings are often intricate ballets of control-passing activity, with Sonny enthusiastically pursuing Mum until she manages to deftly flip the control to Pa, whereupon he becomes the new target. At one point, we even tempted disaster when, all tuckered out, we let the young 'un have one of the controls, just to see if he might peaceably play with it. And indeed, he was clearly so overjoyed that he stared entranced at the many buttons, reverently plucking at one, then another, and occasionally letting out yelps of joy. We wondered if he might be safely entrusted with the gadget. Then, of course, a sudden wicked gleam shot through his eyes. There was no suppressing the smasher in his soul, and when he tried to dash the control to the floor we had to quickly relieve him of it. Seconds later, of course, he was flailing away trying to get it back.

Can Sonny somehow sense the magic properties of such devices? How they allow long-distance manipulation of activity and the conferment of power (at least to influence thermostat or TV channel readings)? Who knows. But it may not be just coincidence that leads him to ignore gaily-coloured book covers, colourful toys and the like in favour of our controls.