From Mother To Son: A letter of love/hate

My dearest Son,

I hate how you yell at me as if it is my fault that you dare not walk unaided in public. Yet in the bustling excitement of a toy store, you seem to cast all fears and doubts into the nearest longkang.

I also hate how you sometimes make me want to yell horrid things at you, but because you look so darn sweet, the words never come out and I have to swallow them back in. If I have a huge jutting gut in future (like the one your Dad has) I will put the blame entirely on you for making me swallow my words.

Recently, you have been grimacing so totally horridly during any attempted photo-taking that there is no bloody way I can actually capture any remotely cute photos of you. You know, “smile” doesn’t mean pursing your lips together and squinting. That is damn ugly.

I also do not understand why you refuse to speak when you already have such a wide vocabulary that I hear you muttering when you are playing by yourself. You can say short sentences like “Come, korkor play you” to your stuffed toys, but refuse to even say “bao bao” (hug) when you want to be carried. You really make me damn confused lah.

But despite all this, I cannot help but smile when you toddle to me at a baby’s breakneck speed when you hear me attempting to puke into the kitchen sink. It’s so sweet when you raise your little eyebrows at me in concern and refuse to leave me alone until I tell you I am alright.

I love how you can (and will) express yourself through pointing, nodding and shaking your head so I don’t have to play guessing games with you all the time. And most importantly, I love how you can sit quietly on the couch with a snack while watching your favourite toddler cartoons.

I also love how you can entertain yourself 90% of your awake time by toddling all over the house and laying your itchy hands on the things that you are allowed to fiddle with. I love how you will stay out of my room and the bathroom/toilet ever since you have gotten repeatedly screamed at for it and have finally learnt not to do it. I love how you have stopped turning off the fans because your itchy fingers couldn’t resist pressing the buttons.

You are such a smart baby boy that you know which buttons to press in the lift to a) go downstairs and, b) go home. You also know how to turn on/off the fan and lights, and you never fail to remind me to turn off the lights when we leave the room, something that puts me to shame because I always tend to waste electricity that way. You know how keys work and which key opens which door, you just can’t reach the keyhole yet. You even learnt how to get off the couch safely by the time you turned one, which I consider as a tremendous achievement for a little baby boy.

In gist, I just love how independent you are. You can take care of yourself like an older kid, which is quite rare in this society full of overprotective parents. When I don’t do something for you, it’s not because I don’t love you, but because I know you can do it yourself. Case in point: Getting a pack of biscuits from the correct drawer or drinking from your own waterbottle, all without creating an insane amount of mess because you know it would drive me crazy.

Thank you for not being a pain in my ass because most of the time it’s only you and me. God may have only given me two hands, but He gave me a child who is so loving, intelligent, independent and brave that most of the time I don’t even need to use more than one hand to deal with you.

One day, when you are all grown up and reading this, please remember that if I irritate you in certain ways, you have done no less to irritate me in some as well. :mrgreen:

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