Dearest beloved

I am enjoying you at this age so, so much... that I can't decide if I want time to pass quicker or slower.

Those parroting acts you do with such charm. You make even the most crude, disgraceful words sound sweet. Of course I will not have you talking like you need to wash out your mouth with soap from time to time. Neither do I want you being too comfortable with Manglish/Singlish, at least at this stage.... so I, your mother, has become the language police at home and wherever you may be found. (Sorry, folks!) I bet everybody is tired of my constant reminders (and warnings) to mind his/her language, especially when you are around. Not to mention corrections - no matter how subtle I might try to be. However, you will thank me for this someday... like how I now thank my mother for being so particular with my grammar when I was little and my father now telling me that my speech stank like poop when I used a foul word that I learned from school. (I never got to use that foul word ever again. Neither do I want to use it.)

Those hugs and kisses you give so thoughtfully. Every hug and kiss warms my heart like nothing does. To think that you were that touch-me-not baby not too long ago. (You used to wriggle furiously out of our grip or push our faces away whenever we tried to hug or kiss you.) I look forward to your hugs and kisses throughout my work hours. While you are still very reserved with non-family members, you made me proud the other day when you hugged and comforted my sick and sad friend with such tender compassion: "Don't cry, jie jie!"

The antics that greet me every morning. You love to lie in bed for a while after you wake up - but when it gets mundane, you would go, "Mummy, please may I go out?" followed by an urgent "Open door!" You then make sure everybody in the house knows that you have finally gotten up - even before I get to rub the sleep out of my own eyes and give you a quick morning bath. Teasing your grandparents, laughing, riding your indoor bicycle, saying hello to your stuffed animals, and climbing up and down the furniture - while your poor night owl mother drags herself around like a zombie. These are what your wake up routine consists of.

Your requests for me to TALK - about whatever topic you choose. "Mummy, talk," you would say... to which I would respond, "What should I talk about?" And then you would give me a topic, for example, "Cats!" I would then give you an educational talk about the given topic to the best of my abilities. It makes me feel er... smart? It also reminds me of viva voce back in school.

Grow up, but don't grow up too fast, sweetheart.