Isobel Daniella Iking-Chong, our only daughter, is now 8 months old and is able to sit down by herself and crawl. She is also, a budding actress.
Unfortunately for my husband, he does not know the difference of a wailing child in pain/need/help to one who just is, well… a mini-actress. And so he gives in to her little tantrums much to my distaste. ALL THE TIME!
It started when she learned how to grab things at the same time she was teething. At first, we were pleased that she was able to grasp her toys and follow the movements shown in front of her. And when she started to drool (heavily), we were happy to know that she was teething according to the ‘normal time frame’. But then she started to ‘bite’ the toys given to her.
And then she grew smart.
” Hey! Let her chew on her teething aid!” I tell Ryan firmly.
“She prefers my handphone… see?”
I take away his Blackberry and the madam goes into “cry baby” automode.
“Give it back to her lah… kesian Bel”
Cocking my head to one side, I stare at the two ‘children’ in my life.
“Pleaselah! Isobel can chew on her Disney teething aid… phones are not cheap you know mister! Plus, I read that mobile phones emit ‘bad waves’… it’s not good for children under seven.”
He takes the phone away from her, and she starts whimpering. I offer Bel, her Disney friend, whom she used to love just a few weeks back. She refuses the toy. Watching her quivering lips, I am slightly moved, but quickly hold back my instinct to pass the phone to her.
“How soon you forget your ducky friend young lady!”
She stops her whimpering and gives me a cheeky smile showing off her two front teeth that have just started growing.
We stand up and walk away thinking all is well.
And then we hear a loud wail.
We turn around to see a (loud) crying baby holding tightly to the rail of her playpen.
Her father is fast in stooping her up. Immediately, she stops crying.
I sigh.
“You shouldn’t do that sweetheart. Nanti biasa that. Let her cry a bit. It’s good for her lungs.”
He completely ignores me and allows Bel to bite his chin.
I start nagging and he pulls out an article and reads it out loud for me.
“Spoiling Baby. We always pick our baby up when she cries. Are we spoiling her?”
I peer over his shoulder as he smugly shows me the answer – “Not sparing the comfort won’t spoil the baby.”
Oblivious to our little conflict, Bel decides to cough. A fake cough.
“Bel… what did mummy tell you about the boy who cried wolf? Don’t fake your cough. When you are really, really ill one day, mummy won’t know if you are faking it, or if you need to see a doctor!”
Her father laughs.
“My baby girl is such a comedian! Don’t be too harsh on her lah mummy” He swings her around much to her delight and I leave the two happy campers alone.
There just doesn’t seem to be enough waking hours for Isobel Daniella. She seems to be always on the go, wanting to be entertained and carried all the time. She is also growing to be stronger by day, refusing to sit down quietly on our laps, and instead, contorting her body to reach for objects that shouldn’t be touched.
As I watch her scream with delight to her father’s peek-a-boo games, I have noticed that she is also a budding comedian (who’ll do anything for a laugh), an avid mimic (who delights in copying sounds that we make), and a born performer (‘and for an encore, I think I’ll do that fake cough- again’)
I pick up the article and start reading it – but am quickly distracted by the gaiety of the two.
My mother told me I was such a worry-wart when I was looking after my two younger brothers. I guess it’s the Cancerian trait in me. Isobel waves at me and feigns another cough.
Yes. She’s a budding actress. And fast becoming an entertainer – like mummy, like daughter? I guess only time will tell. Wink.
