I ordered in for berbuka/dinner tonight, as Q has an office function, and it doesn’t make sense to cook for one and a quarter (aka the toddler).
The rider came, delivered the food, and left.
Hatta: Where’s the motorcycle Mummy? Where’s the man? Where’s the motorcycle?
Me: He’s left.
Hatta: No, Mummy. He’s right. He going right.
It’s been a while.
I haven’t written in a long, long, time – partly because I didn’t know what to write about, and partly because I was focusing my efforts and my time on learning new skills.
I didn’t want to continue with the “Conversations With Hatta…” series because Hatta had begun to string words together and properly talk (I use the word “properly” here very loosely). Somehow I felt “Conversations” would be less funny if I were to merely transcribe the things he says. He is now at an age where his vocabulary is expanding, and every other day or so, he surprises us with his ability to string words together and communicate. Writing “Conversations” was fun because I had the artistic liberty to put words in his mouth, and give him the sarcasm and scepticism of an adult. It’s a bit more difficult to do that now, because the humour that comes with his communication skills these days is of the kind that can only be appreciated if you were there to hear it, or see it for the first time.
Hatta: Mummy, look! A cat! Miaow!
Me: That’s not a cat, Hatta. That’s a dog.
Hatta: It’s a cat. It has four legs and a tail, like Muci. And it’s furry, too. Like Muci. Muci’s a cat.
Me: Well, yes, it does look a bit like Muci, in that sense, but it’s not a cat. Not every animal with four legs and a tail is a ca-
Hatta: Oh look, another cat! Miaow!
Me: That’s a bird.
Hatta: Cat! Miaow!
Me: It has just two legs, not four. It has wings, feathers, and a beak. It doesn’t even miaow! It chirps.
Hatta: Muci chirps. It’s his hunting call. And Muci’s a cat.
Me: Look, the bird is flying. Cat’s can’t fly. Muci can’t fly.
Hatta: Yes he can. He flew straight up in the air the other day, when I sneaked up behind him.
Me: Not all animals are cats, Hatta. There are lots of different types of-
Hatta: Oh look, Mummy! Another cat! This one’s swimming in a tank!
Me: That’s a fish.
Hatta: Cat! Miaow!
Me: It’s a fish, Hatta. You can’t possibly argue your way out of this one. This one doesn’t even have legs! And it lives in water!
Hatta: It’s called evolution, Mummy. You may want to catch up on your reading, you know. And please don’t roll your eyes like that. They may get stuck like that one of these days.
Hatta, formerly known as Peanut, celebrated his first birthday yesterday. It’s crazy how quickly time flies. To think that in the time Trump hired and fired a slew of key White House officials, Hatta grew from a tiny baby barely capable of anything but eating and sleeping, to an energetic, chatty, and happy toddler, always talking, always moving, and always pointing to something or other.
In that time, I have learnt a few things.
I’ve learnt that your stomach muscles are called core muscles for a very good reason. In my postpartum days, my stomach muscles were completely shot. Having delivered via C-section, I had very limited mobility. Every single movement (even reaching up to switch on the lights, would you believe it) was painful. I realised then, that you engage your stomach muscles in every thing you do. Every step, every turn, everything. I lamented the sit-ups and the crunches I never did in my younger days.
I’ve learnt that the moments you remember the most aren’t the typical milestones you’d expect. It isn’t Hatta’s first smile, or his first laugh, or the first time he said “mammamma” that I recall. I note those moments down in his baby journal, of course, but without flipping through it, I wouldn’t be able to remember the exact dates those things happened, or how old he was at the time.
Me: I need to get started on dinner, Hatta, so I trust you’ll be able to entertain yourself in your playpen?
H: Sure.
Me: Here you go. Hope those toys are enough for you. I’ll be in the kitchen. Stay here, where I can see you, ok?
H: Hmmph. Yeah.
Five minutes later…
Perfecting Asam Pedas 