The Second Baby Files 1: It exists!

So it happened last October that we woke up one morning to the sound of our bedroom door opening and closing and the soft plop of our intruder onto our bed. I know what you're thinking: it's Isobel. And this is another predictable post on Izzie, full of gratuituous pictures that only obsessed parents and selected babyphiles appreciate. Hah! You'd be wrong! Because our intruder was not a berserk 2-year-old, it was a little plastic contraption. It was this:

Fergus: What's that babe and how did it get here?

Athalia: I dunno. Have you been feeding weird animals outside again?

Fergus: Only the stray cats. This has nothing to do with stray cats, does it?

Athalia: Doesn't look like it. 

So we shopped this around a few of our friends and we were told this means we're having another baby! Is that right?? Well we sure as heck didn't think we'd be told this way. But yes, it turns out to be true. We visited our not-so neighbourhood professorial obstetrician, he pulled out his iPhone, pointed it at Athalia's tummy, fiddled around with Instagram and came back to us with something that looks like this:

My word, that looks like it's been in there for years! 

So yes. We'll be having another child. It's gonna be twice the everything and a lot of economics of scale. More people to wash the bathroom, do ironing and rinse the dishes too. Muahahaa!

Next on The Second Baby Files: Hamburger or Sausage?

The big, red and prosperous CNY

It has always been incumbent on us during CNY to get out and make a festival out of several continuous non-working days. So we figured we had our work cut out for us when conversations like these started becoming the norm:

Athalia: Isobel, let's go out for a walk. 

Isobel: I dowan to go for walk. I wan to stay at home. 

Isobel, is that you taking a selfie of yourself sleeping?? Give Papa back his phone. No no. 

Okay. So the little girl wants to stay at home a lot these days. It'a not as if she doesn't rock it out, though. 

Here she is, sending out her babypheromones to the talent scouts of the blogosphere. They don't exist, Bellabel. Quick, drink your milk properly. Papa wants to sleep already. 

So we headed out, and what better way to prepare for days an days of gluttony than to make a date with the king of fruits?

Here she is, drunk on durian kampung. Do you see that guiltless face? That is a face that has not grasped the concept of 5 seconds on the lips, 5 years on the hips. Fast forwars a few days, it's CNY and...

Isobel, what on earth?? Did you finish all of Uncle SK's mango chocolate?? No no. No more, sweetheart. 

Guiltless, remorseless, gluttaneous. Her semblance to her mother really knows no limits. 

Athalia: Oi. 

Fergus: What oi?

Athalia: I saw that. 

Fergus: I'm building up a story arc. Dun kacau. 

Ok where was I?

Oh yes. CNY and finding an impetus to get out. We did, yes. Since my very best CNY memories were all made in Muar, we figured it wasn't too much to trek a coupla hours south to spend a few hours with the Ong clan. 

Here she is, not really diggin that Mandrin collar scene. 

And here she is absolutely diggin staircase-time larking about with her second-cousin Charmaine. 

In fact, Izzie seems to dig staircase time with or without companions. Here she is, back at home. 

And here she is, discovering that an old house in Muar with a garden, lots of grass, a real cat and brilliant blue skies is a lot more fun than staying at home in Subang Jaya. I don't know about big, red and prosperous, but it's been a fun-enough CNY for us all!

Welcome back

Welcome back, friends. Boy oh boy has life moved on since those glorious days, when this blog was being kept and its readers kept entertained. Well, here's a big puff on the cobwebs and OMG TAKE THAT BABY THING AWAY FROM ME!!

WHAT ON EARTH IS THAT BABY?

As a matter of fact, that's our babygirl Isobel and she's seen here doing her best impression of a Hollywood actress facing the paparazzi while coming out of a restaurant in Paris after a candle-lit dinner with her new unnamed continental beau. Or something like that. Fast forward a few months...

There she is with her first truly guilty face. That face, of course, may or may not be due in part to the wall putty that she has on both her hands and legs. No no, Isobel. Papa spank. 

Here she is trying to bore a hole through the camera lens while out in the sun. This girl quickly developed a liking for grass, bugs, soil, leaves, butterflies and sunlight. And life can just zip by when you're having so much fun and suddenly... 

OMG SHE'S 17 YEARS OLD AND DOING HER SPM! 

Athalia: Fergus, can you stop shouting at our readers? This joke isn't even funny. 

Ok not quite. As in, not quite 17 years old (and not 'not quite funny') but my word, do they grow up quick. Next thing I know she's giving boys The Look. 

What look? 

This look. 

If you are over the age of 45 and have experience raising up daughters who are raging tempests of seductive good looks, I need to speak with you. Please call me back within the next 9 years!

But of course, my babygirl is more often bookish than she is hiao. Here she is, connecting with her inner intellectual. 

And here she is being everything her proud Papa adores. Welcome back, my friends. Let the reglorification of these days begin!