Maximillian's Warning

Maximillian's Warning: Potties are hazardous to your (and your neighbour's) home. They can cause serious flooding, water seepage and various pollution problems. Children and babies without proper supervision should not try using them at home.

Yeah, We Did Go Hiking!

During the Easter Holiday, we decided it was time for us to go hiking with Daryl and Creamy.

While all of us were exhausted and tired by the walk up the "steep" hill, Daryl was the one who had the easiest ride. The theories of quantum physics and relativity say that we don't need to be physically strong to be pushed up and down the hill while sitting in a pram.

The trail at Mount Parker isn't the most physically demanding one, but was hilly enough for the Fab-Four, oh no, the Fat-Four (my wife, our domestic helper, Creamy and myself) to be panting like horses and swearing like sailors while at the very bottom of the hill. And when we saw many elder people running past us with absolute ease, we knew that we should have cut down on our snacks.

But none of us said anything, as we still madly in love with our snacks.

Speaking of snacks, we had a simple picnic and our helper had prepared some delicious chicken and cabbage sandwiches for us. While there wasn't that much food, we had made a serious mistake in our choice of beverage.

By bringing along three cans of regular Cokes (not Coke Light or Coke Zero) with us, we had definitely taken in far more calories than what we had burnt.

It was the best time of the year for hiking and picnic. The weather was fine and it was neither too cold nor too hot. That's why we also saw so many people hiking and picnicking with their babies or pets. But then I suddenly realised that we were the only ones to go hiking with a baby AND a pet, as if their babies and pets are estranged and cannot stand one another, and as if they'd rather have a chubby pet than a lovely child.

It was also the first time our domestic helper had met Creamy. Probably it was an outdoor settings, Creamy didn't bark and seemed to welcome our domestic helper with open arms, or front legs to be exact.

Creamy was obviously exhausted afterwards, as she once again refused to walk occasionally to take a breather on our way home. Just when I was about to scold her for being lazy, I found myself sitting comfortably in the couch, with stinky sweat covering my body, and another big can of Coke and big bag of chips in my hand, and not willing to move or do anything (taking a shower included) at all.

And what did Daryl do after the picnic? He had a huge dinner with rice and congee, and then went to bed immediately. Hey, at least I was still moving a little bit (i.e., picking up the remote controls) after having all the snacks.

Talk about like father, like son.

Hey, We Went Hiking!

Details on our hiking trip coming soon ...

Happy Haagen-Dazs

You thought that children are always an embarrassment when you bring them to an eatery? Think again, as Daryl proves that a 9-month-old kid can ask for a menu, make up his mind and order the things he wants.

Oh Girls!

Luckily Daryl is a boy. Otherwise I would have suffered a massive heart attack when I saw what happened to Daryl on Children's Day.

It was a dinner gathering at the neighbouring Cityplaza for us with his two godmothers and, after enjoying a good meal, we took Daryl to the ice-skating rink. Daryl had been there for a number of times, but that was the first time we went close to the rink. I bet when Daryl saw such a big piece of white ice on the floor, he must have been wondering, "What the heck are they doing on my spilled milk?"

Anyway, as we were watching the boys and girls circling the rink time and again, three girls (I bet none of them was more than 10-year-old) suddenly came straight at Daryl and started yelling at him. They were visibly excited (as the Plexiglass around the rink blocked what they said) and were trying their very best to capture Daryl's attention. They waved and jumped and yelled and spun, and the only things they didn't do was to flash their body and moon him.

I thought Daryl must have been the provocateur by making some obscene gestures to them, so I took a look at him. But he was just sitting there, taking everything into his eyes as if he had seen them all before. (And I don't mean I have flashed my body to him or mooned him.)

I am not sure what had happened to the girls (like whether they were on drugs or stuff like that), but as we were leaving the rink, our conversation was filled with words like "bold", "Oh my God" or even "(bleeping) b_tchy". And luckily their parents were not around as they would have spanked us hard after hearing what we had to say.

But Daryl was just enjoying the ride in his pram, not a bit flinched or disturbed by his crazy and adoring fans. And for a baby who has never produced any albums or starred in any blockbuster movies, the girls' action falls somewhere between childishly funny and plain ridiculous.

I wonder what the girls would have done had Daryl been really a Hollywood star. They would have flashed their bodies to him, mooned him, and then some.

And their parents would have spanked them, hard.

And so there goes my plan of giving birth to a daughter (at least for the moment).

Part-time Parents

Parents in Hong Kong are the unlucky ones.

The unreasonably high living standard makes it virtually impossible for any of us to become a full-time parent. If you are lucky enough, you will have your ass saved by being a tenant of the public housing estates where the rent is cheap and the price is low. But if you aren't one of them, you will have to work your brains out to repay your mortgage with the bank for the teeny tiny flat you have bought, which is so small that you can't even flex your legs when you sleep.

Yours Truly and Yours Truly's wife are the semi-lucky ones. While we aren't tenants of the public housing estates, we aren't flat owners at the moment either, currently renting a flat as our temporary home. But that doesn't mean we don't have to work hard. Milk powder, clothes and food all cost a fortune, and remember, we don't have to spend money on education, piano lessons, soccer class and tutorial, YET.

Yours Truly always blames himself for not being smart enough to be among the top echelons of some international conglomerates. That means Yours Truly's wife can't quit her job to stay home to take care of our Dear Daryl full-time, and that we have to hire a live-in domestic helper to help us out.

Our daily routine looks like this:
- Wake up at 6, and play with Daryl for a short while;
- Leave home at about 7, and watch how Daryl is doing through the IP cameras;
- Go home at about 7 and play with Daryl for a short while;
- Dinner at about 8;
- Play with him for another short while; and
- Daryl goes to bed at about 10.

If you do the math, you can see that there is just a couple of hours (quality or not) we can spend with Daryl every day. No wonder we have found it quite difficult to make him laugh sometimes. Sadly, we have missed so many memorable moments in his rapid development. Very often we have to listen to our domestic helper about the wonderful things that Daryl has done while we are busy at work.

Yours Truly's friend, Angry Eyes, says that she is sad that she can't be a full-time mother. Yours Truly feels the same too. But what can we do?

Get a Mark Six ticket, of course!

Otherwise we'd better suck it up and stop sulking.

Daryl vs Ryan

It was Daryl's first real encounter with a baby of similar size. Ryan (right), courtesy of Angry Eyes, is the more active of the two while Daryl (left) is extremely shy and slow-responding, just like his Mummy and Daddy. Perhaps it is time for us to send him to a playgroup, to teach him some badly-needed inter-personal skills?

Crawling Nowhere

So far, Daryl has been doing everything fine. He's passed the hand-eye coordination test by the local maternal and child health centre (albeit at the second attempt, as he was unwilling to cooperate with the nurse in the first try because she wasn't pretty) in flying colours, and his vital statistics are right about where they should be. But there is something he still isn't able to do, yet.

He can't crawl, yet.

We've been encouraging him to do so since his neck became strong enough when he was just three to four months old, but whenever we put him onto our bed, he would flatly collapse and lay prone, as if he's been shot in the buttocks (which is partly true because I always tell him that all buttocks facing the sky are liable to be spanked (by me), hard), or as if he's ducking to protect himself from gunfire and an air raid.

We've tried every trick in our sleeves. We've tempted him with food and his favourable electronic gadgets, but he would only look up and support himself with his arms, and just refuse to crawl.

When we told my parents about it, I was extremely worried about their reaction as grandparents are usually much more nervous than the parents themselves. And when I heard what they say, I became even more worried.

They told me that Daryl probably won't crawl as a baby, forever, without showing any emotion at all.

Relax folks. Before you go berserk, cry foul or scream for help, just keep on reading for the reason, but whether it's a well-justified one is up to you to decide.

My parents told me that all the family members in my family, including my parents, uncles, aunts, second cousin once removed and myself, did not crawl when we were kids. No matter how hard we tried, we just wouldn't crawl. And fortunately, they said that our inability to crawl has never hampered our growth and development (which I totally disagree given my lack of height, strength and athletic talent, in no particular order).

Does it make any sense to you?

I'll keep my fingers crossed and hope that Daryl will be much stronger and taller than I am, without being affected by his (thus far) inability to crawl.

And so there go our chances of winning any big prizes in the much-publicised and ultra-exciting baby crawling races.

Gourmet Daryl

(Note: After a couple of picture posts, it's time to go back to the normal posts.)

Daryl simply loves eating. But wait a second, he isn't that crazy about his milk or congee or those sorts of baby food. He's crazy about the adult food. (When I said the word "adult", I didn't have anything remotely related to NC17 or X-rated in mind. But now I do.)

And don't blame us. We are not the culprit.

As many of you can testify under oath, you didn't kill anyone, and elderly people are sometimes are just as naughty as the young kids. They will try every trick up in their sleeves just to poke fun at and annoy you.

Perhaps we have been way too protective. We simply don't want Daryl to be exposed to any risk or danger that the smallest thing may bring about, including food and other possible allergens. So we have been extremely careful in choosing and preparing food for him.

But like many other elderly people, my mother-in-law (Oops, this is a possible landmine situation. I've got to be very careful here. Otherwise my lovely wife will spank me, hard.) loves to feed Daryl with all sorts of food. Long before Daryl had had his first tooth, she had already given him bread, rice, soup and biscuits, all these kinds of things, when we are away for work. In fact, she's so naughty that she would feed Daryl the "contrabands" when our domestic helper looks or walks the other way.

I have known her for over a decade now and have never noticed her funnier and naughtier side, until now.

I don't have a problem about the food itself, as Daryl will someday start eating them anyway. The problem is, once Daryl knows how good the adult toys, no, food tastes, he will no longer want to eat his simple, plain and tasteless baby food. That's why whenever we are having meals at home now, he would stick his neck out like a giraffe, hoping to see what we are eating.

The other day when we showed him a piece of pork chop, a big drop of saliva came straight out of his mouth and onto our dining table, just like the B-2 Spirit bombers raiding Baghdad, as if he had been starving for decades.

Of course we didn't let him eat it. But hopefully that won't make him think that we are being mean, especially when he sees how fat his daddy is, which may have led him think that his daddy has eaten all his food.

And I certainly wouldn't mind eating his healthy food.

Movie Star

Some day, Sylvester Stallone will just have to retire ...

Cover Boy

Sorry Angry Eyes, my copycat instinct has gotten the better of me. Daryl is on the cover too, courtesy of fd's Flicker Toys once again.

Daryl vs Andy Warhol

(Courtesy of fd's Flickr Toys)

You Reap What You Read

Unlike most of my colleagues (such as Angry Eyes), I have never been an avid reader, which is quite bizarre given the nature of my work. Imagine a soccer player who hates playing soccer. That is simply unimaginable and inexplicable.

In fact, I am a selective reader. I don't read a lot of things, as I often find books and texts boring. But you can still find a lot of books and magazines in my bookshelf, the reason being most of the them are related to sports.

I have always been a sports fanatic, but my interest is strictly limited to being a spectator instead of a participant. When I was a small kid, I would tape a lot of sports programmes on TV (Italian Serie A and the NFL in particular) and watch it again and again whenever I had time, and so I could and can still remember nearly every word of the commentary. For example, my man Martin Tyler reminded us, after an excellent 2-1 home win over Bologna early in the 1990-91 season, to "watch out for Sampdoria", which would go on to win its first and so far only Serie A title that season. I still have a couple of seasons' (from the early to mid-90s') worth of Serie A and NFL tapes in my cabinet, ready for me to pop into the VHS player when and if I have time.

You may say that watching the same tapes again and again has made me more laconic, which is probably true. But the flip side is, the excellent commentary of Tyler and Peter Brackley, among others, has greatly enhanced my English proficiency.

Anyway, when I finally have some (NOTE: not "a lot of") money, I decided to buy sports books, lots of them. My collection mainly consists of books on Formula One, but the number of baseball books is also increasing at a rapid rate. When Michael Lewis' "Moneyball" created a lot of controversy a couple of years ago, I immediately bought one from my trusted old friend, Amazon. And being an avid follower of Rob Neyer, I just can't miss any of his work. But despite being a huge fan of soccer and American football, I don't have too many books on them in my collection.

As for magazines, there is only one that I have been reading regularly for nearly 15 years: Sports Illustrated. It has the two things that I am looking for: Excellent coverage of sporting events (mostly in North America) and fantastic columns by renowned columnists like Rick Reilly and Steve Rushin. To say that I am trying to imitate Reilly's style in this blog, but to no avail (possibly forever), would be an understatement.

Daryl is now nine-month old, and we hope that he would pick up reading as a habit, as experts always say that it would be good for his development in terms of speaking and writing. At the moment he can only play with his toy books, and still can't turn the pages properly. I know we still have time, but being his parents, we are always worried about a lot of things.

No, we don't want to force him too much, but there are just some things that we should tell him to and not to do. We want him to love books and we want to build a nice little library for him. But instead of a sports library, we want his to be a general one, with topics involving every aspect of mankind. Otherwise he would be like me, who know nothing but sports.

But first we have to find a bigger flat, and buying a Mark Six ticket may help realise our dream.

Pressing All the Right Buttons

For some reason, Daryl loves buttons.

No, it was neither the clothes buttons, the belly button nor John and Jenson Button. He is crazy for the buttons on electronic gadgets like the remote controls and phone at home.

We found out months ago when we put him on the sofa to sit on his own, which he likes a lot. As usual, he arms were flapping like a mad bird and slapping his legs and the sofa. It was no big deal for us as he had already been doing this for quite a while at that time and we knew that he could never lift off like a plane. But suddenly, we could not longer hear the clapping sound anymore. As we were worried that something bad might have happened to him, we checked him out immediately.

Something bad had really happened, but not to him.

It turned out that something really bad had happened to our remote controls, which had been put into a bag slotted along one of the sofa's armrests.

What happened was Daryl somehow discovered the remote controls on the armrest and decided to play with it (probably out of boredom). I am not sure whether it was a touch of genius (no pun intended), but I clearly saw him aiming his index finger right at the buttons of the remote controls. Amazingly, he knew that the plastic portions of the remote controls are not meant to be pressed.

If you are wondering what bad thing had happened to the remote controls, you must have too much free time at hand to read my random and senseless thoughts on this tiny little thing called "Blog". Here you go: Do you like your entire body covered in saliva? Apparently, we were a little too late in finding out the torture he's had inflicted upon the remote controls, as he had already tasted them and found them neither tasty nor chewable when we came to their belated rescue.

Talk about damage control: In the days after, we decided to remove the batteries of one of the remote controls and let him play with it under our close supervision, in order not to inflict any more harm on it again. I am not an expert on human biology, so I have no idea how Daryl could leave so much saliva on the controls which would have drown them to death but for my intervention (I know you're thinking mouth-to-mouth resuscitation). But my wife also told me that the remote control for our TV is not functioning properly these days.

Likewise, Daryl also loves playing with the phone. He would press the buttons and be amazed by the "beeping" sounds it produces. But when we put the phone onto his ear and asked him to listen and talk to person at the other end, it looked as though he was wondering how a fluffy and messy mass of fat like Yours Truly can sneak into the tiny phone at home. He was simply stunned, perplexed by one of the greatest mysteries of mankind.

If Daryl turns out to be the second coming of Albert Einstein, a lot of credit should go to these tiny little gadgets.

And if I turn out to be really good at mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on gadgets like remote controls, full credit should go to Daryl.

When Daryl Meets Creamy

Like Harry and Sally, my beloved Liverpool and the evil Chelsea, and the almighty God and everyone one of us, Daryl and Creamy are destined to meet each other.

As many of you may have already known, before Daryl was born, my wife and I have a little (shall I say "chubby"?) companion at home. That's Creamy, a lovely little, er, chubby Schnauzer whom we treat as our own daughter (which is not to say we GAVE BIRTH to her, for Christ's sake).

Following the so-called professional advice by a number of medical practitioners, we decided to separate them after Daryl was born. And on the very day my wife went to the hospital for delivery, someone (my dad) broke into my house and kidnapped Creamy (so that she could move in with them) and asked for a huge ransom (to buy food and snacks for her).

And being as ignorant and careful as many of you may have been, we decided to follow the professional advice by not letting them to see each other before Daryl's six-month birthday. Once Daryl is more than six-month old, we decided to lift the embargo and let them meet.

You may say that we have been preparing for this day for quite a while. But the truth is, we didn't do anything special. We just wheeled Daryl to my parents' home in his pram, and voila, they had their first encounter.

Being as naughty and energetic as ever, Creamy was so curious about Daryl that she tried every trick she has learnt to reach Daryl. No, she didn't want to bite him. She just wanted to take a sniff at him, as if to see if he's got illegal drugs in his possession, as every dog will do by nature. And as if merely taking a sniff wasn't enough, she even wanted to kiss Daryl, just like a crazy fan dying to inch closer and closer to her superstar idol. But she was swiftly blocked and turned away by Yours Truly's dad and Yours Truly, the rookie tag-team bouncers.

However, that wasn't Creamy's first encounter with Daryl. Creamy always loves sleeping with us on our bed, and sometimes would kind of cry if we didn't let her to. Yet long before we were aware of my wife's pregnancy, Creamy one day suddenly decided that enough is enough and jumped off our bed, most probably because, I thought, of my seriously annoying snoring problem. But judging from the timing and her reluctance to get back onto the bed afterwards, we have every reason to believe that she knew of Daryl's existence long before everyone did. Talk about a really smart and caring dog.

Technically speaking, that wasn't their first encounter. Daryl had already visited Creamy when he was a month old. Yet he was sleeping all the way through and didn't even notice her existence. So that doesn't count.

As for Daryl, we never imagined how excited he would be when he saw Creamy. While sitting in his pram, he suddenly moved his upper body towards the front, as if he wanted to have a closer look and touch her with his hands. We had never seen him done that before, probably because nothing in our home, including us, is as attractive and lovely as Creamy to draw his full attention.

Delicate Touch

There are so many tricks that men can use to soften the toughest of hearts of women or loved ones. Well, don't ask me which of them works the best. I've been married for so long that I have forgot all those naughty tricks (I have to say this because my wife always watch this tiny little thing called "Blog"). But for Daryl, he has already mastered one of them at the young age of seven months.

We have learnt for quite a while that Daryl loves moving his arms around, no matter he is sitting on his own, or being carried by us. A couple of weeks ago, when I picked him up to my eye level, his arms moved above my shoulders, and I started to wonder what he was going to do next. (I was so scared that he would slap me as I'm not the best daddy in the world.)

He then proceeded to touch my face with his soft and tiny hands and fingers. And he looked at me with his big round eyes while doing so, kind of like wondering who the heck I really am.

I was really surprised. I was surprised not only because he managed to do so, but also by the tenderness and warmth of his tiny hands. I can tell you, it's one of the most wonderful feelings in the world. My heart simply melts when he moves his hands along my face.

The more his does this, the more I understand why he is doing so. Daryl is curious about our face, especially the big clumsy metal-cum-plastic thing which we call spectacles. But unlike the maddeningly unpredictable ways his arms are moving when he is sitting alone, he is always very gentle and slow when touching my face, as if he knows my face is a work of fine art (by God of course).

And when I found out that he does the same thing to anyone who is holding him, no matter it's a man or a woman, I wasn't jealous at all. I said to my wife, "I think Daryl is going to do the same thing to all the girls he's going to meet, and the girls will love it." To which my wife responded, "You've lost your mind!"

She cannot be more right. Daryl's hands are really driving me crazy.

Godmothers

Because of the incredible amount of stuff in our home ("They're enough to support a dozen people," said our domestic helper), I always say that we have a lot of EVERYTHING in the world. The only thing we don't have is money.

And the same goes for Daryl. He has no money yet (What? You think he has a million-dollar bank account? He will if any of you give him, or us, one.), but has a lot of clothing, toys and other stuffs.

And no, he doesn't have one godmother. He has TWO in fact.

These two crazy girls are two of my very best friends. They are my high-school classmates, and they love children a lot, and one of them has been other kids' godmothers before.

How crazy are they? They once said that we can simply concentrate on supporting Daryl's study and buying his food, and they will take care of all his clothing. Then during the very hot summer days, they told us that they have already bought a super-warm quilt gown for him. And when scorching summer finally ended and the weather became cold, they decided to tell us that they have bought some swimming wears (notice the "s") for him.

And a quick check into Daryl's wardrobes confirms our belief: We, as his parents, have only bought him the cheapest of clothes from the cheapest of places. Meanwhile, almost all of his "designer" clothing are bought by his godmothers.

But their "donation" is strictly "in kind". When we suggested them make stock or fund investment for Daryl, they flatly said no, as "stocks and funds won't make Daryl prettier!"

Sometimes they are evil. They would sneak into our home when we were away at work and visit Daryl. As they have already won over the trust of our domestic helper, we are really worried that one day they will kidnap Daryl and ask for a huge ransom.

And they are also the main reason why we have to move. They always threatened us that if we don't move to a bigger place, there will not be enough room to store the things they have bought for Daryl. We, as kind and friendly as always, have no choice but to accommodate their request.

But at the rate they're buying things for Daryl, we'll soon have to acquire the flats (notice the dreaded "s" again) next to us, just to have enough room for us go to the toilet without tripping over.

Nevertheless, Daryl is a lucky boy. We always thank God that everyone loves him a lot, and it's really a blessing for him to have two such caring and loving godmothers.

Hanging out

Believe it or not, Daryl likes going out a lot, even though he's only seven-month old.

Apart from visiting the clinic for regular check-ups, Daryl's first "official" outing was to his maternal grandparents' home when he was just over a month old. And he started having tea with us on a regular basis the following month.

One day when we were shopping at a department store with him, we went to one of the many children's wear shops and, amazingly, Daryl was clearly on a high. How high was he? He smiled and even laughed very loudly when we asked him whether a certain piece of clothing is pretty or not, and whether he wanted it. It's obvious that he still doesn't understand that there is no free lunch in the world, but when we saw him that happy and excited, we decided to buy fewer clothes for ourselves but more for him anyway!

Recently, we decided to have a crazy shopping day at a far-away shopping mall. We spent nearly seven hours there and had bought nearly two dozens pieces of clothes for us altogether. But the thing to note is: When we were shopping and wheeling Daryl around, we could hear him yell extremely loudly. He did it not just once, but many times instead. When I first heard that, I thought he was complaining that he was bored and wanted to get out of his pram for some much-needed walking exercises. But when we asked our expert (who happens to be our domestic helper) about it, she said that Daryl was not bored, but was excited and liked the place instead!

I am worried that he may soon become the youngest shop-aholic in mankind history.

But having Daryl in the mall has other perks too. I have quickly lost count on how many people have stopped and looked at his pretty face, and I can even hear some of them whispering that how much he looks like one of us (most of them said that Daryl is like my "Mini-Me"). But it's a shame that we haven't been offered special discounts because of him though.

Yet judging from the steady increase of his loveliness over the last couple of months, the odds are we will finally get the discounts or even freebies very soon.

He Walks the Walk But Doesn't Talk the Talk (Yet)

I know I have talked about it before, but I just can't resist talking about it again.

Yes, I'm going to talk about Daryl's attempt to walk.

As mentioned in a previous entry, we started teaching Daryl how to walk a couple of months ago. At first he was like a budding tree, who was so weak and fragile that any tiny force (or even breeze) could make him fall and even topple over.

But when he was four to five months old, we noticed that his bones and muscles have grown stronger. And just like Eason Chan, he has very strong and stocky legs. So we started to teach him how to walk.

We would pick him up by his armpits and let him walk along our couch. At the beginning he had no idea what we were doing, perhaps thinking that we wanted to pick him up but didn't have enough strength. But then we patiently taught him how to lift his legs and, magically, he could lift his legs one by one by himself!

It is such a wonderful feeling to see him walk. We can see that his eyes were focusing on his knees and legs, and every step he would lift his knee high, as if walking along a knee-deep quagmire. His steps are huge, as if he wants to cover the width of the couch in as few strides as possible so that he can take a rest, as he is often seen panting after such walk.

And I can tell you that we have just got the letter from the Guinness officials congratulating him for setting a world-record time in walking along our couch. Sweet.

As for talking, he still hasn't mastered the muscles and vocal chords yet. But judging from the huge strides (no pun intended) he made when learning to walk, I suspect that he will be a chatter-box once he learns how to talk.

And that is not necessarily a bad thing, especially when his Daddy has long been criticized for being dumb and laconic by his friends.

He Got Flair

Daryl was born six months ago to this very minute (5:28 p.m.). So first of all, happy six-month birthday to Daryl!

We have heard oh-so many times that Daryl looks and behaves more mature than his age. When we tell people that he is only six months old, people would look at us in disbelief, saying that he looks like a one-year-old. In terms of weight, he isn't that heavy. Many babies of his age are heavier than his weight of 18 pounds. And in terms of height, he isn't very tall as his parents are, sadly, both vertically-challenged (no, we're not suffering from dwarfism).

It's from his behaviour and demeanor that we can see his "maturity". He has been able to sit up by himself for a couple of months now, and a little over a month ago, we could pick him up by his armpits and help him walk. Amazingly, Daryl is able to swing his strong and stocky legs one by one, as if imitating the walking motion.

Although he still can't master his vocal chords to produce any meaningful sound, he certainly displays his fondness of talking (unlike his parents) by often being the noisiest person at home. Very often he would "Er", "Ee" or "Ah" the entire morning, as if waking us up and inviting us to play with him.

And he loves to smile. Sometimes he would smile by himself for no particular reason at all. But more often than not, he would smile when we play with him. He is particularly excited playing the drummer or driver on my lap, or read his "Puppy Book", and smiles the brightest. And when we make some funny sounds in front of him, he would simply look at us and, after a brief moment or so, start to smile. His smile has been so attractive and mesmerizing that everyone has fallen for him.

Many people believe that boys nowadays don't have a clue on how to deal with girls. Some may say that many boys are simply like girls. Judging by the number of girls surrounding him since his birth, and by the flair and poise he has been displaying in front of them, we are not worried for Daryl in that regard at all.

Oh Doctor! (Part Deux)

Babies as young as Daryl usually need not see a doctor yet, as they all enjoy a six-month probation … oops, no, sorry, immunity period. People say that babies will not get sick during their first six months, as their mothers have given them all the immunity they have to possess.

But unfortunately for Daryl, he has already become a frequent visitor of our family doctor.

On a Wednesday in late October, Daryl started to have a slight fever after a routine injection at a Government outpatient clinic. This is something very normal and was not a cause for concern at all.

But that was just the beginning of the story.

Since he was still having a fever the day after, I decided to take a day off to look after him (yeah, and to skip work, or whatever). But somehow I myself started to have a fever, which eventually led to my three medical consultations in less than a week (yeah, and a couple of days of sick leave).

Meanwhile, Daryl's fever persisted for some days, and he developed other symptoms like coughing and sneezing as well. So on the following Monday, we decided to bring him to our family doctor, who is notorious for giving extremely strong and drowsy medicine.

However, Daryl was still coughing and sneezing after taking all the medicine. (I guess he must have been smoking and snorting stuffs when I was not around. I'll ask him later.) And he was obviously a little dazed and groggy (stoned?) after taking the medicine. So we had to take him there for a follow-up consultation on Saturday and by then, the doctor and nurses there all remembered him and said he's such a calm and good boy who looks like he's thinking all the time, just like a philosopher as his name suggests!

And when my parents also fell ill (possibly because we had spread the viruses to them) and visited the doctor, the nurses somehow know that Daryl is their grandson, despite the fact that I have never told them about it, and I haven't been to the clinic with my parents for literally ages. What's even more amazing is that they can all remember Daryl's FULL NAME in both Chinese and English, prompting my dad to say that "Daryl must be a very lovely baby. Otherwise they won't remember him that well!" He is a very proud grandfather indeed.

Home Sweet Home

After spending months searching for a new flat, we finally found one, and have now moved in.

It wasn't easy at first. There simply wasn't much flat available close to where we were living when we started. If there was one, it was either too expensive or simply too dilapidated. We don't mind living in flats of poor conditions, but we also have to take Daryl into consideration. We want him to grow up in better places.

So we spent many weekends visiting flats with property agents, who can sometimes be quite obnoxious and annoying. If you hate receiving cold calls, then you will probably detest the company of property agents. They are just the same.

In late October, we finally found one we like a lot. It has recently been renovated, and is quite close to my parents' home as well. Then the next (and probably the most important) thing to do was to bargain. However, the owner stood firm, and we are not the best of bargain hunters. The result: One of the sides is very happy.

Then we suddenly remembered what we had forgotten: Daryl hadn't visited the new flat yet! Older people say that people should bring along their babies when visiting flats. If the baby is happy, then the flat is good and "clean". If the baby cries, then it isn't.

When we finally brought Daryl along to the flat, we had already done all the paper work, which means that we have reached the point of no return. Worried, we showed him the flat and much to our relief, Daryl was smiling and very happy in our new home. He likes it a lot! Thanks Jesus!

And after thorough cleaning, we decided to move in on a Saturday in late November. The actual moving work took almost half a day, as we indeed have loads of things (we were told that there are enough things for a dozen people to live in). We also took Daryl to his godmother's home, lest he would be scared by the noise and the dust of the chaos. Turns out that he was scared by the sound of the piano there! And after two more days of unpacking the 50-plus boxes and drilling holes for boards and stuffs, we finally have a "brand new" home!

Oh Doctor!

Like many other kids in Hong Kong, Daryl is a victim of eczema.

When we found some colourless "dots" on his body, we were extremely worried that he might be suffering from some kind of serious (such as measles) or mysterious diseases (such as, well, I have no idea).

But when we also noticed that he was not having a fever, and wasn't even crying at all, we became less worried, as babies will usually cry a lot if he feels extremely uncomfortable.

We tried finding out the reasons for his "dots", and we thought that the culprit was a new bathing shampoo which, ironically, was bought at the Baby Expo at HKCEC. So we stopped using it and reverted to the old one.

Yet when I was just about leaving home for work the other day (shortly before his three-month birthday), I noticed that the number of "dots" had increased. Although he was not having any other symptoms, I immediately decided to take him to a doctor to find out what's wrong with him (so that I could skip work).

Actually I was not that worried. When the doctor called his name through the PA system, I was not worried about what his diagnosis would be. Instead I felt so wonderful because his name had been announced through the PA system! Believe me, there is no other thing which is as wonderful as hearing someone else calling your child's name (in a polite manner of course).

As expected, the doctor said that he was only suffering from eczema, and luckily it was only a very mild one. In fact Daryl didn't look like a patient at all and was smiling a lot at the clinic. The doctor also gave us a lot of cream and ointment especially for him. Hopefully his eczema will be gone soon.

A New Home

We are definitely not rich. We cannot afford a place of our own, and we have been staying at someone else's home for the last couple of years. So far, so good.

But we were told recently that we can't live there anymore, and were asked to move away as soon as possible.

Two years ago when we moved in, there were only two members in the family. Now there are four. That means we have to find somewhere bigger, somewhere which can give Daryl as much room to play and move around as possible.

Two years ago when we moved in, the rent (What? You thought we sneaked into someone else's place to live?) was at an all-time low, particularly the flat we are now renting. And when we started to find a new place to rent, we were simply startled by the unreasonable price that some of the owners are asking for.

A case in point: A derelict flat (albeit in a major blue-chip housing estate) with no decoration but extremely dirty and smelly kitchen and toilet can cost somewhere near $15K. I won't live there even if I am PAID $15K per month.

We thought of buying a flat on our own, yet the price is even more unreasonable. A brand-new standalone building at Shau Kei Wan cost you $6,000 per square feet, but the bedroom can be smaller than your bed. Go figure.

Our decision: Rent another flat, even if that means we have to pay a lot more for a place not much bigger than the one we are now living in. And after months of searching and bargaining, we have found a decent one which, although considerably more expensive, is an ideal place for Daryl given its coziness.

Hopefully we have made the right choice for him.

Four Months

Dear Daryl,

Today is your four-month-old birthday. So Happy Birthday to you!

From the time of seeing you being just a tiny little baby when you were born, to being such a healthy and happy baby now, we always thank God how wonderful things have turned out to be.

We were worried about everything before, during and after you were born, worried that you might be hungry or not feeling well. But thank God for lending us a big helping hand and you are now such a big and strong fella who is willing to drink milk and is seldom naughty.

You are such a tidy and clean baby that you would cry when you want to have a bath, but smile while taking and enjoying one.

You can sit or even stand for a short while now. And very often we would simply put you on the sofa, watching you sitting and watching TV. Like Mommy says, you are a TV baby, a close relative of the Teletubbies.

And you don't seem to mind the flashes of the cameras, as you have got used to it since the day you were born. Mommy and daddy are both photo-taking freaks, just like the paparazzis, and you are the Hollywood star.

And you are such a blessed baby that you not only have the love of grandparents and us, but also that of your two crazy godmothers who are willing to spend a fortune on your clothes and toys. I always tell them to subscribe a fund for you instead, but they flat out said no, saying that the funds won't make you more lovely.

You can utter a lot of sounds now, but still can't master the skills to say "Mommy" or "Daddy". Hopefully you would learn to speak quickly. And judging from the abundance of saliva running out of your mouth, it's highly likely that you will learn it really soon.

And we will soon see your first teeth too. Mommy says that she's noticed some white dots in your lower gum, and believes that these are your teeth. Well, that means you can start biting and chewing things really soon. And hopefully you won't bite us.

Best Wishes,

Your Mommy and Daddy

Nanny Dandy

When both parents have to work, it's a must to find someone to take care of the baby at home. And when there are no family members or relatives to do it for you, you have to find a domestic helper to carry out the duty, in addition to the household chores.

As my wife and I are both very busy with our work, we decided to employ a domestic helper to help take care of Daryl. As it turned out, our helper not only does the household chores well, she also takes very good care of Daryl.

But that has led to an unexpected twist.

The helper was on leave the other day, and I soon found out that we were in deep trouble, as Daryl simply refused to eat. Each time I tried with a bottle of freshly made milk, he would only drink an ounce of it and then stopped. From 6:30 in the morning to around 8:30 in the evening, he had only taken four ounces of milk, and the only thing he wanted to suck was his pacifier. We were extremely worried. When the helper came home, we told her what happened, and then she immediately tried a new bottle.

And Daryl promptly started drinking, and finished the bottle in no time at all.

Daryl has got so used to helper's feeding that he would not eat unless it's her feeding him. And does it mean that he will only listen to the helper in the future?

We surely hope not.