I’ve been down with what now seems like stomach flu since Monday evening, and C seems to have caught it from me as well. Both of us were slumped on our sofa, while Noah crawled around on the floor, whining away. He was having a bad day too, with neither parent keen on entertaining him, and getting scolded by mummy for refusing to eat his porridge again.
C: Why is he so busy? I think it will take FIVE people to look after him. *pause* Five low-energy people.
Me: I think five won’t be enough either.
C: Can you imagine what it will be like when he starts walking? He’s going to be worse.
Me: Yeah, nothing will be safe from him anymore. He’s already been pulling open the drawers in our bookcase, and has been trying to open the kitchen drawers.
C: He’s going to be EVERYWHERE, opening and closing our drawers, pulling things out, putting them back…
Me: Huh? Putting them back?
C: Oh yah, he won’t put them back. He’ll just pull everything out and throw them around. Jialat.
The war-zone that used to be our living room
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