With Superdad on leave for the entire week, we decided to bring Tru out to Sentosa for some fun in the sun before I pop and have to be confined at home.
Needless to say, my little hunky pool boy was absolutely thrilled to be at the beach.
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Planning a birthday party while being 35 weeks pregnant is EXHAUSTING. The preparation and stress almost sent me into premature labour on Saturday while we were locked out of the house in the middle of the night after our lock decided to self-destruct. Murphy clearly hates me and the feeling is totally mutual.
We intended for it to be a smallish affair, but it is after all the little prince’s first birthday and my boy is quite the socialite. Villa Marina turned out to be a brilliant place for the party, with its cosy interior and stunning pool (which was the only thing Tru was really interested in).
The food was painstakingly prepared by various valiant ones (all in the running for Tru’s favorite people in the world). Lunch was courtesy of Uncle Dean, chef de cuisine and food extraordinaire, together with a whole bunch of Santa’s elves all working tirelessly the entire morning. We even shot a video to make sure he’ll watch it and tear when he grows up.
Grandma also volunteered to make a huge carrot cake topped with extra cream cheese and plenty of TLC. Obviously the little dude has got them all wound around his little finger.
I suspect Tru was overwhelmed by the crowd and commotion, which explains his permanent pout the whole afternoon. But he seemed happy enough when he got to splash around in the pool.
I also couldn’t resist one of those BFF shots. Too cute.
I have this nagging suspicion that my son is an adrenaline junkie. And partially masochistic. First of all, he doesn’t seem to feel/mind pain. He can’t sit still (not even for 2 seconds), he’s totally fearless and he has this massive need to climb to the highest possible point all the time (and then fling himself off it).
I used to think that we are all wired with a basic human survival instinct, which is relatively simple. Pain = BAD. No pain = GOOD. That means I shouldn’t have to tell him fundamental stuff like “Don’t throw yourself off an elevated point” or “Don’t drown yourself” or “Banging stuff on your head is bad”.
Most kids seem to get it, but mine is evidently struggling with that concept.
While we’re at it, isn’t there some research that shows how humans can be conditioned to stop doing stuff that brings detriment to their physical beings? i.e. putting your hand at an open flame will result in PAIN, which is BAD.
Call it bravado (or retardation), but my boy absolutely does not register the fact that stupidity will bring about bad consequences, despite having been at the receiving end many times.
Let me elaborate. I’ve probably mentioned that he’s flung himself off various high objects numerous times (7 times and counting), but he just keeps finding new places to jump off. Just yesterday, he managed to pivot his body off his cot and headfirst onto the floor. Till this moment, I’m still baffled by how he did it, considering the bar was up to his armpits.
Then there was the pool incident. While most kids make it their aim to avoid having water enter their noses and mouths, my little daredevil is completely unfazed by being submerged in the water. To him, swimming is no fun without trying to drown himself. Apparently, staying above water is for the amateurs.
It’s getting out of hand. His mission is life is to devise new ways to inflict pain upon himself, and my mission is life is to stop him. Sorta like a real-life, twisted computer game.
And the count stands at Mommy: 6 points, Tru: 8,527 points. Great, I’m getting thrashed by a 9-month-old.
I’m thinking, it’s time to bring out the big guns. Maybe I should wrap him up like the abominable snowman all the time to provide some additional padding. Or else I’ll have to attach a pillow permanently to his head and his butt.
Forget fashion, survival trumps style.
