Ethan (15 months)

Dear Ethan,

Two days ago, you turned 15 months old.

Before you finally realize how annoying your mom can be, I have to mention over and over again that YOU’VE STARTED WALKING!!!!!! And I’m going to sell you on this to the whole universe like I’m trying to pawn off a used car. Cause all along I thought it would take at least 20 years for you to figure it out, but no, only 15 months, you are walking now. Tell me we don’t have a genius on our hands, TELL ME!


Ethan, although I’ve been looking forward to seeing you taking your first step, I had never imagined the emotion it could possibly bring to me. That night when you made it happen in front of my eyes, I was completely frozen! My adrenaline was pumping through my veins, rushing all the way from toes to head on the high speed, tears were welling up in my eyes. Having missed that moment over Cameron Diaz on TV, your father simply rolled his eyes wondering if he has married a crazy woman. The next day, when he witnessed you did that himself, he literally cried out to another continent to me, “Oh my god, HE HAS WALKED SEVEN STEPS!!!” Now, you know what kind of psychiatric facility you have joined for the rest of your life.

So, one goal achieved. Next: date Megan Fox.


You’ve developed a keen sense of curiosity about the inside or underneath of cabinets. You love to hang around the kitchen when I cook. Before I can figure out whether a sharp knife or a hot stove is more kid-friendly, usually you’ve already settled yourself by the cabinet door, open it and reach your arms inside the mystery world of dangerous substances sitting behind it. And now, it goes back how effective the “NO” thing is. When you hear me saying “No, Ethan. Close it.” You will look at me with a mischievous face, open the door further babbling like, “Mom, be proud of me. I’ve gone through bottles of erosive cleanser, a couple blenders and BBQ sets with all my limbs and beautiful face intact.” Fair enough. But Ethan, FYI, in case things go another way and you eventually land yourself in a foster home, SUE YOUR FATHER who is still having difficulty understanding the correlation between a hazard-loving child and a hazard-proof home.

No doubt, you love animals. And I believe most of them love you too. And it comes to the big mystery of the relationship, if there is one, between you and Koby. I’m not sure what you did to him in your previous live, but Koby simply refuses to get close to you. Whenever you try to engage him in play, he hobbles around wildly looking for a place he can jump over and disappear right away. The only explanation that I could think of is your aunt Karin has probably made it very clear to Koby before he met you that if he ever thinks about touching you the wrong way, he will be wearing your bib for the rest of his life. So Koby chooses not to touch you at all. Now, Sunday has become Koby’s less favorite day because that’s the day our family gathers together to enjoy one of the best freaky shows featuring you and Koby.


Over the past Christmas and New Year’s holidays, aka Koby’s Day of Crucifixion, the family needed something seriously festive and entertaining. And so, you were taught how to feed Koby his treats. There were times when you were holding food in your hand, Koby’s eyes darting to it and then back to Karin BEGGING her to make you stop, and asked WHY DID YOU BRING HIM INTO OUR HOME? At the beginning, you kept throwing away the treat on the floor without the slightest trace of remorse, and Koby would make a bolt for it. Then, he started to inch closer to your palm, and licked away the treat. And  that’s the moment the whole family would look at each other and see who is going to cry first.

Now, just a heads up. If you ever consider asking me for a dog, NO! Cause as far as I’m prepared to be a crazy woman in her pajamas shouting out to you at the porch, I’m not ready to do it for a dog.


Everyday when I get back home from work, you will search for me when you hear the keys clinging sound. Then you see me, you grin bashfully pleading to be picked up. I can’t be more thankful to your grandpa about taking care of you when we are at work. And I do love him. But sometimes when you bend your fingers saying bye to grandpa, like “mom is here now, you can leave”. I secretly want to high-five you.


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