And so it is

It's been such a long time I attempted to even write on a blog. But staring at the my screen willing the paginators to turn the pages green, I might as well use my brain for something useful, instead of watching youtube videos over the next Arsenal transfer target and hoping he will make a difference to our team's dismal, horrifying start to the season.

E is quite fully a child now.
She talks (check)
She walks (double check)
She argues (triple check)

Yeap it all checks out. E is turning 3 this December and she is running and jumping and arguing and talking to us, with us. We love her to bits.

The great thing about having a child/toddler is that at this age, they start to form their imagination. They love play acting and absorb everything with so much efficiency.

Last night, I came home late after work. Wife was in E's room trying to put her to bed and I did the unfortunate thing of poking my head in to see if everything was ok. It was, until I poked my head in. Thereafter it was Daddy sleep with me! Which I did - tried. I laid down on her mattress and off she went. Not into slumberland but on a train of words and talking.

She told me about her boo-boo on her finger because she had apparently burnt her finger on the frying pan (she did not. She bumped her finger on the chair earlier in the afternoon and ran to tell grandma who was frying stuff in a pan about the painful finger) and she also told me about her Pooh Bear stuffed toy visiting a doctor.

I tried to tell her to lie quietly and promised to tell her a Daddy story. Daddy stories are usually filled with action and adventure. Like pirates searching for a golden Pooh Bear or about Goofy's missing bone (complete with CSI type investigations and twists. I was quite pleased with that one).

But instead of an adventure I told her about my time in army about how I made this gigantic booboo on my ankle cos I ran with my 20kg full pack on the field. But I was careless, I told her and jammed my right foot into a pothole, mauling my ankle muscles in the process. It grew into a huge purple bulb and I took two weeks to heal.

"Daddy had to put his leg up and ice the area to keep the swelling down," I told E.
"Like this?" E asked, before lifting both her legs and reaching out to pull her PJs up her ankles.
"I got booboo here also. Smallll one. Daddy see, got ice?"

oh dear.

So I spent the next half hour trying to explain why ice helped to keep swelling down and no, she did not need a booboo.

"I kiss your ankle ok? Kiss will make booboo go away," I said kissing her ankles.
"Kiss? But booboo still painful."

After 1 hr, I gave up, sent her to my wife who was sleeping in her bed and fiddling with her iPhone. E, was by now 100% awake, and wanted my wife to wake up and play with her. My wife said no, I said no. E screamed. For a bit. Ok, 30 mins.

She finally settled down when I threatened to put her in her own room with no Daddy nor Mummy.

Oh did I say that number 2 is coming?

Halp