AshleyGirl

Though my ashley may not be able to read now, perhaps the records of this blog would survive long enough for her to read and relive the days when she was just born, a babe-in-arms, an infant crying for milk, a toddler crawling around and struggling to take her first steps, to a kid running around, oblivious to the dangers around.

Blogging would serve as a journal of sorts, to record those thoughts, the joys that we celebrate and the pain that we suffer. While blogging too, we reminisce and deliberate, and record for posterity those first steps taken, the first words babbled, the scraped knees, even the tantrums thrown. Blogging is practically the new journal, the family scrapbook, open for the world to see, to celebrate and to share.

So, do you blog too?

My world starts spinning the other direction entirely when my daughter falls sick. Kept awake all night rocking her to sleep, measuring and administering her medications, sponging her down every twenty minutes, and just checking on her. That, and falling asleep at work, completely knocked out through lunch-time. Having to cozax her to eat and drink when’s she’s irritable. Any parent will know precisely what i’m talking about.

And bringing her to the doctor to see what can be done so she can be well.

but watching her struggle through the pain and discomfort, even coaxing a smile or a laugh out of her, letting her know it’s not so bad - the fever would pass and the illness would be over soon. She might vomit, even have some diarrhea. She might cough, or have mucus rolling down from her nose. But she’ll always be my beautiful daughter and despite the world spinning the wrong way, i’d have it no other way.

It wasn’t the day that she showed me the urine pregnancy test kit, with the faintly positive second line. It wasn’t when I saw her, with her belly growing rounder, her bust becoming fuller and more voluptuous. It wasn’t even when we saw, on the screen of the ultrasound machine, the beating heart, the flexed legs, the mischievous face. It was only when, while hard at work, I received a call, with an authoritative voice barking at me from the other end ,” Your wife’s cervix is dilated. She must be hospitalised NOW for induction of labour.” Shell-shocked, slumped in my chair, it was all I could do to stammer out ,” Uh … whatever you say, doc .”

And then it hit me. I was going to be a father. In just a few hours.

Excusing myself from work immediately, I rushed to her bedside. There she was, my dear Jan, already experiencing the occasional pangs of labour pain. It would get worse, we knew.

And it lasted a full day, before amidst groaning, screaming, blood and gore, with a final push, baby Ashley was born.

At birth, she had a full head of beautiful, a pinkish complexion, and her eyes were wide wide wide open, looking around in curiosity and amazement. And she didn’t cry. She just looked around, and stretched her hands toward mine. My beautiful baby, more precious than gold and diamonds.

I wrapped her up, much like a master chek would wrap a popiah, leaving only the little pink face uncovered, gazing back up at me. I carried her over to her exhausted and pale, but proud mother, who by now was sleepy and could just manage a kiss on Ashley’s cheek.

I guessed it started to sink in. I was a father. And I had just entered a whole new stage in my life. The Age of Sleeplessness.