Eighty-first birthday

Last Wednesday my mum turned 81. At least, according to the lunar calendar she's 81; according to the Gregorian, she's only a spritely 80.

That's not her on the left - it's just a gratuitous Baby photo.

Anyway. The birthday bash was yesterday, and it was Baby's first social outing. Instead of a big meal out in a Chinese restaurant (in which she'd be likely to complain about the quality and cost of the food), Mum wanted a family meal at home.

As it turned out, it was a good call. It meant that we could bring the buggy to wheel Baby around in, in case (okay, when) she started fussing. It also meant that our dinner could be timed sufficiently early to accommodate our respective kids' early bedtime.

The buggy was a damned good idea. My sister out-law and I wheeled our respective daughters down to the shops and back, ensuring at least 45 minutes of nap for Baby and a chance to bond over sleep talk.

When we're trying to coax Baby back to snoozeland in her buggy, that's the moment my hard-of-hearing mum chooses to walk in and shout "OH, LITTLE BABY'S SLEEPING, EH?". Being a Cantonese speaker and a bit deaf sure is a an unfortunate combination when quiet is required.

As usual, there was way too much food; after my brother and I divied up the leftovers, there were enough plates of spring rolls, noodles and roast pork keep me going in lunches for the next few days (which is great because my lunch consists of whatever I can whip up/heat up in about five minutes).

Baby was a little unsettled afterwards, but she got to bed okay. There was hell to pay today though - after a night of 4-hourly feeds, she was mostly uninterested in food between about 6am and 6pm. It took a couple of hours to get her to bed tonight, after she finally consented to cleaning her plate (so to speak) at 8pm. I'm gonna have to get tough on her night time feeds again.