Hello, I hope you are all well.

The grass in our backyard has grown to a remarkable height of one foot over the last two weeks. It’s quite incredible, watching Toby running into the backyard to relieve himself, only to be dwarfed by grass overlooking him while he tries to find a flat surface to do his business. If I wasn’t paying attention, I wouldn’t be able to pick Toby out from the grass. He simply disappears. And he’s not even green.

Back from where I come from, if grass this long existed, it’s either in some disused plot of land where tall long grass called lalang exists in abundance, or some local councils have been lazy and need a good kick up their backside.

But no, this shocking ‘weed’ infestation sits in my backyard.

I have no doubt Melbourne’s crazy weather has a hand in this incredible growth spurt. Michele and I were swapping out our woolies for summer wear and sun screen, only to hide in recluse from a chilly cold front the next. Add a dash of rain with two parts fine weather, and it’s the perfect recipe for snakes and God knows what hidden among the tall grass.

Enter my very first lawn mower. Having lived in apartments my whole life before owning my own house, I know next to nothing about motorized lawn mowers, let alone what a two or four-stroke is, or what needs to be oiled, or how Honda lawn mowers are the best but cost $900 a pop…hey what do you know I do know a fair bit about lawn mowers!

I don’t see a reason to shell out $300 for your average four-stroke Bunnings lawnmower when a $50 Ozito does the same job. Not only do I get to break out in a sweat, I won’t have highly-flammables in my garage over the summers.

On top of that, it’s low maintenance, works a treat and it looks so much prettier than those noisy behemoths whose roar could be heard one street away. Bleh.

The last time I tried mowing a lawn and tackling overgrown backyard grass, I had the worst grief from the landlord. I ended up using a pair of shears, bent over and cutting the grass off. How attractive. Hello, I’ve never used a lawnmower before.

So there you have it. My little project this week – putting the treacherous lalang back in its place, making it easier for poor Toby to negotiate our backyard.

Hello, how is everyone?

Michele’s belly has now gotten so huge, I can no longer lie on her. Actually, I haven’t been on top of her (no dirty thoughts here ha!) for many weeks  now. At best, I could just lay my hand on it, a book or a half eaten pizza.

Most times, I just have both my hands cupped around her belly as I start talking silly with Baby. I know Baby’s able to hear music, so I’m pretty darn sure it can hear my voice. In fact, once when I was talking to Baby – alternating between my lips and ears on the belly – it kicked me right in the face! How rude! Baby’s got a bit of an attitude! Must have come from myself.

A growing belly aside, Michele’s belly button is beginning to look a little like a crumbly biscuit that’s been soaked in Milo for about 10 seconds. The edges of the belly button are visibly rising – almost like a self raising flour, ha! – and I reckon it’s the cutest thing on the belly right now. It’s a little soggy, it’s a little firm and when I prod it really firmly Michele says it tickles.

The belly is now big enough to notice movements within. Michele likens Baby moving inside to playing football as there’s lots of kicking, dribbling, feints and skillful movements. A future Socceroo? Or Matilda?

In fact, Baby seems to move far more actively after Michele has consumed any kind of sweet, sugary food. I’ve seen it myself – the belly bounces, a little dart here and a little poke there. Crikeys, what is going on in there!?

Hi all, have you all been well?

They say by around the 22th week babies have developed ears that are functional enough to hear what’s going on around them. Michele and I decided to put it to the test. We have just purchased an iPod Touch (RIP, Creative Zen 2005 – 2009) for my mobile music needs and had several hours to ourselves on Monday night.

We both have a background in classical instruments,  so we reckon Baby’s got a little bit of August Rush going on in its grey matter. After struggling to find a comfortable position for herself, I had the iPod Touch positioned against Michele’s belly so Baby gets the best surround sound in its nice, warm womb.

I imagine it must be pretty comfortable in there, all gooey and dark. Baby gets to roll around, does little tumbles and spins around just to get Michele’s attention.

I’ve only turned away for a minute when Michele squealed in delight. Baby was moving around in the belly. It must enjoy the sudden break of silence. Baby enjoys the music!

Michele’s also been encouraging me to talk to Baby. There’s something about talking to a mound of flesh that’s strangely, endearing. Just knowing beneath your wife’s belly is your Baby, your progeny, your flesh and blood makes me feel all loving and cozy. It’s like eating marshmallows with hot chocolate – warm, fuzzy and…nice. (for the lack of a basic superlative.)

Most times, I just have my palms firmly on the belly and just say whatever comes to my mind. Yesterday I asked Baby if it had fun with Mommy and Daddy (we had spent the evening out in Ikea) and reminded Baby the voice it hears is Daddy’s voice.

I always tell Baby that I cannot wait to see it, and both of us will be good mates and I’m the coolest Daddy in this whole, wide world.

But before all of that, there’s still the music. We’ll definitely be playing music for Baby as often as we can. We had meant to do it yesterday but we both dozed off on the couch after dinner and remained there throughout the entire night. Michele’s bladder had to go at 5am, and she woke up to find the lights still on, our crusty half-eaten dinner on the tray and Toby wondering what the hell is going on.

We think Baby’s wondering the same too.

Hello everybody, I hope you are all well.

It has been a pretty strange December for Melburnians. Weather-wise, at least. We are right smack in the middle of summer yet we’re getting 11 degrees nights and 15 degrees days. That, and torrential rain fall state-wide.

As if to insult my accurate weather report, my family survived a slow roast thanks to our ‘Best invention in the world’ when Victoria copped an entire week of 36 degrees days right on the tail end of Spring. Spring!

I’ve spoken to my northern hemisphere counterparts and those who’ve never ventured this far south of the Capricorn always suggest surprise at the thought of a 45 degree Christmas Day. Mostly, they are just your local version of the bogans who possess no passport, have never been out of their state or feel it’s a huge deal just travelling to the state capital. Oh yes, I do have friends like them. All thanks to the marvel of the Internet and online gaming.

So what are your plans this Christmas? A traditional Aussie Christmas has the family all together, sharing a seafood barbie at home, which might preclude a trip to the local beach. The men standing on one end, beer bottle in one hand and pocket in the other, while the women fuss over the children and latest Hollywood goss. Psst, apparently Chris Brown has a British accent. How strange, young lad. Fancy a bubble and squeak?

Michele and I will be getting our baby room ready by converting our plain guest room into a dreamy universe where the sun, flowers and rabbits inhabit this beautiful land. We’ll be painting the room a neutral colour, owing mostly to our decision not to find out the sex of our baby.

I’ll also be working right through the Christmas break. Extra money will come in handy next year when Michele goes on maternity leave. It’s really hard juggling finances when you’re a young couple with massive overheads. It is completely unfathomable to singles or young unmarried adults, the money that’s siphoned off by institutions when you’re trying to set up a new family. Sometimes I do wish I had been more frugal and mature in my younger days by putting aside even 5% of my allowance/salary away for my future family.

But with responsibility comes maturity. A new father or mother just accepts whatever is thrown at the family, and does whatever it takes for the family to survive. Sure, Michele and I still dabble in a bit of indulgence here and there but those are few and far between. Most importantly, we have to ensure there’s food on the table, we’ve not fallen back on payments and we can sleep easy at night when we lay our weary heads.

Well look at me, getting all reflective. Time spent unwisely here on the blog, when I could be spending my time on more worthwhile things.

Back to my PS3, I guess.

Hello, I hope you are all well.

It’s been a pretty difficult fortnight for Michele and I. We are learning so much about pregnancy and all its side effects and mostly deal with it fine as all new parents-to-be do. Everything has been covered in pregnancy books and we’ve all taken it in our stride. Surprises were, are and will be aplenty but each day is a new day of discovery for us.

Sometimes though, nothing can prepare you for the pain brought about as a side effect of pregnancy, and as a husband and a father-to-be, you feel completely powerless as your wife withers in wretched pain.

More commonly associated with prolonged computer usage, Michele copped a heavy dose of carpal tunnel syndrome last week. The pain – which was a methodical, throbbing pulse that resonated throughout her left arm – was so bad Michele had to take three days off work. The pain kept her up for a few nights, and she pretty much resembled a pregnant zombie in the day.

On the first night it happened, work beckoned and I was away. To hear your wife sobbing and moaning in pain over the phone but having no control whatsoever is a pretty traumatic experience. Her cries of pain even kept Toby up all night. He knew something was wrong, and kept vigil over Michele in his best doggy way – pacing up and down the room. It’s probably his way of telling Michele he senses something’s not right, and he’s there for support. How completely noble of Toby.

I couldn’t control what happened to her as I couldn’t leave work and I didn’t know what to do. Worse, I didn’t even know why she was in pain.

“A throbbing pain in the wrist? How’s that anything to do with pregnancy?” I first thought. I’ve experienced various degrees of carpal tunnel over the years myself, but I’ve never had to take time off from work or break down physically. After witnessing my wife’s ordeal, I feel much tamer just witnessing pain and anguish as it’s presented to me in a raw, unadulterated format.

A trip to the doctor later, I have come to this conclusion on pregnancy – Expect Everything, Assume Everything. If carpal tunnel is a side effect, I’d wager in the coming months Michele would do worse as she’ll soon sprout wings on her back, her eyes would turn incandescent purple and she’ll be able to cartwheels on her opposable thumbs.

That, as she juggles seventeen apples in the air as she contorts her body to fit into a goldfish bowl and recites the Old Testament backwards.

Yes, I’m ready for all of that.

Hi all, I hope you have been well.

Our wedding might have been over half a year ago, but memories of it will always be fond. It was a beautiful day, and rightfully so. Michele and I will always look back on that day and cry. I’ll even tell my grandchildren that in fifty years’ time.

All kinds of stirring emotions were brought back when we finally picked up our wedding album. These days, wedding albums are all about style over price, and most couples pull out all the stops to ensure the photography is worth the whole shebang.

Until I get the digital copies, a wide shot of our wedding album would have to suffice!

Ours was no different. We went with a less commercially-known photographer, Zita Kiss. Well, that’s her name as well, and when a wedding photographer names the business after herself, you’d know you’re not going to get a runner. Zita’s all pro, is great to deal with and doesn’t muck around. Her Hungarian accent’s a big seller too.

That means she’s not a photographer you wouldn’t have met until your wedding day. Or a photographer who doesn’t speak English.

I say this as someone who has had wedding studio experience, and wish to warn couples out there shopping for a photographer. Many companies still front their shops with a faceless manager, who only cares about volume of sales and recommending a higher priced package. On the wedding day itself, a photographer – whom the couple has never seen or have built a relationship with – turns up, does his job and leaves.

If it comes as a shock to you, it’s not. There are companies who practice that like a anti-wedding zealot, and I’m saying that as someone who had a quick snippet of the industry through rose-tinted glasses.

What’s worse, many of these photographers are sent out based on the package they’ve bought. The more experienced photographers are only sent out for more expensive packages. Risk a more popular – and cheaper – package and on your wedding day you have a fumbling uni student who possibly speaks no English, doesn’t know how to be involved and worst of all, takes the most horrible shots.

But enough of that.

Michele and I would put our wedding album up on display in our lounge. After all, why keep it hidden away in a dusty cellar when you’ve paid so much for it? It’s meant to be seen!

…and that describes – with great accuracy – what my ‘mo looked like after a month.

If you have lousy sense of imagination, that is.

30 days after attempting a great charitable act, it’s time to conclude this embarrassing chapter of my life.

Truth is, I had problems thinking up something truly unremarkable while sitting here at my desk. What most people grow in three days, I take a month. What most people clip within three days, I had nothing to show for. And naturally, when people showed off their ‘mo, it looked good. Mine? If I had to give rate it on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being “You mean that’s a ‘mo? Ha Ha Ha Ha ROFL LMAO” and 10 being “Hey mate, nice ‘mo!”, it’s a -25.

I’ve ran out of negative superlatives to describe my ‘mo, let alone define what a -25 is.

By the third week, Michele had refused to kiss me, insisting she didn’t marry a toilet brush. I realised I had to just let my ‘mo grow out as it couldn’t be trimmed. It wasn’t thick enough, nor was there enough growth in ample areas to warrant a trim. It wasn’t full enough to be passed off as a ‘mo, but there was sufficient hair in all the right areas to be spotted out from a crowd.

Catch 22, only I am none for the better with either options.

I think just for once, I will give up the idea of Asians having facial hair. I truly envy non-Asians with their thick coat of luscious Persian rugs sitting on their face. It shapes their faces so well and it complements their age or character very well should it see them fit to grow one.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you "A Failed Asian Experiment". *runs away and hide*

On the plus side, I managed to raise $28 from all my friends for the Movember fund. I was too embarrassed of my ‘mo to ask them for anything more than a dollar donation. All of them gladly obliged, but none could resist a poke at my attempt.

“You call that a ‘mo? Aww you poor thing, hold on let me grab my purse.”

Poor form indeed.

My New Car in Echuca, along the Murray River. Because introducing My New Car against an urban backdrop just wouldn't do it justice.

Hello there, I hope you have all been well.

My family has a new car. Or rather, I have a new car. I say ‘I’ because between Michele and I, I’m still the only one who has a drivers. It’s a 2009 Honda Jazz VTI. It’s pearly white, it’s efficient and it has made me wonder why I have waited over a decade to learn how to drive.

Friends of mine (shame on you if you haven’t had a chance to catch up with me over the last three months!) would have known I’ve only recently gotten my Ps in September. Since then I’ve been surprising all my friends and family with the car through various guises.

I’ve driven up to their house when they fully expect me to call to be picked up. I’ve walked and driven friends home around in my car after a meal when they expect me to see them off at the train station. I’ve taken friends to my car after informing them of a ’surprise’ just around the corner. I’ve surprised friends by meeting friends while stillin my car; ferried people around; taken people three hours across Victoria and even did the grocery run for friends.

In fact, I’ve done just about anything and everything to make my friends go “Oh my God you’ve got a car!” The look on their faces is priceless. They just don’t expect it. So many years in Melbourne and everyone has been conditioned to me without a car.

I can’t keep up the deceit and charades anymore. I’ve been driving for over two months now and the earlier I rid this burden off my chest, the better I sleep at night.

So yes, I drive. Make sure you toot your horn when you see me on the streets.

The family went up to Echuca over the weekend. We have family friends up in Echuca and as it’s not the first time we’ve been up there, it’s familiar territory for us.

I thought Toby might like a slice of country action, so I brought him along. He’s quite a well-travelled dog. I reckon his passport would look quite full and indicate a who’s who of Victorian attractions – The Great Ocean Road, Daylesford, practically all of Melbourne inner city and now, the border of Victoria and New South Wales. If a dog is reading this, it would want to be my dog too.

Really it was all about a relaxing weekend. Didn’t even do much browsing in the shops. It was Nature + Sleep + Eat = Remembering what life was before the advent of the Internet. It was great not having to stare at a screen for hours on end, or worry about anything computer-related.

Just all in a weekend's work for Toby!

There’s a stage in a man’s life where he steps up the pedestal, plunges his hand into a Balrog’s body and rips out its still beating heart. As he stands there triumphantly with Balrog heart held aloft his head, he wishes for the world to see his heroic deed and demands the accolades he so deserves.

His transition from boy to man is now complete.

If that, ladies and gentlemen, isn’t an apt description of my feelings on discovering I’m about to become a father, I have three eyes and a diaper-wearing married man who still lives with his mother.

The second in my series on becoming a father has been published on theAsianParent.

Personally, I really love the reference to the Balrog. It doesn’t matter what your background is – everybody loves medieval fantasy. I’m currently clocking up hours on the epic Dragon Age: Origins (much to Michele’s chagrin) and perhaps that’s where my inspiration came from.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t know how a Balrog looks. Just the work Balrog itself screams fierce and scary. And it starts with B – perhaps the alphabet’s fiercest letter. Rawr!

Anyway, check out the new article. Leave a comment!