No, Toby hasn’t been shafted. He still lives with us. Readers can rest easy.

I’ve been looking for a dog house for Toby to seek shelter from and more importantly, a place to rest. Previously, he had used his doggy door to enter the laundry, where it’s warm and secure. But doing that left our security door open, and we didn’t spend hundreds of dollars on a new security door so it’s left unused.

I’ve read a lot on dog forums how difficult it is to persuade your four-legged friend to get into the dog house. Dogs – when left outside – don’t tend to stray too far from the entry point into the home. So with that in mind, I moved things around the backyard to accomodate his new dog house and placed it right by the back door. This way the first thing he sees when he leaves his house is the entry to his ‘other’ house.

Getting him into the house was less stress-free than I had envisioned. Many owners recall trying to bait them with food, sitting next to the dog house to arouse the dog’s curiosity or even getting into the dog house.

My problem, however was three-fold.

a) Toby has learnt how to read us. We have tricked him many times to lure him in/out and he knows when to take the bait so a good reward is due.

b) I didn’t see myself sitting next to the dog house when it’s 30 degrees outside. Mind you, the harsh Australian summer sun really gets to you.

c) I won’t fit into the dog house.

So there was Toby, sniffing the dog house and generally ignoring it like it’s another inanimate object in the backyard.

The solution to my predicament? The bed he grew up in and has slept on for the last three years found its place outside – in the dog house. It has his scent and it’s a smell he’s very familiar with.

One arvo I left him outside the entire day with the hope he would use the dog house as a resting place. Toby wasn’t too pleased and was whining and barking a little for hours on end. In the end, he got tired and gave up. I noticed it had gotten quiet for awhile and went to check out where he’s resting…

Success!

We can now leave home with all our doors closed, and knowing Toby is comfortable with a shelter over his head.

Hi there, I hope your extended weekend has been kind to you. Did you win at the races?

My family – that’s myself, Michele, Toby and Baby (still getting used to saying that!) – went over to Sarah’s for a house warming-cum-Cup Day barbie at their beautiful home in Glenroy. I reckon they did very well for the size and amount of renovation needed. Michele would say the same herself.

Of course, that meant an arvo with Sarah’s groodle, Lexie. When she visited several months ago, I was able to manhandle her and pick her up. She was slightly larger than Toby and from far, the two playful dogs looked a lot like frolicking teddy bears.

Fast forward to November and what greeted me was a monster! A polar bear! A four-legged frosty teddy! A water-guzzling, bone-chewing, tail-nipping terror!

Well I’m glad I never have to deal with a dog this size! Toby feels the same way too, as he spent the entire arvo rejecting Lexie’s amorous advances! Which man would date someone bigger than himself, let alone six times his size!!?

Against Michele’s wishes I have decided to grow a ‘mo to celebrate the wonderful cause that is Movember.

I reckon I would really have to had grown my ‘mo from last November to participate; such is the sad state of my un-hairyness. Bar a few exceptions, Asians really have the short end of the hairy stick. We simply do not have facial hair.

The last time I attempted to grow a ‘mo, I went three weeks without a shave and I looked a little like an abandoned kids’ sandpit that has the odd blade of green growing.

Oh yes, you had better believe it. With such embarrassing riches, I might need a stiff drink to muster enough courage to walk out into the world. Who knows what people might think if they have to come up real close to spot facial hair, when it’s meant to be seen from a mile away!

I’ll keep a regular update on my sandpit. Perhaps I might just build a little sandcastle, hide a bone in it and gasp in fake astonishment when Toby finds it.

Hi, it’s time for another update on my wife’s beautiful belly.

Michele at Week 18  found herself at odds with the natural order of the second trimester. After going a few weeks without morning sickness, she has been vomiting on and off with no apparent trigger.

With her heightened sense of smell, Michele’s continued mutation into the superhero She-Wolverine is now clearly visible. Infuse her with an adamantium skeleton and retractable claws and I would have been living with a real-life mutant.

With a belly that is now clearly showing, She-Wolverine is now unable to fit into her size 8 clothing.

We popped over to Ripe Maternity in Doncaster (of all places!) and found half a dozen of beautiful blouses, maternity jeans and evening dresses. Yes, because my beautiful wife sees a reason to spend $100 on a dress she’ll wear just once before she pops.

I understand my wife, but I can’t understand women!!

Jokes aside, I’m glad she now has comfortable daily wear for work. Previously she had squirmed in her clothes; now she’s living in her own skin and proudly showing off her belly.

Now I won’t normally admit to this, but for a few weeks I found sex boring. Yes, SEX WAS BORING. It became mechanical, stoic and I was doing the ‘thang’ through rote-learning.

Hello there.

My new fortnightly piece on becoming a father has been published on theAsianParent (TAP). Between getting back on the writing team again and having a regular ‘column’, I have been really busy with advancements in my day job, writing for TAP and making sure The Marching Jester isn’t neglected.

Then again, I’d much rather be busy as being busy is good.

While I enjoy writing, it does come with several downsides when your real name is published.

Firstly it’s my anonymity. My ‘cover’ is now blown. If you, loyal readers of The Marching Jester, have even a slight modicum of curiosity my name now turns up as a Google search result.

That is just…freaky. No online handles, no moniker, no obscure references.

Just plain unadulterated me with no artificial flavourings. Batteries not included (I had to include that!).

Secondly my nationality has now been revealed. Shock gasp horror! I guess I’ll just have to throw in a smattering of Singlish and pidgin colloquialisms into my daily vocabulary.

No, let’s not. Ever.

Hello all, I hope you have been well.

I had the worst case of the runs two nights ago after consuming too many dried apricots (They’re so sweet and juicy!) during lunch. Somebody must have forgotten to tell me apricots have a laxative effect because I went through them like apricots were The Holy Grail of fruits.

Of course, not being much of a fruit person – I prefer vegetables – didn’t help as apples meant as much as an orange to me. They’re round and colourful. Ooh, can I throw it at someone?

So here I was, getting acquainted with the dunny. It was a warm Spring day so my bare buttock didn’t experience a cold jolt upon sitting on the seat.

With half a packet left; the fruit that started it all.

Armed with a laptop on my thighs and a fresh roll of toilet paper, it was all systems go.

In most cases, humans aren’t able to smell their own farts or excrement. Well, perhaps I’m wrong but very seldom do I detect faecal matter wafting through my nostrils.

Well I knew it’s a bad day at the office when the most repugnant stench permeated the air, and I even saw the need to stop working on my laptop just to focus on breathing.

Of course, there was no need to air the toilet. My toilet door was open, as I had no need to be embarrassed or ashamed if anybody caught me doing the deed.

After all, the only person at home was Michele. And she’s my wife.

Before I knew it, there was a yell from upstairs.

“Oh baby that absolutely sthinks! OH BABY!”

Wow, I didn’t think it was that bad.

To make matter worse, Michele had the temerity to share my toilet bungle with her female work mates the next day. Just so happens they’ve known me for several years – I attend their work functions regularly – so at that very moment I knew my credibility as a husband and friend went out the window.

Now everybody pictures me leaving a long toilet paper trail as I attempted to clean my mess.

Woe is me. It’s all a bit of a laugh, but I feel compelled to validate my actions.

Honey, I’m not comparing my runs with yours but do you remember all those times I was in the shower stall and you were doing your business in the toilet? Now where did they come from? They absolutely PONG!

“Direct from Colombo!” I always tell her; so vile the stench was I felt it was necessary to make fun of her ethnicity.

We’re also married. I know it’s a woman thing, but why can’t you guys just accept the fact that is takes too long for men to close and open the door. We’d rather remove, sit and be relieved without having to worry about the intrusive invasions of women who have seen us naked far too many times!

This, coming from the same people who wanted their husbands to remove their inhibitions, strip off their cloths and have sex with them as they are ovulating!

And babe, remember our wedding vows to each other?! You took me as your lawfully-wedded husband, which meant you will deal with all the crap and excess baggage that came along with it. You’re lucky, at least this ‘crap’ is bio-degradable and once the smell oxidises, no traces of it remain.

Very much unlike our marriage, for it’s here to stay!

Hello, I hope you have all been well.

My airconditioning units – busy collecting road tolls from the number of times I’ve walked past them sitting pretty in their boxes – have been put out of their idle misery as they are currently being installed.

About damn time too, I might add, with the oppressive heat of summer around the corner. I don’t think Michele would like carrying around an extra 15kg around her waist in a 50 degree house.

I doubt Baby would fancy leaving the watery cave that is the womb too. Although, it does put a new spin on the term ‘bun in the oven’!

Hole in the wall - who needs a window?!!

And if you, like me, love the cool of the faux air caressing your sun-kissed skin in summer, say it along with me:

“The air con is the best invention in the world!”

Why hello there. How was your weekend? Michele and I had an eventful weekend, visiting friends, did some maternity clothes shopping (thank you credit card) and caught the Bruce Beresford masterpiece, Mao’s Last Dancer.

Michele’s belly is really beginning to show now, so I’ve decided to take pictures of her every fortnight to chronicle her expanding – and very sexy – tummy line.

A profile picture I had put up on Facebook two weeks ago got more than its fair share of attention from friends and family, so I’ve decided to put that up as Michele’s first belly pic. Come to think of it, I reckon I look 16 weeks myself!

She’s also been lamenting how she doesn’t like how she looks in the mirror and the word ‘fat’ now sits permanently entrenched in her vocabulary. Babe I don’t know what mirror you’re looking at, but all I see is a stunning woman who’s glowing and becoming more womanly with each passing day.

Now well into her second trimester, I was happy to see the backside of 4AM kitchen raids and morning sickness. It got a little frustrating as a husband, watching her bent over double as she explores the inner sanctums of the toilet bowl with great intimacy as I was completely helpless to alleviate her suffering.

Michele now has lots of trouble sleeping. Four hours of good sleep is what she normally gets, and getting up at 3AM to find an incapacitated husband next to her results in more tossing and turning.

And this just in, she was complaining about how difficult it is to move in bed. Turn, baby, turn. Okay I jest…

Over the weekend, we took a break from the hustle and bustle of baby products shopping and made a detour to the Tesselaar Tulip Festival. Strangely enough, in spite of all the colourful blooms and tasteful delights, the most beautiful object that caught my fancy was a stunning woman who is the mother of my future baby.

Hello, I hope you are all well.

Michele and I spent the entire weekend being thoroughly brain-washed by baby products at the Baby & Kids Market. It’s a market that doesn’t have a permanent base; instead it goes to your local suburb on a particular weekend day and you are most likely to find it in your town hall or community centre.

So enthusiastic we were, we went to the Saturday (10th) market in Coburg and somehow made our way to Croydon (!) on Sunday (11th). Along the way, we spent a couple of hundred dollars and had a little chuckle to ourselves as we wondered how much we would have spent had we purchased the products first hand.

It’s an awesome concept that, unless you are about to become a parent yourself, will fly under your radar as it’s not something that one looks out for in the papers. I was surprised how massively popular this alternate universe is, as there were hundreds of parents besieging the fifty odd stalls on each day.

One would think some form of security was needed to shepherd the crown and maintain the order. Rather, everyone was civil, polite and though anxious to score a great bargain, were an absolute joy to deal with. Between bargaining and the wheelings and dealings, I realised I am a complete noob at parenthood and would probably do better attempting the Kokoda Trail blind.

We absolutely fell in love with the pre-loved baby products which were mostly in excellent/as new condition. After all, parents would not jeopardise the safety and hygiene of their child, so why would they do the same to products they are selling?

As I speak, I have already put aside a little corner for the baby products and sat down looking at my finances. It’s not going to be cheap!

Oh Baby oh Baby, you are charting new worlds for Mommy and Daddy to explore. Our ship is riding the waves rudderless and we are without a Captain. But we can’t wait to see land! We can’t wait to see you!

Image from www.babykidsmarket.com.au