"David!"

It is unimaginable how difficult it is to take care of a baby. Just being with one alone for a couple of hours is exhausting. My godson's sleeping next to me now, tired from an entire morning of 'sword fighting' with a badminton racket and vacuum machine tube, overly excited from watching disc after disc from his huge Disney DVD collection.

How quiet he is, silently snoring, his little stomach falling and rising with the rythmic breathing and with the beating of his little heart. What a precious little being, and almost two.

I have been here three days, and we seem to be getting closer. No longer does he start to scream when I try to hold him. When he hurt his little finger playing earlier, he walked up to me, and stretched his arms out, wanting me to hug him, to hold him, to comfort him. I held him on my shoulder, and whispered in his ears. "It's alright... It's alright... Aslan is a big boy." He seemed to understood, and stopped crying. A tear, streaking half way down his soft cheek, stopped in its track. And he smiled. He looked deeply into my eyes, as I stroked the sore part of his finger, and he smiled ever so sweetly.

There are those moments, such as those, which are so precious that it moves you. Looking into a baby's eyes, it seems as if you are looking into your own... deep down inside, an innocent and curious creature is playing around and exploring the world still. And when he graps onto your fingers, and clings close to your body, you would you wish the moment would last.

But a baby is a curious little being, and every moment something new attracts its attention, and off he goes to touch, feel, play, and be up to something that will make you have to clean up long after he has moved on to fumble with another thing that he really should not be touching. Especially my godson could be such a handful. Even his nanny has commented that he is "one naughty after another naughty"... one moment he could be playing with his mother's makeup kit, drawing his own legs and knees with black eyeliner, and the next minute he could have his fingers on the bucket, and just before you try to stop him, the mop will have fallen, and dirty water will have spilled all over the place. As you try to mop the floor clean, he is playing with the kitchen cupboard, and taking out all sorts of noodle bits and trying to build something on the floor. You tell him "No!" and he goes into his room, and starts to bang the door loudly, again, and again and again, till your ears are sore and mind starting to irritate. You raise your voice, but he looks back at you, appealing for sympathy, for after all, he is but a baby. But a clever and mischievous one at that.

In those moments when he has done something incredibly dangerous, like licking on a knife for left over bits of chocolate paste, or playing with the electric socket, I wonder how my mum used to be. Was I ever so naughty? Did I also make her feel like there is only so much more she could take? And yet, all these years, she has remained with me, given me love, warmth and care like no other in the world would. She did that, while having a long and tiring job, while having to take care of my brother and my dad. And there was me to take care, me, being the youngest and smallest of them all. How could I ever repay that, in any way?

I sit next to Aslan, sleeping still, and still sleeping. His breathing light and gentle. How peaceful he looks, how angelic and loving. Let no one take that peace and love from him.