‘Daddy, can I watch one more?’ she asks as she looks me straight in the eye with a hope-filled gaze; hope that I may allow her the pleasure of just one more YouTube video of Jason Mraz before she’s tucked in to bed at half past nine.

At this time, I think to myself. If I say ‘Yes’, I would present her with a weapon of choice that will be used against me tomorrow night, and the night after. A ‘No’ on the other hand, would most certainly bring forth an onslaught of ‘why’s’ even Einstein couldn’t answer.

A challenging dilemma I believe parents would agree. But it’s usually straightforward for me. As it is always at these moments when all the ‘No’s’ I’ve said to her come flashing across my mind. No running. No snatching. No ice cream. No sweets. No arguments. No et cetera, et cetera.

I guess it’s God’s way of telling me I’ve been saying ‘No’ a little too much, a little too often.

So I relent. Succumb. Concede. I raise the white flag and utter ‘Yes’ to my persistent 3 and half year old daughter, in hope that it will bring the gratification so sought after by fathers who, try as they may, grant their children the wishes they so desire.

But without even a single flinch, she swings back round to face the computer. And with the gusto of a military drill sergeant, instructs me to click on the ‘Feist sings the number 4 on Sesame Street’ video. So much for Jason Mraz and fatherly gratification.

2 minutes and 27 seconds later, she hops off the chair once Feist and her symphony of muppets sing their last tune on screen. She trots off with blankie and ‘Chermaine’ (her hand puppet) in hand, runs to Mommy to kiss her goodnight. She then reemerges to say, ‘Daddy come sit with me in my room’, and tugs at my hand to tell me ‘now means now’.

Even after being comfortably tucked in, she still throws the expected ‘I’m hungry’ and ‘I want to drink water’ routines, just to try to prolong her wakened state. But her sudden cravings are quelled with shakes of the head followed by ‘No Nat, you had so much to eat for dinner’, ‘It’s bedtime Nat’, and ‘Do you want to sleep in the storeroom?’ The last one usually does the trick.

There are further explanations required before she’s off to dreamland. Much of these surround topical father-daughter issues like why she has to be in bed earlier than me, whether she can have ice cream tomorrow, and to remind ‘Gong-Gong’ (her granddad) to pick her up from school at precisely 4pm.

Her eyes finally shut. Blankie still in hand, thumb swiftly in mouth. And as I sit there in the darkened room and on a miniature dresser stool, it dawns on me just how quickly the last 30 minutes went by. ‘Faster than a speeding bullet’ and ‘in a blink of an eye’ don’t even come close. Where have the last 3 years gone let alone the last 30 minutes?

Cradling her in my arms seems like only yesterday. Hearing her say ‘Pa Pa’ for the first time seems like an hour ago. And helping her with her first step, didn’t we just do that? Now all she wants to do is watch Mr Mraz’s music videos, wear fairytale princess dresses, run like a jailbird let loose at the playground, and be praised for speaking mandarin. What would it be tomorrow I wonder?

But before tomorrow comes, I’m relishing every moment I share with my little Natalie now. Her 3-year-old voice though a high-pitched shriek, is music to my ears. Her persistence, challenging at times but is my lesson in patience. Her laughter so real, is food for my soul. I don’t want to miss a thing. All her knick-knacks, laughs, whines, giggles, cries and other little nuances, for they too like everything else will change, fade or disappear completely with time.

So I can wait for her to grow up. Because she’s my idol now, and I’m hers. She's my favourite shadow wherever I go and I'm her father-figure. I'm the one she cuddles up with when she's cold or just tired, and she's someone I want to cuddle up with every day. I’m the person she runs to at the end of a long day and makes the sun rise for me all over again.

The only thing is, I can’t wait for work to end each day so that we may battle it out at the playground again. Now isn’t that just swell?