growing up

Remember when you were young and everything seemed possible? When I ask the kids what they would like to be when they grow up, none of their dreams seem ludicrous or out of reach. Pro gamer? Yes! Vet who specialises in treating frogs and lizards and turtles? Oddly specific, but sure! Firefighter? Nice! Comic book writer? Go for it! Artist? Great choice! (*5 points for anyone who can match the answers to the right kids!)

But then time goes by and with every decision we make in life, we start eliminating options from the realm of possibility. Choose a major in humanities over triple science – strike being a surgeon off the list. Discover that you detest running – guess it’s a no to being an olympic athlete. Then you get old enough and suddenly realise that you’re left with…not that many options.

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In my early 20s, I had an idea of how my life was going to turn out. I had the bucket list of a young, idealistic Singaporean girl – find a man I love, find a job I love, have kids (somehow, I assumed they’d fit in with all my other plans), travel, try new experiences, love deeply, feel a lot, find my place in this world and do something significant. I wasn’t sure what that last part would look like, but I was 20 and anything seemed possible.

I soon discovered that having kids at 26 and becoming a stay home mom threw a wrench into all my other plans. Babies seemed to demand so much that everything else got pushed to the edges, to contend for whatever was leftover, which wasn’t much.

“They’re only little for such a short time,” I told myself, as I put on hold my dreams and job and other grand plans to cuddle babies and fix snacks and kiss away sad toddler tears. Then there were more kids and the years rolled on. More cuddles and snacks and kisses and homework and exams and 听写. Sometimes it feels like being a mom contains so much that being anything else becomes an afterthought. Just like that, it was 11 years of being 90% mom + 10% everything else.

I try to fit in the other parts of myself into the leftovers like a complicated game of Tetris: writing a little here and there, getting some work in during the saner moments of my day, dreaming up plans for projects I don’t have the time for.

Some days, I would scroll through the shiny instagram feeds of friends who were doing all the things I always thought I’d do. I watched them chase their dreams and land killer jobs as I chased down toddlers in poopy diapers. As they jetted off on exotic Arctic adventures, I was getting good at landing a plane of pureed broccoli in my baby’s mouth. While they were wearing yoga pants to yoga and zumba and crossfit, I was wearing yoga pants to do non-exercise type things like going to NTUC and for no other reason except that they were comfortable. I clicked on little hearts on their feeds, living vicariously through their experiences, sometimes imagining that I’d do those same things in a different life.

Being physically present to watch my kids taste their first mouthful of applesauce and take their first step and wake up from a nap needing a hug from mom is a special kind of privilege, and in some ways, is everything that I always wanted. They make me happier than I ever thought possible.

And now that the kids are bigger and need me less than they used to, I find myself in a strange position. I suddenly have more time to be some of the other things that got pushed to the edges. Instead of being all mom all the time, I get to be a wife, spending a week having the husband all to myself in Tokyo. I get to be a friend and reconnect with old friends whose company I’ve missed. I get to be a person who has time for myself at the gym. I get to discover new skills and try new experiences that aren’t just about kids.

I’d like to think that my best work is still ahead of me. It’s still out there and some day soon, I’ll figure out a way to get it done.

It may be too late to get back to the plans I had when I was 20 but at 37 and done with the most demanding mom years, maybe its time to make some new plans.

It’s been years since I last encountered the nightmare known to moms as the terrible twos. In fact, it’s been so long that I almost forgot what that’s like. Hahahaha, who am I kidding? I remember EXACTLY what’s that like and it’s not a whole bag of fun.

Finn’s been having himself a feeling explosion in the last few weeks. Like there are so much of these complicated toddler feelings bubbling inside that his little chubby body is not able to contain all of it. And then *BOOM*, his feelings are suddenly all over my living room. I mean, I adore his super cute 19-month-old feelings and I’d very much like to get to know them better over a skinny latte but right now, they’re everywhere and also, they look a little scary.

We were having some mommy-Finn time working on puzzles and there’s this one train puzzle that he loves to do over and over again. After 8 rounds, I was like “hey, how about let’s try the plane one instead!” so I swapped out the puzzles, not realising that I had just pressed the giant red self-destruct button.

Little man was M-A-D. Like MAD mad. Like full on hissy fit kind of mad.

He stood up, flung the plane puzzle with gusto and yelled NO!!!! And then he decided to protest some more but he wasn’t sure how so he stood there for a moment before deciding to…well, sit himself on the floor in a follow-up silent protest. I’ve seen some pretty epic meltdowns and in comparison, that’s kind of a cute way to protest so I was all “ok baby, protest registered, can mommy give you a hug so you feel better?” but he swatted my hand away so I just sat beside him to give him some space but then he got mad and he lost it a little bit more until finally he inched himself closer and closer to me and flopped his head face-down onto my lap in exhaustion. I mean, I was exhausted just watching him.

This ain’t typical Finn behaviour because he’s normally such a sweet, gentle soul. I was sitting there watching this feeling explosion unfolding right in front of me and I felt so bad for my angsty baby.

He’s trying to express himself and he doesn’t know how and all this frustration is stressing his little baby brain out. Like he wants me to be there to baby him but he also desperately wants to stop being a baby and it’s all so confusing for him.

I think we could all do with some happy juju and extra hugs around here.

I was getting Truett ready for school this morning and instead of his usual manly Doraemon mozzie patch, I took out a wrong one and gave him Kirsten’s Hello Kitty version instead. He requested to swap it, but since I had already peeled off the adhesive (and they were also already fashionably late for school), I brushed it off as one of those bizarre quirks that kids have from time to time.

He was quite insistent and was all like, “Mom, I need the blue patch. This one is for girls and my friends will call me a girl.”

I didn’t think peer pressure would be an issue at this age and come on, are kids childish enough to pick on a tiny Hello Kitty mozzie patch? That’s like the kind of lame comment one swats off like an annoying fly. I mean, it’s not like I was making him wear a frilly pink tutu with sequins.

But he seemed genuinely troubled.

I thought this would be a good time to teach my boy to deal with others poking fun at him or not agreeing with his choices, but that’s a hard lesson to learn when you’re five, even harder when you’re 31.

In any case, I’m way too old to do the angsty rant about not giving a rat’s ass about what anyone else thinks. Because I do. It’s nice to be agreed with. It’s nice to be regarded as smart and discerning. It’s nice to be liked. By everyone. Including that weird dude who mumbles to himself in the elevator. So I get that my five-year-old wants to fit in and be liked by his peers.

Over the years though, I’ve come to realize that while it’s all well and good to want people to like me, there’s only so much I can do to make that happen. At some point, I have to be ok with the fact that people are not going to agree with all the choices that I make in life. They’ll think that what I believe in is stupid or that my principles are sanctimonious or that my preferences are outrageous. Even at 31, this doesn’t get any less sucky when it happens, but we learn to deal because sometimes, certain things are just more important than others.

So I looked at Truett and told him that I knew how awful it feels when his friends laugh at him but was ok to be different (and also to tell me the names of every single one who did it. Ok, I’m kidding. Sort of.) And if he really wanted to go with the manly Doraemon patch, do it because that’s what he really wanted, not because he was afraid of what others would think.

In the end, he went with manly patch but when we got into the car, he told me that I could keep the Hello Kitty one on him as well, as long as I hid it inside his back pocket.

Baby steps. I guess we’re all learning.