SingaporeMotherhood | Parenting
February 2012
Being a Parent: Often Misunderstood, but Always Meaningful
This morning, I walked into a deserted fast-food restaurant for breakfast. I noticed the cleaner, a young well-built male, spiffy, with decent looks, and not a trace of grumpiness in his expression. I even dare say, there was even a spring in his step. There was only one senior auntie at the counter, and this fellow who walked the length of the restaurant, armed with a yellow cloth, wiping odd specks of nothings, removing people’s trays, then walking the aisles again. I assume he would be the one to deal with robberies and fights in the restaurant, should they ever happen.
I sat there with my bowl of porridge steaming my face, and tried to imagine what he was thinking. What his parent, his mother must have thought. She must be proud of him because as a mother, I would be proud to have such a healthy, happy, grown son.
He could have taken up acting. Or continued his studies. Perhaps he did not have had the funds to do so. He could have brought a book to read in between cleaning tables, but his boss might not be pleased. After all, they are paying him for his time. According to my calculations, he probably earned S$1 for the duration I was there.
Trying to be the Parent I Thought I Would be
My younger daughter, who only acknowledges Minnie Mouse, but never Mickey, is a feminist. She didn’t become one due to my influence. I was thinking if that cleaning guy was a girl, it would have made it all seem less tragic to me. Such a fit guy, he could have felt that his time would have been better spent doing something else, somewhere else.
Shame on me? It’s okay, you are entitled to your opinion. I am content to be looked after by my husband. Although we don’t have a mansion, I am happy with our living space, and the state of our monthly monetary traffic is not too bad.
A few years ago, I was still running for that 8 am train after dropping off my daughter at her school-cum-childcare centre. And running still I was, at 7 pm, all the way from the MRT station to her childcare centre before the teachers left for the day. Nearly every night I would find my daughter sitting outside, the school already dark and quiet, and I would gave her a book or small toy with a flourish, to ease my sorriness.
I was trying to be the woman I thought I had to be. My parents had high expectations of me. My expensive education was not supposed to end in a role with no ROI. I couldn’t just be a parent at home, downgrade my mental capacity to ABCs, and be as conversant as the Teletubbies.
Going Back to Work
When I proudly told the school I was returning to work (and therefore please give me that working mother subsidy), a fellow mum who had given up the rat race smiled a knowing smile, and warned me that it would be very stressful. Did I believe her? Nah. Not all mothers are created equal, I thought. Someone who is able to multitask as well as me would be able to, well, multitask. My rat race lasted 13 months.
At the end of it, I was relieved to forgo the constant watch-watching, and just be. To be there when my older daughter was infected with HFMD (Hand Foot Mouth Disease) for the fourth time, instead of asking my parents to take care of her again. To be there at home inviting her friends over for playdates, rather than showering her with guilt gifts.
Surrendering your body and soul to a certain environment, for a certain length of time, on a regular basis, is like trading your mortal life, little by little, for small change. Although some people’s rewards are big notes in lieu of small change, still it is only money.
Where Did the Salary Go?
I don’t even know where all the salary I got went to during the 13 months I was busy with my job. I remember a couple of grooming packages, and those stops at cafes. But nothing tangible. And certainly nothing in the savings account.
But I do remember those lunches. One colleague from Malaysia introduced me to fish soup, and I was hooked! I had inherited my mom’s mentality, which is to quickly dismiss anything with a boiled fish in it as it must smell fishy. But that first bowl at Seah Im Food Centre by HarbourFront Interchange led to many more bowls to celebrate that one hour of freedom during lunchtime. My ultimate way of taking a break was to enjoy this alone.
To this day, I eat the same thing and sit among the same table choices whenever I am in the area. I look at my fellow lunch-goers and feel a deep sense of gratitude. I feel lucky that I don’t have to return to that cold impersonal space called an office after this lunch is over. If you do have to, I hope you are doing work that you are passionate about, something that really channels your talent and aspirations. I would hate it if you feel bored and sleepy at your desks, wasting your precious hours away. I know not everyone has the mental and/or financial freedom to do “nothing”.
To do “Nothing” as a Parent
“Nothing” is exactly my visiting relatives would describe me as doing. My aunties stay in our guest room while on vacation here, and spy on me. They mutter to their husbands and sisters back home that they are amazed to see me doing nothing while having two children and no domestic helper. I once felt so bad about this piece of news of me reaching my parents’ ears. They, who had expected me to have a career. But not anymore.
But being a parent and raising well-behaved children is not nothing. They love books, love each other, and listen to their parents. Well, the last part is still in the works, but you get the idea. Although their teeth still mysteriously rot, they eat pretty healthily, without ever licking a lolly. They walk everywhere instead of sitting pretty in pushchairs, care for cats and dogs instead of terrorising them, and go to their enrichment classes with not a word of complain.
I cannot imagine a job that is worth leaving all these for. Not for S$1, not for S$1,000. It’s true that my children attend school, but being the only person accountable for the majority of their development is a non-paying job I take seriously.
Unpaid, but Fulfilling, and Meaningful
My thoughts are like a Google search for my older daughter’s curious mind. And I have planted the love for everything analog (instead of digital) in my younger daughter. She chooses pencils and paper over gadgets, because my children are not pacified with iPads or iPhones so mummy can have time for herself. Mummy already has her own time when they are at school.
By now I would love to have another child, but I am not a supermum who cooks very proper meals and homeschools her children. I may run out of patience and start to label my girls as Miss Annoying and Miss Stubborn (wait a minute, I already did!). I would love to be a foster parent, but the idea has been — and still is — swirling in my head. It would break my heart when I have to part with the child. How about adopting a baby, then? But will I be one same mother to all my children equally? I will find out the answer in a few years, you’ll see.
Because being a parent is one of the most meaningful jobs in the world, my selfishness and I want to experience it more and more. I am very sure you find it meaningful, too.
Featured image: dylan nolte on Unsplash
All content from this article, including images, cannot be reproduced without credits or written permission from SingaporeMotherhood.
Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, and Telegram for the latest article and promotion updates.
