It's been a while since my last post - sometimes the business of living so quickly overtakes my days that it's tempting to just put a halt on the business of reflecting, writing, and sharing.
But the little sms-es, emails and remarks from friends remind me and encourage me to continue writing. And share the turpitudes of being a home-bound mom who's counting the days she has left before returning to the work.
I wonder if there is any irony in going back to work on 2 May, a day after Labour Day!
We've moved back from Seng Kang back to my inlaws'. It's pretty incredible how much stuff one accumulates in the two years we stayed there - E calls them "junk".
But for me, these are the everyday objects that make home home - our framed-up photos, the fridge magnets, bottles of handwash brought back from the States that we've not been able to use. You can tell who - between us - is the thrower and who the hoarder!
We spent two weeks packing them up into boxes or throwing stuff away - to my anguish the exercise also meant discarding old shoes, clothes I've grown out of post-natally, and handbags that will find no storage space here at Woo Mon Chew Road.
I guess I'm still coping with the idea that with the move, we're also surrendering certain rights, living and personal spaces, and the little dignities that go with them. Such as walking to the next room naked to grab that towel, such as singing at the top of my voice, and playing completely silly to entertain little Dylan.
What exacerbates this sense of being cramped in, is how little space there is for my stuff in E's room. Poor thing - this room was meant for their son, with its single double-door wardrobe and study desk. And now the space will have to contain his wife and baby, and their barang barang too.
Just imagine - the upgrade from a single bed to a queen-sized one, making room also for a convertible cot, a three-drawer chest from Ikea and a rack for clothes that just can't be squeezed in the wardrobe.
On the upside, our stuff which used to fit in a three-bedroom apartment are now mostly in this room, and that makes getting them pretty convenient. Not to mention cosy.
Seriously, I do enjoy the closeness and intimacy - nevermind the fact that E woke up halfway through the other night feeling "too hemmed-in" from sleeping on the inside, next to the wall, so it's easier for me to climb out of bed for Dylan's night feeds.
There are other pluses that we're counting our blessings for:
- Dylan's grandfolks are just delighted and can't wait to take him over in the mornings.
- We're a 5-minute drive away from ECP for a run or a blading session.
- We're THAT much closer to town, and when I go back to work, this translates to major savings in petrol.
On that first point above, I hate to admit this but I find myself getting insanely jealous when Dylan gets to spend hours on end in grandma and grandpa's room.
Ostensibly, it will help him cope better when I return to work, when spending time with the folks becomes de rigeur.
But I struggle to contain my annoyance when grandpa goes to fetch that formula-bottle without consulting me, when I'm physically there and able to nurse him.
Again, I tell myself that Dylan must be used to the bottle, and in the days I don't express enough, his grandparents must exercise their right to give him the care he needs, whether its in bottle feeding formula, or in comforting him.
So I hold back when I hear him crying in their room, even though I know he could well be pining for mommy.
God's dealing with me through this, I know. I've got to let go of this 4-month-old, let go the sadness of knowing that I'll miss at least some of his next learning milestones, this little bundle who is growing cuter every day, smiling and squealing more as each day passes.