a very different kayak experience from the last

When time becomes so incredibly precious that every minute lost feels so stark.

I had booked a kayaking and fishing experience for Bryan’s birthday. My parents were looking after Mason, and we had woken up ridiculously early to make it to East Coast Park. We had barely dragged the kayaks onto the water and paddled for about thirty minutes before it started absolutely pouring.

Leading up to today, I had been checking the weather every so often, hoping that by some stroke of luck it would be sunny.

As we sat under the shelter waiting for the rain to stop, I could almost feel the minutes slipping away. Every minute felt like something I could have spent elsewhere—with my son, with Bryan, working, resting, even just doing nothing. Instead, we were waiting around for a completely optional activity that I had paid money for.

If you’re hoping for a happy ending, there wasn’t one.

The sky eventually cleared, and we did make it back onto the water. But the sea had become so choppy that within the next hour, both of us were throwing up. Eventually I made the call to paddle back to shore and head home instead. At some point, it stopped being about salvaging Bryan’s birthday and became about justifying the money we’d already spent. Sunk cost fallacy in its purest form.

The smell of the garlic-marinated raw prawn bait still lingers in our noses. Safe to say we’ll both be avoiding prawns for the foreseeable future.

After showering, we both passed out on the couch. What I had imagined would be a relaxing Saturday—kayaking, a nice lunch, maybe a movie afterwards—became a day filled with nausea, frustration, and guilt.

Time has never felt so precious, or so scarce: Time with my baby. Time with my husband. Time to work. Time to sleep. Time to zone out.

Lately, every hour - every minute - feels like it belongs to someone or something. If I’m with Mason, I’m not working. If I’m working, I’m not resting. If I’m resting, I wonder if I should be spending that time with Bryan instead. Every choice feels like it is coming at the expense of another.

It feels like the harder I try to make every minute count, the more disappointed I become when life inevitably refuses to cooperate. It has been difficult to accept that some days are simply lost to bad luck. I end up spending even more time calculating what that time could have been.

Ok the end. I’m sad and tired - but i guess sometimes that’s just what it is.

(i know it is just failed plans, and i'm definitely still grateful for the life i have and how privileged/ blessed i am - just a caveat in case lol u know how the internet is)

a friend, a rash and a miniature Japanese porta-potty

Woke up at 6.45 to brush my teeth and pack Mason’s milk and bag for school. He had been home with me for a week because he was down with a stomach bug. He had finally recovered and I was looking forward to sending him to school so I could regain some sanity and some time to work. After changing him and loading everything into the car, we finally made it out of the house.

We reached school and I dropped him off. I drove off to meet Liane - we had scheduled to meet about a month ago. Within 10 minutes of leaving, I received a message from Mason’s teacher asking me to pick him up. Thankfully, Bryan was home and said he could do the pick-up and that I should just go ahead with my plans. I felt guilt - that I was going to go and do something enjoyable while Bryan picked up my still-sick son; frustration that I thought he had already recovered sufficiently to be able to go to school; and resignation that it was what it was. I was concurrently thankful that I could go about my original plans, yet felt like I didn’t deserve to enjoy myself.

I am slowly learning to just be present wherever I am. It’s definitely been harder with a kid, even more so when being away from him means someone else is doing the caregiving. Then again, whoever I decide to spend my time with deserves my full attention too, and when I am with my kid, similarly, he deserves my presence. It doesn’t make much sense to be in one place while your mind is somewhere else.

I had a very good catch-up with Liane. Two years ago, we saw each other almost every day and were perpetually caught up in the sordid details of each other’s lives. We shared work joys and miseries, sneaked off for much-needed breaks from staring at our laptops, and exchanged knowing glances at relevant junctures. I found myself recounting recent events as though we hadn’t been apart and laughed when we realised we actually had to fill each other in on the time that had passed. Amidst all that, Bryan reminded me to just enjoy my day out.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur - nap time, feeds, changes - the usual. I counted the number of days Mason had been at infant care, as opposed to the days at home. It’s supposed to get better - or so they say.

I checked his diaper and his rash was back with a vengeance. I felt guilt and self-reproach - could I have done more? The ups and downs of him getting better, then worse again, then better, then worse have truly been such a roller coaster, mentally and emotionally. But I am aware that this is only the beginning of parenthood. I need to learn to have more grace and forgiveness for myself - there are many more years ahead.

After we put Mason down, Bryan reminded me that I had a toy from our recent Japan trip that I had yet to put together. The next 15 minutes were a welcome distraction as I assembled these tiny plastic pieces of a miniature porta-potty, complete with little decals of Japanese signage for within and outside of the cubicle. I told him I was excited to display it in our future apartment bathroom.

Mason was still unwell, I was still worried, and the rash was still there. But I also got to spend time with a friend, was more than well-supported and loved by my husband, and ended the day building a miniature Japanese porta-potty. 

3am thoughts on motherhood

 “Congratulations! Your baby has ‘slept through the night’ for the first time!” - a notification pops up on my app. The ironic thing is I have been awake counting down the minutes left for this to happen again the second night, to determine that his “sleeping through the night” is not a fluke. Each time he stirs, my eyes dart to his cot - holding my breath as his legs thump in his sleep sack on his mattress. I gently lean over to adjust his body to ensure his legs do not get caught in between the wooden bars. He screams for just a moment! I wait - is it an “I’m awake” cry or an in his sleep momentary noise cry? I both google and reddit if “leg thumping is normal”. There are endless acronyms across the various reddit threads – LO, EBF, EP, EFF, BM, BF, FTM, SAHM, STTN - the list goes on. I scroll through photos from the day, wondering how I can miss my baby while he is asleep next to me, I worry about infant care, my upcoming return to work, if I am overly troubling my parents, sister, in-laws, if I am doing enough to support Bryan.

I regret the coffee I had at 3.18pm earlier in the afternoon.

Six hours pass - he has “slept through the night” again. I should be able to go to sleep now, but he’s likely going to wake for a feed soon - I stay awake. Another 15 minutes pass, 30 minutes – for every minute that passes I think about how I should have slept instead but sunk cost fallacy. The longer I am up, the less sense it makes to go back to sleep. Yet, I now worry about whether I would be sufficiently alert “the next morning”, though technically it is already morning and the previous day has blended into the next.

I feel my breasts filling up with milk and consider whether to pump - but pumping will increase my already over-enthusiastic milk supply, yet not pumping leaves me in great discomfort. But I am supposed to be thankful - because more milk is better than less milk or no milk? But then again, fed is best still and I should do what I need to for my mental health? I have been latching him as much as possible lately, but what about having to wean eventually? I should be so thankful that baby can even latch! I should still give him the bottle here and there though, so he doesn’t refuse the bottle later, and when in-laws or parents take care of him they can feed him too? But what about my breasts and my comfort? Whose needs do I prioritise?

 I scroll through Instagram. I see other moms’ stories and can’t help but compare. The algorithm feeds me advice, stories, parodies of all things baby related. I save the useful reels that I will likely never revisit, send relatable reels to fellow boy mom friends, send useful ones to Bryan.

A few of my friends in Chicago have also given birth recently- I think about whether our children would ever get to meet in the future. Definitely not the near future though - I can barely get through the 24-hour plane journey, what more with a kid. Instead, we check-in on each other and exchange poop and puke stories, and celebrate each other’s small wins.

Bryan turns to face me half asleep and puts his arm around me - “Let me know if you need me, thank you for today”. Our relationship has a new dynamic, and I’ve seen another side of him as my son’s father - how he prioritises us and loves us and couldn’t be more grateful. Yet, there’s the concurrent missing of the life we used to have - just the two of us, the not needing to depend on parents/ in-laws when we wanted some time to ourselves, not needing to consider a whole bunch of logistics just to grab a coffee in the afternoon. Each of us are tired in our own ways and carry the load of this new family in different capacities - we remind ourselves to communicate frequently, to appreciate each other, that labour may not always be visible or equal. We remind ourselves that it is normal to grieve the life we used to have too, while concurrently being grateful for the life we have now. I remember that he’s facing other stresses at work, parent guilt of not being able to spend sufficient time with us, having to balance work with alleviating my parental duties when he’s home despite his exhaustion. He remembers that while I am on “leave”, baby is constantly needing my attention, I juggle the mental gymnastics of breastfeeding, caregiving logistics, while trying not to lose my sanity and self amidst the mothering. We say thank you and i appreciate you and do our best not to take even the little things for granted.

I lie awake wondering how my newborn is already almost 3 months and where all that time has gone. I think about how little decisions I make will impact his life in big ways. I try to be less hard on myself and try to celebrate all the little wins, all the moments and people I am grateful for. I lie awake, waiting for baby to wake - though moments ago I was hoping he would stay asleep.

He cries.

I wait.

It doesn’t stop.

It’s time for his next feed.