Commentary: A letter to my children on parenthood, making sacrifices, and learning lessons with humility

Dear children,

Mama was saddened to read about the historic low birth rates in Singapore last week. 

Now, the decision to have children (or not) is a deeply personal one. Many of my own friends share a similar unwillingness to have children. 

Mama is very respectful here — there are many reasons why couples don’t wish to have children, and we shouldn’t be quick to judge or criticise.

#NGL, it really hasn't been easy bringing the both of you up. Even so, I cannot help but be amazed by what a beautiful experience it has been. 

I would never have imagined myself saying this as a new mother at 25, when I was desperately trying to pacify one of you who was in my arms, refusing to sleep despite my best efforts. 

I scrolled through Facebook, in tears seeing my peers post about all the places they had been while I was stuck at home, trying to feed you porridge.

In the past, I enjoyed meeting up with friends after a busy week at work: Suppers at Holland Village on Friday nights till 3am, then beach volleyball, cycling, and kayaking at Sentosa on Saturday mornings. 

I loved taking spontaneous drives to Malacca, late-night movie marathons, and long lunches on the weekends. 

But when the first of you arrived, my world turned upside-down. 

My young man, you were an “American” baby — you kept waking hours as though you were in the United States. Nursing you every two hours interrupted my sleep so much that I didn't know what day and night were anymore. 

Mama had post-natal blues. 

I sobbed at the thought of you going to school one day, because I could not bear to let you out of my sight. I wept while watching the news, thinking what a treacherous world I had brought you into. 

I refused to have friends over. I refused to attend gatherings. 

I wasn't myself at all. 

WRESTLING WITH MUM GUILT

The blues dissipated — but I was a wreck when I returned to work. The moment I sat down at my desk on my first day back, it took everything in me not to grab my bag and bolt out of the door to return home to your gummy smiles.

My young lady, when you came, we placed you and your brother in a childcare centre near my workplace. 

Both of you would often fall sick with coughs, flu and more. When Ah Mah could not take leave to help care for you, I would have to make many apologies and reschedule all my appointments for the day. 

Whenever one or both of you had a high fever, I would keep a vigil next to you, sponging you with wet towels and measuring your temperatures throughout the night. 

I was so tired — but I learnt that with a swipe of red lipstick, a double espresso and some supplements, doing 8.30am meetings would still be possible. 

Nevertheless, I was still wracked with mum guilt. I wanted to spend more time with you both. 

Eventually, I realised it was alright to continue working and pursue my dreams.  

I learnt to focus on what I could do best within my control. I learnt to be a resourceful multi-tasker, so that I could finish work and return to you as soon as possible. 

I learnt to take a 5pm cup of coffee so I could snuggle in bed reading bedtime stories to you, and still see to household chores and work emails after you’d fallen asleep. 

Over the years, I learnt to invest in tools to manage our household without a helper: A gas dryer, a small dishwasher, a cordless vacuum cleaner, and so on.  

I also learnt to gamify chores for you both: The washing machine’s buttons and knobs could spiral our clothes to “outer space”! Unleashing spray bottles of soap on our toilets became a game to kill bugs and viruses! 

YOU KEEP ME GOING

I started my part-time Master's programme when you were four and two respectively. 

I knew it would be tough — but I wanted very much to show you both the power of curiosity and learning, and the beauty of working hard to make dreams come true.

My young lady, you insisted on sleeping on my lap when I had to work on assignments. 

My young man, when I told you I had to finish a 10,000-word essay and could not play with you that afternoon, you said you would help me and wrote the number “10,000” on a piece of paper for my professor. I smiled, even as my eyes filled up with tears. 

Years later, with both your support and encouragement, I embarked on my part-time doctoral studies. 

We’ve studied together. One of you helped to set up my workstation. Whenever the going gets really tough, you both urge me not to give up. 

The journey is gruelling, but the vision of having you two at my convocation keeps me going. 

When you became tweens, I learnt to be humble and to control my tongue and emotions even when I couldn’t understand or agree with you. I learnt to respect your voices and listen without judgment, to empathise with your hopes, dreams, pains and fears. 

Many nights, Mama would lay awake to pray, often with tears and fears. But I learnt to trust in your journeys of growth and walk them with you.

THANK YOU FOR TEACHING ME

Once, I was trying to teach one of you how to solve a Maths problem. I hadn't realised, but as my agitation rose, so did my voice. 

I said unkind things. I got personal with my criticism. 

When you finally got the solution, you called me out. 

“Adults are always like this. When we are quiet, it doesn't always mean we don't know. 

“We are thinking. We are trying to get it. Give us some time. Don't be so impatient and loud with us.” 

I woke up. You were right — it was indeed presumptuous of me, as well as very rude and harsh. 

I apologised. 

Thank you for graciously accepting my apology. 

There would be more of such lessons for me, for which I’m grateful. They remain some of the most painful, poignant and impactful learning experiences I have ever had.

As you continue to grow, be patient with me. I am still learning with much humility to be a better coach, friend, and confidante to both of you. 

You’re both now at the age where I can have long conversations with you about almost anything. 

You offer perspectives about situations and people which I would not have considered. I am humbled by how you challenge me to think and act differently.

It delights me to no end when I can share mistakes I’ve made and struggles I had growing up, when you share funny YouTube reels with me, when you stun me with new texting acronyms, when we enjoy meals and take in new experiences together. It is a privilege to see the world through your eyes.

My dear children, I love you so much. 

Thank you for making me a stronger person, and for inspiring me every single day to be the best version of myself. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Yvonne Kong-Ho works in a university, specialising in workforce development. She has a son aged 15 and a daughter who is 13.