“Mummy, I want to do it myself!”

Said my 4-year-old defiantly as she tried to squeeze toothpaste out from an almost empty tube in one hand, onto her toothbrush.

A few thoughts passed through my head at that moment.

If I had helped her, she would have lost the opportunity to learn to problem-solve the tasks at hand.
I also did not want to discourage her enthusiasm to learn and diminish her potential to be more independent.

She’s my youngest of three, and in a way, I’ve babied her a lot more than her older siblings, because in my eyes, I still viewed her as a toddler, and I wanted this era of her childhood to continue.

“Alright Emma, you do it” I said.

It definitely took longer than it should, usually, I would whip out the toothpaste, squeeze it for her and brushed her teeth. It was mainly due to time, we were usually back late after work and dinner, and bedtime routines sometimes needed to be rushed.

I watched her struggle to squeeze out a large pea-size amount and drag it over her tooth brush, she grinned when she succeeded, then passed me the toothpaste tube.

She then brushed her front teeth lightly, left and right, trying to do as how she observed her older sister does nightly. I let her do it on her own for a while, then I stepped in and said I would help her do a ‘second round’ of brushing.

She agreed to it, I think she knew too that she wasn’t ready to brush her teeth solo.

That night I tucked her into bed and gave her an extra long hug, followed by a rapid fire of kisses.

She was growing up, and I needed to give her opportunities to learn and adapt by herself. I reminded myself that I needed to hold back from doing everything for her, and let her grow some independence, for her benefit.

It may sound a bit dramatic as she was only four, but this applies to my six and eight year old as well.

Parenting is a constant journey of learning and growth, adapting to the needs of our children, and sometimes it requires us to take a step back and let them take their own steps when they yearn for it.

Same story different platform:https://medium.com/p/748a2a9d53a7

Sunday nights tend to be the busiest and hardest nights of the week for our family. It marks the start of the school and work week, and we usually have a home-cooked meal and then prepare the children for school, which includes their uniforms, homework, and school bags.

On top of that, we, too, needed to get ourselves mentally ready for another busy week ahead.

So I braced myself for a busy and potentially stressful evening with the children, without support from my husband.

I would be managing the children by myself that night.

Starting with dinner, I prepared chicken rice and added eggs and some leftover fried chicken from our lunch at McDonald’s that day. I couldn’t cook much as we had run out of cooking gas, and had to make do with the electric pressure cooker pot.

We sat down for dinner, and the kids were their rowdy selves, energetic and chatty. They took a while to settle down, and I sat between the two youngest while my son was seated across from me.

After saying our grace, I reminded them that their father was not home that night so I needed their help to ‘behave’ and to listen to their mum.

Because they outnumbered me three to one.

In hindsight, at that point I was already a little winded from rushing dinner and getting everyone to the table to sit, I may have sounded somewhat a cross between tired and bordering on annoyance at their lack of focus on their meals.

Interestingly, they seemed to understand what I said to them.

As dinner progressed they ate relatively well and placed their dishes into the sink after their meals. Sure, there were crumbs under the table and on the seat covers, but that could wait. I was on a schedule to get them to bed on time.

I hastily ordered them to bathe and brush their teeth before bedtime, leaving the unwashed dishes in the sink and the dining area uncleaned.

My 8-year-old boy was independent enough to perform these actions himself in a separate bathroom, so I focused on my younger girls instead. I took down the shampoo and body soap to a level the girls can reach, and to my surprise, my 6-year-old voiced out that she would bathe herself, so I let her. Meanwhile, I proceeded to help my 4-year-old brush her teeth for a second time, as she insisted on doing the first time herself too.

I was about to leave my girls in the bathroom to finish up their bath to help their brother with his school bag preparation. I made it a point every Sunday to check that his books were packed correctly for the school subjects in his schedule and that his pencils and stationaries were in order.

But I found out that he had taken care of it himself.

My eldest had also packed his daycare bag as well as his school bag, and had even sharpened his pencils by himself while I was with the girls.

He then wheeled his school bag to my bedroom where I was, passed me his school schedule, showed me he had packed according to all his subjects and his homework that was due tomorrow. I checked his sharpened pencils, and his wallet for money. After I gave my approval, he wheeled the bag to the front door, and also placed his filled water bottle inside it.

As I returned to my girls I found that my 6-year-old had dried herself and had taken out her own clothes from her closet to dress herself. Sure, she didn’t use the correct pajamas, she had taken a pair of shorts and a shirt that were clearly not suitable for sleeping in, but I let it slide. I towel-dried my 4 year old and then she too then wanted follow her sister, so I let her.

Not only that, I had asked my boy to help me vacuum the dining room, and he did without complaint, he took our Tineco vacuum out, and then proceeded to vacuum the crumbs off from the floor, as best as he could.

By 9 pm they were all in my son’s room, for a short storytime and then nighttime prayers. They asked about their father and I said he would be back later. I let my son send a voice message to him as he missed his dad. Then I took the girls back to their own room, tucked them in, did a whole routine of kissing and blanket flipping for them, and then I said good night too.

As I closed their room doors, I thought to myself at how much more independent and responsible they had been that night when their mother was alone.

As I washed the dishes, cleaned the tables, and took out the trash, I felt a sense of pride and joy at how they were that night.

They were more capable and empathetic than what I usually thought them to be.

I realized then that for many years, I always thought of them as babies, young kids that depended highly on me and my husband, and they required high amounts of patience, and energy from us to keep things in order, or anything from burning down.

But I hadn’t realized that they were growing up, and are growing still.

They were not the babies I kept thinking they were, though young as they are now.

I dare say, they were becoming like companions to me now, people who I can relate to, and make jokes and have chats with.

And that made me glad, and even a little less lonely, on night when my husband may be away.

I cherished this thought of them, and I love them so much, and I prayed that they would continue growing up well.

It was a big event for me as elementary school was not the same as the kindergarten he had been in during his earlier years.

To me, kindergarten was akin to a nursery where the kids learned via play activities, crafts, basic introduction to languages, and other studies, and the teachers there played dual roles as educators and also as babysitters.

Then in the year he was to turn 7, he started his formal education.

In elementary school, the teachers are no longer babysitters, the hours are longer, the classes are bigger with more students, academic performance is prioritized, and sometimes kids may even get bullied.

Hence a level of independence is expected as they go into this new school era.

So I was nervous for him, and anxious as the days drew nearer to his first day of elementary school.

The day arrived, and I took leave from work to be close to his school, in case he needed me.

His uniform looked oversized on him, we had bought a size or two larger on purpose, knowing he would grow into them.

Even his school bag was large on him, so we got him a trolley bag that he could pull, to reduce the weight of his new school books on his back.

We walked him to his school entrance, and let go of him as he went the rest of the way to his class, alone.

The weeks went by, and we somewhat normalized the new routine. In the morning we would send him to school first, then his sisters to kindergarten and a babysitter, and then the adults to work.

But even after a few months of him starting big boy school, I still have some amount of anxiety every time we drop him off at school early in the morning.

On a typical day, I would walk him to the school gate, I’d tell him I love him and he would enter and turn back to wave goodbye to me from inside. Then he walked to his class amidst a crowd of students and teachers surrounding him.

I will stay back a minute or two and continue to watch him from the school gates.

He was going to be on his own for the next ten and a half hours, as he would go to an after-school care center when school was dismissed. There he would stay until 5.30 pm, and we would only see him after work.

These are some of the thoughts that run through my head as I watch him walk towards his classroom.

“Will he make new friends today?

Does he have enough tissues to clean himself up after eating?

How about his nose, he had a tendency to get nosebleeds on occasion. I’ve put an extra face cloth in his bag in case he does.

What if he breaks his face mask straps, did I pack a spare in his bag?

Will he have a stomach ache in school from having milk in the morning?

Will he also then have enough tissues to use in the school toilets?

Will he get sleepy in class? He did sleep a little later last night.

It’s been very hot lately, I hope he has a fan over his seat, so he won’t sweat too much. Ah, good thing I packed that face cloth in his bag.

I hope he enjoys his school.”

Only after he disappears from view, would I turn back towards the car.

I had to let go and trust that he would be fine, and if not, we would receive a call from his teachers.

It sounds like a lot to process in a minute, and it could be due to him being my first baby to reach this milestone.

The rest of the day I would be occupied and distracted by work, till I came home after work to see him and his sisters at his grandparents’ home.

There I would hug him and find him alright, happy, and that he is on his way to being an independent kid.

Parenting is a balance of holding on and letting go.

I’ve heard this saying once, and it felt apt to be used now.

My 2 Steps Method On How To Avoid Feeling Self-Conscious In Public
Because really, no one cares how you look like while you’re walking down the street.medium.com

I can still remember those newborn days well. After putting them down for sleep, we would tip-toe out the rooms, and turn on their baby monitors. From then on, with every sound we heard from the rooms, we would quickly check on the monitors to see if they had awoken or if they were in any discomfort.

It gave us peace of mind as we could go about our day at home, knowing we could always check on them and be alerted when they needed us. We would even put the monitors in our pockets as we went around the house, its usage now akin to a pager for a doctor.

As the years went by our babies outgrew their cribs, and we started to co-sleep with them in our beds. They later transitioned to separate beds in our room, and eventually, they graduated to their own rooms.

We repeated this routine three times for each of our children.

It has been over 7 years since we bought these monitors when we had our firstborn child.

Our youngest is now three, and her older two sibling are five and seven years old respectively.

But up to today, we still use these baby monitors daily.

Why, you might ask.

The kids are grown, when they needed us they would come out of their rooms and find us. What use are these baby monitors to us now?

You see, we now have a reversal of the use case for these devices.

Now, it was not used only as a method for us to check up on our kids.

Instead, the children wanted us to keep it on at night, as though they still felt we were connected to them although we were in separate rooms.

Because the kids have grown to be aware that we can see and hear them from these monitors.

We can even speak to them through the monitors when needed.

They felt comforted by knowing that their mum and dad were keeping watch on them as they slept, apart from us in another room.

This helped with the transition of the kids into their own spaces, knowing that we were still ‘monitoring’ them.

My girls would always position it so that it faced them directly on their beds.

“Mummy, it is not facing me, please make the monitor face towards my bed please” my five-year-old girl would tell me as I tucked her into bed.

Eventually, one day, as they grow and get older, they will request us to remove these baby monitors from their rooms. When their own privacy is more important than the need to be close to us at night.

It’s a funny thought, how the roles of these devices changed over time.

Maybe in some ways, it gives me comfort too as a mother, who is also transitioning away from the years my children needed me the most, toward the years when they gain more independence from me.

Before this, we had been co-sleeping in the same bed since her birth.

First in her crib next to me, then eventually she shared our bed, sleeping between my husband and myself when she neared her 1-year birthday.

It was my choice to keep her close to me, one reason was for the ease of nursing her at night, which I had continued till a few months before she turned two.

But honestly, it was also because I wanted her physically near me. I loved cuddling her warm little sleeping body at night.

Then this happened.

I told myself that she probably felt that her mummy was no longer needed at night to soothe her.

So this is it, I thought.

The last bit of my children’s baby era was ending, the co-sleeping was the final part of their dependency on me for the past six and a half years of my life since my eldest was born.

All 3 of my babies had eventually grown up and now needed me less.

I had felt this way when I weaned her from nursing a year ago, and a similar feeling is felt now as we end the bed-sharing era of our relationship.

Looking back, we could have made this transition for her earlier as she had begun sleeping through the night a few months after she turned one, and we were already getting decent sleep by then.

Still, I wanted her with me and reasoned with my husband that since she was probably our last child, we should take our time with her before moving her out.

A part of me didn’t want to let go of my attachment to her at night.

While most mothers look forward to the day they get their independence from a needy toddler, mine was bittersweet.

On the plus side, since we got our bedroom back, my husband and I had regained more of our intimacy without her sleeping in between us.

Back to the day that she moved out, that night I cuddled her pillow to smell her scent on it and checked on her occasionally through the baby monitor, as she settled to sleep on her sister’s bed after some tussle with her sibling.

You’re being so sentimental, I told myself.

Maybe she will want to sleep with me tomorrow night? I thought.

But it was permanent.

She took the transition well and was happy to be sleeping with her siblings at night.

The only time she slept back with us again was a few months later when she was sick, and I wanted to be near her to monitor her fever at night.

That being said, we still have nights when the kids come over to our room after a bad dream or thunderstorms, or when they just needed us emotionally.

Our king-size bed then had to fit three, four, or even up to five of us.

To the mothers who are struggling with nighttime sleep with your baby or toddler, just hold on.

That day will come when you get your nighttime independence again. Some sooner than others.

I too have since moved on.

But on those nights when she creeps back into bed with me, I snuggle her as much as possible and savor the feeling of her warm soft cheeks and hair against mine.

In the dimly lighted bedroom, I see the outline of my 2-year-old daughter’s body sleeping in the middle of my bed.

I slip into bed quietly next to her and cover her with her small orange blanket that she had kicked off in her sleep earlier.

Then I proceed to take in a deep breath of her head and give her a kiss on the cheek or on her closed eyes.

And I immediately feel calmer and gain a little sense of happiness and gratitude.

I still do this to this day, every night, and it is my little ‘drug’ of choice.

Yes, I still co-sleep with my 2-year-old daughter.

As she is the youngest child, I do tend to dote on her more compared to the older kids.

It wasn’t the same for them, when they were 2 years old they were already sleeping in separate rooms from me and my husband.

But for my youngest, we didn’t rush it. We will take the time to transition her to her own bed. The plan is for her to share a bedroom with her 4-year-old sister eventually.

Also, deep down a part of me still wants her by my side at night, cuddling her in the cold of the night and pressing her sleepy head against my cheeks.

And if she does wake in the middle of the night for any reason, she will crawl over to be by my side and falls back asleep in my arms.

My mummy heart loves this, that she still needs me so for comfort.

Maybe it’s hard for me to let go of the years my babies needed me so much. I’ve said it before, that it feels like the end of an era is coming.

I will definitely feel the loss when my youngest starts to sleep apart from me, and that day is not too far.

For now, I cherish the ability to have her in my arms at night.

And whenever I smell her and cuddle her before I sleep, it comforts me back in return and centers my mind, especially after a long day at work or after going through whatever stress I may have in that season.

So I’ll keep my little innocent ‘drug’ with me a little longer.

Anyway, she’s not complaining about it either.

Mostly, I disliked it quite a fair bit.

It makes me restless and sometimes I feel I am running out of time to get myself “really together” or achieve my ambitions that were made years ago.

Call it a mild mid-life crisis that started this year when I reached my mid-thirties, I think about my mortality, about one’s life’s purpose in the world we live in, and how I am getting older. Not too fun thoughts.

But here’s one of the few things I look forward to as the years go by.

And it’s seeing my children grow and develop into their own unique little characters and observing their different quirks.

The fact that all three of my kids came from the same genetics but are so different from each other still amazes both me and my husband.

This year they turned 6, 4, and 2 years old.

They are bright, precocious, noisy little balls of energy.

At every developmental milestone they achieve, we celebrate with them.

Be it when they started crawling, walking, talking, going to school, cycling without training wheels, or reading on their own.

They stun us with the things they say and are able to do.

And watching them love each other after a fight lets me know we did all right parenting them.

They reveal small nuggets of wisdom that only a child’s unjaded mind can produce.

Their view of the world is yet defined, and they see and embrace everything full on without prejudice.

Every few months they grow out of their clothes and we have to graduate them to larger attire while passing off their outgrown clothes to their younger siblings who also have outgrown theirs.

At this rate, they will be taller than their mother and father when they’re grown. Hopefully.

It is not always easy of course, having children and bringing them up well is one of the most challenging endeavors a person can take on.

And we know that we will have a different set of challenges once they grew into their teenage years.

But that is another chapter that we will have to manage in the future. One which we will have to do our best to help them navigate their feelings and emotions in that confusing season of growth.

But for now, with every year that passes us by, even as me and my husband age and grow older we get to see our kids grow up. That softens the blow of aging for me.

And that is a blessing I will count as their mother.

I made up my mind when they were infants to restrict their sugar intake and use candy sparingly as a treat or reward for good behavior, finished homework, or being kind to each other. Specifically, I had a dislike for hard candy, and I usually let them frequent ice-creams over sweets. Bias on my part? Maybe, I figured ice cream melts fast, and besides, it’s harder to come by than sweets. Plus, their mother likes ice cream.

Moreover, one of my irrational fears was that those hard round pops would melt away at the stick and them getting choked on it.

So the kids viewed any form of hard candy to be elusive and quite the prize, an enjoyment that is limited and an object of desire. But the end goal was met in that they do not view candy as regular food and that it was eaten in moderation, at least I think they see it that way.

They had their first taste of a lollipop this year, as it was gifted to my kids from a restaurant we dined in for my daughter’s birthday. After finishing his homework the next day, my son asked for it.

I relented and thought, we kept them away long enough from the lollipops, it’s fine if they have it now.

My son was delighted and sucked away at it while going about the house. Then we opened the doors of our home and let the kids play outside on their bicycles, as it was the evening. I requested that they stop eating the lollipops while doing physical play outside, and he handed me a half-eaten lollipop and asked that I kept it for him. For later, he said, and ran out.

I looked at the sticky hard mess on a stick, and thought, firstly how should I store it, and secondly, what if I just threw it away and give him a replacement candy should he remembers it.

I kept it for him. I found a container and placed the lollipop inside it, head down, and popped it into our freezer.

My son forgot about it that night and went to bed without asking for it.

But my husband found the container with the half-eaten lollipop inside and asked why on earth would I keep it?

I thought about it and here’s my answer.

Because it mattered to my son.

The small act of keeping his half-eaten lollipop mattered to my son, and so I did it.

Because for us adults it was trivial, a small matter.

But to young children, it was a big deal.

It mattered to him because the candy was such a treat and he wanted to enjoy it later. Their world is small, as they are still limited in their exposure to what’s out there, and what we let into their lives is only a fraction of what they will learn and know when they are older.

Kids at these ages do not have yet the burden of knowledge, worries about money, health, or death, and hurts. What they know is of home, family, school, and food or treats, and it matters to him.

I recall someone told me before that failing a mid-term test paper for a 9-year-old may not be a big deal in the grand scheme of life, but to that kid, that mid-term paper was their world at that moment and they are emotionally affected by their performance.

Another example is that of my kid crying because they didn’t get to watch an episode of their favorite show due to bedtime because it matters to him and he really wanted to watch the continuation from the last show, as small as this act it sounds.

Instead of dismissing them for crying over a small matter, maybe we should instead explain why we cannot watch another episode, let them cry over it for awhile, and then bring them to their bed lovingly.

We have to bring ourselves down to their level of understanding, and imagine ourselves in their shoes. What would matter to them, how do they feel loved, what impact our words will have on them, at their limited understanding and interpretation of the world.

Ultimately, we shape the world and the perspective of it for our children, and that is why we need to know what matters to their little hearts and re-act accordingly.

Hope this reflection helps new parents, and thank you for reading.

He took a look at me and asked “Are you sure? Don’t you want your own time”

“Yeah, I’ll take her tonight, it’s fine”, I replied.

My husband and I were discussing which of us two were to put our almost 2-year-old daughter to bed that night. She takes quite a while to settle down, and most of the time we will lay in bed with her until she falls asleep, before we leave her sleeping self in our room. It usually takes 30 minutes to an hour. Sometimes, we even end up falling asleep before she does, only to wake up a while later to find her sleeping face next to ours.

We did not sleep train her, due to the fact that she was still co-sleeping with us on our bed, compared to her older siblings who had to move out to their own bedrooms before they were two years old. That meant that our routine with her was still pretty much the same as when she was a baby, apart from the swaddling and rocking.

After I weaned her from breastfeeding end of last year, my husband was able to put her to bed instead of me, and we then took turns to give me more personal time to myself at night. Mostly she would still prefer me and would protest loudly whenever it was her dad who did her bedtime routine with her and took her to bed.

Up to today, she still wants me to be with her at night, and although a part of me wanted my own time, another part of me loved the fact that she still wanted her mummy at night.

But the reason I wanted to put her to bed tonight, and why I had been insistent on doing it the past month was this.

She was approaching her 2nd birthday.

We both knew that she will most probably be our last kid. As we had decided when we got married, three children were enough for us, and since we were both working full time it did not make sense to have more children.

The feeling was similar to when I was weaning her from nursing, because knowing she would be our last kid, it felt that I was closing a chapter of my motherhood journey.

While it felt good to have my body back to myself, it was emotional for me to put an end to nursing for good after 6 years of being pregnant and nursing each of our children.

So now it goes for bedtime. The plan would be that she would eventually move to her own bed, to a shared room with her older sister the following year.

So as she approached her 2nd year of life I cherished the time I have with her at night, cuddling her and kissing her in bed, singing soft songs, and hearing her verbalize new words back to me. She will snuggle under my blanket with me and shared even my pillow.

Then I would say its time to sleep, and I would pretend to close my eyes and being the good girl that she is, after prodding my face for a while with her fingers, she will stare around the room for a while, and slowly close her eyes too.

Little did she know that her mummy was staring at her as she drifted off to sleep.

The outline of her cheeks against the night lamp, still chubby and round, and her button nose, and her long lashes were what I looked at every night. Her mouth will open slightly, forming an ‘O’, and her little chest will rise up and down steadily. Once asleep, I would kiss her sleeping face and reposition her onto her own pillow.

Thankfully, she inherited her daddy’s ability to sleep like a log and would not stir when I reposition to her side of our bed, which was, right in the middle of the bed, of course.

I do not know how much longer she would have this attachment to me at night, and as she grows older she will eventually become more independent and she would be fine sleeping on her own.

This time it feels different, unlike with her siblings, at this point I am not heavily pregnant and expecting a new baby to resume the whole process again.

This time it felt like a door was closing, eventually to be shut.

While I revel in my coming independence, a part of me is also grieving this whole process.

I guess this is the same for most parents, how it seems that they grow too fast, and we learn to let go bit by bit and then enjoy them in their new phase of life as they developed more into their own.

I used to tell myself back during the newborn days, that the nights are long but the years are short, as a way to persevere through the lack of sleep and tiredness.

Now the years are coming to a close for this season of my children’s lives, and for me as well.

So hold them while they still want to be held by, and do not regret the moments spent entangled with their little warm bodies as they snuggle close to you at night.

I am 34, and in four months, I will be 35.

I’ve had 3 children, they are soon to be 6, 4 and 2 years old. I’ve always thought that I would be happy with 3 kids, that I would be done having children after our third child.

Moreover, I did not enjoy being pregnant, especially since my last pregnancy was the toughest. I suffered many migraine episodes and couldn’t take any painkillers other than the generic paracetamol due to different medications may potentially affect our baby in utero. I’ve had more days off work during that pregnancy than my first two, and thankfully my boss was understanding and did not give me grief for missing work due to these episodes.

I could say that possibly, being pregnant 3 times in a span of the last five to six years has affected my work progression and limited some opportunities from me. Hence, there is a career factor to consider as well, as your career will definitely be affected by having children.

Another issue was that I have a fear of having children past the typical 35 years of age due to increased chances of miscarriages, chromosomal defects, and higher risk pregnancies for the mother. Again this was a guideline by doctors and not a strict cliff that women will fall over after they hit 35 years of age, but me being naturally fearful and prone to anxiety, I worried of the what-ifs and that was a reason I had my kids earlier. Even during my pregnancies for my three kids, I used to scrutinize their ultrasound scans during our visit to the doctor to check if there was any possibility of abnormality missed out. Frankly, it was not fun to be my gynecologist, they probably had to take on the role of being a therapist and doctor with patients like me who questioned them quite a few times on baby’s well-being and potential risks they may have missed out.

I’ve also had issues with the effects of pregnancy post-partum on my own body and struggled with body image. After my third child, my belly has never been the same and the dreaded mummy tummy made me appear four months pregnant even to this day. I admit I did not take care of my diet during pregnancy and I used being pregnant as a way to get away with over-eating, frankly eating anything I wanted and craved for without thinking of potential long-term consequences. It was a blow when one of my colleagues asked me if I was having twins while I was in my third trimester, so you can imagine how big I looked. Now I am still trying to resolve my weight back to pre-pregnancy. It is not easy and even though this is more of a vanity issue, it did affect my self-confidence.

However, the biggest issue for me is not being able to provide the same amount of care to my fourth child if we ever choose to have another baby. My husband and I have been fortunate to have parents who loved our kids and were willing to care for them while we pursue our careers and work, sometimes working late. We never had to worry about our kid’s emotional and physical well-being while we worked. However my in-laws are getting on in age, and they are not physically and mentally capable to take in another child under their wing, to have another one without considering this would be selfish and irresponsible on my part and I will not do so.

The alternatives are sending our fourth child for paid childcare, which is an option for many families, however, it would mean our fourth baby will not get the same care as her/his older siblings and it did not seem fair to the kid.

The last option was for me to be a homemaker and stop working, however, I wanted to work, it gives me drive and something to sink my teeth into. I did not want to become resentful for having more children if I were to stop working full time and regret the decision in years to come should I choose to go down that path.

And yet, after listing all my concerns for having another child, here I am, questioning myself am I really done with having more children.

It does not help that my biological clock is getting on and my window for having more children is limited. I have only a few more years of healthy childbearing.

Thinking of life 20 years down the road, would I regret my decisions now?

What do I want for my life and my family in the future, what does a lifetime appears to you, what is important?

Work accomplishments, more money, and status?

Or family and children, and a house filled with love and joy, and little people to nourish and bring up well. People to love and who love you back.

At this point, I am yet to make a decision. I am not able to conclude my dilemma, maybe a year from now, I would have made my choice and hopefully come to peace with whichever my decision will be.