Sunday’s for our family are usually packed as we needed to prepare for a new week of school and work, which was no easy feat as with four kids and both my husband and I being working parents.

My husband would cook dinner and pre-prep food for the following week to save us time from cooking after work on the weekdays. Eating at home also meant we could save more, and have more time with the children instead of eating out.

Since I was breastfeeding our baby and had returned to work after my maternity leave, I also needed to prepare my breastfeeding equipment and set aside frozen breastmilk and baby purees to to handover to my in laws who fortunately helped to care for our youngest while we worked.

Uniforms, homework and schoolbags needed to be checked through for the 3 older school aged kids, not to forget their packed clothes and bags for their afterschool daycare center. On some days we could only complete everything just before the kids bedtime at night as the home, the baby and the post dinner clean up added more to our to do lists. Holding baby with one arm while preparing for our family’s breakfast for the next day was common to both my husband and I, multi-tasking our way around the kitchen and dining room.

After the kids had washed up and are in their bedrooms we would say a prayer together, then I would put my baby down to sleep which can take 30 minutes to an hour. Usually while nursing him in the dark, I would scan through my emails and work schedule for the coming week before I rest for the night, to make sure I didn’t missed any critical meetings or datelines for the coming week.

After that, I would spend an hour or more on my laptop after baby had slept, having my own time at last in the day to watch a movie, snack with the husband or go on You tube, and as unhealthy as it sounds, those sessions also usually came with snacking. Since I tend to stretch my solo time at night, that meant going to bed at nearly 12am and having only 5-6 hours of sleep daily. Insufficient sleep I know, since my baby will wake at night for feeds, but it was a habit that had developed since we had kids and was hard to shake.

However that Sunday afternoon as I laid in bed with my baby, I could hear the sound of my husband preparing dinner in the kitchen, the clanging of the pan on the stove as he stir fried minced pork with basil leaves and carrots, and the hidden chopped up brinjal into the mix to add fiber without our kids knowing.

I could hear my three kids playing in the hall, the sound of the television and their chatter, and at about 5pm they went outside to play, raking the fallen leaves, biking, bouncing the basketball or even playing in the dirt with their spades. We lived in a bungalow lot which meant we had a lawn and space outside our house for play, and on weekends we made it mandatory for them to play outside as we didn’t want them cooped in the house all afternoon. Their laughter and dialogues were loud, sometimes running by outside the window of our room which was also on ground floor, but baby boy continued sleeping through it.

I thought of how busy my husband and I were, having to run the household while managing our work commitments. Thankfully I had in-laws who were supporting us with the baby and the kids, and we both held stable jobs for work. We sent our youngest two kids to their house on weekday mornings, before we headed to office.

Then I started dozing off as well and eventually took a 40 minute nap with baby in our bed.

At that moment I thought to myself, that despite my anxieties be it about work, the kids academia and the general constant mess of the house , I was pretty fortunate, and pretty rich in love. These were the things we can’t buy, but bring a lot of joy as whole.

My husband was loving, supportive and did most of the cooking so I could focus on baby and take needed weekend naps, which was quite the treat and I looked forward to those cozy naps with baby boy. He knew my nighttime sleep was frequently interrupted having to nurse baby and wanted me to get my rest in the day. Our relationship had grown since we were married 14 years ago, and adapted through the seasons in our live together.

My kids were healthy and relatively well behaved, and we now have a rainbow baby to love despite thinking we were done with having more children 6 years ago after we had my third child. We had extended family support for our children as well making it less stressful for us not having to find good childcare.

And I had to remind myself theses things because it is so easily taken for granted. I had a pre-disposition to be anxious and borderline depressive, being one of these who do not have a strong mental fortitude, in my opinion, despite being a person of faith.

Being conscious of this now in my late thirties, I do take note to take care of my mental health, with daily prayer being a requirement to connect with God, and by eating well to stay healthy for the family.

That day, I reminded myself of what I have, of the busy season we were in at this point of our lives which will not be forever, and I felt rich in love and grateful for the things God has allowed us to have in life. The road to where we were was not always easy, with times of hardship and heartbreak along the way, but we were here now.

I knew in the coming evening and weekdays that things will be get chaotic again and I needed to hold on to this memory, during a quiet afternoon reflection and reminders to be grateful of what we have.

I will continue to be there for the family whilst still bettering myself to be a more capable person for the ones I love, and for my personal growth.

Why you may ask, on a Saturday ?

It was because they were having their annual school sports day event that day. Last year we brought their 6 year old sister along, but this year the effort was higher because we had to bring along their 4 month old baby brother too as we were now a family of 6.

We drove out of the house by 6.40am while the sky was still dark, and I was feeling tired as our baby boy had a bad night with multiple waking throughout, to feed, for comfort, and for all the reasons babies still wake at night.

“Will you be there to watch me in my competition?’

My 10 year old just before we dropped him and his sister at his school about 20 minutes later.

‘We will try to be back on time, maybe by 8.30am’ I said to him, hoping that we could catch them in their event.

We had to leave them at school for a while collect their baby brother’s passport at the immigration office, and then after a quick breakfast for my husband and myself and my 6year old at a Korean convenience store we went back to their school. The time was now 8.30am, and the sky was pouring rain.

When we reached back at school all the students, teachers and parents had congregated at the schools main hall, which had a solid roof but open at the sides.

The rest of the sports events had to be held indoors at the hall because of the heavy downpour, that lasted all the way till after 12pm even after the event ended. We felt bad for the school as they had prepared some of their games and competitions on the fields which were by now cancelled.

There were much less parents than expected, and because the sports events were held in the hall, we had to stand at the perimeters of the hall to watch the children compete, while trying not to get too wet when the wind blew.

So now we were carying my 4 month old baby, while our 6 year old tried to keep herself entertained by playing with our umbrella while occasionally watching the games.

Our kids saw us and were glad, and we supported them and mostly waited for the whole event at the edges of the hall, giving them snacks to share with their team mates and making our presence known to them.

In actuallity we had missed their event, and were now just there to wait for them and let them be with their team which were designated by colours.

It was about 3 hours of standing, sometimes sitting if we can get a stray chair, and occasional snacking as I too had to be entertained by more than races and indoor competitions.

My baby had to be nursed, played with, and then he slept on my husband’s arms for an hour. Finally they sang the national anthem and the event was dismissed.

Needless to say, we were now physically tired, and hungry, and slightly wet from the consistent heavy rain.

Why did we do all that?

Parent’s attendance were not compulsory, and we could have just dropped them in school and went home, with our baby.

We did it because we wanted our kids to know we cared about their them and their school activities, that we were going to be around to support them.

I also did it because I wanted to see how the kids interacted with their friends, team mates, and teachers and how they were in school. We talked to their friends, we observed, we gave snacks and asked them to pass it out.

I hope even a small thing like just being there made them feel loved.

That mummy and daddy are willing to support them even when we were inconvenienced.

It was important for me that they felt loved even in the smallest ways, and I hope that feeling stayed with them all the way to their adulthood.

12pm finally came and I was glad the event was over, we collected all 4 kids and huddled them into the car and drove home, with the kids chatter filling the space in the car all the way home.

The sound came from the baby monitor as I sat eating corn chips up in our office while watching Silo season 3 on my computer.

Baby’s awake. Time was 10.50pm.

I quickly washed my hands and rushed down the stairs. As I opened the door of my bedroom and the cold air from our air-conditioning enveloped me instantly.

I had forgotten to adjust the air conditioning I had put baby down that night, and the room was too cold for comfort.

‘Arrhhhh!’

Went my baby again as he writhed around in his sleep swaddle, trying to roll in his semi awake state.

I slid down next to him, and as he nursed I smelled his head, and kissed his sleepy forehead.

In the dark cold room, there was another sound other than the hum of our air conditioning compressor and the soft breaths coming from my almost 5 month old.

“Chirp… chirp… chirp…”

It was the very clear, loud and distinct sounds of the crickets outside our room, in the damp grass on the grounds next to our window.

And it brought to mind a memory of an event over a decade ago, before I had my kids, and when I was also laying in the same bed but only with my husband, late at night.

In the year 2015, about 3 years after we were married, I had been taking daily hormone pills as part of my regiment to treat my migraines.

A bit of backstory on this, I started getting migraines when I was 16 years old, and they were so bad that each episode of it would cause nausea, vomiting and a severe pounding headache that could only be cured with a long sleep or with strong pain medications. 

Since the episodes back then were occurring every month, I had decided to seek a treatment plan to manage or hopefully, permanently cure me from my migraines.

Unfortunately some of the daily medications I took as part of the treatment eventually caused me to become depressed, lethargic and made me couldn’t sleep at night. 

It came to the point that the insomnia was so bad that I had to take anti-depressants to calm myself down enough to fall asleep.

It was a rough time in my life, and I even almost quit my engineering job back then as I couldn’t function at work. My poor husband was my caregiver, being with me as I took medical leave on some days to rest at home upon the advise of our company doctor as I tried to work through my emotions and depression.

On one of those nights, I was again staring at the fan above our bed, and I knew time had passed but I couldn’t fall asleep. I think it had rained earlier that day, and the sound of crickets outside was overwhelming to me as my mind focused on everything else except sleep. 

An hour or two passed, and then I turned to my sleeping husband, and woke him. It must have been 12 to 1am at night.

“I can’t fall asleep. The sound of the crickets are too loud for me” I said.

My sleepy husband got up, and went out of our room.

The next thing I heard, was the sound of an aerosol can being used outside, and then I knew he was using our insecticide on the crickets.

‘Pssssst … pssssssttt’.

It went on for a few minutes.

Though depressed, I felt surprised, partly horrified, and mostly grateful, that he was wiling to go to that extent of combating the poor crickets so that me, and him, can go to sleep.

The noise from the crickets eventually stopped. I felt bad for them.

My husband came back in, and I tried to sleep. I think it had helped.

My depression went on for another 3 weeks, and then it eventually tapered down and went away after I finally stopped taking my daily dose of Sibelium and Fluvoxamine pills, which apparently had also affected my serotonin levels thus causing insomnia.

Back to present day, after my baby had fallen back to sleep, I went out of our bedroom, found my husband in the kitchen and I hugged and kissed him. He was surprised but welcomed it.

“Dear, I remember the crickets from before we had kids, it was late at night and they were loud like now too”

My husband then turn to me, smirked and and said “Ahh, then you can remember what I did to them”

I am thankful that I had overcome that difficult period of my life, and I am very thankful for my husband, who had supported me through it. Unfortunately some poor crickets were harmed during this stint.

But whenever I hear crickets now, I am reminded of my husband’s love and care. Till today, I enjoy listening to the sounds of crickets outside when its late at night.

After years of contemplation whether we should have another child, and nearly 2 years of trying and also suffering two miscarriages during that time, we finally welcomed our baby boy on 12th February of 2026.

It was quite a journey, and I will detail what happened and what I did after to finally welcoming our child in a separate post.

Not going to lie but I had thought to myself, since I had 3 little ones prior, that this 4th round will be easier since we were ‘experienced’ parents and I was a mature mother by now. Sure it was 6 years ago since my last child, but things should still follow the similar path, right?

Be it regarding the two big B’s, the birth and breastfeeding.

Well, I was wrong.

Not all babies are the same, and certainly there are variables to each birth, and boy did this one tested me.

To make it easier to understand, I will list and categorize out the challenges I faced from the birth to postpartum and how we managed each one. At the point of this writing it is past 5 weeks post partum and thankfully most of the issues faced are resolved.

This birth and postpartum was in fact more difficult and had more complications than my second and third birth, and possibly even my first.

Here’s what happened, arranged in order of both severity and timeline.

1. Epidural resulting in debilitating post dura puncture headaches

For my first three births I had avoided using the epidural due to my fear for potential side effects, and in my first two births I had requested for an epi mid birth after I was in active labour and over 6-8cm cervix dilation and I would be rejected due to how far along I was already.

Other than my first birth which was traumatic, thankfully my second and third births went really fast and though painful, it ended quickly.

So for my fourth and last birth, I decided to give it a try, and hoped to have relief from labour pains for once in my birthing experience.

And so it went that my one and only experience with an epidural went badly and developed complications from a punctured dura by the anesthesiologist causing cranial fluid leakage.

It was bad, and I developed nausea, dizziness, and a terrible headache after I gave birth due to it. They called it the post dura puncture headache and the anesthesiologist was straight forward about what had happened during the epidural procedure.

The small chances of this complication unfortunately occured in my birth, and I had signed the paperwork prior to it that waived the doctor and hospital of the complication.

What’s more, I couldnt feel the pressure of baby descending and even at 10cm, I couldn’t feel anything and couldnt push him out. In the end after almost an hour of pushing, the doctor had to proceed with vacuum assistance to pull him out.

My baby boy was sunny side up and his had the shape of cone due to the vacuum suction.

And since I had assisted vacuum extraction I had a episiotomy and a more substantial one.

But the worst part was when I had to sit up, the room started to spin around and a painful headache hit me.

I threw up in the labour and delivery room, and had to lie down instead of being able to see my baby in the nursery.

Then after I was wheeled to my room, I tried to eat some dinner, hoping the feeling will pass and at the same time feeling really confused at my symptoms, and I threw up the fried chicken I had.

I then got to see my baby for awhile and started my first breastfeeding direct latch on him, which was the only main highlight of my night.

It went downhill again after that.

I requested for more pain medications and the nurses contacted my aneasthesiologist, and after that I threw up the third time.

By then the head nurse intervened and said that baby will be formula fed and taken care of while I recovered for a few hours.

I slept from 11pm till 4am and then felt better with the new medication from my doctor via drip, but the following days after I was discharged the pressure from the leak came back and the next 7 days was really rough.

This issue had impacted my breastfeeding as it inadvertently affected the method and my direct latch with baby in those early days causing the next issue I had.

The condition lasted 7 days, and resolved after that, but during that period I could hardly sit and stand and relief only came when lying down and having the cranial fluid pressure normalized.

In short, I was disappointed at how the birth went though I was happy to bring a healthy baby boy home from the hospital.

2. Painful cracked and bleeding nipples from baby’s improper latch during early breastfeeding.

You would think after having breastfed three of my older children, that my fourth would be muscle memory by now. I thought so too, but I was wrong.

After birth I couldn’t immediately breastfeed my baby due to the post dura headaches and vomiting, so it was only the morning after that I could hold him and direct latch at the breast, when I felt well enough to sit up.

It may have been a combination of overconfidence and his anatomy, but although his suction was good, I failed to recognize that the latch was not deep enough.

He was born 38 weeks and a few days, and his mouth was small though his birth weight was good at 3.35 kilograms.

After discharging the next day I continued direct latching my baby frequently, and at hours at a time.

It was 2 to 3 days later that the pain came, the soreness, cracked nipples and bleeding. It was excruciating pain during the feeds.

It was so bad that I developed a fear of latching him when it was time for his feeds, but i persevered on, and we also included syringe feeding to ensure he was getting enough breastmilk.

I pumped to stimulate breastfeeding and to get some amoount for syringe feeds, and that too re-opened my cracked nipples and on occasion the milk had blood in it.

I worked on correcting the latch ( deep latch) the next few days, turning to online resources, YouTube, ChatGPT, but the damage once done and if you know newborns , they ate frequently at evety 1,2 to 3 hours at most. This was on demand feeding and due to that my nipples couldn’t heal before the next feed.

I bought 3 tubes of lanolin cream and applied generously , with breasmilk, after every feed.

At every feed I had to work on his latch and positioning, causing delay in feedings so we had to endure his cries every time I waited for his mouth to open wide to get an actual good latch.

Many times, his rooting reflex would not be able to produce a wide enough mouth so I had to wait till he had a full on cry before I rammed his mouth onto my already painful nipples, and then braced myself when the pain ensued for the first few suckles. This was my first 2 weeks of breastfeeding. Since the wound reopened after each latch on one of my breast I had change the breastfeeding hold from my standard cross cradle hold and instead fed him using the football hold to have another angle of his mouth onto my nipple. That too took some learning curve from us both and I utilized it on my right side breast every feed for almost 2 weeks.

Bottle feeding was avoided to prevent nipple confusion as I wanted to direct feed my baby due to convenience. I only introduced it near to the 2 week mark and it was a big relief that he accepted the bottle, with paced slower feeding as we were still cautious to prevent nipple confusion.

This all happened while still recovering from the post dura migraines and lack of sleep, and my episiotomy wound.

This was a very difficult time, and I had cried over it a number of times feeling both guilt that I couldn’t give him my all and that his weight was not increasing fast enough.

I even considered exclusive pumping as an option but I wanted to have the bond of direct latching him, plus it made no sense to only exclusive pump my right side breast while direct latching my left which fared better after the first week after birth, and healed faster than the other ( both my nipples were shaped differently, hence the difference in outcomes).

Eventually the direct feeding issues resolved, I remembered the turning point was when I noticed tehre was no blood or peeled off skin on my disposable breast pads, first on my left side, and eventaully my right side breast pads came out clean at the end of the day during my baths. That was when I neared my 3 weeks postpartum mark.

It was quite the journey, a painful one.

That brings us to point 3.

3. Slower weight gain

He is now a chunky breastfed boy at 7 weeks. But in his first 2 week, weight gain was slow, he dropped down from 3.35kg to 3.2kg before regaining. It was still within the acceptable range for weight loss less than 5-10% for newborns but still, comparing with my other babies who were also breastfed they loss very little weight and regained their birth weight fast, typically within the first 3-5 days.

But for my fourth baby, due to breastfeeding pain and my migraines, he only regained his birth weight at day 10 post birth, and then only started gaining more steadily.

It may not sound so bad all things considered, but there was another reason I was stressed about his weight gain, and here is the next issue.

4. Baby’s prolonged jaundice

His blood type was O positive, which had a higher risk factor for newborn jaundice. Plus with his bruising from his vacuum assisted birth on the top of his head, the excess blood contributed to his increased jaundice levels as well.

On day 3, he had some yellowing of the skin and the blood test confirmed it. I had experienced jaundice with my previous three children, and the way to bring down the levels faster was to feed baby more to flush out the bilirubin (other than phototherapy if the levels are too high for baby based on the number of days post birth).

With mt fear of direct breastfeeding and feeding baby due to the nipple trauma and breastfeeding issues, I was experiencing, I couldn’t freely feed my baby boy as frequently as I did with my earlier three children. I was timing his feeds about 2 hourly and sometimes 3 hourly, instead of aggressively offering him the breast to get him to gain more weight and pee/poop out more of his bilirubin.

It didnt help that his jaundice was prolonged and went up and down, even after 2 – 3 weeks. It required daily blood test and poor baby had to get his blood drain every time we went in to see the doctor, and the same comment on his weight would come ‘ Baby needs to gain more weight, please feed him more’.

So I had stressed myself over me not being able to give him milk to support both his weight gain and to clear his jaundice at a faster rate. Mummy guilt ate at me while I contended with the physical pain of feeding him, at that time in the first 3 weeks of baby.

Thankfully it never went high enough to be a risk to baby’s brain. By week 3 it seemed it was on its way to resolving and by 1 month the doctor’s stopped ordering blood test to check his levels.

How are we now.

To date baby is seven and a half weeks old at the time of this writing.

All issues above have been resolved, in sequence of above four challenges listed.

He is now fully breastfed without pain on my part, he has grown and has become more efficient in breastfeeding and extracting milk from me. He takes both breast and bottle (once a day) and a pacifier without any nipple confusion. He has also cleared his jaundice, and is developing well and meeting his milestones. The one which warmed my heart the most was his smiles, which came at week 6 exactly and I get a feel of my little one’s personality better.

I am healed from my post dura puncture headaches / migraines, and also healed from my breastfeeding injuries. My supply is bordering on the oversupply side, and I have stored about 2 weeks of frozen breastmilk for him and still building up the stash which will be used when I am back at work.

So it has a good outcomes now, but mind you when I was in the thick of it it was a really difficult journey and may prayers were said in that time as well.

I do hope sharing this will help some mothers, be it your first baby of like me, not your first but you still struggled. Some things takes time to get better and as long as we keep trying , enduring and improving, things do resolve, at least those that I’ve mentioned above.

You also need a good supportive family to stand by you if you have to go through these events and for me I had my husband who was there with me all the way.

And this post is also a reminder to myself, to not give up and keep looking ahead at the long term goals, and problem solve these issues where possible, when challenges come my way.

https://medium.com/a-parent-is-born/overcoming-my-grief-of-pregnancy-loss-my-one-week-experience-following-my-miscarriage-4678f7d00071

“Have a good swim class! And listen to daddy!”

I shouted out to my husband and three kids as their car pulled out of our home driveway. They were going to their weekly Saturday swim class.

I closed and locked the front door and leaned back on our sofa for a few minutes, scrolling through my phone and messages.

I had time to myself, home alone on a Saturday afternoon, no work, no one to attend to, peace and quiet.

Most mothers with young kids would yearn for this time alone, and I usually do as well.

I had my usual 3 hours to myself from the late afternoon to dinner time.

But I was feeling off that Saturday.

I took a shower, my first of the day, and laid in my bed scrolling again, and then I began to feel drowsy, and I fell deep into an hour-long nap from 4-5 pm.

I woke up at 5.15 pm remembering I needed to get dinner ready.

Baked jacked potatoes, with shredded chicken and bacon, sour cream, and cheese toppings, was our experimental dinner menu that night.

I went on with it, being in the kitchen wasn’t my best forte, but the husband and I had been cooking a lot more at home this year to save more money, for certain financial goals we were trying to reach ( I might touch on that topic in the future).

But the truth is, as I went about my afternoon to evening alone that day, I felt low.

Perhaps a better word is feeling down, blue, certainly not my best.

And I had no reason to.

Maybe it’s burnout from the week’s work, the Friday night before, I had worked until 9 pm. Maybe it’s my hormones in this season, maybe I wasn’t used to having not much to busy myself with. I do have an active, busy weekday and Saturday mornings too.

I don’t really know for sure.

But I’ve known since I was a kid, in my younger years, I do get the blues occasionally, with or without reasons to have it.

It may be loneliness, it may be a feeling of sadness, fear and anxiety, but this feeling wasnt foreign to me.

As much as I can feel joy at the smallest things, enjoy a laugh with others or have moments of contentment with loved ones and friends, I too can fall into times of quiet sadness and feel pretty blue.

Sometimes I think being occupied with work or kids and family prevents these feelings from taking over.

Other times, when I have nothing on my plate to do, the feeling comes when there are no distractions, and when things around me get too quiet.

Don’t get me wrong, I am a person of faith, and I do have joy, but these are the times when these emotions do come up, and I feel it, and I hide it.

Because really, there isnt’t a real cause for it.

What can I say? I couldn’t justify it.

So what do I do?

Since in Asia we do not often seek therapy for our feelings, I’d only tell the person closest to me, and in my case its my husband.

Other times I’d wait for the feeling to pass, and it usually does over time, or when life gets busy again.

Maybe there is a science or biology to it. I do get migraines since my teenage years, and sometimes I think there is a correlation between having a higher tendency to fall into depression ( which I have before during a migraine treatment) and having a predisposition to getting painful migraine episodes every month.

I rushed dinner that day, the kids and husband arrived home to me preparing the last few bits of dinner while the husband took the potatoes out of the oven, and we stuffed it with chicken, bacon, sour cream and cheese.

We had dinner, I confided in my husband about it, I laughed, smiled, nagged at the kids and family, while keeping the feelings inside. I knew it would pass, and eventually, the feelings did pass after 8pm that night. I’d managed myself through it as usual.

Faith, family, and love helps me overcome, and I am functional through these times.

But I am not afraid to share that these feelings do come to me, and maybe, probably, it affects many others too, who do not talk about taboo topics like mental health so openly.

So if it does affect you, do find some support where you can get it, friends and family to talk too, say a short prayer, or take a walk. Other than exercise, being mobile has surprising benefits of eleviating your mood and helps you process those moments.

It was near midnight, and we were both lying in bed in our dark bedroom, not yet asleep. We were talking and somewhat arguing about a topic between us.

The kids had long been in bed and we had our time to talk.

We were contemplating a decision, a big one for our family. One that was personal to me.

And we both disagreed on it, having different opinions. Both strong opinions.

I could feel the strain in our voices, as we continued our conversation.

I didnt want to give in as I had been carrying this weight , and he felt the pressure from me.

Then he said something that has stuck with me to this day.

“Because I love you more than I love me, I am agreeing to give you what you want.”

Later, he turned away to face his side of the bed, and that was the sign of the end of our conversation.

He had conceded to me, because he didnt want me to be unhappy, even though he still did not agree to the decision that was made.

And I knew he loved me, and loves me a lot. Times like this, despite the heated conversation, reminded me of it.

It pained me to hear it, but at the same time, I felt relief.

Pain because I didnt want him to be burdened and hurt by my selfishness, relief because he agreed to what I wanted.

It was a complicated situation, and we had been back and forth on it for quite a long time. Tonight we had another round of discussion on it.

My husband had said a few times in the past that he felt that he loved me more than I did him. In fact he does go out of his way to care for me, even when it inconveniences him.

And I knew that of all the people in my life that I had any relationship with, be it family or friends, I took him for granted the most, because I knew I can depend on him and he would still care for me.

That makes me sound really selfish, and at times it is true, so I’ve been working towards showing him love more in the language he knows best, which is via acts of service, within our family and home where work and responsibilities were never-ending with three kids, work, and a home to upkeep, mixed into our day-to-day.

But pained as it may be, his telling me those words that night and following through with it, made me feel special and loved, by him.

And I told myself to give him back this love as much as I can in our relationship, and to work on our marriage.

I am thankful, to say the least, to have him as a husband.

I wondered why sunsets and sunrises captivated me so much.

Other than their obvious beauty, was there more to it?

I also recalled commenting to my husband in our past that dusk was my favourite time of the day.

The sky turns a beautiful combination of light orange, red, and blue, casting a lovely glow all around us. Even the colours around us would appear more contrasted at that time of day. We could be driving home from work or going for dinner, a natural calm seems to set in with this colour palette appearing, with the air outside cooling down, a welcome change compared to the heat of the day in the country I live in.

I realised another reason why I loved sunsets.

It put things into perspective that no matter how our day went, the earth still rotates around the sun, and our issues at work or in other difficult matters in our life may be temporal, seasonal even. Time moves on, and so do our lives.

For those of us who practice faith, it may even evoke feelings of spirituality and bring to mind a creator, and some comfort comes from that.

It also feels like a cap at the end of the day, sort of closure, which meant that there will be another day coming, and a new start begins at sunrise.

I hope the setting and rising of the sun each day brings you some joy as well, as it does to me.

Take the time to look up and around you the next time you have a chance, because there is a high chance others around you are also looking at the sky and taking a breather too.

I was looking at others who were increasing their income, via promotions and obtaining further job opportunities at work. I was even slightly envious of some of them, specifically those who achieved more in their career at a younger age than mine. For those in bigger corporate companies, they made themselves visible, worked at high profile projects, and were extremely committed to work, working the hours and pushing through, and bypassing their peers in the aim of climbing the corporate ladders faster.

Then I was browsing through the financial independence articles, or those also known as the FIRE communities on the web a few days ago, and was reminded of how some of them reduced their lifestyle spending tremendously to achieve their financial independence earlier on. It meant spending a lot less at their current lifestyles at their present, in the hopes of achieving earlier retirement, some as early as their late thirties. They worked hard, cut back a lot on life’s luxury and holidays, food and dining, not to mention on homes and vehicles.

Don’t get me wrong, I do agree with the financial independence movement, they have good financial advice and I gravitated to the concept that by thoughtfully spending and saving, we can build up a wealth that will eventually bring us the ability to work less, and even choose the career paths we may want instead of feeling trapped at work, due to the need for money.

But in FIRE there are two routes to achieving financial independence, one was called lean FIRE which adopts a very frugal lifestyle with minimal spending to speed up retirement, while fat fire had a more comfortable and slower approach to achieving retirement. My concern was more on lean fire route, due to the aggressive savings and minimalist lifestyles, requiring longer hours at work and sacrificing some enjoyments in life.

Anyway, both groups above have the commonality of acquiring more wealth. Be it by hustling at work and sometimes stepping over others to rush to the top, or those who are in the fire movement.

Wealth, in the monetary form.

My social media account was filled with displays of acquaintances and friends who were living their life out loud, having beautiful homes and cars, travelling, eating good food, and generally enjoying their lives in aesthetically pleasing backdrops.

There was nothing wrong with it, these were lifestyles that needed substantial funding, was this the aim of money? Maybe for some.

If this is what you want, then I’d say then that yes, that is what a rich life is for you, and may it fill you. But if wealth alone is not what you want, then be wary of not going down a road that may cause you heartache in the future.

Because in partaking in either one of those paths mentioned above, one may lose out on some aspects of life that may hold more value.

The question then is, what defines a rich life?

Although money is undoubtedly important, life, from my perspective, was a lot bigger than just monetary wealth alone.

Unfortunately, the hustle era of our work are the years when we have our health and when our families need us the most.

When we are in our twenties to early forties, are where this period tends to be.

Some may work so hard they put off relationships and marriage, or have their commitment to work affect their relationships. Some choose not to have children due to the choice of having more money and having a better lifestyle. Some women delay having children due to career, and may not have the ability to have kids or more kids when they are ready.

Time is a resource, too.

What other aspects of wealth are there?

How about having a family, love, health, good supportive relationships, friendships, and communities? How about having some time to be with your children, aging parents, and not losing your friendships with close friends?

How about making the time for finding romance, having a family, and taking on the added responsibilities of parenting. Watching your baby come to life and expanding what we call love by doing so.

Sometimes, even simply being there for your children as they fall asleep at night, seems to require scheduling in for those of us who work a lot.

How about working towards a cause in your heart, a need that you see, a work that fulfiless you and one that you are personally invested in. It can be a community project, or in a non-profit that pays less, but one that you are motivated to work in.

How about having a faith, and making time to practice it, thereby filling your soul with spiritual food and growing from it.

And what about health?

Not sacrificing our health due to repeated late nights crunching at work, or going for social drinking with clients, or starving ourselves due to working through our break time.

How about mental health? Some amount of stress is good for us, but not till we are mentally affected by politics at work, difficult bosses, and pushing through event after events at work. How about not falling asleep thinking about work and dreaming about work?

I know this because I too am a workaholic, and a wife and mother. I too struggled with the demands of work and acquiring wealth, while having to stretch myself to fulfill my role as a working mother to my young kids.

Here’s my thoughts.

We need money to buy security, be it in the form of insurance, a home, a safe car, and putting in place the back-up plans we may need in events of uncertainty or emergencies. A good safety net that can put your mind at ease. To care for our families, young and old who depend on us.

After that, it funds our hobbies, be it good food, sports, holidays.

Beyond that, having more and more excessive wealth may give us any more joy.

Money is a tool, a means to achieve an end.

And that end is varied, not singular.

We all will die one day, and we will not be able to bring our savings and wealth with us.

So choose wisely on how we prioritize, what we define as the richness of life.

I recently began to appreciate the aspects of my life that some may consider boring.

I’m not too sure what triggered the change in me, but it had occurred in the last few months. I suspect that it had to do with experiencing some personal losses and after going through a stressful period at work. I am on the other side now, mostly, though the healing journey continues.

To be clear, ordinary may not necessarily mean dull, but it is generally considered less exciting than what others who may for example stay abroad in another country, travel for work, or are out most night doing I don’t know, dance or yoga classes, badminton matches, hangouts at the beach and at night pubs.

For some background, I’m a married woman with three kids under the age of 10. I work a full-time job, and I put a lot into it. I am a homeowner, and I also serve in my local church. My days tend to be full, and we have a solid routine from Mondays to Fridays.

Weekends, we have extra classes for the children, one in the morning and a swim class in the evening. Sundays we have church, and I teach and help out in the Sunday school as well. Then the new week begins again.

A few years back I would get restless, dissatisfied somewhat with the grind and the routine life we had.

I love my kids and my husband, but I think I may have been borderline bored. I would make plans for our family to go out on weekend nights, even though we lived in the suburbs, maybe to a new restaurant far out in town or to the shopping malls, and holidays in various different towns. I would get Sunday night blues and would not prefer home-cooked meals.

I wanted to go out.

My loving husband usually agreed to my request and drove our family out and around.

But as of around 3 months ago at the start of the year, I began to appreciate spending time at home more. I begin to feel the cost of time and money spent when going out, more so now than I used to.

Our commitments and schedules on the weekdays and weekends remain, but in between, I liked being at home instead of going out.

I would be with the kids, teaching them and helping with their academics, reading to my 5yo daughter, who is starting to self-read, or playing computer games with the family. I valued home-cooked food for the lower cost and higher nutritional content, and I felt purpose when I served the family by doing housework, preparing the kids’ school items for the coming week, and even cooking and organizing home spaces.

When the kids are in bed, I watch a movie or a show with my husband, play computer games, learn my Chinese language or write a blog post.

Is it more fun than going out? Maybe not always, but I felt now the value in doing these ‘boring’ activities, which I didn’t back then.

The key is, do I feel fulfilled by these things?

Yes, I do.

Do I yearn to have a night out and experience the other side of life? Going for movies, traveling and sight seeing, maybe even drinks in a night pub with a live band. Maybe a little, but the draw is not that strong anymore.

I am not a homebody yet, but I am happy to stay at home on my off days, unlike how I used to feel in the past. Although I still have restless stints, it is not as strong as it used to be, and I am driven more by purpose than feelings.

Maybe I’m getting older, but I am embracing this change.

We value what we choose to value, and for me, my priorities and values are clear.

It is not an exciting life, but it is a blessed one, one that I may have taken for granted previously.

The title for this blog was inspired by a 2005 film I had watched in the past called The Magic of Extraordinary Days, about a woman who was pregnant out of wedlock in the post-World War II era, and was arranged to be married to a humble local farmer. She initially yearned for freedom, education, and travel, being a learned woman herself. But she eventually learned to love the new family she had, the man she married, and even the farmland and home that she co-managed with her husband. Because she had love where she was, and her perspectives changed.

My situation is not that dramatic, of course, but I am happy with my ‘ordinary’ life, and while I am still restless, it is for social causes and for self-growth, and I can still fit those needs into an ordinary lifestyle.

My father turned 80 years old this year.

He appeared more frail than he had 10 years ago, as I compared birthday photos of him at 70 versus 80th this year.

He now needs a walking stick whenever we go out to prevent falling, and the amount of food he can eat has reduced significantly.

Meanwhile, my youngest child is only 4 years old and has just recently started kindergarten.

You see, my parents had me in their forties, hence that’s why they are more advanced in age compared to the age of the parents of my peers who are also in their thirties like me.

As we celebrated my father’s 80th birthday last month, I remember thinking to myself that it was a matter of time before my elderly parent’s health deteriorated as they aged into their eighties.

I felt the pressure of eventually having to care for both my three young kids and my aging parents at the same time.

Indirectly, my mind started thinking about how to avoid the further deterioration of my physical and mental health due to the need to be functional for my kids and parents.

Firstly, I needed to ensure finances were sufficient to care for both my parents and my kids in the event should any medical emergencies or health issues arise.

We started saving more of our income and kept it as a safety net.

I also had to make sure both my husband and myself would be healthy enough that we can continue working and be there for both my parents and our children. I pictured the needs for the overall family in the next 3, 5, 10, or more years from now.

This meant that I could not fool around with my diet as often as I did in my twenties, and I started eating healthier. I went for bi-yearly health screenings, and I even booked an elective colonoscopy for both myself and my husband, just to be safe. Thankfully the results were clean.

Other than for myself, I needed to be well for my family, both the young and the old. Our families depended on us, literally.

And I realized that our health is a key investment in life, often times more so than money.

Our physical well-being, the ability and freedom to move around in a healthy body, is usually underrated, but should not be. I remembered lecturing my parents and in-laws on this, trying to get them to commit to taking care of themselves more.

So I empathize with others who are in the same stage of life as me, especially those who have both younger children, and older parents.

It feels like we’re sandwiched in between, and we are needed by both ends.

Then again, it’s another season in life, and we should live it well.