Our lives as parents seem like a long chain of chores, and any free time between planned chores is quickly consumed by the immediate needs of the present. This weekend has been especially hectic with Anne succumbing to a minor flu and Caleb learning that being carried is preferable to lying in his cot.

I toil endlessly, strengthened every now and then by moments where our children are angels and the universe is in harmony, in order to deal with the illogical and unreasonable demands of same-said children. But what buoys my spirits the most is seeing Faith by my side. We exchange silent “I love you”s like members of a boy band lip-syncing to a pre-recorded track.

The premise is simple - there is solidarity in mutual suffering.

But it also goes against the very human trait to be averse to suffering.

We currently face the decision of whether to hire a domestic helper.

“When you get a helper you get used the lifestyle. There is no turning back,” someone said.

It is true that almost all Singaporean middle class and up have a domestic helper to help with the house and kids. It is not uncommon to see women, children and helper. The job of the majority of these men is that of chauffeuring the family about, concentrating on their job and their golf swing.

It is extremely tempting to have more spare time for the better things in life. Maybe more time with Faith. I wouldn’t have to bother with the baby’s laundry or ironing the family’s clothes. But I wonder about the value of these menial tasks, and if I’ll lose a part of myself by not doing them. Or if the warmth of sitting down beside Faith after putting the kids to bed will subside if I outsourced it.

There are some things found only on the other side of the inconvenience of shared labour. I don’t know exactly what they are, or if they’ll be lost when the act of labour is removed, but I’m deathly afraid to lose them.

Anne (pointing to Faith): Jesus is in your heart.

[pause]

Anne: Why so many Jesus?

The time spent there has revealed quite a bit and raised a number of questions as to my role in the civil service, which for the most part has been on the technical aspect. There is a need for me to pray - to know the direction God intends and for the courage to pursue it.

The dreams of the young are not tainted with the bittersweet compromise of the real and tangible. Yet you’ve far surpassed the dreams, hopes and expectations of the 11 year old boy who fell in love with you on that Desaru beach so many moons ago.

The reality of being married to you could not possibly be any sweeter. Every day and every moment so rich, living the dreams of my youth.

Thank you so much for marrying me.

I spent the afternoon visiting the Singapore Cheshire Home, a non-profit that cares for the disabled.

It never fails. Everytime I visit the less fortunate, whether it is someone who is hospitalised, or a halfway-house for ex-junkies, I come out with more than I brought in. And so far it has been without fail, that before going to one of these places I’d muse over what I could do to cheer them up or make them feel better. And everytime I’m ashamed to find myself the one receiving cheer, despite having all my limbs and not facing the inevitable consequence of terminal illness.

The disabled residents of the Singapore Cheshire Home are an extremely happy bunch. Their smiles were so authentic and effusive that there was no need for me to put on a false smile. They would wave their hands - some of them stumps - in acknowledgment of our presence. One of them was surfing Youtube with her one normal arm while behind her sat a man clicking on links in Yahoo using a stick attached to his forehead.

They did not ask for our sympathy, nor did they need it. It became clear to me that it was us able-bodied people who needed sympathy, for we were blind. Blind to the amazing power these people possessed despite not having bodies that conformed to our standards of physical normalcy. We, able-bodied ones are blind for not creating adaptive environments to harness the ingenuity - the sheer force of life - in these unique individuals. It is our blindness that has created unnecessary obstacles in the way of them having a fulfilling life. We have stopped them from enriching ours simply because they are unlike us, and we do not take well to the idea of physical diversity.

I would like to enable my children to see beyond the prejudices of my generation. I’ve spoken to Joanne, the person in charge of volunteers, if we could help out as a family. Enough complaining that Singapore doesn’t have enough for us to do. There’s plenty for everyone.

Two days ago Faith fell asleep. Anne continued her doodling, or so she thought. When Faith woke she discovered a lock of her hair on the floor. Anne had decided to play hairdresser on her sleeping mother.

What Faith told me that night was an important lesson. She had decided to be angry at Anne’s actions, hoping to prevent any further snipping exercises, but in retrospect realised that being angry was the wrong course of action to take. Anne wasn’t defiant as she sometimes is when in the wrong, but confused. After all, her grandmother cuts her hair on a regular basis, and she was just mimicking what adults do with a pair of scissors.

This evening Anne wanted a piece of buttered toast. After toasting and buttering it, I put it on her plate, and she took the plate out to the living room. On the way she fumbled and the bread fell unto the the floor. Buttered-side up, thank goodness.

My initial reaction was a groan of frustration - it was a fair amount of work getting that slice of bread toasting to perfection. Anne immediately looked down and whispered “I’m sorry”. It would have easily been out of earshot if I were going through the typical parental tirade of how hard life is…but I heard it because I was at the crossroads of making a decision on how to deal with this.

I squatted down, opened my arms and asked her to hug me. You should have seen the smile on that face. As we embraced I told her that it was ok, and that accidents happen. I brushed the piece of toast, which she duly consumed, butter smeared over her face and all.

I was too lazy to toast another piece of bread. :)

When I grow up, I’ll have a baby.

Time to take that shotgun out of the storeroom.

What adjectives would you use to describe Tribolum?

Time to customise.

Faith was pregnant with Anne when Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong announced:

• the 5 day workweek, down from the original 5.5
• the extension of maternity leave for working mothers, from 8 weeks to 12 weeks, with the government paying corporations the extra 4 weeks
• a reduction in the levy when hiring a foreign domestic help
• the baby bonus, where the government pays parents a lump sum of $3,000 at the birth of their first child and second child, $6,000 for the birth of their third and fourth
• tax rebates for working mothers, pegged to the number of children they have
• the government’s plan to match parents’ savings for their children’s education up to a certain ceiling, $6,000 for the second child, $12,000 for the third and fourth (none for the first)

This was extremely good news for us back then, and we really felt like the government was doing its part to support couples who were transitioning to become parents.

Most Singaporean families are dual-income, with both parents working, while the children are left under the care of an employed foreign domestic worker, sometimes supervised by the couple’s parents.

With the birth of Caleb, Faith and I are thinking of becoming a single-income family, where Faith either takes long-term no pay leave or quits her job to look after the children. This isn’t the typical Singaporean family arrangement, and I went to the dialogue to have a feel of what other people were doing.

At the dialogue it was clear that we agreed on one thing: Parents are the best caregivers for their children.

But it also became clear that the Singapore government was bent on having us outsource the parenting function.

The above incentives - tax rebates, cash incentives, the reduction in the levy for domestic helpers - only apply if the mother is working (exception of the one time baby bonus). If the mother decides to stay home to look after her children, the family is ineligible for these incentives. These incentives cannot be claimed by the working father.

Troy, a father at the dialogue, summed it up as “stay-home mothers are at best forgotten, or at worst penalised for their choice”.

Dr Amy Khor who was on the panel that night tried to clarify that it wasn’t meant to penalise stay-home mothers, but to incentivise mothers to go back to work. While her statement is logical, it’s potaytoes-potahtoes to the rest of us.

Not only do you suffer the loss of a significant part of your household income, you lose the government’s support. I know that the government wants all the marbles - productivity in the workplace, high GDP, a healthy birthrate - but Singapore needs to make some hard choices here.

Another parent who stood up said that the government’s constantly pushing back the retirement age means that she would be unable to take care of her grandchildren, and her son would considering having less or no children at all.

The conference room overlooked a hundred cranes working on the upcoming casino in Marina Bay, a sore reminder that our government’s choices skewed heavily towards the dollars and cents.

1. You and your spouse adapts to the newborn’s schedule
2. The newborn learns to fit to your schedule
3. You all give up your schedules and adopt Gina Ford’s timesheet

A few moments ago, he deposited a significant amount of that weight into his diaper. Where Anne craps like a World War 2 sniper, Caleb simply lays down the law. I’m sure he changed the total amount of matter in the universe with that last poop.

Oh, the other difference between boys and girls: pee is now omni-directional. Every diaper change is a potential hosing down of the changing surface, your clothes and the car in the garage.

That’s the washing and rinsing we’ve had to do yesterday night. Caleb hit the sheets twice, and Anne didn’t make it to the toilet bowl on time.

Woohoo.

Compared to Caleb at birth.

It’s been exactly 1 month. God has been gracious to us. He’s drinking three times the amount Anne consumed at the same stage, and has put on what feels like a metric ton. By my calculations, if he continues at this exponential rate, our universe would be consumed by the time he’s 4.