Are you in the Right Season?

I realized there are just some things that are very hard to do when you are mothering (very) young children by yourself. 

In the span of a short 30 minute work meeting, I found myself absorbing every single detail of an immaculately dressed lady I suspect to be in her 40s. There was not a hair out of place, her skin and makeup was flawless, her accessories eye-catching and complementing, her work shirt and pencil skirt cutting a slim silhouette. Wow! I felt so bowled over. And so inadequate.

There I was, in a plain fushcia (ok I quit trying to sound uppity, it’s just dark pink) blouse and black drapey ¾ pants. No accessories, cc cream slapped on, ponytailed hair with untamable frizz (not in this humid weather) and standing (at attention) baby hair from the recovery of the recent postnatal hair loss, and weary looking eyes caused by a wakeful baby the night before. What a sight! To think I was even quite pleased with the reflection in the mirror before I left.

But these are things that take quite some effort to accomplish when you are faced with a 10-month old who absolutely cannot let you out of his sight, be it showering or taking a dump. And oft, it also means screaming his head off demanding to be carried while you’re struggling to put on (whatever) makeup, do your hair or finding something fanciful to wear. I’m permanently estranged from all accessories because it doesn’t make sense to expose myself to death by strangulation from a necklace or hemorrhage from a bloody pull of an earring by the baby. It also means that desire to please-go-do-something about that messy, frizzy hair is buried at the back of the head. Almost permanently. 

To be fair, I’ve never been a particularly dressy or well-groomed person. I’m defined by the casuals I wear, the lack of a rigorous skincare regime, and an inertia to shop and spend. Motherhood it seems, just made it worse. The only accessory I wear these days is my baby, such that the moments without him makes me feel strangely unburdened. At times like these, I wish I was that bit less frumpy-looking, and just that tad bit less worn-out. I think I just might have dug a hole to jump in if it were possible.

But deep inside me, I know this is a phase of my life I choose to live like this. I choose to stay home, I choose not to have a maid/helper, I choose to be my children’s main caregiver, I choose to pacify nightly awakenings instead of letting them cry it out. This is the season I choose to devote myself almost totally to my family and in the process, often tucking my wants and desires to a corner for them to wait out to happen some day, some time. I know I am in the right season of my life.

And no, this is not a complaint letter. No, I am not feeling shortchanged or regretful. Nothing happens by chance, and I am thankful that God gave me the opportunity to do this reality check. 

Intermittent night sleep? Check
(Almost) Permanent additional 8.5kg (and increasing) body attachment? Check
Stronger arm and leg muscles? Check
Unimpeded physical mobility to function household chores with body attachment? Check
In the right season? Definite check

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8