This Little Season

When I had my first child, I went back to work just two weeks after giving birth.

Not because I wanted to prove anything. Not because I had it all figured out. But because I was running a floral business, and it needed me. Orders were coming in. Mother’s Day was around the corner. And the rent wasn’t going to pay itself.

I remember crafting bouquets with a baby monitor by my side, and taking customer calls while rocking a newborn to sleep. I’d pump milk in between selling bouquets, or even while replying to messages from frantic husbands who forgot their anniversaries. It was chaotic — and strangely, it worked. For a while.

When my second child came along, I thought I could do it again. I thought I should be able to do it again.

But something was different. Maybe it was age, maybe it was burnout, maybe it was the long COVID haze still hanging over everything. Or maybe it was just that this second baby needed something else. He had sensitive airways, constant coughs, and spent more time at home sick than he did in IFC. I was trying to hold everything together — the sick days, the work demands, the mounting exhaustion — and I felt like I was failing at all of it.

The major turning point was when my son was hospitalised for a bad RSV infection at just 10 months old. I remember watching him struggle to breathe through an oxygen mask, and feeling like I had failed him. The guilt was overwhelming.

I couldn’t help but compare. My eldest had stayed home with the grandparents during her baby years as she was the first and only grandchild back then. She had been so sheltered from viruses. So protected. And here was my second child, constantly sick, in and out of the clinic, now hooked up to machines. It felt like everything I was trying to hold together had finally cracked.

This also coincided with a shift in my husband’s career — he had taken on more responsibilities at work, which meant he would be staying late most weekdays and the occasional overseas travel. It became clear that one of us had to be the more present, default parent during this season — and that someone was me. It wasn’t always easy, but it made practical and emotional sense for our family at the time.

Identity shift

The truth is, I never saw myself as a stay-at-home mum. It wasn’t just off-script — it clashed completely with who I was. I’d been hustling since I was 19, juggling multiple jobs, paying off my university loan, putting myself through school, saving up for driving lessons, and scraping by to hit every milestone on my own. I prided myself on being independent, resourceful and able to stand firmly on my own two feet.

Letting go of it felt like letting go of a version of myself.

But slowly, I began to take the steps I needed to move forward. I gave up the lease on the shop — a space I had once poured so much of myself into. I sold off leftover stock, cleared out tools and ribbons I’d collected over the years, and sent quiet goodbyes to customers I had grown to love.

Then there was the flower business I’d spent over a decade building — through Valentine’s Day madness, Mother’s Day chaos and the quiet Monday mornings when I wasn’t sure how to make rent. It wasn’t just a job. It was part of my identity.

It wasn’t easy. Every box packed felt like a small farewell.

Before I made the final call, my husband and I had countless late-night conversations — over budget spreadsheets and takeaway dinners. We talked through our finances, our roles, our hopes for the kids and for ourselves. We knew it would mean sacrifices, but we also knew we had to align — emotionally and practically — if this shift was going to work. It wasn’t a decision I made alone, and having his full support made all the difference.

Still, even with the spreadsheets and plans in place, I kept coming back to one question: Why am I doing this?

And the answer was always the same — for my kids, for our family, and for a version of life that felt calmer, more present, more connected. I had to let go of one dream to make space for another.

Home, for now

My days look very different now.

They’re no longer packed with urgent orders, flower runs or the adrenaline rush of getting everything out on time. Instead, most days feel almost… mundane. School drop-offs and pick-ups, researching enrichment classes. Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. A lot of laundry. I spend more time than I ever imagined wiping countertops, grocery-shopping at wet markets, doing meal-prep, folding tiny socks and reheating half-eaten lunches.

But, I get to be there — really be there — for both kids. When a new HFMD wave starts up in school (and it’s surprisingly often!), I have the flexibility to let him stay home for a whole week if need be. I’m no longer hustling through clinic queues by day and scrubbing bedsheets by night — all while replying to last-minute bouquet changes and tracking down missing flower stock.

For my eldest child who entered Primary One, I could finally be home for her instead of relying on student care or rushing home late. I was there to help her ease into this big new season. I could monitor her homework, chat with her about her day, take her to enrichment classes on weekday afternoons.

It’s the kind of presence I couldn’t offer before, no matter how much I wanted to. And being there — truly there — has made all the difference.

It’s a different kind of hard now, but at least I feel like I’m where I need to be.

Being a SAHM is truly not for the faint-hearted, but with some prudent planning and management of expectations, maybe we can still find that balance. *hopeful* All the best to your journey, whatever decision you make is the correct one.

Read more about our decision to withdraw our son from IFC

Why We Took Our Son Out Of IFC