Ok this may sound a tad shallow. but today I got offered one of my fantasy writing assignments - To SHOP, suss out the scoops AND GET PAID to write about it in a weekly column! (Even though it's just a 2 month project from end May to July, I would LOVE to do it.)
Guess what? I can't accept the job cos I'll be in France then and I'm required to be in Singapore to do this. What's worse? I KNOW that I'm the PERFECT person to write it and I'll do a killer job. It's a missed opportunity, but hey I can't really complain about roaming across Provence and having a second wedding in a little chateau! I'm really happy about what's happening in my life right now, just that I wish that at some other point in time, I'd get another chance to do a fantasy writing job again. (Others include writing about FOOD and incredibly luxe travel locales! I love reading intelligent, witty writing about these topics.)
The following months will be a great period of change in my life. We have to pack up all our stuff (a nightmare for me cos I HATE packing. Anyone who has travelled with me knows that it stresses me out completely), move to France, then move again to Turkey. And in the midst of all this, try to get pregnant cos we want to have kids pretty soon.
I'm very excited that all this is happening. But also pretty stressed when I try to figure out how pack up my entire life. What do I do with my countless books & shoes, old copies of Glamour & In Style, hundreds of cards and letters, thousands of photographs and about a million other bits and bobs?
When I think about having kids, I do feel that I would eventually love being a Mum. But the other part of me winces at the thought that my freedom will essentially be KAPUT. ZILCH. NADA. I've seen it happen to friends...once U have a new baby, your time is not yours anymore.
You can't leave the house at a moment's notice to meet a friend. (I'm told even leisurely breakfasts reading the Sunday papers become a thing of the past.) You & your husband can't go on spotaneous dates (let's have a picnic today, go to a beach bar!) without having to concoct an elaborate plan of what to do with the baby. Bring it along with it's 6kg worth of diapers, pram and other baby stuff? Or arrange for a babysitter? Will the babysitter drop my baby? ALAMAK. That's why new mums say their freedom is GONE. Worse if U have a rugrat who cries ALL the time.
Second fear - turning in "one-of-those" mums. U know, the type who can only engage in conversation when it involves babies, specifically THEIR own baby, or baby related gadgets. Who knows? I may one day coo about my own kid so much on this blog it'll put some people off!
Anyways, I still have time to ponder cos I haven't got a bun in the oven just as yet. In the meantime, here are some pix of JF's niece Carla. JF is tickled to bits by her and adores her....everytime he sees her he keeps telling me we have to hurry up and make one! Our nick for Carla is Space cos she has this permanent spaced out look on her face, staring at U with her giant saucer eyes!
Munky & his niece Carla aka Space Chassin
Oooh look I can swim at 4 months old! It runs in the Chassin family!
1 comment:
Whether your child will prevent you from living greatly depends on yourself. You can say that it isn't nice to the child to be dragged along everywhere and be subject to lots of changes all the time, but when I was a child I loved it. Now my sister is doing the same thing with her child (and soon the other child as well, another nephew was born two days ago).
You can also see it from the other perspective: even if you stay home and do what you feel the child wants you to do, you're not really doing that either. You will still be forcing the child to adhere to your schedule, and your society. So you might as well take the child with you, and show your real schedule.
Of course the child will still take a large amount of time, and will impose constraints that I, as an uncle-only, might not be able to imagine (though I'm learning more each time I encounter children), but I know you can always make more time[1], and have seen succesful mothers climbing mountains with their children.
[1] Momo, Michael Ende.
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