That hit me on a bright sunny morning. The news that my hubby had shrunk my monthly budget. And then it turned gloomy.
I should have seen it coming.
I’ve made the leap to go part-time. I woke up one day and thought to myself, ‘what, another zombified morning, and I still have to get dressed and go to work?’ (Now, I know a lot of mums out there make it to work despite nights of broken sleep. And if that’s you, I don’t know how you do it, but you have my utmost admiration.)
But then, it’s not JUST the tiredness. It’s also the growing desire within me to spend more time at home coaching the kids.
Vera is fast turning 3, and I’ve been feeling like I can barely keep up with her developments. She’s showing greater interest in craft activities, music and dance, story-telling, and is starting to identify familiar alphabets. And the fact that she spends the bulk of her week in childcare really gets to me at times.
I’ve been feeling a little ungrounded, like you know, feet off the floor kinda feeling. And I think it’s because I haven’t had my daily doses of quietness. Ever since the arrival of baby J, the days have been a mad rush, like a long sentence punctuated only by nap times, and I don’t reach the full-stop until midnight.
I feel like I need to catch my breath. And my daily time-out. It allows me to know I’m alive. Instead of just going through the motions.
After the leap, I ding-donged between pure exhilaration and fear. Excited about the prospect of being a bit more ‘free’, but oh so fearful about the dent in our income. Will we struggle? Will this stress the hubby out?
I was also worried about how my colleagues would feel, and whether I would still be able to pull my weight.
Amidst all that worrying, a soft voice within me reminded me that though I can’t see the future clearly, I know the one who leads me, and he has a good plan and purpose for me.
I’ve accepted. My new title. My new working hours. My shrunk budget.
I know I’ll survive.