Yesterday, my friend Sharon and her husband Ross came over to pick up the girls’ crib, which I’d kept all this time, and a number of my baby items.

Yes, I took five boxes of baby things with me when we moved here, preparing for the possibility of baby No.3.

After Sharon and Ross left, it finally hit me how final it all became, the decision that Lokes and I made some time back that we would not be having anymore kids. I am going back to school January, preparing that in the next four years to get my own life back on track so that when the girls are both in school full time, I can get back out there, write the Great Malaysian Living Abroad novel (or more likely, a collection of short stories). Or perhaps revolutionise speech recognition by fusing technology with linguistics.

I decided that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life at home with the kids. I’m just not built for long-term SAHMhood (I think ten years is about as much of it as I can take). I don’t think anyone is, really – not that they’ll admit that readily. I still want to be home when the kids get home from school each day, help them with homework and be available whenever they need me.

But I will want to do something that is mine. All mine.

Still, it was a sad moment of realisation for me yesterday.

No more anticipating double lines on a pregnancy test.

No more ultrasounds (well, not on my womb anyway).

No more thinking of baby names.

 

(Sharon and Ross, don’t feel bad please. I’d rather my things be with people I care about than sell them off on Craigslist. Guess I know now why it took me so long to put the items up for sale!)