Children are expensive. "Duh!" every parent in the world would probably scream in my face after shaking me senseless.
I always knew they were. Now I really know when I see it first-hand with my own niece. And I'm not even paying for her.
The basics a child needs for growing up are already a financial killjoy, but of course, as parents, you make up for it in other aspects. Yes, you do, don't you? I'm just a semi-detached observer so please don't kill me for reducing your lovely bairns to monetary value.
At three years old, my niece is now enrolled in a toddler ballet class, which Ms Future Margot Fonteyn demanded every day until her reluctant father gave in, and a concentration enhancement class (or a spoiled brat concentration camp), which is run by my friend's brother.
And I already thought it was a bit much for a three year old who started preschool at two for no apparent reason.
Then as luck would have it, one day I was caught in a maelstrom of highly privileged mothers. The ladies are all in fact my friends _ some are closer than others. They are all lovely, hard-working, well-heeled career women with equally lovely, well-to-do husbands. As the rules of the world dictate, when more than two mums are in the same room, the only topic imaginable is babies, which I frankly don't mind as I now have a niece and can chime into the convo without feeling like a freak.
What I learned from my mum friends that day, however, got me worried. Apparently, there are so many classes that preschoolers can take. I don't even know where to begin. My friends' kids began swimming lessons when they were six months or something, and there are classes of Japanese and Scandinavian curricula _ which I don't know how to pronounce _ that supposedly enhance motor and foreign language skills, critical faculties and others which seem like superhuman abilities. Also the youngsters can learn how to sing Sigur Ros songs, ride horses, compose haiku or maybe fly an aeroplane while my niece is at home dancing to Thai country songs on YouTube.
All of these classes make my niece's ballet class seem like the child's play that it is.
I've also known that my friends are financially better off, much, much better off, and it's only right for them to want what they deem the best for their children. I became worried for days about where to make all that money for my niece to enrol in all those classes, or attend an upscale international school. Does money grow on trees? If so, where is the forest? I badly need some for my niece.
Then I remembered. I remember those child-rearing experts who are always stressing how extra classes are not crucial in raising a happy kid. As the unstable individual that I am, I then revert back to worrying again. What if my niece can't have the best of everything because we can't simply afford it? Am I falling short as an aunt?
Then I remembered again. I remember growing up as a child who shunned extra classes, a child whose parents allowed her to choose what she wanted to do within their means. I remember a happy child growing up trying every art, sport and music class, but decided against everything. When I wanted to do something, which was financially impossible for them (there was a brief moment when I wanted my own horse), they explained, and I gladly accepted. I wasn't stigmatised. My ballet class was a compulsory ballroom dancing lesson at school, while there was a set hour of studying at home, in which I smuggled comic books to read anyway, improving my motor skills and flexibility.
So really, I don't know about others, and I still firmly insist that if I had the money to send my three-year-old niece to learn how to hunt with white tigers, I probably would. But most importantly, I guess, it's much more necessary to raise a contented child who can accept reality, and be unwavering to what others have and hold. In really simple terms: a super happy kid who gets to do what she wants to do, not what her aunt wants her to do. After all, she's not a superkid, and I am no way a superaunt.
Onsiri Pravattiyagul writes about music and popular culture for Life.