Is it now normal for helpers in Singapore to do it all—from chores to childcare?

In Singapore, the presence of domestic helpers has long been woven into the fabric of middle- and upper-income households. They handle everything from chores to childcare—roles that ease the pressure on dual-income families. But a recent Reddit post cracked open an uneasy truth: some families delegate nearly all aspects of parenting to their helpers. One woman observed that her friends and relatives expected their helpers—earning as little as $500 to $700 a month—to handle feeding, bathing, changing, and even attending family outings with the children. Her blunt question resonated far and wide: "Is this normal, or is it too much?"

The real tension here isn't about hiring help—it's about how far that help extends. Sure, having someone sweep the floor or cook dinner is practical. But what happens when that person becomes the default parent in the home? The slow, subtle shift from assistance to substitution isn’t always deliberate, but its impact is undeniable. When a helper is relied upon to soothe tantrums or rock a baby to sleep night after night, a line gets crossed.

One Redditor cut straight to the heart of it: "Why have kids if you aren’t willing to be a parent?" That sentiment captures a wider anxiety—that convenience is becoming a stand-in for connection.

The helper economy in Singapore runs on a quiet math: what seems like a modest wage here can be a life-changing sum back home. That affordability has made domestic workers far more common than in other developed countries. But behind the numbers lies a growing problem—expectations have ballooned.

In many households, helpers are not just cooks or cleaners—they’re nurses, babysitters, even eldercare aides. MOM may require rest days and fair treatment, but there’s little oversight when it comes to the emotional toll or blurred job boundaries. As long as food, shelter, and minimal rest are provided, employers remain within the letter of the law.

One netizen put it bluntly: "Every household has its own dynamics. As long as the helper has sufficient rest, don’t think it’s any of our business." It's a popular view—and one that assumes consent within an unbalanced power structure is always freely given.

It’s no secret that the early years of a child’s life are crucial. Developmental psychologists have long warned of the importance of bonding and consistent emotional presence. That role has traditionally belonged to parents. But in homes where helpers are the ones managing bedtime routines, emotional fallout is hard to ignore.

To be clear, many helpers are affectionate and devoted. Some bond deeply with the children they care for. But they are still workers—not co-parents—and there’s a limit to how much emotional labor can or should be expected of them. To expect a live-in worker to double as an emotional anchor, often without proper compensation or rest, is not just unrealistic—it borders on exploitative.

Cultural context adds another layer to the silence. Helpers, often from countries where authority isn’t questioned easily, may hesitate to speak up. And even when given the option of a transfer, few want to rock the boat.

Yes, many employers genuinely treat their helpers with kindness. Some go as far as including them in holidays or family celebrations. But good intentions can’t erase the reality: these women are employees whose legal standing remains fragile. They can be dismissed, replaced, or sent home. That power imbalance makes emotional authenticity—especially with children—complicated at best.

To move forward, Singapore needs to rethink how it frames domestic work. Start by moving beyond the bare minimum. Is a weekly rest day really enough if someone is essentially parenting your child? Shouldn’t we ask if they have reasonable hours, privacy, and a manageable workload?

Next, let’s reframe parenting itself—not as something that can be outsourced, but as a responsibility that demands engagement. Outsourcing dinner prep is one thing; outsourcing bedtime stories is another. Children need their parents, not just functionally, but emotionally.

Finally, ethical employment has to mean more than decent food and timely pay. It means clear role definitions, mutual respect, and acknowledging that hiring help doesn’t entitle anyone to opt out of family life.

The Ministry of Manpower’s current rules are a floor, not a ceiling. Basic protections are in place, but that’s just a starting point. There’s room to go further—like setting clearer job scopes or requiring employer briefings that address the human, not just contractual, dimensions of hiring a live-in helper.

Public awareness campaigns could also help reframe expectations. Just as society reshaped attitudes around smoking or seatbelts, it can do the same for domestic work. It’s time to normalize the idea that parenting and fair employment go hand in hand.

Caring for a child is not like doing the laundry—something you can simply outsource without consequence. It’s collective work, requiring support not only from helpers but also from schools, employers, and policymakers. A truly family-friendly society must value caregiving in all its forms.

Singapore’s rise as an efficient, high-performance society has delivered many gains. But that same efficiency mindset, when applied to parenting, creates uncomfortable trade-offs. Helpers may ease the load—but when they carry too much, the whole system tilts. This debate isn’t about eliminating domestic help. It’s about drawing clearer lines—between help and substitution, between support and replacement.

Singapore’s dependence on domestic workers reveals more than just household economics—it points to a broader societal blind spot. When essential care work is rendered invisible or undervalued, families risk losing touch with their own responsibilities. Children deserve more than logistical care; they need presence, attention, and love from their parents.

This isn’t an anti-helper argument. Far from it. It’s a call to recognize that parenting can’t be entirely delegated. Helpers should be valued—not just for their labor, but for their humanity. That means setting boundaries, paying fairly, and understanding where your job ends and theirs begins.

True partnership with domestic workers requires honesty about what we’re asking of them—and what we owe in return. If we care about the next generation, we start by showing up for them—not just financially, but emotionally, consistently, and with intention.