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Last week was the lowest point of parenthood for me. It's taken me over a week to even write about it, and it still makes me so sick. I decided to (once again) make a big effort to make some friends here - for me and the kids - and posted a message on a Beijing user group, inviting moms with toddlers to come over for a play date. The response was great - with about dozen people expressing interest and promising to come over on a Friday morning. The first six or eight moms showed up and things were going well. The kids were having a swell time and the women were all really wonderful and interesting and from all over the world. I decided I need to brew more coffee and - I'm going to summarize here - ended up splashing boiling water on Jasper's arm. An unhappy chain of events and regrets that had me racing to the ER - obviously breaking up the little party I was hosting. The ER experience was infuriating - despite having a friend call ahead to prepare them for our arrival - he received no treatment and no attention for 35 agonizing minutes, while screaming with pain. A doctor didn't even show up until we'd been there 25 minutes - and I was begging for help. When she arrived I pleaded for pain relief - and they gave him a shot of Fentanyl - though spent 15 additional minutes deciding the dosage. I was beside myself with guilt. He ended up suffering second degree burns on his upper arm and the back of his hand - the hand being the worst. Apparently when I was trying to hold him under cool water at home (I remembered my first aid training - and kept his arm under running water for 20 minutes, but without really knowing where he'd been splashed) I obviously didn't manage to keep his hand under the water very well - as it seemed to suffer the most. The lesson I learned is to jump in the shower. A kitchen tap isn't enough, the doctor later told me. Since that day we've returned to the hospital for daily dressing changes. The doctor that treated us in the ER, on her own initiative, organized a staff meeting to address how ill-prepared the ER staff was. This is the same clinic/hospital that misdiagnosed my ultrasound months ago - so I'm more than fed up with their ineptitude and won't return again. I chose them this time only because they are minutes from our house, but now realize I should have made the 20 drive to the other hospital. I'm still sick about it - all of it. Surprisingly (to me) all the wounds at this point are now healed to the point of new, tender pink skin, and all bandages will be off for good in three more days, but I won't forget it soon, even if he does.
Answer: No. 40 children are enough. But seriously - it's not the age that makes me tired, it's children that make me tired. I have fond memories of being permanently beached on my sofa every evening after 6pm when pregnant with Georgia. (Sigh) Well, the truth is, time is flying by and I'm exactly 30 weeks along today. For those who don't know - that means I have 10 weeks to go. Thursday at yoga class the woman next to me, a beautiful, cute, blond woman having her first baby, asked me if I was the person she met last week who was 37 weeks along. Yes, in fact this was pretty insulting, because it turns out she's exactly as pregnant as I am (and I thought we looked the same size) so she should know better. She shared, nervously, that her sister in law just gave birth, "...and she was in labor 40 hours!" Usually I respond to this type of thing by reassuring the first-timer that 40 hours in labor doesn't mean it hurts for forty hours - it just means you felt contractions that long. In fact it probably only really, really hurt the last few, so don't let those stories scare you. Instead, this time, I just sucked in my breath and with wide eyes said, "ouch." I changed doctors. I made an appointment with a new one last week, an Australian man who's probably close to 80 (although you can never tell with some of those Australians who've been out in the sun under that hole in the ozone layer for so long). He was great. We actually laughed during our appointment. Mike really likes him because he was trying to convince us that vasectomy's weren't really a good option. We hadn't asked any questions about post-baby birth control - but apparently it's a pet subject of his, or else his way of ingratiating himself to the dad's. So I'm officially switching to him, though the hitch is that he retires October 31st, one day before I'm due. My mom arrives in Beijing to lend a hand watching the kids (while we're at the hospital) October 21st. So I have a ten-day window to have this child. Start placing your bets. We heard that it's helpful to have photos of yourself pregnant the first time you try to take your western-baby out of China - so finally, finally I had Mike take some snapshots tonight. I'm plus 25 pounds at this point - so perhaps I'll gain 35 or 40 by the time I'm done? Who knows. I always stop weighing myself around week 35.
Everything is bugging me
A lot of things are driving me nuts these days. I've got a short fuse and though i could easily wait for the mood to pass and not write about it, instead, at the risk of sounding small and petty I'm going to spill my little gripes. (Footnote - since writing this I made myself write a "list of things I'm grateful for" in order to put things back in perspective.) For starters, I’d read about the controversy surrounding the Chinese pavilion at expo being a rip-off of the Tadeo Ando 1992 Seville expo contribution, and decided to see for myself. As expected, every link to any photo showing Ando’s piece is blocked. This is so....so lame. If it’s “clearly” not design plagiarism, why block views of it? Censorship seems like such an obviously antiquated idea. It surprises me every single time I encounter it. Come on, China. Though I try – so hard – it’s not in my nature, not within my capability to stay in that suspended, slightly detached state of being the curious, observant visitor while living here. The novelty wears off after a while, then it becomes your city, your country and it’s woven into your life. I think the line between curiosity and consternation is crossed when “interesting” differences in culture affect me or my family in a negative way. Then it grates on me. For over a year – it’s been grating on me. Some things I can now blow off – but others have just slowly fed a furious fire in me that I find is recently boiling over. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s it’s the hormones. Maybe it’s just time. Earlier this week, after struggling through a morning with no electricity (the method of pre-paying for electricity on value cards that can only be inserted by 9 to 5 workers, in a meter that is in a locked closet that I can’t access...well...it’s a system that has it’s flaws), with my family griping about shaving in the dark, having to eat yesterday’s oatmeal reheated on the stove, etc. and without a driver (family duties so he took the day off) and no ability to find an address written in Chinese to Georgia’s school on my computer without power (taxi drivers can barely read Chinese, and never understand mine) I finally made it out of the house with Georgia in uniform, an old business card from her now-fired western principal with an address, and at least my face washed and teeth brushed. I left one full hour early for school even though the drive is half that, leaving room for finding a taxi and struggling with directions and getting lost a few times. I went to the busiest corner on the busiest street near our complex, stood on the edge of the road gripping Georgia behind to keep her at least a bit farther from the ruthless traffic that takes no prisoners. The heat was already scorching, the ambient brown smog that’s firmly settled over Beijing was in place, as always, and the car exhaust was blowing by us in a constant stream. We endure this a full hour, with my arm raised desperately trying to flag down a taxi. Georgia has been understandably whining about the heat for the last 20 minutes, and a third – a third person steals a taxi from us. Offender number three, like the others, walks around us, in front of us, and with her more-nimble legs (I’m not nimble with my belly – and not willing to dart out in front of the still-moving taxi with Georgia) takes the taxi I’d just hopefully flagged to a stop. I am officially broken. This is what flashes through my mind in red letters – China has BROKEN me today. In a rage – yelling and tears shooting out of my eyes I scream. I scream at the top of my lungs, in English, at the horrible, horrible woman who just took the third taxi, the third of only three available taxis, that has come by our corner in a full hour. I scream at her until her taxi speeds away (confused). It was a low, very low point in my parenting, which only fueled my frustration as I was also disappointed in myself but unable to stop the rage and frustration that was pounding in my head. I picked up Georgia and told her she won’t be going to school today – we’re going home. I stop at a bench near the duck pond on our way home and spend the next 30 minutes explaining to Georgia why she shouldn’t shout at people like I just did – though wondering if perhaps I should explain sometimes you just NEED to shout. I try to explain that sometimes adults get upset to and I didn’t behave very well. I’m not opposed to showing her I’m human – but my outburst of rage and frustration was just too much for a 3-year old. Today, however, I took some childish revenge. When a woman at the mad-house grocery where I stock up on diapers and wipes wedged herself in front of my in the line to get a receipt (checking out is a two-step process everywhere) even though I was on the guy in front of me like a back-pack, I gently nudged her out of the way handing my receipt of the shoulder of guy – beating her out. She was younger than me. This wasn’t a woman who was raised fighting for her meager share of food. She should know better. She was wearing heals and carrying a nice purse. She understands waiting in line. After I got my receipt I pretended to forget she was at my right elbow – and swung my overloaded shopping cart (approximately 320 diapers, 24 rolls of toilet paper and 800 baby wipes) smack into her legs. Truly – smashing her. It was violent and totally uncalled for – and I didn’t regret it then, nor for a moment since (though I continued to do conscious checks all day – nope – still feel pretty good about it). I gave a false apology (in Chinese) while making a speech in my head about that little smack being for all the jerks who steal taxis and cut in lines. Less invasive but still tiresome – it was for all the people I have to watch pick their nose, hear their phlegm, side-step their spit, turn away as they urinate and defecate in public. For the people who let their kids sit with bare bottoms on the interactive displays at the childrens museum (crotchless pants are still quite popular here – despite the expense of diapers clearly not being a problem) - making what should be an interesting activity with a moderate amount of germs be as dirty as a public toilet. It’s these same people that are okay with their children wearing the crotch-less pants in the dead of winter that lecture me when my kids flash a narrow strip of ankle. The inconsistency that is puzzling. I wonder why it seems forbidden to show affection in public (Mike and I get shocked stares each morning when I give him a quick smooch outside his office) yet these other seemingly private human activities (defecating, urinating, nose-picking, spitting and sleeping) are acceptable. But really – for the taxi stealers and the line cutters – I smashed her. The other things just pile up after a while – making me feel like an alien. I haven’t made a single “local” friend here. Despite trying to strike up conversations at playgrounds and at school – and trying with my horrible Chinese – it hasn’t worked. I guess I’m a little bitter about that too. What at first seems, hopefully to be friendly behavior usually quickly nosedives towards simply curious behavior. If somebody does engage, they’re usually only wanting to know if I dye Georgia’s hair, or perm it, or evaluate the kids’ age and size. It doesn’t ever open up into a gesture of friendship. I suppose the bigger problem could also be that most parents are working, and children are raised by ayi’s and grandparents – so it’s already hard to go anywhere and meet an actual parent. Though Georgia’s school provides opportunities – I’ve only connected with foreigners. So this long, meandering explanation of the frustration that boiled over, and my immature whack at a complete stranger, it’s all connected in my head. It’s all I needed. My tolerance has been re-set and I’m ready to face a new day. With this lighter, happier posture I hauled my purchases out of the miserable store, stumbling a block, overloaded with supplies so I don’t have to return for at least a month, trying to make it to the car as they don’t let you take the carts out of the store, waving away the old women who paw you, wanting receipts to re-sell (actually feeling empathy towards them) and waded into the ruthless traffic to find Mr. Zhao. I felt great. Sometimes it feels good to do the wrong thing. Just for fun, I’m posting photos of just a few (of many possible) examples of people sleeping or resting in public – at Ikea! Yes – this is common. I went to Ikea to buy some picture frames and a new chest of drawers for baby....and couldn’t resist snapping a few shots. No - I would never buy anything at the Ikea-Beijing floor-model sale. I might try to shoot another series of nose-picking.... We've been so busy since returning to Beijing - but with nothing too interesting to write about. A week after landing I had to go to Hong Kong for a few days to deal with various issues on our apartment there. What a headache. We don't like being landlords, especially in Hong Kong. We're feeling a little kicked around by the place (targeted by our neighbors) so we've decided to sell. In addition to dealing with changing tenancy, some water issues, and some building department issues I spent a day touring comparable properties to decide what we could get for our place, and if it would be the right time to sell. We decided it is - so we will. I've spent the time since madly texting and emailing to arrange a million things that are always more difficult from afar. Things are getting sorted out, bit by bit, but we've a road ahead of us before we're through with it all. I can't wait. Our Seattle tenant also decided to pack it up and move back to Texas - but that's been less of a worry with our good friend, Chris, managing that process for us. I've been working quite a bit too - on my project in Bend and responding to writers I met in Hong Kong requesting quotes and photos for various stories. I try to be extremely responsive - which is the key to getting things published. Yes indeed - it's all about showing up. Mike posted a link to the article in the South China Morning Post last weekend - I'll try to post the full text. It's kind of silly stuff - but it makes me feel like I'm not just a baby-machine - but actually have a career to return to after I shelve the maternity pants and clean the diapers out of my purse. Georgia is back at school. I'd planned to keep her home until the new semester starts in September, but she asked every day for a week if she could go back to school. I then discovered that we'd pre-payed for the entire summer program (oops) so I decided I might as well send her. This doesn't make Jasper very happy, to be left home each morning, but I just don't think he needs to go yet. He's not even two. His Chinese (and English) is accelerating like mad these days - so he's doing okay. We had a fun dinner out with an old friend from high school, Pat, who was in Beijing for business just a few days - and this week my friend Julie is here from Seattle on Starbuck's business (her business was actually just in Hong Kong - but she made a side trip up here). It's been fantastic to see her - though I must admit I've sent her out with a tour book and a wish of good luck most days to tackle the heat and crowds on her own. (Today she's doing an Underground-Palace + Mutianyu-Great-Wall bus tour.) It's in the upper 90's, with matching humidity, so crowded tourist sites in China are not the ideal place for a very chubby pregnant woman. I'm grumpy enough just looking at the dreary brown polluted skies from the window of our air-purified apartment. Tonight, Julie's last night in town, we're taking her to one of our new favorite restaurants off a hutong nearby. This weekend, as usual, we'll pay our daily fee to sit by a hotel pool for four or five hours splashing around with the kids. Maybe we'll even convince an acquaintance to join us. Our good friends are moving to Japan. I am sad, very sad about that. Our motto for this Beijing summer is simply "endure". We're passing the time by looking forward to a visit soon from Brett, Mike's brother, and then Mike's parents....and then my mom....and then the little guy in my belly. I've decided I need to have Mike take a photo, for the record, of the belly. It might not be pretty - but it seems good to have a record of these things. I've also been told that you can have a really hard time leaving the country for the first time with a new (western) baby who has no entrance-stamp in his passport. Many expat new-parents have shared stories of being held up a long time in customs trying to prove it's their baby and was born IN China. They've said you have to bring all types of identification, birth certificates, and most helpful are photos of the mother looking very pregnant. Obviously - that proves it all. Who needs birth certificates, passports and visas? Welcome to China....
We've been back in the US for a week - and loving it. The direct flight (10.5 hours) with car seats for both kids was the easiest I've ever had - with help from my sister who entertained Georgia the entire time. Georgia has officially reached some magic age where flying and understanding that though she has to stay in bed even if she doesn't feel like sleeping (due to the 15-hour time change) are just part of traveling - and she's been easy to deal with. Jasper is still a little handful - but he's starting to adjust as well. As soon as we landed we loaded up the car and drove to Bend. The kids didn't sleep at all on the plane (we boarded at 8am Beijing time - so it was a full-on day-flight for them) so of course they crashed in the car, sleeping almost the entire 6-hour drive. We started swim lessons at the local pool early the next morning, and plan to continue with that twice per week while we're here. They play outside all day, every day, with balls and grass and rocks and tricycles. We eat every meal outside. We go for a long walk every night, spotting rabbits. We've been to the Bite of Bend, a good 'ol Americana parade in Prineville, church with mom, and attended a few farmer's markets. I'm in heaven with the choice of fresh, organic produce and grass-fed beef, etc. I'm also trying to get a handle on sunscreen. You just don't need it in Beijing. It's too far north and/or the skies are always too hazy with you-don't-want-to-know-what to every really worry about getting too much sun - you only worry about vitamin D deficiency. So the kids have pink cheeks and I have my first suntan in over two years. Our routine is so similar each day the photo ops are redundant - but I will include some funny shots from the Prineville parade yesterday. It was their first parade - and they watched candy hit their feet and lay on the street for a long time before they understood it was theirs for the taking. Jasper was thrilled by every large truck and Georgia adored every rodeo princess that pranced by on horseback. Mike is now in New York and Boston for the week - unfortunately without any of his presentation material nor any of his badly-needed three suits - as his luggage has gone missing from his domestic flight from Seattle. He's not pleased with how the week is starting and can't wait to join us in Bend. I try to cheer him up by saying, "only 56 investor meetings to go!"
I was asked to submit some ideas for a "dream dining room" recently for a Hong Kong-based design journal. It's a great way to get a little free publicity, hopefully with leads to work. We were asked to not only come up with a concept and image, but invent a couple of pieces for the space - and it was emphasized they should be more creative than realistic. Fun stuff... 
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