The Rest of The Story

In those first minutes after Charlie arrived we debated about whether or not to keep driving to our chosen hospital, or to wait for the ambulance. It was at that point that I did start thinking about what could have gone wrong - did Charlie swallow meconium? Was he breathing ok? Could I keep him warm enough? Was I bleeding? What if, what if, what if...? We both seemed fine, all fingers and toes accounted for, but not being experts we decided to wait and make sure. We knew the ambulance would take us to the nearest public hospital but we thought it would be a matter of getting us both checked out and then being transferred to the private hospital soon after. In hindsight we should have kept driving...

The ambulance arrived and the paramedics wrapped us up, clamped the cord and loaded us into the truck. Charlie and I were still attached by the cord and there wasn't a lot that the paramedics could do for us. They sat there beside me, grinning madly, impressed that I had not only managed to deliver a baby in a car, but that he was also a boy, and my second at that, how very clever of me. D drove behind the ambulance and when Charlie and I arrived at the Princess Margaret Hospital, we were whisked off to a trauma room at the A and E department. The room was full of nurses and noise, with everyone moving very quickly and chatting away in Cantonese. They cut the cord and took Charlie from me. I let them because I assumed they were going to make sure he was ok and then give him back to me. Not a single person introduced themselves or explained to me what they were doing and I had to ask several times if my baby was ok before anyone acknowledged me. One of the nurses quietly congratulated me but the rest of the time I was ignored. Another nurse came at me with a syringe and told me to roll over. When I asked what she was giving me, she said it was pitocin to help deliver the placenta. I refused it and she threw her hands in the air, shaking her head and muttering away in Cantonese. It was the first of many such outbursts we would cause that day.

I could see they had put Charlie in an incubator and, despite not knowing why, I trusted that it was necessary, and still imagined that he would be given back to me momentarily. I was then the focus of their attention as yet another nurse took to my nether regions with cold water and antiseptic. She scolded me for leaving home so late, "you made such a mess!" she exclaimed. I should point out that from the moment I realised I was in labour to the moment Charlie arrived, no more than 3 hours had passed. I was told I would be taken to the labour ward to wait for the placenta to be expelled, and Charlie would be going to the NICU. I was assured that my husband was in the waiting room and would go with Charlie wherever he went. I was wheeled downstairs, and banged into a few doors along the way. I was in quite a bit of pain as I was still having contractions but no one offered me any pain relief, and the rough ride on the stretcher did nothing to help the situation. Again I was fussed over by a different group of nurses and was asked all sorts of personal questions, as they attempted to take my medical and personal history (all while trying to deliver my placenta...).  From the date of my first ever period to my husband's ID card number, I was grilled on just about everything there is to know about us. I started to get impatient, more concerned with where my baby and husband were than whether or not the paperwork was complete. When I asked a nurse if Charlie was ok she said she didn't know, he was in a different department and I had to push them to let me use the phone so I could speak to my husband and hopefully get an update from him. The phone they gave me didn't work and it was another 2 hours before D and I got a chance to speak to each other. I was left on my own for quite a while, and was told I would have to wait for the doctor, although no one could tell me how long she would be - "she will come when she comes."

Beside the bed there was a poster advertising the hospital's "Breast is Best" policy and when I tried to speed things up by mentioning that I would like to feed my baby, it was clear that the posters were just for show. The nurses were checking my blood pressure fairly regularly and I was warned that it was gradually rising. I calmly informed them that it would rapidly return to normal as soon as I could see my son. To which I was told, I wouldn't be going anywhere while it was that high. It was infuriating beyond belief. After what seemed like an eternity I finally got in touch with D and he was allowed in to see me. He hadn't been allowed in to see Charlie, as it wasn't "visiting hours" and had created quite a stir himself trying to reunite the 3 of us. I was heartbroken at the thought that my little man had been alone all that time, and so angry that there was nothing we could do about it.  The doctor finally arrived and D was asked to leave, as if to respect my privacy. Ironic given that he had just delivered our baby... I needed stitches and more dousing in cold antiseptic apparently, and the whole time she was working the doctor was chatting and giggling with the nurse. She gave me a local anaesthetic but didn't allow it time to work so I felt every stitch and when I cried out in pain there was more chattering and the nurse handed me the gas. I sucked on that thing like my life depended on it, hoping to wipe out all the horrible things I was feeling at that moment, and with any luck also lower my blood pressure.

Eventually I was allowed off the maternity ward and sent to the post-natal ward, where I was told I could finally see Charlie. At that stage we hadn't spent enough time with him to have agreed that he was, in fact, going to be coined Charlie, but in my heart he always was. As I arrived on the ward I was asked if I was breast or bottle feeding, and they took me past a room full of about 20 women to the breast-feeding ward where I was one of only three new mothers. Apparently feeding time was at 1pm and that's when visiting hours ended but there was no way I was letting my husband out of my sight when we were all finally about to be reunited. Being told when I could feed my son and when I could see my husband, and neither or those things being allowed to happen at the same time was the final straw (yes, I understand many women sharing a ward might be uncomfortable with a man in the room), and it was about that point that I declared to the staff we were leaving. We never had any intention of staying but we had decided to wait until Charlie was with us before we mentioned that to anyone, in case they wouldn't let him go. We set the wheels in motion when we knew he was on his way but then a funny thing happened. I heard Charlie crying as they wheeled him into the room but as soon as he was handed to me he stopped. And as I held him and fed him for the first time, it didn't matter where I was or what had gone down at that horrible place, I felt invincible and completely wrapped up in the tiny little creature in my arms. I still didn't want to stay, mind you.

As it was against hospital policy to discharge us so soon, we had to sign a waiver saying we were leaving against medical advice - paperwork I was more than happy to comply with. We got back in the car (which had been cleaned, but was a little worse for wear) and fled, feeling a little like criminals, to the Matilda Hospital, where we had planned to be all along.

I know I haven't painted a very rosy picture of the public hospital system here and for that I apologise. My experience was unique, and I know a lot of women who have had their babies in the public hospitals and they have been fine. The health care provided here is world class but it's the lack of bedside manner, and patient care that most expats find difficult to take. For me, having a baby is an amazing, but emotionally overwhelming experience and I felt like it was turned into a clinical procedure, one that I had apparently interfered with in having my baby on my own. It was a time when I had no patience for the cultural differences and language barriers that come with living here, and I wanted out. If you go in knowing what to expect, and being prepared to either fight for what you want, or step back and accept what happens to you then the system will work for you. But it did not work for me. I have tried not to dwell on those painful hours after Charlie's birth. I feel like I was robbed of a really precious time, and I'm mad at myself for letting it happen, even though I didn't really have a choice.

At the end of the day, my little boy and I have not been adversely affected by anything that occurred that day, and we had 48 hours together at the Matilda to bond and get to know each other. He is still soothed by the sound of my voice, and is instantly comforted when I pick him up and hold him on my chest. I feel an overwhelming sense of relief every time that happens and I'm amazed by that connection we have. We may have spent too much time apart on his birthday, but we shared something pretty incredible that day, and that's what I will chose to remember.

The First Cut is the Deepest

When my nephew was a baby, about 18 months old, he had this strip of hair that was always in his eyes. It drove both of us crazy. So I cut it one night when I was left on my own with him, just that tiny piece at the front. His mother was furious, she'd never cut his hair before, ever. I couldn't see what the big deal was back then, it was 10 years ago, and I thought I had done the kid a favour. The mother in question went on to shave the little guy's head a few months later, which baffled me even more.

But, a few months ago as I stood in front of J, a pair of scissors in my hands and tears in my eyes, I finally got it - that first haircut is a big step. J hardly had any hair for the first 11 months of his life and when it did grow it grew fast and in patches. When it came time to trim the few errant strands that he did have, I was heartbroken and insisted on doing it myself. I kept those few precious locks in a little envelope in his baby album, for no one's sake but my own. Of course, it was a complete hatchet job and we had to take him to a real hairdresser a few days later, but it was important to me that I could say that I had given him his first haircut. We went along to a small salon where they had a ride-on car and TV screens to distract the little ones and we took photos. It was all over in a matter of minutes and he looked like a new kid. Not only that, he looked like a little boy. To me that first haircut was like a rite of passage - it marked the start of toddlerhood. My little boy was no longer a baby. It was also the end of my haircutting days...

J now has quite a bit of hair. It's growing thick and fast and evenly, all over his little head, finally. He's had a couple of haircuts since that first one, and he's hated every minute of it. He thrashes about and cries and clings onto one or both of us. The last one was such a disaster it looks like I did it myself.

Here the local Chinese believe that if you shave a baby's head, he or she will be blessed with thick lustrous locks their whole life. There are a lot of babies getting around with buzz cuts, even little girls, and I find it a little disturbing. The little baldies look like mini prison escapees, or like they've had a nasty head lice infestation. Apart from the whole lifetime of enviable hair thing, there are advantages to taking to the little one's head with the clippers. With his perpetually snotty nose and bad, homestyle 'fro, J's a set of scabbed knees away from looking like no one loves him. At least he's robust and healthy looking, so it's obvious that he's well fed, if not well groomed.

I'm on this topic tonight because we've been delaying another haircut. Part of me wants to let it grow out until it's a mass of unruly blonde locks, but I do like a short back and sides. I'm sure no matter how I cut his hair, at some point J will want to shave his head, or dye it blue or something equally outrageous just to scare his mother, but for now, while I can't stop him from growing up so quickly, I can keep his hair out of his eyes.

What's in A Name - Part Too

It turns out that my first post about the mysteries of names What's in a Name is the most read post on this blog, by a long shot. I guess that proves my point, names are important and a subject of interest and curiosity. I still pay a lot of attention to people's names, and since being in Manila I've encountered a Jelli Ann, Girly, Ace, and a burly security guard by the name of Jasmin. Just when I think I've seen it all, another one pops up and I find myself being greeted by a Fish.

We've recently gotten to know a couple, who live quite close to us, and their son is also a J, just two months older than ours. The irony is that their daughter's name is Grace, which happens to be at the top of the list of girl's names I love for that daughter I don't have any plans to produce anytime soon. It has me wondering about how these people would feel if I gave both my children the same names as their little ones (who I've never met, by the way). I know when I was pregnant I was extremely disappointed that friends named their daughter Zoe, which was top of my list back then. They weren't close friends so it probably wouldn't have been a big deal if we'd had a girl and I named her Zoe (although I would've changed my mind a dozen times by then anyway), but I would've been disappointed that my Zoe wasn't the first. It would no longer have been an original-ish name amongst our group of friends.

We have a lot of friends who have given their children names I love, and I have to wonder if they would be honoured or a little miffed if I happened to "steal" one of these names at some point, a long, long way down the track. The same goes for family members. Could I name my imaginary, unborn daughter Emily knowing there is already an Emily C? I love Amelie but that's taken too. I could live with Emma but apparently that name once belonged to an ex-girlfriend of my beloved and is well and truly off-limits.  Another issue we have is that we have quite a complicated surname, so first names have to be easy to pronounce and preferably short. I may very well need to take on board some of the more creative names I've seen lately.

For those of you possibly wondering why you don't know my name, when you know so much else about me. I stay fairly anonymous on this blog (a bit odd maybe considering that my most prolific readers are my mum and a few friends) because when I started writing my darling husband had visions of thousands of people reading my blog and invading our privacy. He was worried, given how much I reveal about us, that someone with greater internet skills than mine might do something with our personal information. I didn't share his concerns (or his faith in my skills as a writer) but I do agree that cyberspace can be a bit hostile at times, so I keep myself to myself. Ditto goes for photos of us. Those of you that don't know me will have to take my word for it that we all have quite normal names and we're really ridiculously good looking.

Bali Hai!

Well, we're back, and it's about 20 degrees colder in Hong Kong than it was in Denpasar so we're struggling a little. I've just been introduced to a new blog (http://talesofataitai.blogspot.com/) and coincidentally the author was also travelling to Bali this week. She wrote about not blogging for a couple of weeks and confessed that it would feel like she was leaving something behind. I have to admit I felt the same way. I left my laptop at home (which felt like going away without one of my limbs) so I wouldn't be tempted to blog but I was thinking about it all the time; what I was going to write about, clever spins on things, tips I wanted to mention - I'm definitely addicted! Anyway, here's the rundown on our fabulous week in paradise (and a few of the lessons we learned about travelling with a toddler, some of which may be obvious to the rest of you, but we're novices)...

First I have to say that J was brilliant, as I had hoped. The flight down (4.5 hrs plus about 1/2 an hour delay on the ground) was pretty horrendous but he coped so well with the change of scene. He slept well, ate well and didn't make a fuss when we dragged him from one place to the other. Instead he got excited each time we walked out the door or got into a car, taking it in his stride as part of the adventure. We were thrilled and loved watching him loving every minute of it. We have been to Bali three times now and have loved it every time. This time was different, and I think if it's even possible, we now love it even more. I can't describe the feeling I get walking out of the terminal at Ngurah Rai airport and taking a deep breath of that warm, frangipani scented air; I instantly feel lighter. However, before being granted that lightness of being, we had to learn Lesson Number One: When travelling with a toddler, it pays to buy your visas in advance. Even though an immigration guy helped us out, the whole visa process still took almost an hour. Not a welcome delay when you've had to contain a toddler on an aircraft for 4.5 hours already.

We had booked two nights in Nusa Dua at the low-budget, but very nice, Matahari Terbit Bungalows (the website doesn't do it justice...http://www.matahariterbitbali.com/). 

We took a gamble, based on reviews on Trip Advisor, and fortunately it paid off. The rooms were huge, comfortable and clean, and being a small resort, there weren't too many other guests. We had the pool to ourselves (at the very unsocial hour of 8am) every morning, and the beach was ours too. The staff were amazing and would swoop in whenever we were eating and take J for a walk around the grounds or into the kitchen. Lesson Number Two: The Balinese LOVE children! Take advantage of this and let them be your pseudo-babysitters if you have any hope of eating a meal in relative peace. 

The weeks leading up to the trip were pretty hectic so we were pretty exhausted and very ready to unwind. We reverted to the old "sleep when the baby sleeps," napping during the day and crashing for the night at 8pm. We did still try to take advantage of our surroundings and the perfect weather, and one of the highlights of the trip was taking J for his first ever swim in the sea. We stayed in the water for so long that he fell asleep in my arms, lulled by the gentle waves. A gorgeous, unforgettable afternoon.

We also put J's tastebuds to the test on this trip. Lately he's been more keen to eat what we're eating so I've stopped cooking separate meals for him. Travelling proved a challenge and we struggled to find suitable meals at times. To his credit, he was willing to try everything we put in front of him, including fish and chips, sate, nasi goreng, noodles and all sorts of unusual fruits and vegetables (and stuff like ice cream and pringles that I would never feed him at home!). There were nights, however, when he wouldn't eat anything other than a safely packaged bowl of pre-made pureed vegies. Supermarkets were hard to come by and in Nusa Dua we had to rely on the UHT milk from the local Circle K, and the hotel's daily fruit basket for J's banana supply. Herein lies Lesson Number Three: No matter how confident you are that your child is a good eater, don't assume that he will be as willing as you are to indulge in the local cuisine: always take food with you!

After two blissful nights we travelled on to Ubud. We booked our accommodation on short notice so there wasn't much in our price range available. Luckily (again thanks to Trip Advisor) we came across the Warwick Ibah Luxury Villas and Spa. I hesitated when I read reviews from couples who had honeymooned there and wondered if we'd be kicked out for bringing a toddler into such a place but I needn't have worried. We were upgraded from a suite to a self-contained villa, and once again the staff could not have been more helpful. The villa was private and secluded, ensuring we didn't bother any unsuspecting honeymooners, but it wasn't so luxurious that we felt out of place with a child (we just wish we'd discovered it before we had a baby!). 

The Balinese massage at the spa was well worth the trip and the staff in the restaurant made such a fuss of J that we felt like we were amongst family. We ate out at one of our favourite restaurants in Ubud on our first night and even managed a lychee martini (heaven in a glass), but J was looking for what we came to call his "backstage pass" and wouldn't settle until one of the waitresses took him to the kitchen. Lesson Number Four: A hungry, tired toddler does not equate to a relaxing night out. The rest of the time we got takeaway or ordered room service and made the most of the outdoor dining area in our villa, when J was already in bed. J ate before us, strapped into his portable highchair, with his Wiggles DVD playing on the laptop. Taking that along was a decision we did not regret once!

When we did venture out with the little guy he surprised us by dancing along to the traditional Balinese gamelan playing in many places. He also developed a penchant for mocktails and fruity juices. Whenever D or I ordered one he'd practically leap from the table shouting "Ta! Ta!" and pointing hysterically at the glass. Poor guy looked like he'd been deprived of drink for days! At least it ensured that we stayed alcohol free for most of the trip...

Apart from missing a nightly mojito on the beach, we also failed to do anything remotely cultural. No temples, no traditional dancing, not even a minute spent running away from monkeys. We were glad we'd already been to Bali and done all that because we would not have had much fun if we'd gone along expecting a cultural tour of Ubud. J is notoriously restless (and a little boisterous), and he doesn't cope well being out in the heat. So we figured, rightly so, that we'd all have more fun in the pool. Lesson Number Five: On your first holiday with a toddler, visit somewhere you've already been so you don't feel the urge to explore every inch of the local area (unless your child has been backpacking since birth...)

One of our days in Ubud we hiked along the Tjampuhan Ridge as far as we could go with a 12kg sleeping baby; our Ergo proving invaluable once again. He woke as we were enjoying an iced tea overlooking some rice paddies at the top of the ridge. It was about as close to a sightseeing trip as we got on this holiday.

I did sneak out on my own one morning to the local market, just to feel like I'd "gotten in amongst it" just a little. My husband compensated for the lack of culture by engaging everyone he met in a conversation. A lot of people approached us and asked about J, how old he was etc, so D turned the tables and asked them about their kids, where they were from, how far they travelled to work. He had some really interesting exchanges with local Balinese people and found this more rewarding than any of the usual tourist traps.

For most of the time we lay by the pool, napped, chased J around the villa, ate copious quantities of mie goreng, and I even managed to read a book, a whole book! It all sounds idyllic, and truth be told, it was, but we did learn one other thing; travel takes on a whole new dimension when you have a baby. We'd been to Bali twice before but visiting the country for the first time with J we saw a different side to the place. It was still one of the best holidays I've ever had but when we arrived at Hong Kong airport at the end of it my husband and I turned to each other and asked "so how was your holiday?" We took it in turns to look after the little guy and didn't get a whole lot of time together; it really felt like we had separate holidays! We have a lot of photos of J and I, and a lot of photos of D and J, but not a single one of the three of us together. I guess if that's the only complaint I have, I'm not doing too bad. Bali is an awesome place and the people are incredibly warm and genuine, and we can't wait to go back.

PS: Regular readers will notice I've changed the look of the blog yet again. I'm having a hard time finding a background that fits, much like shopping for clothes in HK! So I've gone with lanterns in honour of Chinese New Year. Part of my attempt to accept that I do in fact live here...

I ♥ HK

Ok, as promised here are my top ten things I like a lot about this city:

1. Diversity: Hong Kong is truly the most multicultural city I have ever lived in. I definitely think assumptions are made about certain nationalities, or groups of people, based on stereotypes, but I've never witnessed or experienced outright racism (which can be rampant in Australia sadly). Our group of friends here includes people from Canada, South Africa, India, Europe, Indonesia, Sweden, Japan, New Zealand, just to name a few. One of my favourite things about teaching here was seeing kids from so many different backgrounds working and playing together, and I love that my son will grow up being exposed to such different cultures and ideas.

2. Contrasts: Despite being a very modern, metropolitan city, there is another side to this place that not many people expect to see. We live on South Lantau island, 25 minutes by ferry from Hong Kong proper. I guess it's what's considered a rural idyll by local standards. We live across the street from the beach and on the other side of us are two large peaks covered in hiking trails and untameable wilderness. Every day a herd of cattle makes their way down the road to feed, and there is a water buffalo habitat 5 minutes from here. It's so refreshing after a manic day in the city to come home and have to stop the car to let an impressively massive buffalo pass. The Lantau Bovine Association have the tough job of making sure these gorgeous creatures are treated well and that they receive veterinary care when necessary. You can find them on Facebook if you want to know more. Another contrast I love is the difference between the summer and winter here. Winter is cold and everything dies off, then suddenly, around April, with a little bit of rain it all bursts into life again. When the jungle's in full bloom it makes me wonder how anyone ever thought that building a city in amongst all that wilderness was a good idea.

3. Shopping: Like a lot of things here, I have a love-hate relationship with shopping. You really have to be organised and in the right frame of mind. I find impulse buying a lot easier because I tend to be disappointed if I go out with a plan. Shopping does seem to be a national pasttime and you can buy just about anything from just about anywhere. I've been introduced to so many new brands, of clothes, accessories, household products, food, that are now my staples and I will genuinely miss them when I leave HK. Whether you're shopping on the street, in a mall, at the markets, the crowds can be overwhelming and I sometimes feel like I'm sitting in a car at an intersection trying to merge onto a busy highway; you just have to close your eyes, move forward and let the traffic take you with it. When you do manage to snag some bargains and make it home unscathed, it's all worth it!

4. Proximity to the rest of the world: Having lived in Australia for 28 years it's great to live somewhere that's so close to everywhere else. I travelled to Europe when I was 20 and it took me two days just to get to London. My return journey from Dublin took 3 days, involved a car ride, ferry, train, bus and 4 flights, and I still had to spend 6 hours asleep in a transit lounge in Osaka. Here I can get on a plane after breakfast and arrive anywhere in Europe/Africa/America/Asia in the same day! We once went skiing in California, for a weekend! Admittedly that was a little extravagant but definitely do-able. The travel is one of the main reasons why we're here, and we can't wait to show J the world that lies just beyond our doorstep.

5. Opportunity: We came here because the company my husband works for offered a package that was too good to refuse. In Sydney we were living simply but still beyond our means. We couldn't sustain the kind of lifestyle we had and move ahead financially. Hong Kong offered us the chance to pay off our debts, buy our own home and still have a life. We're not exactly wealthy but we're comfortable. I've met a lot of people here who have been offered opportunities that they wouldn't otherwise have had if they'd stayed in their home countries. Many have started businesses and are succeeding at things they only dreamt about doing before. There's a feeling here that you can do anything you want to, and I'm finally starting to feel that all the sacrifices, everything we gave up to come here, have been worth it.

6. Blue sky days: I hate the pollution here. I've said it before but I'll say it again, it's the one thing that will make me leave one day. If it's possible to get SAD (seasonal affective disorder) from too much smog, that's how I feel about it. Over the summer we were treated to a long stretch of good weather and clear skies and we saw how spectacular the city could look. It is a gorgeous part of the world, when you can see it.

7. Xiao Long Bao: Chinese pulled noodles in a clear soup with pork won tons (from Crystal Jade, IFC) is on my list of top ten favourite dishes. It's even better when you get seated at a round table with a dozen other single diners all eating an array of mouth watering dishes, expertly wielding their chopsticks and cups of jasmine tea. I have bemoaned the lack of good quality fresh produce here but the abundance of amazing regional specialities is a definite plus.

8. Cleanliness: I've seen people pick their noses, floss their teeth and cut their nails in public here and the throat clearing is just stomach churning! But, it's one of the cleanest cities I've ever been to. Since SARS there has been a massive public education campaign to encourage people to "use cough manners" and keep the streets clean. Public areas are regularly sanitised and disinfected and it's rare to see litter on the streets. There's a silent army of workers out there every day cleaning, gardening, maintaining public areas and doing a damn fine job of keeping the city shiny and hygienic. At the height of swine flu last year we went back to Melbourne. On arriving at the airport I was horrified by the state of the place. The floors were dirty, the bins were overflowing and there was not a cleaner in sight. It really opened my eyes to how clean HK really is.

9. Safety: I feel very safe here. I went out last night and caught a late train home, and at no point did I feel a need to stay in well-lit areas or look over my shoulder. Crime rates are very low and minor crimes like bag-snatching and muggings are rare. People here are just far too honest to consider breaking the law or hurting someone. I really like feeling so secure, it should be that way everywhere. The public transport is also safe and clean. The trains make Sydney's transport system look like something out of the dark ages.

10. The people: The local culture is so very different to our own. The education system has a very different focus and creates a unique mindset which can be infuriating to Westerners. There's a lot that's difficult to understand and there are days when it's impossible to achieve anything because what you're asking is just too hard to explain. En masse, the local people are simply very different to us. I could go on, in detail, but I'm trying to be diplomatic and positive. Despite the obstacles, when you get to speak to someone one-on-one and really get to know them, you find a race of people who are funny, hard working, intelligent, quirky and kind. They have a deep respect for their culture and family, which is at the core of everything they do. They are a full of contrasts, preferring to "save face" rather than risk a confrontation, while at the same time not really caring what anyone else thinks. There's a good reason why China is such a powerhouse and it has so much to do with their work ethics and values. It's a truly fascinating culture, filled with equally fascinating subcultures. I could live here another 20 years and still not fully understand what it is that makes the local people tick, but I would really enjoy trying to figure it out.

So there you have it. I'd love to hear from you if you have something to add to this list. Have a great week everyone!

Hong Kong - A Survival Guide

Firstly, I have to mention the changes I've made to the appearance of the blog. I spend so much time looking at the page that I was starting to get a little bored. I discovered some fantastic backgrounds and was inspired to make a few changes, it's a bit like getting a new haircut. I hope you like what I've done and I'd love to hear what you think.

Secondly, I've realised that I've been on my soapbox a bit lately, and I'm probably starting to sound like I don't like Hong Kong all that much. It's true, I struggle from time to time, and I'm intensely homesick as Christmas looms but there are a lot of things I love about this place we now call home. I've decided to write a 2 part series on life in HK. Today's post will be a guide to the top 10 things you need as a parent living in this city. Stay tuned for a post later in the week where I'll give my top 10 things I love about HK. For today, the things you need to survive parenthood in Hong Kong:

1. A decent stroller. Most people I know, including us, own two. One for jogging or going for walks close to home, the other for trips out and about. We recently bought a Maclaren Quest: without a doubt THE best purchase we have made for J. It's light, zippy, easy to fold and comfortable. It reclines nicely for sleeping and has a basket for shopping underneath. It's also so small and light that most cab drivers will let you put it in the backseat beside you instead of in the boot (trunk). There are a vast number of similar light-weight strollers available in places like Bumps to Babes, Mothercare, Eugene Club and Toys R' Us, but they are more expensive here than anywhere else. Check out www.maclarenbaby.com/

2. In a similar vein, a good carrier is also a must. Public transport is not all that convenient when you're using a stroller so it's worth investing in a carrier of some kind. We have an Ergo, which J and my husband love, and it can be used until he weighs around 15kgs. I find it a bit hard on my back and prefer a Baby Bjorn style carrier but they're apparently not great for growing spines. Whatever you prefer, a carrier is an essential piece of equipment. www.ergobabycarrier.com/

3. Information: You need to know what to do, where to go, how to find whatever it is you need and who can help you, especially when you're new to HK. There are a few expat websites/forums out there and I have found them invaluable. AsiaXpat is great for buying and selling second-hand goods while GeoBaby is a great source of info on all things pregnancy and baby related. Check out: http://www.hongkong.asiaxpat.com or http://www.geobaby.com. My favourite website for HK specific parenting tips is (as I've mentioned before) Little Steps: www.littlestepshongkong.com/

4. A coffee machine is also a must if you like your caffeine and you're fussy about how it's delivered. There are some great places to get a decent coffee here but they are few and far between. Pacific Coffee shops are everywhere, and while I'd rate them higher than Starbucks, they're not for the true coffee connoisseur. I like Simply Life in IFC (although it does depend on who's working on the day), LGB (various locations), and Habitu (also a few of them around) for coffee out and about. Otherwise we rely on our Nespresso. I've just done some research on whether or not they use Fairtrade coffee and was pretty appalled by what I discovered. If you're interested in being an informed consumer let me know and I'll pass some info on. If you'd rather just drink a great cup of coffee at home every day you won't regret welcoming a coffee machine, Nespresso or otherwise, into your home: This is one appliance that won't end up in the back of the pantry gathering dust.

5. A Domestic Helper. I have mentioned some of the challenges associated with becoming an employer of a domestic helper in previous posts, but ours is really a member of our family for better or worse. She has made life here much easier given the lack of family around us. Being able to hire someone to look after the housework so I can get on with the job of looking after my son is one of the biggest perks of living in HK. 

6. A good quality, well-stocked nappy bag. We have one from gr8x that opens out to a change mat. (http://gr8x.net/) I find it a bit bulky and there isn't much room for carrying the things I need, like a purse, phone etc so I end up carrying two bags. But, it is great on flights and when you're out trying to use those cold, hard change tables in shopping centres. I also have a small bag that has everything in it for short trips. Things that I always carry with me in HK (apart from the usual nappies, wipes, food etc) are a jacket or muslin cloth to cover your little one indoors (HK air-conditioning can be very chilly even in the middle of summer), clips or cords that attach to dummies/soothers and toys so you don't have to keep picking them up off the floor, and antiseptic, no-rinse hand sanitiser. 

7. A great GP or access to a baby clinic. There are vast differences in the quality of healthcare in clinics across HK. Public clinics are generally free and can be fine, but the doctors, in my opinion, tend to overreact and overprescribe. We see a private GP here and most things are 100% covered by our health insurance (except vaccinations unfortunately). She has known J since birth and it is so reassuring knowing that she knows his complete medical history every time we see her. I had a terrifying experience at my one and only trip to a public clinic with J and won't risk it again. Baby clinics are also a great way to keep an eye on your little one's progress, talk to professionals, and meet other mums. A number of medical centres run them on a weekly basis and there's also a clinic, among many other things, at Annerley (http://www.annerley.com.hk/). 

8. Playgroups/playdates: To be honest I'm not sure what it's like for those living on HK island or Kowloon-side but here on Lantau there's really no such thing as taking the kids to the park. There's the beach (if you don't mind dead fish and buffalo poo) and a couple of small play areas, but the only way to allow your little ones to really let off steam is to take them to organised playgroups. I've already mentioned the playgroups we take J to but there are a few other specialised play centres in HK that are worth a mention. Two that have been recommended are Playtown in Pok Fu Lam (www.playtown.com.hk), and Roly Pollies in Causeway Bay (www.rolypollies.com.hk). There are also many others around that offer play time in English and Mandarin if you're keen to encourage bilingualism from a young age. I would love to hear from anyone who knows of other places, especially those closer to South Lantau.

And finally 9 and 10: Patience and a sense of humour. Most people here are polite and some can be really quite helpful. But there are others who will push past you, bumping the stroller to get through an open door before it closes. Some days I feel like people are being deliberately unhelpful and others I feel completely invisible. Accepting these things as part of life in a city that has 7 million people crammed into a relatively small area will help you avoid getting too stressed about it. I also find it helps to leave yourself plenty of time to do anything, especially when you're out with a little one. I'm a huge fan of going out on days when I don't actually need to do anything, when we can just wander around and watch the hustle and bustle, and truly appreciate this fairly unique and fascinating place. 

Married to the Job

Friends might remember me having a rant a few months ago when my employment status was altered on an application form. I had listed my occupation as "stay at home mum" and the person taking my form crossed it out and wrote "housewife." I had a similar experience recently when applying for a library card. I had the option of ticking a number of boxes in the employment section of the form and the only category that applied to me was again, "housewife." I could've lied on either of these forms and declared myself to be a professor of physics or a self-employed entrepreneur because it's really nobody's business what I do with my time. But I do like to be honest on official documents, especially as we are living very close to the PRC, and you never know who's paying attention.

I strenuously object to being labelled a "housewife" and I apologise if any of you out there wear that term with pride. I mean no offence, I just feel that it's a very outdated term. It instantly evokes images of 1950's wives greeting their husbands with slippers and the day's papers, keeping the kids busy while hoovering and cooking three-course gourmet meals every night. The term itself implies that we're tied to the house in some way, that rather than being a conscious decision, staying at home is our "ball and chain." I'd like to believe that our mothers and grandmothers burnt their bras in the 70's so that staying at home could be a choice for women today. I think it bothers me so much here in Hong Kong because a number of their laws and rules in relation to marriage and family are quite archaic, so it stands to reason that their definition of a housewife is as outdated as mine. There is no recognition of any relationship outside of a marriage between a man and a woman. There is no such thing as de facto status, let alone acknowledgement of a gay marriage. If an expat man is working in Hong Kong, his partner is not eligible for a "dependent" visa unless they get married or she finds an employer to sponsor her. I also object to being labelled a "dependent" but that's another story. We have also had friends here who have had to prove they were married before undergoing fertility treatment. It seems you're not entitled to start a family unless you're officially husband and wife. I might feel differently about being called a housewife in a country with more liberal views, but the limitations placed on what constitutes a family here has me on the warpath.

My husband told me recently that he thinks the only women who don't like the term are housewives themselves. He also suggested that I come up with another, more corporate sounding term, like "Manager of Domestic Affairs." He wasn't taking me seriously at the time, but I do quite like the sound of that. I can't imagine how well that would go down with the bank manager or the immigration office in HK, but it does sound infinitely more important than "housewife," and is probably a much more accurate reflection on what it is we stay-at-home mums actually do. We're not just mums; we're nurses, pharmacists, cleaners, managers, taxi drivers, chefs, teachers, entertainers, diplomats, and jugglers. We work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, without holidays or annual bonuses. I don't know many CEO's that work under those conditions.

Since becoming a parent I definitely feel as if I'm managing the household and I have become a lot more organised. I have a calendar on the fridge which outlines every member of the household's movements for the whole month; playgroup, work, doctor's appointments, social engagements, everything is on there. Partly because I have a tendency to forget things if I don't write them down, but also because we're so very busy these days. I may not do the housework myself every day but I do make sure that someone does it, and that it's done to my high standards. And I do it myself on weekends. I also do the grocery shopping, plan meals for the three of us and make sure that we all have clothes to wear, as well as buying all of J's nappies and our cleaning products online. I know where my husband will be and when he is working, even when he doesn't. I have J's routine down to a fine art and I organise 99% of our get-togethers with friends. If I left that job to my husband we wouldn't have any friends!

I'm aware that I may sound like I'm running a small dictatorship, but I'm sure the parents among you completely understand. I do take my role as "Manager of Domestic Affairs" very seriously but only because I enjoy it so much. If I wasn't so organised and engaged I'm afraid I might be bored at home all day. As it is, I love what I do. J is teething at the moment and hasn't been sleeping well at all. He woke up crying several times last night, and even though there were times when my husband got up to him, the only thing that calmed him down was a cuddle with his Mummy. Despite the sleep deprivation, there was nothing else I would rather do, and I don't think there's a label big enough for that kind of commitment.

What's in a Name?

It's not uncommon here, in Hong Kong and other parts of Asia, for people to choose a more "western" sounding name for themselves. Some try and find a name or word that closely resembles their actual name, like Chun might choose John, or Mei Lin might be Merilyn. Others often choose names that aren't all that common these days, like Doris, Albert or Kelvin. Then there are a few people who obviously put a lot of thought into the meaning behind the name they choose, and instead use actual words from the English language. In the recent past I have met, or heard of the following names: Rainbeau, Twinkle, Sugar, Suspense, Ice, Dolphin, Pop, Zenith, and Sunshine. Celebrities have been using unusual names for years (Apple, anyone?) but I have to admit that I do have a giggle when Breeze asks me to fasten my seatbelt, or when Diamond takes my coffee order. I've been thinking about it a lot lately and even though some of these names may seem strange to us, I think we put just as much thought into the names we choose for our children.

I had my son's name chosen before I was even pregnant. I actually based it on a character from one of our all-time favourite TV shows. I know it sounds a bit corny but West Wing fans will understand. The character was a really good guy and I liked the way the name sounded. Our son's middle name was always going to be my maiden name and we loved the way the two names went together. As a teacher I found choosing names quite difficult. There was always some child who I thought of when a name was mentioned. There were quite a few names I was opposed to purely because I'd met one or two naughty children with those names. I also realised that I almost always had preconceived notions about a child based on their name. A Cosmo was bound to have a very different upbringing to a Christopher, and I anticipated different behaviours from both. Sometimes I was pleasantly surprised but not always. J's name was one of the few that I had no association with, I only knew nice kids with that particular name. I also wanted a name that would suit both a child and an adult, one that couldn't be used to tease him later on, and one that wasn't so common that there would be 5 others with the same name in his class at school.

Even though I had my heart set on this particular name, my husband and I still spent hours poring over baby name books, just in case our baby came out and he didn't look like a J, or if he was, in fact, a she. We always said names out loud with the middle name and surname; we called it the Prime Minister/President test. If it didn't sound like the name of a future leader, it was dismissed. I had a really hard time finding an appropriate girl's name that I loved as much as I loved the name I chose for J, so we were lucky in the end that we had a boy, because a daughter may have remained nameless for a few weeks while we debated over the endless number of ways to spell Katelyn/Caitlin.

We've known people who have the name of their child picked out months, even years, in advance like us. While I was pregnant I had a lot of people ask what names I had picked out but I was always very reluctant to share with some friends. Not because I was worried about them "stealing" the name but because most people are quite honest when it comes to their opinions on names. I mentioned a few potential names to some and was met with responses like, "Oh, I really don't like that name," or "I once knew a girl called ... and she was a complete b@#%h." One friend accused me of being a bit precious about it, and didn't think it was that big a deal ("people have babies every day!") but I knew it would always bother me if I gave my child a certain name knowing that friends or family members hated it. I decided it was better to wait until it was too late for them to comment. After the baby was born they would have to lie and say they loved it, right?

Whether you're a Prince or a Peter, Mary or Mermaid, the name you have reflects who you are, and most of the time, a lot of thought has gone into it. In a way I like the idea of choosing a name that reflects a quality or even an object that you admire. Who wouldn't love a Hope or a Faith? I have no plans to name any of my future children after precious gems or confectionary, but I'm keeping an open mind.

P.S. 16/4/10 - I recently learned, thanks to a young man named Promise, that some names that might seem unusual to us, are simply the English translation of a Chinese name. The meaning and thought behind it are the same, and that makes me like these wonderful names all the more.

It's Not Me, It's You

I'm ashamed to admit it but I cheated this week, and it was good. I've been seeing a physiotherapist, G, for lower back pain for a couple of months now, but after a visit last week that did nothing for me, I decided it may be time for a change. This left me wondering, how can one affect this change without feeling the guilt of betrayal? I called to make one last appointment with G, to give it one more shot, but the day I was hoping to book turned out to be G's day off. Serendipity had smiled upon me! I had no choice but to make an appointment with someone else. I was able to make the break I had been contemplating, safe in the knowledge that I wasn't going to get caught. I went along yesterday, relieved to know that G wouldn't see me waiting to be treated by someone else. Any doubts about my indiscretion were quickly brushed aside as J massaged and stretched my aching back with expert hands. I came out of there feeling better than I had in months.

I'm no expert when it comes to physio, but I know enough to know that it's a physically demanding profession that can often require some pretty serious manipulation and massage. I'm not sure if it's a cultural thing but G is Chinese and was very conservative when it came to remedial massage in more sensitive areas. In the half a dozen times that I saw G, she would only ever touch me between the waistband of my shorts and my shoulder blades, which was a problem given that the pain was in my pelvis and hamstrings. Now I have to work out how I can schedule all of my appointments with J on days when G isn't in. I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I can't bring myself to explain that it just wasn't working out.

I know for a fact that it's not just me; I have spoken to friends who have had similar reservations about trying someone new. I witnessed a genuinely awkward moment at the doctor's last week. While I was sitting in the waiting room, one of the GPs came out and started chatting to the woman waiting next to me. It was obvious they knew each other well, and the woman seemed almost embarrassed when she admitted that she was there to see another GP. She hurriedly made an excuse, "I'm just getting a flu shot, it's nothing, I didn't want to bother you with it, you're so busy."  She was obviously feeling the same "cheater's remorse" that I'm trying to avoid. It's not just healthcare professionals either; cheating on your hairdresser can cause all sorts of grief and guilt as well. It's especially difficult when your new "expert" is in the same practice or salon as the old one. I used to see a hairdresser here in HK who was recommended by a friend (another potential minefield!), but after several cuts and no "wow" factor I decided I couldn't keep spending the money (he was really expensive!). One day I decided to try one of the lower-ranked stylists at the same salon. The new guy was cheaper and better, and I still go there, but only on the days I know the first guy isn't in.

Why is it that we can't just admit to our service providers that we're no longer happy with their services? They are professionals after all, surely they can take the criticism. Perhaps they might even take note and make an effort to improve what they're providing. Do we sneak around, afraid of stepping on toes and hurting feelings out of our own sense of guilt? Or is it that we're hoping that if things don't work out with the new person, we can just slip right back in where we left off without any awkwardness? I've decided that whether it's my health or my hair, I'm not going to settle for anything less than the best, but only on Mondays.

For Everything there is a Season

This week marked the start of the relatively short period of cooler weather here. There are really only two seasons here; the wet (hot) and dry (cold). The temperature starts to rise around April and stays hot until October. There's generally very little warning that it's about to get cooler, and after such a long period of warmth it comes as a bit of a surprise, albeit a pleasant one. People who haven't been here before are generally surprised to hear that we do have a winter here. We were surprised ourselves when our first winter here turned out to be the coldest in 50 years, with massive snowstorms north of the border taking the temperature below 10 degrees (50F) for most of January.

One of the things I miss about living in Australia is the very definite change in the seasons. Autumn was always my favourite time of year and I love being in places that do all four seasons in style. I was fortunate enough to be in New York this time two years ago, and the "fall" was simply spectacular. Walking through Central Park on a crisp morning surrounded by trees in gorgeous shades of red, orange and yellow, was my idea of heaven. We don't have anything like that in Hong Kong, everything just dies and turns brown. It can be quite depressing. However, I do have to admit that the start of summer is pretty amazing here. After just a few days of rain the jungle that the city was built around comes to life and the islands, especially Lantau, are suddenly green again.

Regardless of the lack of a proper autumn, the weather is still cooler at the moment (by cooler I mean 27 (80F) deg instead of 34 (93F). I was in town on Monday and there were actually people walking around with jackets and scarves on, which I thought was a bit extreme but we are talking about a city where people wear jeans year-round. It's one of those things about this city that still baffles me. In fact there are a lot of things that still baffle me, and there are a number of adjustments to life here that I have yet to make after three years of living here.  These little things remind me on a daily basis that I'm a very long way from home.

Despite the fact that it rains for a fair part of the year here, I still haven't gotten into the habit of carrying an umbrella with me all the time. Last week I went into Central with a couple of girlfriends for a night out. As we were all meeting up, very early in the evening, it started to pour, and not one of us had an umbrella. It had looked like it was going to rain during the day so it shouldn't have come as a surprise to me, but it didn't even occur to me to pack a brolly. I guess I was just so excited to be wearing make-up and heels! The same goes for carrying a cardigan or scarf. The air-conditioning in shops and on public transport is set to about 15 degrees (59F) all year round and it can be freezing. Most of the locals are prepared and have something to throw over their shoulders with them all the time, but I always forget. When I'm sitting on the ferry shivering away it's a mistake I always regret making. At this time of year when the temperature is dropping slowly it's always so much colder inside than you expect it to be. I'm sure it's a deliberate move on the part of the retailers to encourage shoppers to buy the ridiculously oversized, and completely unnecessary in this climate, cardigans, sweaters and coats that are on sale from July - the hottest month of the year.

Another aspect of daily life here that I haven't gotten used to is the hours people keep. Every day of the week shops open at 10 or 11am. We are often out and about earlier than that and I always plan to pop in to a few places and get things done nice and early, but it's simply not possible. Yesterday morning we went in to Central to take J to the osteopath and I planned to do some shopping as well. It wasn't until we were wandering around a deserted IFC mall that I remembered nothing would be open for at least another hour. A few weeks ago we caught up with friends for breakfast at one of our favourite cafes in Central, and learned that they don't actually start serving breakfast until 11am. A place with that kind of policy wouldn't stay open a week in Sydney! The upside to it all is that places stay open late and if you happen to be out and about at 10pm and need a new cardigan there'll be plenty of options for you.

There are many other cultural differences and annoyances (like the bank being closed on a Wednesday!?!) but this blog was never meant to be a forum for my gripes and grievances so I'll save them for another day. For now I'm going to enjoy the fact that the cooler weather makes it much more pleasant to leave the house, and get ready to take my little man to playgroup. And I'll be sure to pack a sweater for both of us and an umbrella, just in case.

Let Me Entertain You

* I've lost a few readers since I posted this last week, so I'm going to apologise in advance to anyone reading it for the first time. I know a lot of parents and kids out there love "In the Night Garden," and if that's you, I'm glad you've found something that makes your children happy. I'm frustrated over the lack of good TV shows for babies and toddlers and that is what was behind this post. Please don't take offence and forgive me for coming across as a bit of a know-it-all, I'm not like that normally!

I always swore I'd be one of those mothers who don't let their kids watch television. Obviously that was before I had children... Apart from a fascination with American Idol at a very early age, J was never interested in TV until recently. His older cousin is hooked on it and when we visited them a few months ago J was always trying to divert her attention away from Playschool so she could play with him. I was partly pleased that he wasn't interested but also mildly disappointed that I wouldn't have another babysitter. I shouldn't have worried because that's all changed in the last few weeks. We have a DVD called "I Like to Sing" by an Australian kids entertainer, Justine Clarke. It's upbeat, fun and partly animated, and J is just transfixed by the singing and dancing.

One night a couple of weeks ago I made the mistake of putting it on when J was steadfastly refusing to eat his dinner. Since then it has become increasingly difficult to feed him without the effervescent presence of Justine and her gang. As soon as we put him in his highchair he turns to the TV expectantly. Some days we manage to get in breakfast and lunch without turning the TV on, but by dinnertime J is ready to be entertained, no matter how appetising the meal or how hungry he is. We've tried toys and tricks, like giving him his own bowl and spoon to play with, but the only thing that will get him to open his little mouth is Justine. To save our sanity I've ordered another of her DVDs and two by the Wiggles, hoping for at least a little bit of variety at mealtimes.

I've not had much exposure to children's programmes in the past, so I was surprised when we started watching the dedicated children's channels on cable TV here. Unable to form sentences at 6am, let alone entertain J over breakfast, I generally switch on the BBC's children's channel: CBeebies. Some of the shows are quite clever and funny, even for mums and dads. We love Andy Pandy for the cute storylines and the ironic tone of the narration. Humf and Little Robots are sweet and always have a nice moral for the kiddies. Mister Maker is colourful enough to appeal to children as young as J and the ideas are clever enough that older kids love it too, and it's different every day so parents don't get bored. Then there are shows like In the Night Garden that can only have been written by someone who's had too much cough medicine. There's something about it that appeals to children on a cellular level. J just has to hear the opening tune and he stops in his tracks. We don't watch it in our house out of principle. I don't want my son thinking it's ok to ride around washing other people's faces, a la Macca Pacca, or skipping along repeating your own name over and over, like Upsy Daisy. I have similar feelings about the inanity of the Teletubbies and Waybuloo.

At the risk of sounding like a smarty pants, I have issues with shows that oversimplify language and talk down to children. As a teacher I've done a lot of research into language development and it's a fact that babies learn to communicate more efficiently when they are exposed to normal, everyday ways of using language. Talking in "baby talk" serves no purpose at all. They understand what we're saying much earlier than they're able to talk back, and the best way to ensure that they do talk back is to model how and what to say. Obviously when you talk to babies you change your tone and repeat yourself more often than you would normally, but "dumbing down" what you say to them can negatively impact on things like speech, comprehension and vocabulary development. So until my son's verbal enough to argue with me, I'll be in charge of the remote control. Yes, I'm going to be one of THOSE mothers...

I'm No Dummy!

For the purposes of this post I'm going to refer to dummies, also known to some of you as soothers or pacifiers. A conversation with my helper this week got me thinking about our dependence on a very small but necessary piece of rubber, and whether or not it's time to wean ourselves off it. J only uses a dummy to go to sleep. I've been very careful about not giving it to him to suck away when he's not tired. In the early days we started using one because he liked to fall asleep during or immediately after a feed and I needed my nipples back. We use a natural rubber dummy that's all one piece, so there's nowhere for germs to hang out. It's also eco-friendly, orthodontic and virtually indestructible. It's quite odd looking and brown, and we get a lot of comments about it. I once left J with friends for a few hours and they had a good laugh about it. They had heard that babies prefer dummies that most resemble their mother's nipples and they imagined that I must have breasts like a big African Mama (could not be further from the truth in case you were wondering!).

We've tried other dummies but J refuses to use any other kind. This is a problem at times because the ones we use are not available everywhere. We have to buy them from our GP's office in Discovery Bay. We had a shortage a couple of months ago and we only had two in the house. One night I was on my own with J and he happened to lose both of them somewhere in his room. I was frantically rummaging through cupboards at 3am while he cried his heart out, trying desperately to find something I could stick in his mouth. In the end my finger was the only thing that soothed him and the next morning I found both dummies tucked up between the mattress and the mosquito net. I also made a trip to DB that day and stocked up. I now keep at least 2 spare in the bedroom.

I had a friend complain one day that her boys would lose them in the night and she'd have to get up to put them back in. I was glad that J wasn't that dependent on his and smiled smugly. Then we went to Australia and he woke every hour and cried until I got up and put the dummy back in. Serves me right, I hear you say. He's now very good at finding it in his cot and putting it back in himself, but I'm beginning to worry that he can't sleep without it.

I have noticed that not many of the local children use them, and I have a few friends who are very anti-dummy. We were advised not to use one until we had breastfeeding sorted out, to avoid "nipple confusion". Within a few days of being born J was on a combination of breast and bottle so I didn't think one more nipple would make any difference, and we didn't have a problem. I've not given it much thought since then, until now. Last week my helper was telling me her niece, who is about 3 weeks older than J, never needed one to sleep. She started talking about how J really likes his, and implied that maybe it was time to let it go. I got quite defensive and made the point that he only has it to sleep so it's not a problem. That was the end of the conversation but I haven't stopped thinking about it. I don't think my son is addicted to his dummy, I think I am. It's so easy to pop it in his mouth when he's a bit tired and cranky, and to be honest I have no idea how I'd go about getting him to sleep without one.

A few months ago while we were checking into a hotel, a family walked in with 3 children aged about 2, 4 and 6, and all 3 of them had dummies in their mouths. I was pretty shocked but I can see how easily it could happen. I'd like to to wean J off his before it becomes too hard but I haven't worked out how. My grandmother likes to tell the now infamous story of how I came to lose my dummy. She hates the things and was looking after me one day when I was about 2 years old. My dummy happened to fall out of my mouth and into the toilet. She very quickly flushed it away and told me the baby fish had it now. I'm told I was pretty satisfied with this response and didn't ask for a dummy again. Perhaps I need to wait until J is old enough to buy a story like that and then try. Until then, I'm going to enjoy the peaceful sleep it brings.

The God Debate

When I first started this blog I had a dozen different ideas for posts and I’ve been working my way through them based on what’s happening from one day to the next. I’ve been sitting on this one for a while because it’s potentially a bit controversial, nowhere more so than in my own living room. It also might be a bit heavy for a Friday afternoon but it’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately so for today it’s important for me to talk about it. My husband won’t want me to share this (I may be forced to retract it later on so read quickly!) but he considers himself an atheist. I was christened a Catholic and went to a Catholic school but really the only thing from those days I still practice is the guilt. I’m not sure I believe in God but I’m not a non-believer either. I wouldn’t say we argue about our different beliefs but we don’t often agree when it comes to spiritual matters. Atheists don’t believe in God or heaven or a lot of other things. Personally I think they’re a much maligned and misunderstood bunch who could teach the Micks a thing or two. There is a group called the Sydney Atheists (http://www.sydneyatheists.org/), whose motto is “Good Without God.” They believe in doing good deeds, without being motivated by religion or a smooth passage into heaven, but simply because as humans we have a responsibility to help others. I have to admit that this is one aspect of the non-religion that I wholeheartedly agree with, and I think the world would be a better place if we all felt this way.

I know it sounds morbid, but believe it or not but the biggest debate we have in our house is over what happens when someone dies. As far as I know atheists don’t believe in heaven or reincarnation, they simply believe that at the end of a person’s life there’s nothing. No white light, no pearly gates and certainly no spirit left behind to lurk in dark hallways. In contrast to this, and the typical Catholic viewpoint, I believe in the human spirit, and I think our hearts and minds are too powerful to simply disappear when we die. I believe that if you hold someone in your heart, and keep their photos on your walls and talk about them often, then they’ll always be with you. My version of heaven was partly inspired by a book that had a profound impact on me as a teenager: Bryce Courtenay’s April Fool’s Day. It’s a true account of his son’s battle with AIDS and subsequent death, and the impact on their family. Around the same time as I was reading this book, close family friends, my Godparents, tragically lost their young son to SIDS. The closing paragraph of the book brought me much comfort and it has stayed with me, and in a sense shaped much of what I believe…

Love is an energy- it can neither be created nor destroyed. It just is, and always will be, giving meaning to life and direction to goodness. Our love will never die.

It’s that energy that I believe we leave behind. When my son was born this belief was strengthened; that energy was palpable.

We may disagree on things like the hereafter but my husband and I did agree when it came to christening J, initially. We talked about it before he was born and decided to let him choose whether or not he wanted to participate in organised religion; we’d just help him make an informed decision. It wasn’t an issue until he arrived and I was hit with the realisation that he was, purely and simply, a miracle. Creating and sustaining a life is not as easy as you imagine it should be and I am amazed at times that there are 6 billion people on Earth! I know so many people who have struggled to fall pregnant or stay pregnant. There are those who’ve known the heartache of childlessness or the grief of losing a child. Some children are born perfectly healthy and right on time, but countless others are premature or plagued with lifelong health issues and disabilities. We had obstacles along the way but for the most part, our son’s arrival was relatively easy. He’s healthy and happy and I feel like I need to celebrate that fact and publicly acknowledge just how grateful I am for it.

Another motivating factor for me is what you might call “celestial protection”. I realised when J was born that giving birth doesn’t suddenly fill you with all the answers you need. Children don’t come with manuals; you need to figure it out as you go along. Parents are not (Shock! Horror!) perfect. We simply have to trust our instincts and do the best we can. All we can do is love them, believe in them and teach them right from wrong. We can do our best to protect them from harm and heartbreak but there are times when no matter how hard we try, how much we love them, we won’t be able to keep them safe. It’s a frightening thought, and that’s why I’m still leaning towards having my son christened. I’d like to know that if there is a God that he’s beside me, fighting in my son’s corner. Maybe he doesn’t need holy water splashed on his head for that, but who knows?

D and I may be divided in our opinions on this issue but we are united in our love for the life we have created. I don’t know if or how we’ll end this debate but I do know one thing: There’s no debating the fact that whether you believe your children are gifts from God, reincarnated souls who’ve been here before, or simply the product of a great love story; at the end of the day you love them the same, and really that’s all that matters. Have a great weekend x

No Photos Please, We're Expats!

A new and somewhat bizarre cultural difference has come to our attention this week, and I really want to talk about it tonight. This weekend the 3 of us were sitting outside Citygate at Tung Chung on Friday afternoon eating ice creams when a man came up beside our table, turned his back to us, made a peace sign with his fingers and smiled as his wife took a photo of him “with” D and J. D started waving them away but they just smiled and kept snapping. That’s when I snapped. I leapt up from the table, shouting “No! No! NO!” and shooed them away like a Mama bear protecting her cub. My husband laughed at me but I was furious! When I thought about it later I realised I may have overreacted slightly but it seemed so rude. It wasn’t so much that they wanted a photo of a western baby (he is very cute and I should take it as a compliment that others think that) it was the way in which we were treated like exhibits at the zoo, photographed without our permission. 

We’ve travelled through South East Asia and have taken hundreds of photos of absolutely everyone and everything; I understand the obsession with documenting every aspect of a holiday. But if we ever took a photo of people, especially children, we asked first, and more often than not a little hand was held out afterwards expecting payment for posing so wonderfully. I’ve spoken about this with a few people this week and apparently it’s quite common here in Hong Kong. One friend is inundated when she takes her son to Disneyland and sets a limit on the number of photos taken. We were out yesterday when it happened to us again at another shopping centre, only this time there were 2 adorable blonde girls playing near us, and the photographers were snapping from a distance. Again they simply smiled and waved when there were objections to their attention. 

Before J was born people used to take photos of our dog. Last year we took her to a festival and at one stage we had a crowd around us, as if she was a mini canine celebrity. It’s not so much the paparazzi that bothers me, it’s also the idea that we have no idea where these photos will end up. I once had visions of my dog ending up in a dog food commercial in China! Now I’m half expecting to see my beautiful son adorning a billboard advertising mobile phone plans. I know it’s more likely that they’ll end up in a random file on someone’s computer never to be seen again, but there’s a reason why photographing children in public places is illegal in some countries, and it makes me slightly uneasy. I’ve decided to start taking a camera with me everywhere and turn the tables on any would-be photographers, I’m looking forward to seeing the response I get. I’d love to hear from anyone else who’s had this experience and any suggestions for dealing with it (apart from grinning and bearing it, as that’s clearly not an option for someone with my temper!).

Head Case - Part 2

Thanks for the comments Lesley; I’m so glad to know people are reading! It’s also reassuring to know that our favourite geneticist had a conehead and still turned out brilliantly. My main worry has always been the potential for problems with J’s growth and development in the future. There is just something in the way he tilts his head to the left when he looks at things, the way he sleeps with his left eye open and the way he sometimes grabs that side of his head as if it hurts that has me worried. I might be crazy and it might be nothing, but I still worry. I have also experienced a bit of this anti-mummy sentiment you mentioned and I agree, it isn’t right. I was in tears one morning in the hospital after J was born and the midwife was scolding me for letting him sleep through a night feed, practically accusing me of starving him for my own selfish ends (i.e. a desperate need for sleep!). As if being a mum isn’t hard enough, we do not need the critics! It is a cultural thing here I’m sure. There are so many cultural differences that it would take me a month to write about them all; but I do want to use this opportunity to talk about one in particular. It seems fairly standard here to simply trust what the doctor tells you, and we’ve learned from first-hand experience that they’re not always right. This mindset can lead to expensive, traumatic and often unnecessary intervention. A friend was rushed to hospital and had her appendix whipped out before the doctors discovered she actually had a uterine infection after a caeserean section.

We’re lucky we have a good GP but we have encountered other medical professionals that expected us to do as we were told and who struggled when we questioned their advice. Like the male obstetrician that dismissed me as an “irrational and emotional woman,” and spoke only to my husband. Or the “doctor” at the local clinic who told me J was cyanotic and probably had a heart problem, ordering me to take him to the hospital for tests, when he was simply cold from sitting in a frigid waiting room for 2 hours! By that stage I was blue with frustration and impatience! We are lucky that we live in a modern city with access to a great number of professionals from all over the world, but we have learned that it may take several appointments before you find someone you can trust, and you really have to trust your own instincts. Whenever we talked about all this with people they would often say things like “he’s such a happy baby, leave well enough alone, there’s nothing wrong with him.” At times I felt like I must be crazy for pursuing treatment for my very healthy, normal child, but it didn’t feel right letting it go.

When we came back from our recent trip to Melbourne we went to see our GP for J’s vaccinations and she was also concerned about his forehead and the movement of his left eye. She referred us to a paediatrician to cover all bases. The paediatrician assured us that J was on track developmentally so there was nothing to worry about. Like a lot of people she also felt that it was his appearance we were most worried about. Appearances and perfection are very important in the Chinese culture so it makes sense that she would think that, but as I said, it was the furthest thing from our minds. To us, our son is gorgeous, so it wasn’t an issue. She also explained that the bones were not pressing on his brain as we had feared, but he would remain “asymmetrical” for the rest of his life, as his skull bones were already fused. I’ve done a lot of research on plagiocephaly, the technical term for flat-heads, and I was pretty sure that this wasn’t true. She wanted J to have an ultrasound and an x-ray to confirm her diagnosis and at one point mentioned sedating him for an MRI, even though she was sure nothing could be done to “make his face better.” Another common condition in the medical community here is the reliance on medication and invasive tests. There seems to be no intuition or common sense, it’s complete trust in science over independent thought. Some tests and medications are necessary I’ll admit, but putting a very active 7 month old through an MRI is not only unnecessary, in this case, but a subtle form of child abuse as far as I’m concerned. Once again we left a doctor’s office in disbelief; disappointed and disheartened by what we had been told.

Then we got to talking with friends who had similar experiences. Their son had a flat head from sleeping on his back and they had been referred to a paediatric osteopath in Wan Chai. They called us with rave reviews after their first appointment and we decided to give it one more shot. Well this woman has magic healing hands. She told us what we wanted to hear and we believed her. She clearly adores children AND she knows what she’s talking about. There’s a noticeable difference in the shape of J’s head after only 2 visits, and yes, his face is more symmetrical. She has suggested we see her once more and then let J grow a little to see how his bones respond to the work she’s done. I love that she is knowledgeable and kind, and she isn’t making promises she can’t keep. She charges $750 a session and it’s worth every cent, for the peace of mind it brings me as much as for the changes we’re seeing in J. At the end of the day I’m so glad we persisted, despite the obstacles and poor advice, and people thinking we’re a bit mad. We do have a beautiful happy baby and now we can honestly say we’ve done everything we could to keep him that way.

So I feel like I’ve been on my soapbox all week and I hope that I’ve been at least informative, if not entertaining. Have a great weekend and look out for my latest update on Monday xx

PS: If anyone in HK wants the details of any of the practitioners I’ve mentioned leave a comment with your email address (I won’t publish it) and I’ll send you the info.