I think that I was at least 20 before I realized that I was white. Of course, like every American, I had filled out 20 billion forms before then asking for information about my race and ethnicity, but the little box that I checked had never seemed to offer any substantive information about who I was; it was kind of like being asked my shoe size. Like just about every kid, I figured out that I was female early on. And I cared. Being female is a huge part of my experience in this world, and of my identity. I learned that I was American when I was two, and my family moved to England (everybody talked funny). I learned that I was from the northern United States in elementary school, when my (southern) grandparents came to visit and my friends giggled at their accents. Yet even though I grew up in a pretty diverse community, as US goes, my race had never entered my consciousness prior to my early adulthood.
I think that there are at least three reasons for my failure to grasp the fact that race matters in America. First, I was raised by liberal intellectuals, who had accepted as the ideal the concept of "color-blindness". They never talked about race, and disapproved intensely if others did so. I was taught that everybody was equal, and in their formulation, equal meant the same.
Second, my friends of color (some of whom were transracial adoptees or biracial) seemed almost as confused as I was, at least in the early years. Our parents didn't talk about race, and neither did we, so if they had experiences that made them uncomfortable, they weren't given the vocabulary or the forum in which to explore their feelings, so I never knew that these feelings existed.
Third, I was white myself. It's easy to deny the importance of race when you are in the majority, and especially when you are in the empowered majority. I think that I unconsciously thought of whiteness as the default, in a manner analogous to the way that nobody seems to think that they have an accent when speaking their native language. They are just normal. Everybody else has an accent.
But I am white. Boy am I white. So white I'm almost blue. I like the vast majority of things that white people like. I even dance like a white girl (so embarrassing).
Mystery is not white. He's medium brown. He is, of course, also not American. He grew up in a country where most people looked like him. Therefore, he also tends to see his own race as "normal" and not particularly noteworthy. So, there we are, brown and white. Living happily together. Tra la la. People look at us funny sometimes no matter where we are, but I'm really not sure whether that is because we look mismatched or because we're so darned cute (I'm kidding; he is cute, I am quite frumpy). Either way, it doesn't bother us.
So, where does that leave Eggbert? She's either half-and-half, both, or neither one thing nor the other, depending on how you look at it. She is the only one who can really decide. In the mean time, we think that she's both, and that she's perfect. People in both of her countries of origin tell us that she's beautiful, and seem proud to claim her as their own, which of course warms the cockles of my heart, but to be honest, I worry.
I worry that she will be discriminated against. I worry that she'll be exoticized (lots of people think that "mixed" kids are beautiful, and to be honest, I agree, but sometimes it goes a little too far, and becomes kind of disturbing.) Worst of all, I worry that these things will happen, and I won't see it, won't "get" it, won't know how to help, or even when to try, because her experiences will be so vastly different from mine.
It would be nice to say that if she does experience hardship when we move back to the US, at least she has Mystery. As a brown man living in a non-brown country, he should not only understand her experiences but provide her with a strong role model for how to handle the challenges of being different, right? Well, perhaps, but I think that it's quite a different thing being both foreign and a racial minority than being a racial minority in your own country (and biracial kids are in the minority in pretty much any country). As I said, Mystery grew up in a place where everybody looked like him, so even though he's in a minority in the US (or Korea), he developed a strong and secure sense of self before he ever set foot in a country where discrimination was even a consideration.
Living in Korea has really brought home the lesson that race does matter, as much as you might prefer that it didn't. In Korea, as anywhere, when we're together, Mystery and I stand out like a pair of sore and mismatched thumbs. However, when we're alone, people react quite differently to him than to me. I get a lot more of both friendly curiosity and overt hostility, whereas he is more likely to be completely ignored (in a way that implies that he's invisible, not that he fits in). I have been physically assaulted on the street twice since I've been here (both times by people who were obviously mentally ill) while other people just scurried by and pretended it wasn't happening. Luckily, in both cases, I was twice the size and half the age of my assailant, so I managed to chase him off pretty easily, but it was still jarring. I have also been approached by the creepiest of men, spewing forth the rudest propositions that you can imagine, in ways that can't possibly have been designed to do anything but basically accuse me of being a prostitute. Given that I look about as sexually enticing as Oscar the Grouch on most days, there is absolutely nothing that should make these people pick me out of a crowd other than my race. On the other hand, I also have experienced acts of unusual kindness and generosity from complete strangers. Mystery gets none of the above.
In Korea, racial discrimination is not only common and overt, it's expected. I once got a greeting card from a former intern that said only "you're the nicest white person that I've ever met." I think that was supposed to be a compliment. Another former intern told me that she had a dim view of "foreigners" because of an unpleasant encounter that she had with an Englishman, but that when she met me, she realized that not all "white" people are bad. Another day, I was in a coffee shop and picked up a local student newspaper written in English (a huge score!). In the paper there was an article about students that volunteered in a local orphanage. They interviewed one of the students, and quoted her as saying that one of the babies was going to be adopted by a foreign couple, and that she cried and felt so sad that this poor child was going to be raised by foreign people that don't look like him. Now I am not criticizing this student. I think that there's a lot to grieve about any time a child loses their birth family and country, but I do think that it's noteworthy that she thought that being raised by parents of a different race was the main problem with this picture.
Knowing that people think of me more as a representative of an entire race affects me. It makes me think twice every time I step outside. Do I look too sloppy (Koreans are very neat; the answer to this question is always yes)? Do I smile too much? Too little? Should I push and shove in crowds like the Koreans do, or will it seem rude? Did that guy just bump into me a little harder than necessary on purpose?
And do I care? Is it actually my responsibility to be a "credit to my race"?
In the land of Mystery, it is similar. When living there, I was frequently asked if I was capable of doing things like eating certain foods, as if my digestive system might be fundamentally different from that of local people, and was sometimes told that I would like my food a certain way, because "that is what white people like". I once had a lengthy argument with someone over whether it was possible that I liked sugar in my coffee (I do), because he had seen other white people that didn't like sugar in their coffee, and therefore concluded that we all must have the same preference. It is also utterly ordinary there to refer to someone as "this white person" in front of them, even when their race has no relevance to the discussion (e.g., "this white person would like to buy some soap" from one shopkeeper to another), as if afraid that someone might fail to notice that, yes, this person is white. White women are also the victims of fairly relentless sexual harassment. I have asked Mysterious men why they react to white women in that way, and am invariably told that it's because they see white women in pornographic films. This information is delivered in a tone that makes it clear that the speaker thinks that this is a reasonable explanation.
In Korea, both laws and customs distinguish among races. Korean-Americans, even those born overseas who don't speak Korean and have never been here, are described simply as Korean, whereas Korean-born people of other races, including those that have lived their whole lives here and speak better Korean than English, are considered foreign. You don't believe me? Try this on for size. Male Korean citizens are required to do two years of military service. Ethnic Koreans holding dual citizenship must fulfill their duty or renounce their Korean citizenship. However, the requirement is optional for Korean citizens with one ethnic Korean parent and one Asian parent of a different nationality. Mixed-race Koreans with a non-Asian parent, meanwhile, are not accepted into the military. In Korea, ethnicity is virtually synonymous with citizenship. The notion of granting citizenship to people born here or foreigners that marry Koreans is as alien to them as the idea that ethnicity defines citizenship is to me.
While you would think that the longer that I was here, the more I'd feel like I fit in, but in fact, it has been the opposite. The longer I've been here, the fonder I've grown of the place, but the less I've felt like I fit in. When I walk down the street, or go to work, or pop into a shop, or take Eggbert for a walk, I feel blindingly, conspicuously white. Every minute. I don't mind the feeling. It just is what it is. It's interesting, albeit often uncomfortable. But I wonder if I could be so sanguine about it if I hadn't had the experience of growing up in a place where I was in the majority. And I wonder how I would feel about it if I couldn't leave and go back to a place where I wouldn't stand out. I wonder if that's what it feels like to be a minority in your own community in the USA. I guess that's something that I can never really know.
Last December, on Eggbert's first trip to the US, we had a layover in the San Francisco Airport. Eggbert was still a tiny thing, only five weeks old, and a number of people came up to ask about her. I was still basking in the glow of new mommyhood, so I was pleased to chat with anyone who was interested. At one point, a woman approached me, complimented Eggbert, and then started going on at great length about how much she wanted to adopt (after offering the information that her kids were all older, and that she was too old to have more). I didn't really know what to make of this, so I wished her luck and moved along. It was several hours before the penny dropped and I realized that she had been assuming that Eggbert was adopted.
I don't really know where I'm going with this post. I'm hardly the first mother to worry sometimes about the fact that we can't protect our precious children from the big bad world, and I'm also not the only person to gain insight into their own culture and identity by living abroad. I guess that the real bottom line is that once again, I am realizing how complicated this world is, what an incredible responsibility I have to Eggbert to try to help her grow up with her self-esteem intact in a world in which some people may value or respect her less based simply on her appearance, and how utterly ill-prepared I am for the task.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
New Month's Resolution
A few days ago, I popped over to Rachel's blogs to see what was going on in her fascinating life, and found to my enormous surprise and pleasure that she had given me a "kick-ass blogger" award. I would have thought that being such an irregular poster would have ruled me out of consideration for such an honor (really does it get better than "kick-ass"?), so I am rather beside myself.
One of the things that I like about Rachel's blogs (and indeed most of my favorite blogs) is that she doesn't just tell you what she thinks about a select range of topics, she also offers you a little piece of herself with every post: sometimes it's photos, sometimes it's personal stories, sometimes it's stories about her kids; it's always a treat. Thinking about these personal touches, I realize that I've been rather stingy in that regard, mainly because I try not to offer personally identifying information. When I first started this blog, anonymity was an imperative: I had just been relocated to a new country for work, and was on a short (renewable) contract, so having my boss find out that I was trying to get pregnant could have been a disaster. Even though my boss (or coworkers) were unlikely to be reading infertility blogs in English, it didn't seem worth the risk. It still doesn't. I also try to protect Mystery's personal information to the extent possible, because it just isn't mine to share. He wouldn't mind, but I think that if he really wanted to be the subject of a blog, he'd write one himself. Then there's Eggbert. At this point, she can't give me her permission to write about her in a public forum. I do so anyway, but I am careful not to reveal enough of the whole package to make her vulnerable to e.g., identity theft. Finally, I have a rather unusual biography that would make us pretty easy for a determined stalker to identify if I connected the dots for you. The up side of anonymity is that it allows me to be unflinchingly honest. Everything that I tell you here is true (other than the names). The down side is that I sometimes feel unable to share as much of the real me as I would like.
Having said that, I'm going to try to be a little more open. While I am reluctant to post tasty treats like photos or our social security numbers, I am going to try to stop playing it safe by avoiding controversial topics, as has been my policy to date. I will also start including a bit more reflection on my life in general outside of infertility and motherhood.
So, to start off this new leaf, my next post (which will be posted soon, I promise!) will be on a humdinger of a topic. I hope that it makes me more friends than enemies.
But before I run off to write that one, I first get to share the joy. It is so hard to pick just five people that kick ass, but here goes:
Thalia has always been one of my favorite bloggers. She is a wonderful and insightful writer, as well as being astonishingly supportive to her fellow bloggers. Nonetheless, she doesn't hesitate to educate her readers when they need a little kick in the, well, ass. I always enjoy her posts, and usually learn something.
Jenn is one of my oldest on-line friends (i don't mean that she's old, I mean that we're old friends.) She's kind, wise, and posts wonderful recipes from time to time, which always scores bonus points from me. She doesn't post much, but when she does, she is full of home-grown wisdom, and always cracks me up.
Kymberli needs a blogging award like she needs a hole in her head. She is already smart, hilarious, and so chock full of kindness that it could make you weep if you weren't already laughing so hard because she's so darn funny. She's an infertile mother of four plus one, a gestational surrogate, and if that wasn't enough, she's also an 8th grade teacher. This woman kicks more ass before breakfast than most people do all month. If you're not already a fan, go check her out. If you already are a fan, head on over anyway and tell her how much you appreciate her.
Miss Chris has a couple of blogs, including an infertility blog and a blog that describes her adventures as an American expat living in France (recently returned from Mexico). It is the latter blog that has me completely hooked. She's an amazing photographer and keeps me mesmerized with her gorgeous pics of her family, Mexico, and now France. If you haven't already, check it out.
Kami is a tough cookie. She has been through infertility and infant loss, and is now mother to the beautiful Little Butterfly through the miracle of egg donation. LB is only a few months old, yet Kami manages to write frequent, thoughtful, breathtakingly candid posts every few days. She has taught me a lot about what it means to be strong, and it's such a joy to see her come out the other side.
One of the things that I like about Rachel's blogs (and indeed most of my favorite blogs) is that she doesn't just tell you what she thinks about a select range of topics, she also offers you a little piece of herself with every post: sometimes it's photos, sometimes it's personal stories, sometimes it's stories about her kids; it's always a treat. Thinking about these personal touches, I realize that I've been rather stingy in that regard, mainly because I try not to offer personally identifying information. When I first started this blog, anonymity was an imperative: I had just been relocated to a new country for work, and was on a short (renewable) contract, so having my boss find out that I was trying to get pregnant could have been a disaster. Even though my boss (or coworkers) were unlikely to be reading infertility blogs in English, it didn't seem worth the risk. It still doesn't. I also try to protect Mystery's personal information to the extent possible, because it just isn't mine to share. He wouldn't mind, but I think that if he really wanted to be the subject of a blog, he'd write one himself. Then there's Eggbert. At this point, she can't give me her permission to write about her in a public forum. I do so anyway, but I am careful not to reveal enough of the whole package to make her vulnerable to e.g., identity theft. Finally, I have a rather unusual biography that would make us pretty easy for a determined stalker to identify if I connected the dots for you. The up side of anonymity is that it allows me to be unflinchingly honest. Everything that I tell you here is true (other than the names). The down side is that I sometimes feel unable to share as much of the real me as I would like.
Having said that, I'm going to try to be a little more open. While I am reluctant to post tasty treats like photos or our social security numbers, I am going to try to stop playing it safe by avoiding controversial topics, as has been my policy to date. I will also start including a bit more reflection on my life in general outside of infertility and motherhood.
So, to start off this new leaf, my next post (which will be posted soon, I promise!) will be on a humdinger of a topic. I hope that it makes me more friends than enemies.
But before I run off to write that one, I first get to share the joy. It is so hard to pick just five people that kick ass, but here goes:
Thalia has always been one of my favorite bloggers. She is a wonderful and insightful writer, as well as being astonishingly supportive to her fellow bloggers. Nonetheless, she doesn't hesitate to educate her readers when they need a little kick in the, well, ass. I always enjoy her posts, and usually learn something.
Jenn is one of my oldest on-line friends (i don't mean that she's old, I mean that we're old friends.) She's kind, wise, and posts wonderful recipes from time to time, which always scores bonus points from me. She doesn't post much, but when she does, she is full of home-grown wisdom, and always cracks me up.
Kymberli needs a blogging award like she needs a hole in her head. She is already smart, hilarious, and so chock full of kindness that it could make you weep if you weren't already laughing so hard because she's so darn funny. She's an infertile mother of four plus one, a gestational surrogate, and if that wasn't enough, she's also an 8th grade teacher. This woman kicks more ass before breakfast than most people do all month. If you're not already a fan, go check her out. If you already are a fan, head on over anyway and tell her how much you appreciate her.
Miss Chris has a couple of blogs, including an infertility blog and a blog that describes her adventures as an American expat living in France (recently returned from Mexico). It is the latter blog that has me completely hooked. She's an amazing photographer and keeps me mesmerized with her gorgeous pics of her family, Mexico, and now France. If you haven't already, check it out.
Kami is a tough cookie. She has been through infertility and infant loss, and is now mother to the beautiful Little Butterfly through the miracle of egg donation. LB is only a few months old, yet Kami manages to write frequent, thoughtful, breathtakingly candid posts every few days. She has taught me a lot about what it means to be strong, and it's such a joy to see her come out the other side.
Monday, August 18, 2008
The minimalist mom's guide to baby shopping
Life doesn't always go the way that we plan. On our third date, Mystery asked me how many children I wanted, and I said "I want to have one, and then maybe one more, what about you?" He told me that he had it all figured out. He wanted to have two really close together, so they could be best friends, and then wait a long time, until he missed having a baby, and then have one more. I laughed and pointed out that if he was serious about that plan, then he had better look for another woman, since at my age (I had just turned 31), I'd be too old for that third baby by the time we got around to it.
There are several things that are noteworthy about that anecdote. First is that we knew very early on in our romantic relationship that we were going to be together, and that we wanted children to be a part of our future. Second is the fact that I was undoubtedly the worst third date ever. Pointing out your aging ovaries to your new boyfriend is always bad form, but when that boyfriend is nine years younger than you (yes, I was a cradle robber, but I swear, he was a very mature 22), it could almost be seen as an act of willful self-sabotage. Nonetheless, Mystery stuck around, and has put up with me ever since. Mystery is a good egg.
After a couple of years, we decided to move back to the US and to get married there. Then the USCIS (formerly known as the Immigration and Naturalization Service, or INS) got to have its fun with us. It took one year and about $4000 to get everything sorted out with his visa and flights, and about another $1500 to get his green card once we were married. I was in graduate school at the time, and therefore a bit financially challenged, but we managed, and were happy.
Then infertility struck. We were luckier than some, in that our insurance (which came with my post-graduate job) covered 50% of diagnosis of infertility, and 50% of some treatments, but we still spent several thousand dollars on tests and treatments. Unfortunately, our insurance specifically excluded IVF, so at the end of it all, we were still childless, sadder and poorer.
Things started to turn around when we moved to Korea. Rather than facing a $15,000 bill for an IVF cycle that had only about a 35% chance of resulting in a viable pregnancy at my age, we were looking at $3000/cycle. Not trivial, in fact rather painful, but given that it would likely take 2-3 rounds to work, manageable. So we went for it. And it worked.
And $10,000 later (with all of the fees for prenatal care, the fun fun trip to Singapore for amnio, and then the copay for the delivery), there was Eggbert.
She was worth every penny and more. However, that didn't change the fact that we had a lot less in the bank than we might have liked, especially given that we have been a one-income family since arriving in Korea (Mystery can't legally work here).
I had long ago abandoned as irrelevant any dreams that I had about decorating a nursery or shopping for baby clothes, or what have you. Infertility had made it clear that such things are just the wrapping on the present. Throughout the early stages of pregnancy, I didn't even think about shopping for baby things. It was so hard to believe that after everything, I could end up with a take-home baby. I contented myself with enjoying the journey as much as I could. However, eventually it became clear that some preparations would need to be made. At that point I realized that I had two problems:
1) a tiny one-bedroom apartment in a very expensive city
2) all of the baby items that I had been taught were indispensable cost $1 million each, or weren't available in Korea at all
Problem number 1 could have been solved by moving to another neighborhood. However, we love our neighborhood, and it's so central and convenient that we can walk everywhere, including the grocery, hospital, and my work. Moving would not only result in higher rent (assuming that we moved to get a larger apartment), but would also probably mean that we needed to buy a car. And then drive that car. In Seoul. Which would solve all of our problems by making me die of fear.
So we decided to stay put and just manage, which meant that we didn't have to decorate a nursery, because we weren't going to have a nursery.
That meant that we had to fit all of the baby's things (purchased for the low low price of only $1 million each) into our tiny apartment. That process has given me a real education on the difference between need and want. It turns out that while there are a bewildering variety of almost-irresistible baby items for sale, you really don't NEED much at all to take care of a baby. In fact, I think that the average first-world family spends enough on completely unnecessary baby products in the first two years to fund at least one round of IVF at US prices.
Here are the things that I actually needed in Eggbert's first nine months:
-a car seat (we don't have a car, but do take taxis from time to time)
-about six outfits of each size (plus extra onesies when she was a newborn)
-swaddling blankets (when she was a newborn) and a few other blankets
-a breast pump and bottles (only necessary because I had to go back to work)
-baby wipes
-diapers (well, I suppose that I could have gone diaper free, and substituted some additional outfits instead, to make up for the greater frequency of laundrering)
-a baby carrier (I use a baby bjorn)
-a blender (we make our own baby food)
-a small spoon
-some towels and rags
-baby nail clippers (a nail file also worked when she was a newborn, but now she's far too impatient)
-baby tylenol (I felt like we needed this although we actually never used it)
-baby soap/shampoo
I think that's it. We do HAVE more stuff, some of which we use, but I think we could have managed without any of it if we had to. For example, we have a crib, but since we cosleep, we just use it for naps, and as a safe place to put her when we need to do something without her underfoot. We also have a stroller, which I LOVE, but don't strictly speaking need (although I do think it would be hard to manage with no stroller and no car-my back is only so strong). We have approximately a billion toys, all of which were given to her, but honestly, she's as happy playing with an empty plastic bottle or my (cheap waterproof) watch as she is with the fanciest toy. We also have some lovely books, which I'd hate to do without.
And about a zillion adorable outfits that she outgrew before she ever wore, all gifts.
When I was thinking about Eggbert's material possessions, it occurred to me that the most noteworthy things were those that didn't make the list. For example, Eggbert doesn't have a high chair, or a bumbo chair, or any other kind of chair. She did have a baby tub, but she mostly bathed in the sink as a newborn, and now in the shower (Mystery is very clever in developing age-appropriate bathing techniques). She doesn't have a diaper genie (just a normal garbage pail with a lid), or an exersaucer, or a pack-n-play. And it's fine.
It will be interesting to see what happens when we move back to the US (probably in about another year). Will I go crazy buying her things just because I can, or will I be able to stick to just getting things that actually make a difference in her quality of life (or ours)? I don't even know what to hope for. On the one hand, I must admit that I am dying to get a room ready for her (assuming that I ever get her out of my bed!) On the other hand, I kind of like having a minimal amount of stuff. It works for us.
There are several things that are noteworthy about that anecdote. First is that we knew very early on in our romantic relationship that we were going to be together, and that we wanted children to be a part of our future. Second is the fact that I was undoubtedly the worst third date ever. Pointing out your aging ovaries to your new boyfriend is always bad form, but when that boyfriend is nine years younger than you (yes, I was a cradle robber, but I swear, he was a very mature 22), it could almost be seen as an act of willful self-sabotage. Nonetheless, Mystery stuck around, and has put up with me ever since. Mystery is a good egg.
After a couple of years, we decided to move back to the US and to get married there. Then the USCIS (formerly known as the Immigration and Naturalization Service, or INS) got to have its fun with us. It took one year and about $4000 to get everything sorted out with his visa and flights, and about another $1500 to get his green card once we were married. I was in graduate school at the time, and therefore a bit financially challenged, but we managed, and were happy.
Then infertility struck. We were luckier than some, in that our insurance (which came with my post-graduate job) covered 50% of diagnosis of infertility, and 50% of some treatments, but we still spent several thousand dollars on tests and treatments. Unfortunately, our insurance specifically excluded IVF, so at the end of it all, we were still childless, sadder and poorer.
Things started to turn around when we moved to Korea. Rather than facing a $15,000 bill for an IVF cycle that had only about a 35% chance of resulting in a viable pregnancy at my age, we were looking at $3000/cycle. Not trivial, in fact rather painful, but given that it would likely take 2-3 rounds to work, manageable. So we went for it. And it worked.
And $10,000 later (with all of the fees for prenatal care, the fun fun trip to Singapore for amnio, and then the copay for the delivery), there was Eggbert.
She was worth every penny and more. However, that didn't change the fact that we had a lot less in the bank than we might have liked, especially given that we have been a one-income family since arriving in Korea (Mystery can't legally work here).
I had long ago abandoned as irrelevant any dreams that I had about decorating a nursery or shopping for baby clothes, or what have you. Infertility had made it clear that such things are just the wrapping on the present. Throughout the early stages of pregnancy, I didn't even think about shopping for baby things. It was so hard to believe that after everything, I could end up with a take-home baby. I contented myself with enjoying the journey as much as I could. However, eventually it became clear that some preparations would need to be made. At that point I realized that I had two problems:
1) a tiny one-bedroom apartment in a very expensive city
2) all of the baby items that I had been taught were indispensable cost $1 million each, or weren't available in Korea at all
Problem number 1 could have been solved by moving to another neighborhood. However, we love our neighborhood, and it's so central and convenient that we can walk everywhere, including the grocery, hospital, and my work. Moving would not only result in higher rent (assuming that we moved to get a larger apartment), but would also probably mean that we needed to buy a car. And then drive that car. In Seoul. Which would solve all of our problems by making me die of fear.
So we decided to stay put and just manage, which meant that we didn't have to decorate a nursery, because we weren't going to have a nursery.
That meant that we had to fit all of the baby's things (purchased for the low low price of only $1 million each) into our tiny apartment. That process has given me a real education on the difference between need and want. It turns out that while there are a bewildering variety of almost-irresistible baby items for sale, you really don't NEED much at all to take care of a baby. In fact, I think that the average first-world family spends enough on completely unnecessary baby products in the first two years to fund at least one round of IVF at US prices.
Here are the things that I actually needed in Eggbert's first nine months:
-a car seat (we don't have a car, but do take taxis from time to time)
-about six outfits of each size (plus extra onesies when she was a newborn)
-swaddling blankets (when she was a newborn) and a few other blankets
-a breast pump and bottles (only necessary because I had to go back to work)
-baby wipes
-diapers (well, I suppose that I could have gone diaper free, and substituted some additional outfits instead, to make up for the greater frequency of laundrering)
-a baby carrier (I use a baby bjorn)
-a blender (we make our own baby food)
-a small spoon
-some towels and rags
-baby nail clippers (a nail file also worked when she was a newborn, but now she's far too impatient)
-baby tylenol (I felt like we needed this although we actually never used it)
-baby soap/shampoo
I think that's it. We do HAVE more stuff, some of which we use, but I think we could have managed without any of it if we had to. For example, we have a crib, but since we cosleep, we just use it for naps, and as a safe place to put her when we need to do something without her underfoot. We also have a stroller, which I LOVE, but don't strictly speaking need (although I do think it would be hard to manage with no stroller and no car-my back is only so strong). We have approximately a billion toys, all of which were given to her, but honestly, she's as happy playing with an empty plastic bottle or my (cheap waterproof) watch as she is with the fanciest toy. We also have some lovely books, which I'd hate to do without.
And about a zillion adorable outfits that she outgrew before she ever wore, all gifts.
When I was thinking about Eggbert's material possessions, it occurred to me that the most noteworthy things were those that didn't make the list. For example, Eggbert doesn't have a high chair, or a bumbo chair, or any other kind of chair. She did have a baby tub, but she mostly bathed in the sink as a newborn, and now in the shower (Mystery is very clever in developing age-appropriate bathing techniques). She doesn't have a diaper genie (just a normal garbage pail with a lid), or an exersaucer, or a pack-n-play. And it's fine.
It will be interesting to see what happens when we move back to the US (probably in about another year). Will I go crazy buying her things just because I can, or will I be able to stick to just getting things that actually make a difference in her quality of life (or ours)? I don't even know what to hope for. On the one hand, I must admit that I am dying to get a room ready for her (assuming that I ever get her out of my bed!) On the other hand, I kind of like having a minimal amount of stuff. It works for us.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Another interesting moment on the subway
The Korean obsession with appearances is a frequent discussion in mixed (Korean and foreign) groups here. Aesthetics are considered very important in every arena of human activity, from the obvious (art, design, architecture) to the astonishing (beautifully gift-wrapped juice boxes), but nowhere is the focus more intense than on personal beauty. South Korea has one of the highest rates of plastic surgery in the world. I've seen at least three people with the bandages indicative of a recent nose job in the last month, and apparently eye surgery (to add a fold and make the eyes look rounder) is even more common. People of all ages are generally neat and well-dressed any time that they appear in public; I look quite the slob by comparison.
I mostly don't bat an eye anymore when I get into a mirrored elevator (it's very common for all four walls to be mirrors) and see everybody taking opportunity to shamelessly preen during the 30-second journey. In fact, it's quite liberating to know that nobody will look down on me for checking myself out (although rather less pleasant to realize how badly I will fare if I ever have a run-in with the Seoul fashion police).
I thought I was used to all of this, but today I saw something today that stopped me in my tracks. In a subway station, there was a vendor selling undergarments--mostly bras, but also some other items--all lacy, but also sturdy and serviceable, probably targeting women in their 50's. Bras here seem to be padded about 90% of the time, so everything was holding its shape quite well, but there was one shape that looked a little off. Upon closer inspection, I realized that I wasn't actually looking at a bra at all. It was a pair of heavily reinforced biking-short-like underwear, complete with two full round pads right where the arse should be: padded control-top underwear for women that find themselves having a crisis of gluteal inadequacy on the subway.
Now I've seen everything.
I mostly don't bat an eye anymore when I get into a mirrored elevator (it's very common for all four walls to be mirrors) and see everybody taking opportunity to shamelessly preen during the 30-second journey. In fact, it's quite liberating to know that nobody will look down on me for checking myself out (although rather less pleasant to realize how badly I will fare if I ever have a run-in with the Seoul fashion police).
I thought I was used to all of this, but today I saw something today that stopped me in my tracks. In a subway station, there was a vendor selling undergarments--mostly bras, but also some other items--all lacy, but also sturdy and serviceable, probably targeting women in their 50's. Bras here seem to be padded about 90% of the time, so everything was holding its shape quite well, but there was one shape that looked a little off. Upon closer inspection, I realized that I wasn't actually looking at a bra at all. It was a pair of heavily reinforced biking-short-like underwear, complete with two full round pads right where the arse should be: padded control-top underwear for women that find themselves having a crisis of gluteal inadequacy on the subway.
Now I've seen everything.
Friday, July 25, 2008
To pee or not to pee
I realized today that I haven't written anything about life in Korea for a very long time. Being a mom gets a lot more of my attention these days than being an expat. Nonetheless, I continue to marvel at the ways that living overseas can make you think about things that would ordinarily never cross your mind.
I give you exhibit A. I have been living in Korea for almost two years now, and I have never heard a Korean woman pee. This is not a result of failure to frequent public bathrooms. I drink a lot of water while I work, so at least twice a day, I visit the nearest bathroom, where I get the choice of sitting on an western-style porcelain throne or squatting over an Asian-style porcelain hole. (My choice depends on my mood.) This bathroom is shared by women from a number of different offices in the building, so there is generally at least one other person in there. When I see them go in ahead of me, they go into the stall, close the door, and then... nothing. When I finish peeing, they're still in there, and nothing has happened. Alternatively, if a door is closed when I go in, I sometimes hear a flush and someone leaving. However, I've never, ever, heard anyone actually make the telltale sounds associated with pee hitting porcelain.
So what are they doing in there? And how? And why?
I got a clue a few days ago, when for the first time, I was in a different public bathroom (now I'm sounding creepy--I don't actually seek out opportunities to pee in public, I swear) and saw a button on the wall enigmatically labeled "etiquette bell". I pushed the button, out came the sound of a toilet flushing. As I doubt that most people find the sound of a flushing toilet intrinsically pleasant, I am forced to conclude that the purpose of this device is to cover up other sounds. Is it possible that this entire nation is so shy of bladder that they have to make flushing sounds to be able to "perform"? If so, what is it that they want other people to think that they are actually doing in there? I have always thought of peeing as the LEAST offensive thing that one might be doing in a bathroom stall.
I had honestly never previously considered the possibility that an adult woman might go that far out of her way to avoid having someone hear her pee. The sound of pee is just water on water. It is what it is, and everybody does it, after all. I admit that I don't relish the thought of listening to people performing other bodily functions (something that Mystery assures me is a constant assault to the senses in men's bathrooms). But peeing?
So now I have become self-conscious as well. I don't know how to pee without making a sound (how do they do it?), and I certainly don't want to become known as "that disgusting foreigner who makes the peeing sounds", so these days, I make sure that I pee alone.
I give you exhibit A. I have been living in Korea for almost two years now, and I have never heard a Korean woman pee. This is not a result of failure to frequent public bathrooms. I drink a lot of water while I work, so at least twice a day, I visit the nearest bathroom, where I get the choice of sitting on an western-style porcelain throne or squatting over an Asian-style porcelain hole. (My choice depends on my mood.) This bathroom is shared by women from a number of different offices in the building, so there is generally at least one other person in there. When I see them go in ahead of me, they go into the stall, close the door, and then... nothing. When I finish peeing, they're still in there, and nothing has happened. Alternatively, if a door is closed when I go in, I sometimes hear a flush and someone leaving. However, I've never, ever, heard anyone actually make the telltale sounds associated with pee hitting porcelain.
So what are they doing in there? And how? And why?
I got a clue a few days ago, when for the first time, I was in a different public bathroom (now I'm sounding creepy--I don't actually seek out opportunities to pee in public, I swear) and saw a button on the wall enigmatically labeled "etiquette bell". I pushed the button, out came the sound of a toilet flushing. As I doubt that most people find the sound of a flushing toilet intrinsically pleasant, I am forced to conclude that the purpose of this device is to cover up other sounds. Is it possible that this entire nation is so shy of bladder that they have to make flushing sounds to be able to "perform"? If so, what is it that they want other people to think that they are actually doing in there? I have always thought of peeing as the LEAST offensive thing that one might be doing in a bathroom stall.
I had honestly never previously considered the possibility that an adult woman might go that far out of her way to avoid having someone hear her pee. The sound of pee is just water on water. It is what it is, and everybody does it, after all. I admit that I don't relish the thought of listening to people performing other bodily functions (something that Mystery assures me is a constant assault to the senses in men's bathrooms). But peeing?
So now I have become self-conscious as well. I don't know how to pee without making a sound (how do they do it?), and I certainly don't want to become known as "that disgusting foreigner who makes the peeing sounds", so these days, I make sure that I pee alone.
Limbo
There are a lot of reasons that I haven't been posting lately. I've been incredibly busy. It's so hot and steamy in Seoul that every time I try to gather my thoughts, my brain melts. Eggbert the 8-month-old big girl takes even more of my time than Eggbert the tiny baby did. But really, I think I've been struggling because the thing that I most want to blog about is giving me a blog identity crisis.
This started life as an infertility blog. I was desperate for a baby. Yes desperate. I admit it. That word has all kinds of negative connotations, but it is also the right word. Those were dark days, and putting my thoughts and feelings down in black and white helped. Getting feedback from so many kind readers helped even more. I really don't know how I would have managed without all of the support.
Now, my life is very different. I'm happy, and I'm a mom. Having Eggbert was by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. I thank my lucky stars every day. Every minute of my life isn't perfect, but every minute is better because she's here. While so many people experience post-partum depression, I feel like I've been in a place more like post-partum euphoria. Which makes it hard to blog. The thought of infertiles who are trying to conceive their first child coming here and reading about how great having a baby is makes me feel physically ill. They KNOW how great having a baby is. That's why infertility sucks so much. So what to do? Lots of people decide to make a fresh start at this point, either by retiring, or by starting a new mommy blog. That seems like a great option, except for one thing. I want another child, and somehow I doubt that infertility is done with me yet.
So, for now I'll stay here, and try to make the infertile mommy thing work somehow. If my brain doesn't melt first.
This started life as an infertility blog. I was desperate for a baby. Yes desperate. I admit it. That word has all kinds of negative connotations, but it is also the right word. Those were dark days, and putting my thoughts and feelings down in black and white helped. Getting feedback from so many kind readers helped even more. I really don't know how I would have managed without all of the support.
Now, my life is very different. I'm happy, and I'm a mom. Having Eggbert was by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. I thank my lucky stars every day. Every minute of my life isn't perfect, but every minute is better because she's here. While so many people experience post-partum depression, I feel like I've been in a place more like post-partum euphoria. Which makes it hard to blog. The thought of infertiles who are trying to conceive their first child coming here and reading about how great having a baby is makes me feel physically ill. They KNOW how great having a baby is. That's why infertility sucks so much. So what to do? Lots of people decide to make a fresh start at this point, either by retiring, or by starting a new mommy blog. That seems like a great option, except for one thing. I want another child, and somehow I doubt that infertility is done with me yet.
So, for now I'll stay here, and try to make the infertile mommy thing work somehow. If my brain doesn't melt first.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
One step forward, two steps down
In case you've been wondering about the long silence, I've been on blogging hiatus since I'm currently in the Land of Mystery visiting the in-laws. We've been here for three weeks now, and are for the most part having a lovely time. Eggbert has proven herself to be a wonderful traveler. I'm not sure that it says anything good about our lifestyle that her first tooth came in at 35,000 ft on the flight here, but it definitely speaks well of her that she remained her normal cheerful self throughout.
We have run into one little bug in the system. Here in the Land of Mystery, there aren't cribs. All babies cosleep. It's a good system, mostly, or at least it was for a while. However, we have found that beds in hotel rooms are not as readily baby-proofed as our own bed at home.
A few days ago, Eggbert learned how to crawl. She promptly celebrated by waking up at 2:40 am and crawling off of the bed. She is fine. Not a scratch. However, I almost died. I normally pride myself on my cool head in a crisis, but Mystery assures me that I was completely hysterical. I just remember her screaming, then me screaming. Then she was OK, and my heart started again. It was horrible.
I may never sleep again.
We have run into one little bug in the system. Here in the Land of Mystery, there aren't cribs. All babies cosleep. It's a good system, mostly, or at least it was for a while. However, we have found that beds in hotel rooms are not as readily baby-proofed as our own bed at home.
A few days ago, Eggbert learned how to crawl. She promptly celebrated by waking up at 2:40 am and crawling off of the bed. She is fine. Not a scratch. However, I almost died. I normally pride myself on my cool head in a crisis, but Mystery assures me that I was completely hysterical. I just remember her screaming, then me screaming. Then she was OK, and my heart started again. It was horrible.
I may never sleep again.
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