feels like the other side of the moon

Because I have been going through pregnancy outside of the US, but still experience US pregnancy/parenting-related culture online, mostly through various blog posts people share on social media, I have been meaning to write down about the differences that I encounter. Full disclosure: overall, I find the US parenting culture personally oppressive. I don't know, maybe because I don't belong to any particular niche, maybe because I feel the pressure to conform from all different sides, maybe because it's more vocal and aggressive in pushing its opinions on others. But I have found it demanding and classist, anxiety-producing and not supportive, rigid and vaguely sexist, overall. This is the culture I tried to escape while starting out on my own parenting journey because I really could not even imagine learning how to do this whole parenting thing while getting to know and bonding with my child while also navigating the demands of the outside world coming from every direction. But those are just some of my own personal hangups.

That said, of course I realize that there are always pros and cons to anything anywhere. What we have here in Russia is far from perfect and certainly less comfortable--because life overall includes less comforts here--than what we'd have in the US. In any case, here are some of the differences that have come to mind so far:

• No one touches my belly here. It's just not done and although in general personal space between people is smaller (just imagine crowded metros during rush hour or people in line breathing down each other's necks and stepping on each other's heals), physical boundaries seem more enforced. People don't hug as readily as in the US and it would be pretty bonkers for someone to just reach out to randomly touch my body. 
• Also people don't ask me details about my pregnancy and don't offer any needless advice. The most I've gotten is "how are you feeling?" and I have been very grateful for both their concern and to be left alone without needing to explain anything. If I have a specific question or actually need advice, I will ask.
• At the beginning I thought everyone was looking at and noticing my big protruding belly, but then I realized that no, no one is looking and no one really cares. I mean both people on the street or in stores and people who know me. But since people don't even give up their seats on crowded public transportation, I don't think anyone cares about my condition. This, for me personally, has been annoying at times but also somewhat freeing. I guess I don't like people being all up in my business unless I specifically invite them.
• The foods I am supposed to eat and not eat are different here. For example, I eat cold cuts and sushi and lots of cheese and dairy (what else are you not supposed to eat in the US?). I also sometimes end up eating eggs that are a little undercooked because I like them soft boiled. I forget what other items are forbidden in the US. The sushi here doesn't really use super raw fish anyway; it's generally at least somewhat salted and/or cured in some way. I also try--it's the effort that counts, right?--not to eat fried things, but rather boiled, steamed or stewed. Fried oil and carcinogens are considered truly evil here, which they probably are. I don't really drink carbonated beverages, even non-caffeinated ones, whereas I think I remember ginger ale being a pregnancy thing in the US. 
• However, food consumption is fairly strict here, and they really watch your weight closely at every doctor's appointment. There is a lot of talk against the notion of "you're eating for two" and the concept of pregnancy cravings is not culturally supported. Yes, they say, of course you have to increase your intake of certain things used to build another body: calcium, iron, vitamins, etc. But none of this whole pickles-and-ice cream rhetoric. 
• Overall there are less choices here (which, no doubt, can be both good and bad) so at least I feel less pressure to defend my choices. For example, you give birth in a governmental birth center in the presence of doctors, midwives, and nurses. You don't have to debate the home vs. hospital birth scenario. The doctors consider themselves experts and professionals, and although you are welcome to converse with them beforehand, they will still do what they feel is best (again, potential for good and bad) and the expectation is that you will trust them. You are welcome to choose a doctor whose what-they-think-is-best matches what you think is best, but there is none of the whole let-me-be-a-lay-person-who-has-never-witnessed-or-experienced-the-birthing-process-dictate-my-own-birth-plan thing. From my experience though, part of the doctors' expertise is to trust women's bodies and not do anything unnecessary. Inductions, epidurals, and c-sections seem to be done only when absolutely medically indicated. But let's see how it actually works out when I do give birth. 

I hope this goes without saying that I am not condemning any US-resident's choices or experiences (with birthing plans or eating how they want, etc.) I really am just speaking to my own experience of the things that have stuck out cross-culturally.

There have been other things that, being pregnant here, I simply cannot relate to when I come across discussions in US media or whatever people post on social sites. For example:

• Babymoons. What the what?
• Gender revealing parties. Because a) it would be a sex revealing party, you fools. Gender is a social construct that your child will identify with throughout life; sex pertains to the anatomical reproductive parts you saw on the ultrasound. And b) can we take the boy-girl dichotomy to any greater and more consumeristic heights?
• Speaking of consumerism, whoo-boy, US culture sure is the queen of that, especially when it's playing off of the anxiety of new parents. I just can't with the maternity clothes marketing, baby stuff marketing, postpartum clothes marketing, people getting competitive over nursery decorating. Yes, I even said "I can't." Here I personally find it a pro that there is such a scarcity of products, space, money, and opportunity, that I'll be happy if we can fit an old cradle in our room next to our bed and put a clean child in it. Expectations are lowered to, what I find, a more reasonable degree. Your child is clothed? Great! They have a place to live, parents that pay attention to them, and some toys to play with? Congratulations, you are parenting right! Forget the color-coordinated wallpaper-to-curtains separate nursery room, based on baby's sex, of course. 
• Finally, I may be old-school, but I'll admit that I don't quite understand the recent trend of naming your unborn child and using that name widely to refer to them before they are born. I get thinking about and narrowing down possible names and whatnot, but for pete's sake, wait until the child is a born human being in the world before referring to them by name. Again, it's just something I personally don't understand, rather than wholly condemn. Maybe because here in Russia you don't name the child in the hospital but rather when submitting various paperwork to have them registered as a citizen (generally a few weeks to a month after birth). So there is really no rush on the name, and people tend to take a much more "let's wait until everything turns out ok and there is a living, breathing baby on our hands" approach before getting too deep into it.

leaping into the unknown: tri 1

The first month of pregnancy for me involved mostly waiting, wondering, not knowing, and desperately listening to my body for signs. Generally speaking, there are at least about 2 weeks between the time the body is most fertile (and ovulating) and when you'd expect the period to come. And most home pregnancy tests say to wait about another week for the period to be late before taking one. So those first 3-4 weeks I spent trying to decipher: are my nipples sore or is it just a pre-menstrual symptom, is my uterus cramping because it's expanding or because it is shedding its lining, am I bloated because I just went out with co-workers for crap lunch food or are my hormone levels elevating? A whole month of this is a strange time to wait, silently of course, before finally taking the test to confirm.

I bought the test at a local pharmacy and peed on it the morning of August 17, 2014. It was a hectic time: we were one week away from moving to another continent, I was trying to finish my job but was coerced asked to stay until the end of August due to an impending trip to the UN (I ended up moving to said continent a month later than expected). There was a lot of packing and moving and people coming and going, helping with boxes, saying good-bye. I could barely find the privacy to discreetly hide away in the bathroom long enough to pee on the stick. Then I got a fat yes-you're-pregnant line. Then I freaked out for a moment, and went back to my hectic schedule and life.

I told J in the car in the middle of a parking lot later that day when our paths of hecticness briefly intersected. Actually I just showed him the test, which I stuck in my purse lest someone find it at the house. I think he was happy (he says he was) and then we went back to our hectic schedules and lives. Actually we did discuss our feelings about the fact that our lives were changing right then and there.

That's one undeniable vertical line.

Most of the first trimester (the first two months, at least) I spent traveling, moving, and crashing on people's couches. Luckily, there was barely any nausea, only relentless fatigue. That was my big symptom; I really would crash on said couches, taking naps, unable to get up very fast. My brain really did feel a bit mushy, like I could just fall asleep in the middle of a conversation. Also, apparently my breasts got noticeably bigger, which some people remarked. I could still fit into my bras though, even if they were a bit tighter now, so I kept on.

In that second month, my itty-bitty fetus and I visited NYC to give a presentation at the UN, stayed in Boston with friends, returned to LA and crashed with some more friends, had our first ultrasound after my medical insurance ended (I was put on a temporary new-mothers assistance program), drove to SF and crashed with brother-in-law while also visiting friends, in-laws, and my academic advisor, all the while awkwardly saying "no" to copious amounts of California wine.

I was happy that I wasn't very nauseous; that was a blessing. I was still feeling cramping in my uterus as it expanded and soreness in my breasts. I was tired, always very tired, but did not have much of an appetite or cravings.

The first day of my last period was July 14--Bastille Day--which calculated my due date as 4/20. We joked about naming the baby Mary-Jane, if it's a girl, or Herb, if a boy.

breaking arms

I'm terrified.

I'm not usually a risk taker--I refuse to place bets, I wear a helmet on a bicycle, I almost always go the speed limit--and yet I seem live a pretty risky life. I refuse to settle. I go right for the bullseye. I let my heart lead me around the earth. I wish I could say it felt exhilarating--sometimes it does--but right now it feels terrifying.

It's terrifying because I change the consistency of my life. I uproot and get used to my surroundings, in endless cycles. I move from city to city, then from country to country. I encounter a lot of dissent for my decisions. I wish my attitude would allow me not to care, but I'd like to have the support from the people who matter.

I admit, with age, it becomes harder and harder to be a vagabond with convictions and a career. But it also becomes harder and harder to live away from my community. I am pulled toward my homeland, and then toward my husband's homeland. I am pulled and I follow the pull. I don't resist and I hope it works out for the best of everyone. It's still terrifying though, and I am terrified.

sky full of stars

Today for the first time ever, I think, I teared up as the therapist in the therapy room. It's not that I've never been affected by people's stories; I sympathize and empathize with lots of different life experiences on a daily basis. I get sad when told something heartbreaking and I get angry when told something infuriating. But I've never been one of those therapists who openly cries with their clients. There is always a layer of professionalism through which I process and communicate my feelings with clients, when need be.

But today he was telling me about how much it hurt to be forbidden by one parent to have a relationship with the other parent. How much he escaped from the pain into drugs. How much he hated the forbidding parent. How much he longed for the love from the other parent, and how lost he had been all his life without that love. He told me a secret that even after the forbidding parent's death, he wished that parent would come alive just so he could kill them. But instead he was killing himself with destructive substances and behavior.

So I teared up. Without formulated thoughts, I just floated in the moment of our shared emotions. Our lives are not the same, of course; our reactions and consequences are very different indeed. But the level of haunting childhood pain was palpable and personal.

He thanked me at the end, said he found the session especially helpful. And I thanked him later, in my head, for letting me make use of my own seemingly meaningless pain. I hope it will help us both.

on healing.2

This fable--the person on the bridge specifically--pretty much describes the prison of my childhood, and I guess adulthood, until I learn to let go of the rope. But it's not easy. It continues to be heartbreaking and guilt-ridden. I know that it's not fair to be shackled to someone else's happiness, to be responsible for their life and feelings. And I also know the following statement is not necessarily true, but it feels very real: that I can't be happy until they are happy through my own efforts of making them happy. So that's the big question, I think, can I still be happy even if they're unhappy when I stop making them happy?

Theoretically, standing up for our own needs should create safety and peace of mind. Technically, we simply cannot do more to help others than they are willing to do for themselves. But imagine being that person on the bridge, making the choice, ultimately, to cut the rope even if it means killing the person on the other end. Making the choice of freedom and, in some sense, of murder or death. Can the person on the bridge heal from that heart-wrenching choice? Can the person on the bridge live a guilt-free and peaceful life, moving toward their original goal and accomplishing what they've set out to do? Will I need to mourn the absence, unhappiness, symbolic or otherwise death of the person on the other end of the rope in order to move on from the bridge?

I wish I had the social support to deal with all of these changes. I think social isolation and shame are part of the experience for the person on the bridge. There are no bystanders, or the bystanders misunderstand the situation and perpetuate the person holding on to the rope. "Just keep holding on," they shout. "They'll perish without you. You are all they have. Keep holding on!"

The loneliness, the guilt, the sadness and heartbreak are all part of this story.