Lady who lunches... or rather has a very hectic day

I have always wondered what the many ladies in HK who don't work and don't have children do all day. Very early on in my stint in HK I was at a dinner party (I was still playing the corporate wifey at that point and attending work functions with the Boy). At the dinner party I met a lady who, to all intents and purposes, spent all day pottering around. Her husband had a busy job and travelled all the time, she had no children, and did no charity work. We were sitting with a couple who are rather high powered lawyers and we were all a bit drunk. As a newbie to HK I was asked what I did, and we had a nice chat about the difficulties of setting up a business and the legal system in HK. Then the attention turned to the lady in question, and the perfectly normal question of "so what do you do?". Without a moments hesitation she told us all about her days spent at yoga, pilates, she was learning to play tennis, lunches with friends. Growing ever more incredulous, the lawyer lady cut her short with the question "but what do you actually DO?". After a further explanation, I was still at a loss to understand how this lady filled her days and found meaning in her life.

Anyway, I took a day off last week and spent it pleasing only myself and living the life of one of these ladies. Initially I had no idea how I would fill my time. Without meetings or calls or deadlines, how would I structure my day? Would I end up having endless hours sitting doing nothing - and could I cope with that?

It started off with me leaving the Boy (who was off work ill) at home and pottering into the centre of town for a croissant and cup of hot chocolate. When there I spotted a nice exhibition of items from the British Museum over at the HK Museum of Art so took myself off to have fun looking at random cuniform stones and the odd statue. Before I knew it, it was time to come back to town to go to my antenatal yoga class. Normally I go on a Saturday, mainly with other working ladies, but midweek I found myself with an entirely different set of very lovely ladies who were friendly, amusing, funny and we exchanged phone numbers and promises to meet up soon. After all this chat, I was nearly late for my special pre-natal massage (generously given to me by my wonderful friend R), where I was pummeled and stroked on a strange bed with a huge hole in the middle - more of that in another post.

It was then that I realised I hadn't had lunch, so just had time for a quick bite to eat before meeting the Boy for our visit to Dr D and then an early supper with another friend.

I didn't manage to do half the things I had planned for - I failed to make it to the baby shop to buy unmentionable items to cover my leaky bits after the birth, I failed to take something the Boy wanted to get fixed to the relevant shop, I even failed to go and buy the pair of very lovely Alexander McQueen shoes I have been coveting for a couple of weeks.

In fact, I had almost no "down time" at all.

The next day it was back to work and I found myself twiddling my thumbs a bit.

Perhaps I could take to the expat wife life more easily that I had initially thought. Let negotiations with the Boy commence.

To C or not to C, that is the question

One of the biggest questions a soon-to-be Mum has to face are those surrounding the birth. There are a million ways in which you can choose to have your child, especially in HK where you get what you pay for, and a similar number of books, articles and people happy to offer advice about what to do. The options start with where to give birth (although in HK it is pretty much illegal anywhere but a hospital so this choice is removed anyway), and then move through drugs, intervention, water (drinking and sitting in), to whale music and hypo-birthing.

Yesterday the Boy and I went to see Dr D to discuss what would happen at mine. This is something I have been thinking about a lot because the options are so numerous. The biggest one is whether to go for an elective C-section or the natural birth. There are pros and cons of both, so the choice has been especially hard for me to make and I have spent pretty much equal amounts of time subscribing to both viewpoints.

On the pro side is the ease and timing argument. When the Boy only gets 2 days paternity leave and we don’t have the support of family nearby, the whole idea of being able to plan for things appeals to the professional career girl in me. It also means that all the stuff "below" doesn't get too icky afterwards, and it is arguably safer and less stressful for the baby. However the cons involve six weeks of recovery after major abdominal surgery (although Posh Spice et al have pretended otherwise, it is pretty major surgery), and in a town where I only get 15 weeks of maternity leave taking six weeks to be in pain and not be able to lift my baby, nor be able to start rowing and jogging again to get back in shape, doesn't appeal.

I don’t really care about the whole "participating in the experience" side of things. I am much of the view that we have modern medicine so we don't have to go through the unpleasantness of the Dark Ages anymore. However, although the natural birth thing will be exhausting, painful, very icky, and more risky, on balance I think probably better suited to me and so, after much discussion with friends who have been through it and some reading, I decided that a natural birth with as many drugs as humanly possible would be my preferred option.

This is not a decision I have made lightly or easily. However, yesterday I got a bit of a shock that threw this all out of the window.

My blood pressure is rising again. All women's blood pressure rises near the end of pregnancy, I am after all putting a huge strain on my system at the moment. However, mine is rising more than Doc D would like and as both my Mum and I have a history of high blood pressure, it is something he wants to watch carefully from now on.

With modern science and close monitoring it is nothing to be worried about, but it does put me at a greater likelihood of having to have a c-section - either to get Bump out early or during the natural labour because high blood pressure does rather complicate things.

So, I find myself today feeling a bit miffed. Having spent all that time and effort planning for the type of birth I wanted, convincing myself it wouldn't be so bad to dilate to 10cms (ouch) and have all manner of nasty things "down below", I am now back where I was about 5 months ago with not really having any decision made and no way of making it.

As Dr D told me pretty much in my first ante-natal appointment, there is not much point having a birthing plan because everything always changes anyway.

Wacky races

I am off to Macau this weekend for my 5k waddle, so as all good athletes should I am tapering my training (i.e. waddle distance) so I just went for a short waddle before work.

To find that the gauntlet has been thrown down by the mad 90 year old woman with the flailing arms. Clearly annoyed that my sporting prowess and training efforts mean I now walk faster than she does she has started to walk backwards instead. Arms still waving madly about.

I find myself worryingly drawn to compete...

The sound of music

I was in the scary baby shop last week, picking up the car seat, and as I was waiting for them to find the right orange monstrosity with side impact bars (although if I am ever in a crash bad enough to rely on side impact bars in my baby's car seat then I am in some serious trouble) I saw a bunch of CDs at the counter that apparently you play to the baby in the womb and it increases its intelligence.

What utter crap was my immediate reaction. However, upon checking the books at home it seems that in fact bump can now hear lots and reacts to noise.

Firstly, there is nothing like the knowledge that your unborn can hear everything to put you right off sex...

Secondly, maybe I should give this a try and not be so dismissive. She already listens to my voice all day. I've had a lot of meetings this week so the Bump is by now presumably very well versed in the finer points of mutual funds, structured products and discretionary mandates. However, I suspect this isn't quite what the books have in mind.

Last week, when I was at a frightfully am dram production of the Full Monty musical (don't bother if you were thinking of it, the americanisation of the script has dumbed it down too far) she was very active during the show and seemed to like the music. So, today on the way back from rowing I decided to test the theory. I sing badly, out of tune and out of time, so a solitary car ride seemed a good place to trial the theory. CD in, I sat merrily singing at the top of my voice. Lo and behold, bump started moving and, I like to think, dancing along to the sound of my voice. It was all rather nice, and I think I will do it more often as she seems to like it and it can only help when she finally comes out and needs calming.

It was only, however, once I got home that I realised that I had been singing along to one of my favourite Wonderstuff albums which has, amongst other lines including naughty four letter words, a song entitled "Radio Ass Kiss". Hmm, maybe I should choose something a little more appropriate for next time.

Ouch # 2

I am starting to think the title of this post is going to be the second in a large number of similarly named posts.

I have just got off the phone from S, who I work with and had her second child just under a week ago. Her first email to me was quite simple "it was quick and painful". Well, one can't have it all, so I guess you sacrifice some comfort for speed. I didn't think much of it.

However, my phone call with her today started with "it's awful, don't breast feed, in fact don't let the baby anywhere near your breasts" and carried on along similar lines for half an hour while she regaled me with tales of how she had forgotten how tough and painful everything was for the first few weeks.

I've heard this before, but S is an incredibly practical, poised, sensible and down to earth lass. For her to complain takes real discomfort (she works for me so is used to putting up with a lot), and to hear her so vocal about everything has only managed to prompt more panic and fear in me.

I've changed my mind, I don't really want a baby, I want to go home and hide.

The path to true happiness is cut up fruit for breakfast

Living in Hong Kong is not real, it is not how normal people live. It is slightly frightening that the only difference between travelling between Hong Kong proper and Hong Kong Disneyland is the mouse, annoyingly perky music, and that everything is designed for people who are three feet tall. Hong Kong is a playground, where everything is easy and life is fun.

Transport works and is clean, taxis are as cheap as your average London bus ride, you can find pretty much anything you need here, for a price (except nursing bras in size 32H, but that is for another post) and you get invited to wonderfully glamorous parties where you can guzzle free drinks all night. Put simply, this place is not real.

Until recently, I have firmly subscribed to the feet on the ground principle and tried to make my life as normal as possible. I have done the weekly shop on my own, run my own errands to the immigration department, tax office, or to licence the motorbike (when there are endless people happy to be paid to do so for you). I try to always cook when I am at home in time, and try to tidy up after myself. The Boy does the washing and we clean the cat's litter tray (she, however, does nothing).

However, things are changing. I am about to have a child, have a busy full time job, and a husband who travels a lot. Something has to give, and I am determined it will not be my sanity. So, I have done something I thought I never would, and employed a full time, live in, "helper".

In HK "helpers" (maid/housekeeper/nanny) have to live in and most are required to work 6 days a week, pretty much 24 hours a day. They tend to come from the Philippines or Thailand and are paid a pathetically small amount. We didn't even have a cleaner growing up and so I was very hesitant about having someone. We investigated all options, but in the end this was the only practical one.

I needn't have worried, it has changed my life. I was lucky in that H had previously worked for two colleagues of mine who were leaving HK, and looked after their small children so came with a great recommendation. She is in her early 40s, has had her own children and I am becoming rapidly convinced is channeling my Mum. Not only is the apartment always spotless, but she takes care of me in the absence of the Boy and this morning even cut up fruit for me for breakfast (unasked, I would have been fine with Special K) because a few girlfriends came round for pizza and chick flicks last night so H had decided I wasn't eating properly and should have fruit this morning.

H has completely changed my life, however pathetic that sounds. She is organised, caring, looks after me and the mad cat, and we get on brilliantly. We chat over brekkie in the morning, and she gives me my space in the evening.

She is rapidly, even after a couple of weeks, becoming such a part of our little family that all the worries I had about handing over my child to a stranger are diminishing. Once bump comes, H will move firmly into nanny territory and the Boy and I will get back to doing the shopping and washing ourselves at least some of the time, but for my final trimester H is just what I need.

So, if anyone wants to know the path to true happiness, she is living in my apartment right now.

Ouch

As I sat watching the Bump move around while I was on a conference call this morning (which I still watch with a creepy fascination as my own body moves without me doing anything), I realised how big she is getting. A nice warm and fuzzy thought that my Bump is growing.

Followed by a horrible thought that in a few weeks time, when she bigger still, she will have to find a way out of my body.

Now I feel sick.