Right now we have two
I was mostly looking forward to my high school reunion. Previous years' have been lots of fun, so much that sometimes I go back to Kane for reunion years that aren't my own, as do many others. This time I even had a new dress made in Beijing, something inspired by Mad Men. Brigid had self-weaned only a few weeks ago, so I was exceptionally excited to wear a single-piece dress.
What I wasn't looking foward to was how I would react to being asked how many children I have. I have practiced my answer, "Right now we have two," that I usually don't hesitate as I once did. For casual conversation this is, of course, adequate. Especially at my high school reunion, when most people are in a more buoyant mood, I really did not want to ruin that atmosphere. Anyone from home who is close to me already knew the answer to what is actually a painful question to answer.
In Beijing, though, very few people know about Maeve. In fact, if they aren't readers of this blog (which in Beijing numbers all of two people), they likely don't know. Even among the parents of Myles' closest friends there has never been an opportunity to talk about this. I think I want people to know--to know without my telling them, which is obviously impossible. I don't want people to feel sorry for us or sad. I want people who want to be close to us to see the parts of our own story that aren't visible to the casual observer. But I don't want to have to tell them.
There was one exception. One afternoon soon after we moved to Changping we were at the coffee shop, talking with another customer who was an American English teacher. At that time his wife was expecting their first child. He said he was interested in having another child, maybe two years after this first one, unlike, he pointed out, the five years between my own children. What was I thinking, he asked, when I chose to space my children so far apart. Wouldn't if have been easier for me, and better for them, if their births had been closer together, he asked me.
This was more than I could take. I began with "Actually," and ended with "three babies in five years--is that more socially acceptable?" Everything in between I don't exactly remember, but I do know I assaulted him with weaponized grief. No, it did not make me feel any better; quite the opposite, really.
I never want this to happen again. It serves no purpose to anyone. Since then I inhale deeply, and volunteer that, "Right now we have two." Over and over again all weekend long, I would just think of my children and say, "Right now we have two."
What I wasn't looking foward to was how I would react to being asked how many children I have. I have practiced my answer, "Right now we have two," that I usually don't hesitate as I once did. For casual conversation this is, of course, adequate. Especially at my high school reunion, when most people are in a more buoyant mood, I really did not want to ruin that atmosphere. Anyone from home who is close to me already knew the answer to what is actually a painful question to answer.
In Beijing, though, very few people know about Maeve. In fact, if they aren't readers of this blog (which in Beijing numbers all of two people), they likely don't know. Even among the parents of Myles' closest friends there has never been an opportunity to talk about this. I think I want people to know--to know without my telling them, which is obviously impossible. I don't want people to feel sorry for us or sad. I want people who want to be close to us to see the parts of our own story that aren't visible to the casual observer. But I don't want to have to tell them.
There was one exception. One afternoon soon after we moved to Changping we were at the coffee shop, talking with another customer who was an American English teacher. At that time his wife was expecting their first child. He said he was interested in having another child, maybe two years after this first one, unlike, he pointed out, the five years between my own children. What was I thinking, he asked, when I chose to space my children so far apart. Wouldn't if have been easier for me, and better for them, if their births had been closer together, he asked me.
This was more than I could take. I began with "Actually," and ended with "three babies in five years--is that more socially acceptable?" Everything in between I don't exactly remember, but I do know I assaulted him with weaponized grief. No, it did not make me feel any better; quite the opposite, really.
I never want this to happen again. It serves no purpose to anyone. Since then I inhale deeply, and volunteer that, "Right now we have two." Over and over again all weekend long, I would just think of my children and say, "Right now we have two."
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