Me, Myself, and I

I had my weekly doctor's visit today and it was predicted by his swift judgment that I still have another week to go. I am actually hoping Luca will want to be born on the 21st since it will make my kids a complete cusp set (Sebastian-20th, Nico-22nd, Colette-23rd).

I always feel a little fatigued after seeing the regular doctor and always have to transform into self-doula mode to raise my spirits. It isn't easy giving birth in a place where we are essentially on our own. After two years in Nagoya, we do have quite a few friends, yet it is not normal in Japan to rely on such relationships during times like this. Typically pregnant women return to their parents' house the month before the birth and remain there until the one month baby check-up following the birth. It is a nice tradition for those who can take advantage of it but for a mama like myself, it means that I am more isolated than most.

Of course, I went through this before with Colette and lived on a tiny island for that one so I am experienced. It does increase my sense of self-sufficiency but I can't help but envy those women who do have parents in the country to help them during such a vulnerable time. My own parents have helped me tremendously in their own way but I wish they had decided to retire in Okinawa instead of St. Augustine, Florida. Similar climates and much easier for us to travel to.

Yet there is no sense in feeling sorry for myself. I just must remember that this is the one disadvantage that balances all those advantages we have living in Japan. And also I must recall that amazing sense of victory I felt at the end of Colette's active but gentle birth. It made me feel akin to women who go off by themselves to give birth in the bush. Such a peaceful and natural event, so unlike the experience promoted by those who wish to profit from childbirth.

At the end, I feel all I can say is ganbatte to myself and just try and stay sunny. A pursuit made easier by the return of actual sunshine pouring through my window.

Both

This is the story of two brothers. Two brothers, both born in a country far, far away. Two brothers who now identify themselves as both, not one nationality or the other. Not half. Both. Two brothers who spend their days in Japanese and now have brought it home to play. Left alone, these two brothers now play in Japanese. The older one reprimands the younger one in Japanese, and you know what, the younger one listens. Some of the time. There are jokes between them that we will never laugh at but they find hysterical. There are their demands for orderliness that are lost on us, despite our years of living here.

When we first started this bilingual adventure, we were not fully aware of what was lying in store. Our third-culture kids insist that we expand our expectations to include who they really are. They are a unique sub-culture with a small but feisty membership. I feel very lucky to watch their evolution and know now that they are the true pioneers, going places we have never even considered.
I am also happy that they have each other. Their understanding of each other goes far beyond what we are capable of. Especially when it comes to booty jokes.