I like to think that I know best when it comes to my kids. I know what the cries mean, I know what the faces mean, I know when they are tired, hungry, need to pee, etc. I had this plan to “help my child” acclimate to our new environment because I thought I “knew” that was best. I had planned to start working the beginning of February and would take the month of January to get established, play school, and do “mom” stuff; not that I knew what that was really…
We tried doing “school time” at home. That quickly ended. I am not a teacher; I don’t pretend to have the patience of a teacher. I believe teachers (the good ones anyway) should be in the running for sainthood simply because they do not strangle our children by 3pm. I mean I can barely handle the one and they deal with 20 at the same time? There would not be enough wine in the world to peel me from the rafters after a day with 20 kids. Heck come 5pm, I am cracking open the bottle. I miss Odie asking me “is it 5 already?” I think of her every time it’s time for wine simply because she was one of those people that had the ability to be so kind and patient to kids no matter what… again another candidate for sainthood.
I digress, my son quickly informed me that I “was not school.” That is when I knew I had to get him to preschool and he needed friends. On top of the fact that he would ask to go play at Chick-fil-a on a daily basis and that was not an option. I started calling all around town asking for a spot for both kids to attend daycare/preschool and thankfully there was one location that did not have a waiting list a mile long.
This morning was our first day of preschool. He was pumped! We arrive to the school, get both kids out of the car and as we are waiting for someone to unlock the door he looks at me and says “Bye mom!” “Whoa wait a minute boy! I plan on walking you in and saying goodbye.” He says “well I am just saying goodbye because I am going to school and you are going to work.” This put my heart at ease knowing he was so ready and happy. With his Star Wars lunchbox he headed off and I was able to walk away in peace. Dropping off Mia was another story… I about lost it but that’s a story for another day.
Sometimes we think we know best. We make a plan and we KNOW that is how it will go. Other times we are humbled by circumstances that show us we aren’t in control and that we need to roll with it and more times than not it all works out. God always has a plan.
I had left a place which claims “Smiling faces. Beautiful places.” to go to the “Land of Smiles.” Thailand lived up to their name but upon returning to the south I have found people aren’t as friendly as I remember. At the same time I am not sure if this lack of friendliness and helpfulness is a southern problem or a societal problem.
Yes, yes you can but it isn’t easy. Good lord it isn’t easy. Packing wasn’t so bad but saying goodbye to everything and everyone we knew and loved was heartbreaking. The night before we left, I wept like I never would have imagined. I couldn’t believe how the expat to Bangkok would forever change our lives, our opinions, our perceptions, everything really… It was by far one of the best decisions we ever made.
Repatriation… I have recently been told it is as hard as expatriating… Something I was completely oblivious to and with only 63 days left in country so many things are swirling around in my mind.
Will I miss the sounds of the city? Will I miss the noise which constantly berates my ear drums? The dull roar of the cars driving by, the horns, the tuktuk mufflers, and the whistles. The flashing lights from the big screen billboards that reflect in the windows of the high rise next to me and on a dark night can illuminate my entire apartment, will that “night light” be missed?
Part of me thinks that when I get home the quiet will be deafening. I won’t even know what to do with the silence of winter. How will that affect me? Will it bring on a sense of loneliness or will it be a long awaited relief? Will my ears ring from the silence or will I still hear these damn whistles in the cold southern night because they are forever ingrained into my subconscious?
Can you really ever go home again? Will it be different? Will the culture shock that we just got “over” here and accepted as the norm make the culture shock of the States that much more difficult? Will we recognize it as familiar? Will we be accepted back into the fold or will we stick out like a sore thumb? Have my world views changed so much that I will never be the same American that I was before? Will I ever be able to look at home the same way again? Will our “American” problems ever be something I can comprehend again with what I have seen here; the poverty, the crime, the hurt experienced by so many people just trying to make it through the day to feed their family?
These questions are just coming up as my time here abroad ends. I’m ready to come home but I am concerned about the unknown. How will my family adjust? Will we be sad to leave everything we know behind? Will we be happy to finally be home? Will our brains feel like they might explode from hearing a language we understand? Will my son be able to comprehend that he can’t eat pineapple everyday (due to having seasons) or that chicken and rice isn’t the usual lunch time meal for kids his age? How long will it take to feel normal again?
There are so many unknowns. Questions which can only be answered with time…. Time I am more than willing to spend with my new family figuring it all out together. I supposed it is just our next big adventure.
It’s taken me a while and I am still not very good at it but I try and remove all expectations in my life. It helps with anger, frustration, and really a mix of emotions. Nothing bad can happen and there really is no worry if you don’t have a set expectation on how a situation might turn out or on how a person should act. Don’t get me wrong, basic human courtesy and manners are two things not all cultures understand and that still upsets me because I will always have the expectation that people should be decent but I digress…
There is one thing I have learned in my short amount of time being a parent and that is having expectations on how anything in life with children should go is ridiculous. I expected to be able to breastfeed my son when he was born. I had no clue there was a possibility or really even an option that it would not work out. I am a woman, I had a baby, and boobs should make milk… expectations… I expected all would be right with the world and I would save money! Nope that didn’t work out and what happens when you have expectations? Your hopes and dreams (only for that situation) go down in flames. I then had the expectation I could get pregnant again. I expect that I am young, I have a husband, I don’t do drugs, I am healthy, and why wouldn’t I be able to get pregnant again? Again…. wrong… three times over… well I could get pregnant I guess the expectation was that keeping a baby throughout an entire pregnancy would be the easy part…. Nope. Hopes and dreams dashed upon the rocks. Then BAM! We’re pregnant again. This time, I have removed all expectations on if it would actually come to fruition. Will it work out? Who knows? I didn’t expect anything to go in any particular way and surprisingly there was much less stress and worry (it was still there but less).
I did however have expectations on how I would give birth this go around. I just assumed another natural birth (with the pain meds) would happen. I expected this child and her birth would be similar to that of my sons but apparently not. I didn’t expect for this baby to be breech. I didn’t expect for this baby to only have one umbilical cord artery. I didn’t expect that with an entire pregnancy of normal growth and ultrasound reports to hear today that at 37 weeks she is only 2.6kg. I didn’t expect to have to have a scheduled C-section next week… but it’s all happening. My expectations were not met. Am I upset about the c-section? Not really. My plan ultimately is to have a kid that is alive and well come labor time. Am I worried about the low birth weight? Sure I am but that’s probably normal given the situation with the single umbilical cord artery.
I said I tried to remove expectations from my life and it looks like I haven’t done that great of a job doing so. However, I do expect God to be with me during all of this and I know that to be true.
Friends & family: We ask for your prayers for our daughter, the doctors, our peace of mind and for a speedy recovery.
I have a love/hate relationship with Pinterest. I love to see all of the very creative ideas but lately I feel incredibly inadequate as I gaze upon the beautiful nurseries that creative mothers have conjured up. As I scroll through the search results, I think I could do that? Then I remember my God given talents do not lie in the artistic realm.
Just a lighthearted post of being pregnant in Bangkok.
What a beautiful day! It’s the perfect weather.
That’s because no matter the month Bangkok is hot. You can have sticky heat, humid heat, pouring sweat heat, heat that makes your skin burn, hot rain, hot wind, the list goes on and on. It’s hot but the best part is you can wear shorts all the time. Also it’s not a big deal if you look like a pregnant hot mess because everyone else in this city is looking like a hot mess.
I see parents on Facebook post pictures of their kids using their Timehop app and it’s always fun to see what a difference a year makes and how much they have changed. Today I was in amazement at what came up on my Timehop. For those who aren’t aware Timehop is an app for your smart phone or iPad that will show you whatever you posted on that day 1, 2 or 9 years ago depending on how long you have had social media.