東、西有別：育兒大不同

When I was eight months pregnant， my British husband and I were living in my native country of India. I don’t know how —and I wish I did， so that I’d know to avoid these awkward 1）detours in conversation in the future— but chatting with my mother one afternoon， I landed on the subject of car seats. How my husband and I intended to buy one so that we could， you know， bring the baby home safely.

This caught my very Indian， very traditional mother， much by surprise. “You’re going to put a newborn baby all alone into a car seat instead of bringing him or her home in your arms？” she 2）huffed over the phone. Car safety laws， and as a result car seats， are still a bit of a novelty in India. “What is safer than a mother’s arms？”

“A car seat，” I replied and left it at that.

That was not all. （How could it be？） Everything was a discussion， a debate， a clash of cultures in my 3）biracial， bi-continent， bi-everything marriage. When my mother suggested — gently — that I consider not leaving the house for a period of 40 days so that my body could get the rest it needed， my husband simply laughed. Instead， after giving birth via 4）C-section， as my baby lay in the 5）neonatal 6）intensive care unit with an extreme case of 7）jaundice， my husband and I， feeling useless， helpless and alone， braved Indian 8）bureaucracy and got my son’s birth certificate， sat for two hours in an almost-empty restaurant， and made several trips to the hospital Neonatal Intensive Care Unit， despite knowing we wouldn’t be allowed in. That my recovery consisted of a dance of two steps forward， three steps back was hardly a surprise to anyone but me.

When we took our newborn child and deposited him in a 9）cot （and out of our bed， thank you very much） a mere three months into his little life， our Indian friends thought us heartless and cruel. Children in India tend to sleep with their parents， sometimes until the age of 5 or 6， and that we were sleeping in a different room was 10）unfathomable to many people， who thought us cruel and lucky in equal measure.

I was in a 11）perpetual state of caught in the middle； between two cultures， two worlds， two ideas， and two attitudes. Everything the West did， the East thought overly practical and selfish. Everything the East did， the West found hilarious and outdated.

Slowly but surely （and after many “l(fā)ong talks”）， my husband and I learned to listen to both sides of our families. We took some of the East， some of the West， and most of what is referred to in the official parent handbook as “12）winging it，”and created our own little ways， our own customs， our own bicultural rulebook.

My 1-year-old has had a bed and a room of his own since the day he was born， but every time he had stomach problems， I called my mother to ask for the herbal remedies that have kept babies in this family gas-free for generations. When he started teething， the English side sympathized. The Indian side furrowed their brows and said，“Teething doesn’t have to hurt，” and chucked me a bottle of 13）homeopathic pills.

If I had to do it again， I wonder if I wouldn’t do it a bit differently. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so quick to reject the“outdated notions” of the East and gone back to work two months after my son was born， I wouldn’t have suffered so much during my recovery. Perhaps， if I hadn’t rejected the “cold practicality” of the West and taken those 14）anti-depressants my doctor prescribed for me， I wouldn’t have spent so much time hiding in a dark corner of myself. Perhaps if I had listened instead of judged， it might just all have been a wee bit easier.

A l m o s t a month after my son was born， a photographer friend took us all （including the dog） to the park. There’s a photo of us looking tired and a little bit frustrated as we set up for the next shot， and as I look at it， it dawns on me that this lack of grace and confidence is perhaps what defines every new parent. In the modern world， we’re all 15）bombarded with a million different choices， no matter whether we’re in the East or West， raising biracial children or not. Most of us are fortunate enough to inhabit a world where decisions are no longer made for us and we can create from all the various possibilities available， what we feel is best for our children. And maybe， in the end， that is what being a parent is all about.

當我懷孕八個月時，我的英國丈夫和我一起住在我的家鄉(xiāng)——印度。我也不知道是怎么回事——我真希望自己能搞明白，好讓日后聊天時避免走這些尷尬的彎路——但在某天下午與我母親的閑聊中，我說起了關(guān)于汽車兒童座椅的話題。說起我和丈夫打算買一把，你知道，這樣我們就可以安全地把孩子帶回家。

這讓我那非常印度、非常傳統(tǒng)的母親驚訝不已。“你要把一個新生兒放在汽車兒童座椅上自個兒坐著，而不是抱在自己懷里帶他或她回家？”她怒氣沖沖地在電話里說道。汽車安全法，以及由此而產(chǎn)生的汽車兒童座椅，在印度依然算是某種新鮮玩意兒。“還有什么能比母親的懷抱更安全的呢？”

“汽車兒童座椅，”我回答道，談話到此為止。

這都還沒完呢。（怎么可能完了？）在我的跨種族、跨大陸、跨一切事物的婚姻里，每件事都要經(jīng)過討論、辯論和文化沖突。我母親溫和地建議說，我該考慮在家待上40天的時間，好讓身體得到所需的休養(yǎng)，聽到這么一說，我丈夫只是報以大笑。相反的是，在經(jīng)過剖腹產(chǎn)生下寶寶后，當寶寶因危重黃疸病躺在新生兒重癥監(jiān)護病房時，丈夫和我自覺束手無策又無奈無援，還要勇敢地去面對印度的官僚機構(gòu)，去拿我兒子的出生證明，在一間門可羅雀的餐廳里坐了兩個小時，跑了好幾趟醫(yī)院的新生兒重癥監(jiān)護病房，盡管我們知道那里根本不允許我們進入。于是我在康復期里情況時好時壞，除了我以外，其他人幾乎都毫不驚訝。……