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 Everything the East did， the West found hilarious and outdated.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(dāng)我懷孕八個(gè)月時(shí)，我的英國(guó)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(shí)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(shuō)起了關(guān)于汽車兒童座椅的話題。說(shuō)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(gè)新生兒放在汽車兒童座椅上自個(gè)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(shuō)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?！斑€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(méi)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(guò)討論、辯論和文化沖突。我母親溫和地建議說(shuō)，我該考慮在家待上40天的時(shí)間，好讓身體得到所需的休養(yǎng)，聽(tīng)到這么一說(shuō)，我丈夫只是報(bào)以大笑。相反的是，在經(jīng)過(guò)剖腹產(chǎn)生下寶寶后，當(dāng)寶寶因危重黃疸病躺在新生兒重癥監(jiān)護(hù)病房時(shí)，丈夫和我自覺(jué)束手無(wú)策又無(wú)奈無(wú)援，還要勇敢地去面對(duì)印度的官僚機(jī)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(gè)小時(shí)，跑了好幾趟醫(yī)院的新生兒重癥監(jiān)護(hù)病房，盡管我們知道那里根本不允許我們進(jìn)入。于是我在康復(fù)期里情況時(shí)好時(shí)壞，除了我以外，其他人幾乎都毫不驚訝。

當(dāng)我們把新生的寶寶帶回家，在小生命只有短短的三個(gè)月之時(shí)，就將他安置在嬰兒床里（不是放在我們的床上，非常感謝?。?，我們的印度朋友都覺(jué)得我倆無(wú)情且殘忍。在印度，孩子們一般會(huì)和父母親一起睡，有時(shí)候一直睡到五六歲，而我們則睡在不同的房間里，對(duì)于許多人來(lái)說(shuō)這是難以理解的，一半人認(rèn)為我們殘忍，另一半人則覺(jué)得我們幸運(yùn)。

我一直處于被夾在中間的狀態(tài)；在兩種文化，兩個(gè)世界，兩種觀念和兩種態(tài)度之間。西方人做的每件事，東方人都覺(jué)得過(guò)于實(shí)際和自私。而東方人做的每件事，西方人則覺(jué)得可笑和過(guò)時(shí)。

逐漸，難以避免地（在經(jīng)過(guò)許多次“長(zhǎng)談”后），丈夫和我學(xué)會(huì)傾聽(tīng)兩方家庭的意見(jiàn)。我們采納一些東方的建議，一些西方的建議，大部分則像官方家長(zhǎng)指南所說(shuō)的那樣“即興發(fā)揮”，然后創(chuàng)造出我們自己的小方法，我們自己的習(xí)慣，我們自己的跨文化規(guī)則手冊(cè)。

我一歲的寶寶自從出生伊始便已有了自己的床和房間，但每當(dāng)他的腸胃出問(wèn)題時(shí)，我就給我母親打電話要來(lái)藥草療方，這些藥草世代以來(lái)讓這個(gè)家庭里的孩子們遠(yuǎn)離腹脹氣問(wèn)題。當(dāng)他開(kāi)始長(zhǎng)牙時(shí)，英國(guó)這一方滿心憐惜，而印度那一方則皺了皺眉頭，說(shuō)道：“長(zhǎng)牙齒不一定要疼個(gè)半死的，”然后同樣扔給我一瓶天然藥劑。

如果我不得不一切重新來(lái)過(guò)，我疑惑自己是否也不會(huì)用些稍微不同的方式來(lái)對(duì)待。也許如果不是我這么快拒絕東方的“過(guò)時(shí)觀念”，在兒子出生兩個(gè)月之后便回去工作的話，我在恢復(fù)期就不會(huì)受那么多罪了。也許如果我沒(méi)有拒絕西方的“冷酷實(shí)用主義”，吃下了醫(yī)生給我開(kāi)的抗抑郁藥的話，我就不會(huì)在自己內(nèi)心的黑暗角落里藏匿那么久。也許如果我選擇傾聽(tīng)而非評(píng)判的話，一切或許都會(huì)簡(jiǎn)單一些。

大約在我兒子出生一個(gè)月后，一位攝影師朋友帶上我們所有人（包括狗狗）一起去公園拍照。有一張照片里，我們看起來(lái)疲憊且有點(diǎn)沮喪，那是在我們?yōu)橄乱粡堈掌鰷?zhǔn)備之前被拍下的，而當(dāng)我看著這張照片時(shí)，我突然領(lǐng)悟到這種缺乏優(yōu)雅與自信的模樣也許是每一對(duì)新手父母的通病。在這個(gè)現(xiàn)代社會(huì)里，無(wú)論是東方人還是西方人，無(wú)論是否養(yǎng)育著跨種族的孩子，我們都會(huì)受到千百萬(wàn)個(gè)不同選擇的輪番轟炸。我們大多數(shù)人都是幸運(yùn)的，能夠生活在這樣的一個(gè)世界里，不再有人替我們做決定，且我們能夠從各種可用的可能性中創(chuàng)造出自己覺(jué)得對(duì)孩子們最好的決定。而也許最終，這就是身為父母的奧義所在。