That Crazy American Mother

I have a reputation. I am "that crazy American mother." My reputation in our apartment block was sealed tonight when the daughter of my underneath neighbor came up to visit. I invited her in, but she was scared of Bagwelle so we had to stand on the porch and chat.

After the necessary pleasantries, she confessed why she came to visit: her 3.5 month old son wasn't drinking a bottle and she was feeling like she was under house arrest (her mother in law didn't like her nursing in public). Her mother in law and her mother had run out of suggestions of how to encourage the baby to take a bottle so she could get out a bit (and regain her sanity). Then, her mother had a good idea: why don't you go upstairs and talk to that crazy American mother? Maybe she'll have some crazy American ideas that will work!

My reputation has been growing the two years we've been living here. First, I hardly gained any weight (by local standards) during pregnancy. I kept on working up until the day before Patrick was born. I ran around and played with William in the courtyard while pregnant! I even drove the car myself while (a) I was pregnant and (b) Greg was out of town. Can you imagine?

Then the craziness didn't stop after Patrick was born. I took Patrick downstairs when he was only two weeks old. I started my yoga practice again only two months after giving birth. I went back to work when Patrick was only three months old, and left him with Sarwari - not with my mother or mother in law! I went to Uzbekistan when Patrick was only 10 months, leaving Greg alone with two boys - the horrors! I took away Patrick's bottles at his one year birthday. Though Sarwari feeds Patrick some baby food, I also encourage him to eat pasta and bread and Cherrios by himself. What sort of cruel mother makes her baby self-feed?

And let's not even get started on what crazy ideas this American mother has when it comes to William. No biscuits or chocolates until after 5PM. He has to come home when I say it's time, even if it means I pick him up kicking and screaming. I let him walk the dog. I let him talk to the security guards and watch the cricket games the "tent people" play in the street. The list could go on.

Tonight when our neighbor came up for some of my crazy advice, she also became party to our biggest secret - Greg actually helps out with the kids! She saw him feeding Patrick his dinner after she finally found enough courage to come in (or perhaps curiosity to see our crazy American house). Greg reads bedtime stories to the boys and plays with them - and then picks up their toys. Not only is there a crazy American mother, but there's a crazy American father living upstairs - and, to top it off, she found out tonight we had a love marriage! Good thing I didn't tell her that Greg had to change all of Patrick's diapers the three weeks my arm was in a cast. That might just have been too much.

Despite these mind boggling ideas, I think I dispensed some sound advice to this poor new mother. I sympathized that her Indian moires would not allow her to nurse in public (though I told her I still did in HYD - but I'm a crazy American, after all). I gave her three of Patrick's old bottles with different nipples, and told her that some babies are sensitive to different types. I suggested she go to two different baby stores which sell import formula and get small samples - maybe her son doesn't like the taste of the Nestle formula here.

After she left, Greg and I wondered - what will our apartment complex do after we leave? Who will they turn to when the suggestions of both the mother and mother in law don't work? I suppose there's always the internet...