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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 Everything the East did， the West found hilarious and outdated.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 “long 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.
当我怀孕八个月时，我的英国丈夫和我一起住在我的家乡——印度。我也不知道是怎么回事——我真希望自己能搞明白，好让日后聊天时避免走这些尴尬的弯路——但在某天下午与我母亲的闲聊中，我说起了关于汽车儿童座椅的话题。说起我和丈夫打算买一把，你知道，这样我们就可以安全地把孩子带回家。
这让我那非常印度、非常传统的母亲惊讶不已。“你要把一个新生儿放在汽车儿童座椅上自个儿坐着，而不是抱在自己怀里带他或她回家？”她怒气冲冲地在电话里说道。汽车安全法，以及由此而产生的汽车儿童座椅，在印度依然算是某种新鲜玩意儿。“还有什么能比母亲的怀抱更安全的呢？”
“汽车儿童座椅，”我回答道，谈话到此为止。
这都还没完呢。（怎么可能完了？）在我的跨种族、跨大陆、跨一切事物的婚姻里，每件事都要经过讨论、辩论和文化冲突。我母亲温和地建议说，我该考虑在家待上40天的时间，好让身体得到所需的休养，听到这么一说，我丈夫只是报以大笑。相反的是，在经过剖腹产生下宝宝后，当宝宝因危重黄疸病躺在新生儿重症监护病房时，丈夫和我自觉束手无策又无奈无援，还要勇敢地去面对印度的官僚机构，去拿我儿子的出生证明，在一间门可罗雀的餐厅里坐了两个小时，跑了好几趟医院的新生儿重症监护病房，尽管我们知道那里根本不允许我们进入。于是我在康复期里情况时好时坏，除了我以外，其他人几乎都毫不惊讶。
当我们把新生的宝宝带回家，在小生命只有短短的三个月之时，就将他安置在婴儿床里（不是放在我们的床上，非常感谢啊），我们的印度朋友都觉得我俩无情且残忍。在印度，孩子们一般会和父母亲一起睡，有时候一直睡到五六岁，而我们则睡在不同的房间里，对于许多人来说这是难以理解的，一半人认为我们残忍，另一半人则觉得我们幸运。
我一直处于被夹在中间的状态；在两种文化，两个世界，两种观念和两种态度之间。西方人做的每件事，东方人都觉得过于实际和自私。而东方人做的每件事，西方人则觉得可笑和过时。
逐渐，难以避免地（在经过许多次“长谈”后），丈夫和我学会倾听两方家庭的意见。我们采纳一些东方的建议，一些西方的建议，大部分则像官方家长指南所说的那样“即兴发挥”，然后创造出我们自己的小方法，我们自己的习惯，我们自己的跨文化规则手册。
我一岁的宝宝自从出生伊始便已有了自己的床和房间，但每当他的肠胃出问题时，我就给我母亲打电话要来药草疗方，这些药草世代以来让这个家庭里的孩子们远离腹胀气问题。当他开始长牙时，英国这一方满心怜惜，而印度那一方则皱了皱眉头，说道：“长牙齿不一定要疼个半死的，”然后同样扔给我一瓶天然药剂。
如果我不得不一切重新来过，我疑惑自己是否也不会用些稍微不同的方式来对待。也许如果不是我这么快拒绝东方的“过时观念”，在儿子出生两个月之后便回去工作的话，我在恢复期就不会受那么多罪了。也许如果我没有拒绝西方的“冷酷实用主义”，吃下了医生给我开的抗抑郁药的话，我就不会在自己内心的黑暗角落里藏匿那么久。也许如果我选择倾听而非评判的话，一切或许都会简单一些。
大约在我儿子出生一个月后，一位摄影师朋友带上我们所有人（包括狗狗）一起去公园拍照。有一张照片里，我们看起来疲惫且有点沮丧，那是在我们为下一张照片做准备之前被拍下的，而当我看着这张照片时，我突然领悟到这种缺乏优雅与自信的模样也许是每一对新手父母的通病。在这个现代社会里，无论是东方人还是西方人，无论是否养育着跨种族的孩子，我们都会受到千百万个不同选择的轮番轰炸。我们大多数人都是幸运的，能够生活在这样的一个世界里，不再有人替我们做决定，且我们能够从各种可用的可能性中创造出自己觉得对孩子们最好的决定。而也许最终，这就是身为父母的奥义所在。
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 “long 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.
当我怀孕八个月时，我的英国丈夫和我一起住在我的家乡——印度。我也不知道是怎么回事——我真希望自己能搞明白，好让日后聊天时避免走这些尴尬的弯路——但在某天下午与我母亲的闲聊中，我说起了关于汽车儿童座椅的话题。说起我和丈夫打算买一把，你知道，这样我们就可以安全地把孩子带回家。
这让我那非常印度、非常传统的母亲惊讶不已。“你要把一个新生儿放在汽车儿童座椅上自个儿坐着，而不是抱在自己怀里带他或她回家？”她怒气冲冲地在电话里说道。汽车安全法，以及由此而产生的汽车儿童座椅，在印度依然算是某种新鲜玩意儿。“还有什么能比母亲的怀抱更安全的呢？”
“汽车儿童座椅，”我回答道，谈话到此为止。
这都还没完呢。（怎么可能完了？）在我的跨种族、跨大陆、跨一切事物的婚姻里，每件事都要经过讨论、辩论和文化冲突。我母亲温和地建议说，我该考虑在家待上40天的时间，好让身体得到所需的休养，听到这么一说，我丈夫只是报以大笑。相反的是，在经过剖腹产生下宝宝后，当宝宝因危重黄疸病躺在新生儿重症监护病房时，丈夫和我自觉束手无策又无奈无援，还要勇敢地去面对印度的官僚机构，去拿我儿子的出生证明，在一间门可罗雀的餐厅里坐了两个小时，跑了好几趟医院的新生儿重症监护病房，尽管我们知道那里根本不允许我们进入。于是我在康复期里情况时好时坏，除了我以外，其他人几乎都毫不惊讶。
当我们把新生的宝宝带回家，在小生命只有短短的三个月之时，就将他安置在婴儿床里（不是放在我们的床上，非常感谢啊），我们的印度朋友都觉得我俩无情且残忍。在印度，孩子们一般会和父母亲一起睡，有时候一直睡到五六岁，而我们则睡在不同的房间里，对于许多人来说这是难以理解的，一半人认为我们残忍，另一半人则觉得我们幸运。
我一直处于被夹在中间的状态；在两种文化，两个世界，两种观念和两种态度之间。西方人做的每件事，东方人都觉得过于实际和自私。而东方人做的每件事，西方人则觉得可笑和过时。
逐渐，难以避免地（在经过许多次“长谈”后），丈夫和我学会倾听两方家庭的意见。我们采纳一些东方的建议，一些西方的建议，大部分则像官方家长指南所说的那样“即兴发挥”，然后创造出我们自己的小方法，我们自己的习惯，我们自己的跨文化规则手册。
我一岁的宝宝自从出生伊始便已有了自己的床和房间，但每当他的肠胃出问题时，我就给我母亲打电话要来药草疗方，这些药草世代以来让这个家庭里的孩子们远离腹胀气问题。当他开始长牙时，英国这一方满心怜惜，而印度那一方则皱了皱眉头，说道：“长牙齿不一定要疼个半死的，”然后同样扔给我一瓶天然药剂。
如果我不得不一切重新来过，我疑惑自己是否也不会用些稍微不同的方式来对待。也许如果不是我这么快拒绝东方的“过时观念”，在儿子出生两个月之后便回去工作的话，我在恢复期就不会受那么多罪了。也许如果我没有拒绝西方的“冷酷实用主义”，吃下了医生给我开的抗抑郁药的话，我就不会在自己内心的黑暗角落里藏匿那么久。也许如果我选择倾听而非评判的话，一切或许都会简单一些。
大约在我儿子出生一个月后，一位摄影师朋友带上我们所有人（包括狗狗）一起去公园拍照。有一张照片里，我们看起来疲惫且有点沮丧，那是在我们为下一张照片做准备之前被拍下的，而当我看着这张照片时，我突然领悟到这种缺乏优雅与自信的模样也许是每一对新手父母的通病。在这个现代社会里，无论是东方人还是西方人，无论是否养育着跨种族的孩子，我们都会受到千百万个不同选择的轮番轰炸。我们大多数人都是幸运的，能够生活在这样的一个世界里，不再有人替我们做决定，且我们能够从各种可用的可能性中创造出自己觉得对孩子们最好的决定。而也许最终，这就是身为父母的奥义所在。