Sickness #2

I haven't posted anything on my blog for a year. I've been writing a post about our whole big move but that's taking a back seat until I exorcise the rage demon currently inhabiting my body. So far, in an effort to do this I've rage filled the dishwasher, rage soaked my oats in preparation for porridge, rage watched an episode of Star Trek TNG and rage fried an egg for my daughter's breakfast, it was star shaped. Though greatly reduced, the demon still persists. So rather than disappear and play a computer game as is my want, I've decided to blog. Before we continue please be aware that there will likely be some rather profane language used. I don't swear often and when I do I make good use of it, now is definitely time for some salty language.

Our wee boy Benny is sick again. If you have read the original post about sickness you'll see that it ended with me outlining our decision to leave HK for the health of our family. Now, for 3 out of the 4 members of our family this has definitely proven to be an effective step towards better health. We have left HK and up until last month not one of us had been on antibiotics in just over a year, the kids daily medication has been greatly reduced, Carys' allergies have largely cleared up. The positive impact on their health has been a huge positive. Except this hasn't really been true for Benny. My wee man just can't catch a break. He's been hospitalised 3 times since being here. Twice for respiratory issues and once for surgery to remove his adenoids in the hope of solving the respiratory issues. The last time he was in, which was about 4 weeks ago, his blood oxygen level was so low he was in serious distress. Now he's sick again with, drum-roll....respiratory issues. I'm hopeful he's just caught my end of term exhaustion sickness / cold / Man Flu (which is REAL, it's an affliction). A lot of what he's got is what I had, only because he's little his body is fighting much harder. The cough alone sounds like a bass drum. 

As a parent you have to accept sickness. Your kids will get sick. They will touch everything and anything with their hands, feet, tongues, nose, mouth, eyeballs, it really doesn't matter. If your child can jam something into an orifice, be it something they pick up off the ground or a part of their own body which has just come into contact with something on the ground, they will almost certainly do so. Why you may ask? Because it delights them to see you shriek and flap like an ineffectual harpy at them. Also because they might quite like the taste of a commuter's freshly discarded, crushed under foot, crunchy possible foot item. Or perhaps they just love the taste of months old, but still slightly squishy gum stuck under a park bench. As a special needs teacher I should also point out that your child may also have sensory issues (whew glad I reassured everyone by throwing THAT into the mix). When you or I look at these things with parents eyes we see scrofula, herpes, poo, and projectile vomiting straight out of the Exorcist. In the child's mind they don't think of these things as cesspits of disease, they see something potentially edible and tasty or just something they can use to pass the time.

I vividly remember eating a peanut off the playground, it had been stepped on but it still tasted of peanut. I could have been 7 at the time, or 14. Actually now that I think about it, these old habits have just come right back into fashion since being a parent. Whoops, child you just dropped the whole plate of dinner I just spent half an hour making. Oh well, no big loss, scrape it up, back on the plate, NOM NOM, mmmmm delicious. I drop food on the floor almost daily, not because I'm wasteful but because invariably a child has appeared like a poltergeist directly in my path. Actually that's a lie, they almost never appear like poltergeist, usually they do it while making about as much noise a train derailing, complete with wailing and shrieking of passengers. Actually you know what, they appear like Kanye, rambling about stuff he just made up like it's God's gift directly to you, demanding all the attention and treats for himself and not giving a fuck what anybody else thinks or want.

Anyway, I digress. What do you do as parents when your kids are sick? Well that's one of many million dollar questions in parenting. The truth is, it doesn't matter how small or large the sickness is, generally there's always a part of you that's scared shitless. The more sick they are, the more terror you feel. When I came home from a work trip overseas I found Benny gasping for air, barely able to draw a breath. This is literally as I walked in the door and dropped my cases. Immediately I knew something was seriously wrong, so I set about treating him as best I could. The next morning we were at the hospital and this was when we found he was in respiratory distress. By the time he was in hospital he was actually breathing better! You can imagine how little oxygen he must have been getting the night before. You can also imagine the cascade of emotions I felt, and probably Sher too. Guilt over being away from him, horror at finding him in such a state, runaway imaginings of what might have happened if I had gotten home later. And anger. So much anger. I get angry, not at the kids, because it's not their fault, but at the actual sickness. I hate it. I hates it like Golem hates Bilbo. 

As parents there's very little we can actually do. Your child's body has to fight the illness, the bacteria or the virus. The best you can do is make sure they receive proper medical care, continue the treatment all the way through and provide them with lots of comfort. Oh and vaccinate them against everything you possibly can, because not doing so makes you ignorant, a menace to society, a danger to my children, and a terrible parent. By not vaccinating you're essentially saying you're alright with your child, my child and any number of other children in our community either dying or becoming horrifically sick because of your idiot choice. Now, back to comforting the sick. We were supposed to be attempting sleep training again this week. Yes, yes, I know, it's going on 6 years now and we still aren't sleeping through the night. That's a different, much more exasperated and much more profane blog post. The point is, there's no sleep training happening now. Benny is sleeping in the big bed with Mum so she can keep an eye on him and help him when he needs. I sleep in the kid's room with Carys. This leads to awful sleep for Sher, an almost broken back for me, but also a whole lot of comfort for our little ones. It doesn't matter that only one is sick, the other one is sensitive the fact her brother is sick and reacts to it. She needs comfort and hugs too. We're an extremely huggy family. 

One last thing and then I'm done with this rather rambling rant. I'm an atheist. It's taken me a while to be comfortable with saying this, partly because there's always that irrational part of my brain wondering if I'll be struck down for saying the words and partly because I don't want to offend anyone. I bring this up because even though I'm an atheist I can tell you I try bargaining like hell when the kids get sick, like Benny has been. Especially now because he's been perma-sick for about 6 months, it's always the same shit and I'm now really worried for him. You will do literally anything to help your child. This is something you understand intellectually before you have kids, but it's something you know viscerally once you have them. It is a brutal, agonizing feeling which comes from a place of deep love. I would do anything to take Benny's sickness and pain away. At this point I don't care about the arguments that it's making him stronger and healthier in the long run. Screw all of that. I want my son to be well for more than 4 weeks at a time. If they ever invent a way for people to transfer a person's pain to another person you can bet your ass parents will be lining up around the block to volunteer. I'm sick of my son's sickness. Sick of the pain it brings him. Sick of the emotional and physical distress is causes him. Just fucking sick of sickness. I want it banished like an evil spirit or better yet, burned at the stake. I'd dance naked around that particular pyre. More than anything I want, so desperately, for my family to be well, to be healthy. And not just for a few weeks. I mean seriously, long term, forever, happily-ever-after healthy. Right now I'm too bogged down in woods to see the trees, let alone any light that might be spilling in. Other than my wee man's happy face, that brings me such joy and I'm eternally thankful for him and my whole family.

Anti-Social

I was supposed to go out  last night. I didn't. It was an opportunity for me to connect with some of the new people I'm working with. I feel pretty shitty about not going because I said I would and then bailed. This isn't totally unusual for me. People think I'm anti-social, I'm not. I love being with other people and having a good time. I don't go out much for a few reasons. Well two really.

I find going out on my own with people I'm unfamiliar with to be difficult. It's not because I'm an asshole though. Not always anyway. I've never been a social butterfly, I always had my group of friends and that was enough for me. I didn't go out partying when I was younger except in the first year of uni and that was because I had friends who also wanted to go out or who worked behind the bar so I could get cheap drinks. When I get to a party or whatever social event it is I'm fine and 95% of the time I'll enjoy myself and be glad I went. Getting there is always a challenge though. Partly it's because I don't like to leave the kids at home with a babysitter. We use a great person and the kids love her, but I just prefer to be with my semi-insane offspring. I've said it before, I'm acutely aware that my kids are only going to be this little for a short period of time. Carys is already 5, she looks completely different now and is still changing everyday. Benny is getting bigger and more assertive, he's changing as well. I just never want to waste an opportunity to be with my kids while they still want to be with me. They amaze me everyday, and I say this without exaggeration. They also drive me up the wall and I want them to leave me alone sometimes, particularly when they wake me in the middle of the night by screaming my name across the hallway. Still, I'd prefer to be with them than out at a party. Mostly. So, reason one, I don't like to leave my kids but that's actually never a deal breaker and is something I can get over. On to reason two!

I get incredibly anxious before going out. I feel my body become more and more tense. There's a little voice in my head which tells me I'd be much happier if I just stayed at home. I could read a book, play games, be with the kids, cook or just rest. It's says "you know you don't really want to go. If you stayed home you be much more comfortable. No traffic, no 'meeting social expectations', no talking about things you don't really care about." The voice knows ever reason why I don't want to leave the house. "They'll be drinking and you don't really like that, they'll talk about 'the markets', finance, or maybe even sports. Nothing on the face of the Earth turns you off more than some alpha male blowhard talking about how great/shit their favourite team is right now. Or some wanker banker talking about the millions they've made in the blah, blah, blah money, blah, blah, blah, tiny penis. What do you care about it. You know you can't feign interest in any of that. Stay home. Be creative and be alone, it's what you say makes you happy." The trouble is it doesn't make me happy at all. I feel crushingly lonely while the voice is speaking, it's a physical sensation in my chest. The voice speaks so loudly it drowns out the other voice which quietly says "I rather like people actually, and I have a good time with them." If I'm with Sher I'll go because there's safety in going with her. The voice still shouts but Sher reminding me to get ready is far louder and more intimidating, not to mention her voice is actually real.

Being in a new country with new people makes things all the more isolating. Sher is incredibly outgoing. She literally made friends here before we even left Hong Kong. She's now well connected with a strong base of friends. I'm not. There are people I work with who I definitely would like to be with outside of work, but I don't know how to ask which sounds incredibly stupid but I just don't. It's not something I've ever really done. I didn't even ask Sher out on a date, we met at a bar and she asked/dared me to meet her in Macau the next day, I didn't have to do anything except turn up for the hot lady. We recently had a party at our house which was brilliant because the people were lovely and we played a game which is something I love to do. In this case it was Cards Against Humanity, if you haven't heard of it then watch the video below, in fact just watch it because it's fun (skip to 4:15 to see exactly how much fun...just make sure you aren't at work and the kids are around).

I love tabletop games. They afford me the opportunity to have a really good time and be really sociable too, both of which I enjoy. The trouble is, the moment you start talking about tabletop games is the moment people's eyes glaze over and they begin to fantasize about a runaway train crashing through the wall and narrowly missing them (but tragically not you). People associate tabletop games with three things. 

• First and foremost they think of those enforced games of Monopoly/Game of Life/Charades/Pictionary we all had to play when we were young because our drunk Aunt/Cousin/Friend thought it'd be hilarious. 
• Second they think of that guy who was ALL about winning in the last game they played; you know the one, he high-fived everyone excessively, sprayed you with spit as he exclaimed how hard he was going to own your ass and always, ALWAYS called you bro or bra. We shall henceforth refer to this type of person as FuckFace. 
• Lastly people think of awkward geeks breathing heavily as they recount their heroic D&D (Dungeons & Dragons) exploits, especially that time they rescued Princess Askaro'th from the High Priests of The Temple of Fire, the savages had made her wear a leather bodice at least 3 sizes too small so her endowments we thrust almost vertically, spilling out... (cue foggy glasses, wheezing and an inhaler puff). 

There are people like that in the world, but they aren't me and I'm not interested in socialising with them. All of these examples are misconceptions. There's a game for every type of person out there, from casual 15-20 minute games to hour long strategy games to the more prolonged and player driven narrative (Roleplay) games. Some favourite examples are at the end of this entry. I've started getting Carys interested in games and we'll see how long it lasts. We play My First Carcasonne together and she loves it. I so look forward to the day I can play more mature games with her and Benny.

So what to do. I can't not go out ever again, I can't not make new friends, and I definitely can't bail on people continually because then, whether I like it or not, I will be an asshole. I want to go out, connect with people and do what they're interested in. So what I'm going to do is be more sociable. I'll say yes a little more. I'm also going to actively seek out the things I'm interested in, and if those things don't exist I'm going to create them and hope they succeed. And if you're someone I've stood up before please know it wasn't personal and that I really regret it. It wasn't you, it was me and my anxiety.



Quick & Fun

Longer & Super Fun

Much Longer, Super Creative, & Super Fun

Reading

I only started reading when I was in my teens. Prior to that I was never really interested in books or comics. The only books I have a clear memory of reading are the Usborne Puzzle Adventure series, these I loved and would read over and over again. Other than that I know I had Famous Five and Secret Seven books but I don't remember reading them. The same with Roald Dahl, I remember we had them but don't remember reading them. I never really enjoyed reading, it was always something they made you do at school and those books were always dull. They were books chosen by adults who thought they'd be fun or interesting for the kids, like The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole.

Things started to change when I was 12, almost 13. Jurassic Park was released in cinemas and I watched it with my family. It was one of those movie moments which stick with you your entire life, I remember it vividly and still get goose bumps when I watch it. It was total magic, with the CGI looking incredibly real at the time. After seeing the movie I saw the book in the shops and decided I wanted to read it. It was the first chapter book I remember finishing, the first 'grown up' book. I remember the moment I finished it because for me it was a staggering accomplishment. I was sat in the armchair at home, beside the balcony. I remember finishing it and deciding I absolutely wanted to read other books by Michael Crichton. That was the moment I became a 'reader'. From then on my reading started gathering pace. Over the next few years I read The Andromeda Strain, Congo, The Terminal Man, The Lost World and Timeline all written by Michael Crichton. I also read the entire series of Dirk Pitt novels by Clive Cussler, a series which totally appeals to a teenage boy; loads of action, classic cars, alluring women and plenty of humour. Eventually I discovered Terry Pratchett and the Discworld, I can credit his books with vastly expanding my vocabulary, imagination and sense of humour.

So why all the preachyness about reading? It's something I want to pass on to my kids. It's something which is fundamentally important to me as a parent; never mind that I'm a teacher and it's what we tell other parents, that's not why it's important to me. I believe a love of reading is one of the single most profound and life changing interests we provide our children with, it is something they must have in their lives. Reading offers anyone the opportunity to infinitely expand their horizons; reading can change the way you see the world and offer you an escape for a time. I say this as someone who struggled mightily with reading and writing in school, but went on to study and love English Literature and Theatre. 

I should add that my parents sowed the seeds of my interest in reading when I was a child, they read to me every night until I was quite old. I remember being read The Wind In The Willows, The Hobbit, Where The Wild Things Are, and a whole lot of other books. This is how I'm trying to encourage my kids to read. Every night we read three picture books before bed. There are days when neither Sher nor I can be arsed to do it, it would be much easier to use Cbeebies Bedtime Stories (which are brilliant) but 3 stories only ever takes about 20 minutes and it's time well spent. I'll ask some basic questions as I read and the kids respond really well. The kids love the stories, they join in with silly voices, point out everything in the books, talk about how the characters think and feel, and they are totally enthralled every time. Both kids now 'read' their own books, Benny will sit with his book on his lap and go through it page by page (usually back to front but it's still a basic skill), Carys will read from memory, and sometimes sound out the odd word. I'm monumentally proud of both of them. I can't tell you for certain that it's made huge changes to my kids, but I can say that they are both able to express themselves very clearly, both have large vocabularies for their age, and both are able to pick up on some quite subtle meanings within a story. Reading is also an excuse for me to be extremely silly which is something I don't get to do often enough. So, here are some of our favourite books. Christmas is coming up, maybe your kids will like them too?

    

    

   

       

    

    

    

      

    

              

Moves Like Jabba

My body feels broken by continually lifting, throwing and carrying my kids. It’s broken because I’ve made the choice to be the best Dad I possibly can be. I never regret it, but it hurts A LOT some days, especially my back. I have a slightly crooked spine. I spend most of my day climbing stairs as I walk from one classroom to another. I sit on chairs designed for people literally half my size, my knees approach my chest as I hunch over to check student work or play games with them. Sometimes my legs are splayed down and out at an odd angle, making me look as though I desperately need to pee, all so they fit under the little tables I use with my students. Then it’s home to kids who have literally infinite  amounts of energy, which I know doesn’t come from the food we’re feeding them. I eat their food half the time and I’m like a freaking zombie, complete with grunting noises and an ineffectual shuffling gate. Still, I’ll pick them up, whizz them around till they pee or barf on me, because it’s fun and most importantly it tires them out!

A recent weigh in showed that wee Benny is close to becoming Big Benny, weighing just 10 pounds less than his sister who is double his age. When I carry them they wiggle and flop about like wild chimpanzees on The Crack. In my efforts to keep them balanced on me or stop them from plunging from my shoulders and smacking their heads on concrete, I find myself grunting, groaning and flailing like Jabba as he's being strangled by Leia.

For the love of Buddha STOP MOVING CHILD!

Carys in particular likes to link hands under my chin, around my neck specifically, then she’ll lean back as far as she can, cutting off valuable oxygen to my brain and rendering me incapable of any speech other than “ggggaaaaaccccchhhhkkk”. Now you may be thinking, “well jackass, just pull her off”, to this I say HA! Clearly you’ve never experienced the full might of a small human with a death grip on your neck. Also please don’t call me a jackass, it’s rude. Carys leans back so I can’t really reach her, sure I can grab her legs which are on my shoulders but then all I can do is push her off onto the concrete. The very thing I want to avoid and live in fear of doing. So I flail like I’m giving the Team America signal. You know the one.

Fun fact: If I had facial hair it would look exactly like his.

Sometimes I can reach her and pull her forward, which is why I always try the flail manoeuvre. She’s so good at this, she could take down a WWE wrestler without trouble. Grab hold, giggle manically while he flails uselessly and eventually collapses, then she’d laugh so hard she’d pee on him as her finishing move. If flailing doesn’t work I bend forward, almost bending over double. This pitches Carys forward and stops the grip of death long enough for me to ask her not to do it (other Dad’s I hope you’re taking notes, this is parenting gold). I can then stand straight and continue walking with whatever dignity I have left. Usually this is none at all because her wriggling and my flailing have caused me to sweat profusely through my t-shirt and down onto the tops of my pants, causing large sweat stains around my chest, arm pits, and the top of my arse. Since my nipples don't seem to sweat there are usually two small, circular dry patches which people naturally stare at, like I'm a topless Playboy bunny, only instead of envy or desire in their eyes they have more disgust and revulsion. On top of that my shirt has rucked up, revealing my man muffin tops as well as my pink boxers which had to be bought because I took Carys with me and let her choose which pairs to get. I promised she could choose so there was no backing out. I even tried the old "what about this pair instead love?", to no avail. So, along with every man’s staple of Star Wars, Superman, plain black and plaid boxers, I now have PINK, ORANGE and PURPLE. The caps indicate just how damn bright they are.

With Benny on my shoulders it’s different and only marginally better. He hasn’t figured out out to do the Carys Larynx Crush. Instead he does one of two things; beats on my head like it’s a bongo drum or grabs hold of the sides of my head and leans his full weight from one side to the other. This initially was a game I played with him, where I’d lean a little bit to the side and pretend I was about to fall. Cue hilarity! Then he realised I really would move with him if he had a firm enough grip and leaned with enough weight. So now I stagger like a drunk while he laughs hysterically. The best part is when he’s done with being on my shoulders, this is usually when he’s leant all the way over to one side and decides now would be a good time to get down. I have to catch him as he begins to slide off my shoulder, but not scare him by yelling “NO DON’T DO THAT!!”, instead I use my inside voice to scream it while I bring him safely down to the ground.

Having kids is fun. It really is. They are tough little nuggets. I love that they get such a kick out of playtime with me, and from something so simple as silly movement. I’m lucky that I have the strength and general good health to be able to do all this stuff. But it comes with a price some days, and it’s ok to say no sometimes. If I don’t I’d be in agony. On the plus side, all the jiggling, throwing, choking and flailing has led to me having great times with my kids, increased the muscle mass around my shoulders, chest and back, and it’s taught me that I can move with the speed of a fucking cheetah when I need to.

I GOT YOU!!

Sickness

I don’t know about other parents but I’ve never gotten used to my kids being sick. It’s something which always causes fear and tension in me. Lots of people told me many things before I had kids, as I’ve said before, but no one really talked about the sickness. If they did it was usually in a “you don’t know what you’re in for” kind of way. It was always, something along the lines of “hope you’re ready to clean up another person’s barf, har har”. No one really mentioned the arse puckering terror of seeing your child’s temperature rocket to 40 degrees celcius. Incidentally if it stays at that temperature for too long it can cause neurological damage. A fun fact I picked up now I’m a parent with access to the internet. 

Whenever my kids get sick my mind will generally go plunging down the anxiety inducing worst case scenario thought track, like a Mack truck with broken brakes plunging into a ravine, there’s little I can do to stop it. The internet only makes things worse. We’ve all Googled symptoms of an illness we’ve had, and we’ve all been terrified to find we have Cancer, Ebola, sudden terminal onset low libido, menopause or just DEATH; and not excema like we thought it might be. 

I TOLD YOU IT WASN'T MAN FLU!!

We all do it, it seems to be a human trait, how many of you watched Still Alice recently then went and told all your friends you for sure had Alzheimer’s? When my daughter recently came down with something it was the weekend, the doctor’s office was closed and we didn’t want to fork out several thousand dollars for an on call doctor. So I consulted The Oracle of all things, Dr. Google. This was, as it always is, a mistake. My daughter had a fever, pink cheeks, a body rash and a cough. Go ahead and Google that. I had a choice of 25 different illnesses to choose from on WebMD, as though it was a sickness combo menu. This was provided I ignored the other results saying it could be 1 of over 100 things, I was after all trying to narrow it down a bit. Of those 25 things the scariest were meningitis, MRSA, and Rotavirus, all of which can be extremely dangerous or potentially fatal. Fortunately I figured it probably wasn’t any of those things, and was more likely Scarlet Fever which was also a choice on the sickness menu. Turns out Scarlet Fever isn’t just something which happened in the 1800s, there’s been a resurgence recently. Another fun fact I recently found out, it’s estimated that about 60% of Staph A strains causing Scarlet Fever here in HK are drug resistant to a particular kind of antibiotic, though fortunately there are alternatives which are effective.

My wife and I recently had a casual discussion about our family’s general health over the past 5 years. We realised that each one of us has been in hospital in that time. Sher wins with the most visits; 3 for babies and 2 for health related surgeries. Carys has 1 surgery to her name, an adenoidectomy which has helped her health somewhat. Benny has been admitted once for a mystery viral illness; he was hooked up to an IV, given fever meds, and antibiotics, after a few days he was released. I’ve been admitted to hospital with a mystery respiratory illness which affected my ability to breathe, caused a constant fever and general lethargicness. I had 3 different types of antibiotics, was hospitalised for a week, and it still didn’t go away. We’re not sure why it did eventually go, but I think it’s because I had osteopathy which helped open up my chest, literally because my lung had partially collapsed with the bacterial infection sitting in the collapsed part. Sher was NOT happy about that one. 

So between the 4 of us, we’ve had 7 hospitalisations over 5 years. This is both a testament to the availability of health care here in HK (THANKS Obama...no wait), and a testament to just how sick we’ve been. We can’t even begin to count the number of times we’ve been to the doctor. Carys has quite frequent illnesses, and we think it’s largely due to the pollution here. It’s almost always a respiratory illness. She’s had a postnasal drip since...forever so she’s pretty full of phlegm. From the age of 2 she’s had weekly, if not daily doses of Piriton or Aleve, both medications to stop anti-histamine responses. She seems to be quite sensitive to the air, no joke, she tells us the air is bothering her. When the pollution is high it bothers her nose so much that she’ll be in tears about it. She tells us her nose bugs her and will rub so vigorously at it that she causes a nose bleed. Some mornings we walk into her room and her bed is like the scene of a brutal murder, there’s blood smeared everywhere. Some nights she’ll wake us crying because her nose is so itchy she can’t sleep. That’s with air filters going all the time. We don’t think it’s allergies, it’s year round and when we travel overseas we haven’t had to medicate her. I’m deeply worried about the effects of frequently medicating her will have on her long term health. Similarly, I’m worried Benny will have the same issues. 

A while ago we stopped asking why we were all getting sick. The answers were pretty clear to us; first and foremost for Sher and I it was probably stress about almost everything including but not limited to, money, work, sickness, and money. Next it’s because we live in what one of our doctors called a petri dish. Discovery Bay is a bit of a closed system in some ways. Kids generally don’t leave the island for any reason, all their friends are here, they live here, many go to school here. We can shop here, see the doctor, dentist, go to the gym, swim, eat out, all within a 10-20 minute walk of our homes or a 5 minute bus ride. Once an illness gets into the system it does the rounds, hitting many, many people. It’s difficult to avoid these illnesses because you’re in contact with the same people, the same objects, every single day. This is doubly true for our kids who have a small number of play areas to use here; once one kid smears his boggers over the climbing frame dozens of kids will come into contact with it in a short space of time. Not all parents are vigilant about their child’s health, outsourcing this responsibility to their helper either by choice or necessity (the work culture in HK is insane and toxic in itself, with people expected to stay in their offices until 8pm or usually later, as well as working weekends. It’s just an accepted part of living and working here.). As a result you have kids whose faces are caked in snot running around outside, hacking their wee lungs up, sneezing on every surface including your face and generally spreading whatever nasty bug they have to others.

A final reason we figure we’re all sick frequently, and it’s the one that bothers us the most, is the pollution. It’s been clearly proven that high levels of pollution have been linked with increases in respiratory illness among other illnesses. Here in HK the levels of pollution are high on an almost daily basis, though the government uses standards and benchmarks which are decades out of date which results in their measurements showing pollution levels to be low or moderate. If they used the updated standards we’d see the levels are hundreds of times higher, and thus hundreds of times more toxic. In my lifetime, Hong Kong has gone from a highly desirable location to live and work, to a hardship posting requiring added incentives to get people over here. Despite this the government has no interest in changing things. 

An average to bad day in HK, courtesy of:
http://www.strippedpixel.com/hong-kong-air-pollution/

So, the question for us became how can we stop the sickness. The answer we came up with was simply to leave HK. If it is the pollution, the closed system we live in and the stress linked to living here then it’s time to get the hell out. We can’t in good conscience stay here if it’s costing us our most valuable asset, our health and the health of our kids. Personally, I’m fucking tired of living in fear of my kids coming down with some illness AGAIN, because that means another trip to the doctor, more drugs, possibly another hospital visit. I’m just tired. And I’m angry, I mean thoroughly pissed off like I want to kick the living crap out of someone because the place I live may be causing my family to become ill. I’m angry that the government doesn’t seem to be living up to it’s responsibilities of safe guarding people and tackling the source of so much illness, choosing instead to treat the symptoms. The health care here is great, but I’m tired of having to rely on it on a near monthly basis. I’m also scared that one day the sickness one my family members has will be one of the terrifying Google results. 

At the end of the day, sickness is going to be a part of our lives no matter what. Where you have sick kids, usually you get sick adults too. Kids need to build their immunity so I won’t stop ours from playing in the dirt or socialising with other kids. However, we have the choice to live in a place which supports my family’s overall wellness. It’s a luxury many others don’t have. I reached the point where I couldn’t make up excuses for living here anymore. There are many good reasons to live in Hong Kong, but they aren’t good enough for us anymore. The pros no longer outweigh the cons. We have the luxury of choosing to live somewhere else for the wellbeing of our family and while there are no guarantees being in a new country will be better for us, we’re pretty sure it will do. So we’ve made that choice and are leaving. Sickness can kiss my sweet ass as I walk out the door.

Beautiful Black Holes

This is a black hole, courtesy of Hubble.

Did you see that movie Interstellar? Me neither, but I hear it had some freakin huge black holes in it. Now I'm just a husband, father and space geek so I know next to nothing about black holes, singularities or other spacial phenomena (do, doooo, do, do, do). What I've been told by people massively more intelligent than me, people like Neil deGrasse Tyson, Carl Sagan, Bill Nye, Stephen Hawking, and Brian Cox, is black holes consume everything and anything nearby, then (potentially) spit out matter and energy at tremendous speed. 

This is a representation of a child, who is somewhat like me. Courtesy of Gary Larson.

Now I have kids, I can say quite firmly that they are terrestrial versions of black holes. If you've ever been around a small child at play, meal times, doing nothing at all, you'll understand this. Have you ever seen a young child with a toy? If you don't remember then you haven't, because at some point that toy will have been streaking towards your head at close to the speed of light. If not your head then it will have made a beeline for the nearest most fragile object, or more likely your genitals.

I think parents have a common misconception about children and toys, we all assume kids want the next best toy (at least in the developed world). We fill their rooms with all different kinds of plastic crap which ends up being consumed very briefly by the child, then violently hurled somewhere or at something or someone before being forgotten. Our response is, stupidly, to buy even more crap because it's generally easier than shifting furniture to get at that tiny car your kid threw under it! Thus we feed the little black holes even greater quantities of matter to consume.

As a parent we can sometimes worry in a "we need to talk about Kevin" kind of way because we find dismembered toy parts all over your house. Kids are creative so a Barbie head in the bed, Godfather style, while your child stares and giggles at you from the doorway is actually a likely occurrence. My own daughter has taken to drawing pictures of people on fire, and playing games where her toys are burning. I know why she's doing it, there was a fire in the building which terrified her, but it still unsettles me each time she does it.

Don't forget the cannolis....

Other times we end up cursing the toys or the kids who left the toys lying about because inevitably we've stepped on the pointiest part of them which is of course lying in a prime position to impale your foot. We live in a small flat so at least there are no stairs to tumble down, adding to the agony of our now throbbing foot. The toys we step on will usually break so that's more food for the little singularities. Unless it's Lego which as we all know is nearly indestructible, and can practically lop your foot off if stepped on at just the right angle leaving you to spend the next few minutes cleaning up blood from your fresh wound.

If we're honest with ourselves, we generally hate a lot of the toys our kids have. We worry they don't set a good example for our kids, like Barbie, Monster High Dolls, or the Walter White Breaking Bad doll found next to the kids section of Toys'R'Us. We worry they're made too cheaply to last more than a few moments in the clutches of the intense vortex that is our child. Then there's the aggravation they'll cause us. When I was a kid electronics were small, but not tiny like they are now. My Lego fire truck had two little flashing LED's but it didn't whoop or blare at me, I had to make the noise and I did, very enthusiastically. Toys with electronics were generally pretty clunky things, not to mention expensive. Now though, EVERYTHING has something that beeps, bloops, honks, blares shitty music, or damn near blinds you with flashing lights. Rape whistle make less noise than some of the toys my kids have. They love them, but I want to sacrifice them to ancient Gods in an elaborate pagan ritual involving volcanoes, a scantily clad maiden (played by my wife), the feasting on the flesh of my enemies (very Paleo) and lots and lots of heavy implements for bashing the crap out of the toys. Before I can do any of that though, the batteries in the damn things die because it's been used for all of 10 minutes, and my children wail at me to "fix it Daddy, make it go" and I have to find that one TINY screwdriver that'll open the toy's battery compartment, wherein I find the dessicated remains of an ancient generic brand battery which is covered in more dust than an Egyptian Mummy and turns out to be twice as deadly as one of their curses. Mild chemical burns treated, I can attempt to replace the batteries only to discover the cheap ones that have just taken minutes off my life after I inhaled whatever that powdery crap is on them, have corroded the connections past the point of use. The toy is dead. My children are in pieces, clutching at my legs "why won't it go?! You said you'd fix it!! Ai no Senor!!". And another of the few hairs left clutching tenaciously to the top of my head, like a drunk holding onto his brown bag liquor, turns grey. But the inner pagan ritual guy is dancing a jig, probably naked if I'm honest.

Despite all this, we or in my case my wife, still buy our kids toys. My wife only buys toys secondhand so they're much cheaper but still in pretty good nick. I don't like the clutter we have in our house because of the toys. I don't like that the kids hardly use any of them (I do like that instead they choose to play games together or just sit and draw. I'm quite proud of that actually). I do like that they have the choice of using them, to feed their imaginations, to build stories around or just while away an hour or two in mindless fun. My kids need that, they deserve it and I'm grateful they have it. Play is a fundamental part of childhood, essential to children's development. Toys help. So I'm happy to keep feeding my wee black holes, because the results can be beautiful, even when I'm lying on the ground groaning after some cheap plastic geegaw has violently impacted my Johnson.

True Cliches

In the deep mists of time, long before I had kids of my own, I remember people telling me about what it was like to be a parent. Usually these people were my own parents, maliciously wishing my own crappy behaviour onto my kids so I might experience just how much of a shit I was. Well their wishes haven't come true...yet. As for the other people, they usually had kids and would say the usual things about sleep or sex, you get none of either after kids. I never really liked hearing this because I knew my kids would be different. Sleepless nights? Not my child, they'll sleep through till morning. Sexless marriage? Please, we'll be at it like rabbits (very quiet, safe rabbits avoiding making more bunnies or waking the ones we already have). Fussy eaters? They'll be mini gourmands, lapping up whatever delicious treat they're given; "Daddy I'm loving this pork terrine with the red wine reduction, thank goodness you didn't get me that boil in a bag pasta with oven ready chips!"

Well turns out that certain clichés exist because they're actually true. We have two kids now and i think its safe to say that i haven't slept through the night in nearly 4 years. Exhaustion has become a state of being rather than a feeling at the end of a jolly busy day. The bags under my eyes have bags of their own. If, by some miracle, both kids sleep through the night I know i would wake up thinking something was wrong and do that creepy parent thing where you stare at your child to make sure they're still breathing. Or I shove my finger under their nose to feel for breath. I can guarantee you that doing either will wake your child, sometimes causing mild terror / psychological trauma. 

You know he's going to need a diaper change.

The sexless marriage part is also true, but, mainly because of the not sleeping. Ever. My baby wakes me at 5:30am every morning. We have our morning routine, then i go to work for 8 or so hours. I come home and maybe have half an hour to myself before I pick up my daughter. Literally. She gets off her school bus and I carry her home. Then she wants to be thrown around, or to fly, or for the Tickle Monster (me) to run around after her till she pees on me from laughing too much. That last part happens most days, but its girl pee which is harmless or gives me super powers, plus I shower everyday so I don't smell of hobo. My daughter weighs about 40-50 pounds, my son maybe 20. When was the last time you threw a giggling, flayling, potentially peeing 50 pound weight over your head? I'm developing killer biceps and deltoids but my back is buggered and I generally need a lie down afterwards. Once playtime is done it's dinner, bath, clean teeth, stories and bed time. All that takes an hour or more and isn't finished until 8pm at the earliest. That's assuming there haven't been massive tantrums from one or both kids. After all that, the carrying, the throwing, the tantrums, arguments, thrown food and ritual soaking of the bathroom, the last thing I want is rampant sexual antics. My wife and I collapse on the couch and stare at the TV or just go to bed. The odd occasions when we do have the energy or inclination to have a go, it usually starts with one of us saying "let's do this!" or "we can do this" like we're going to climb bloody Everest. Sometimes I'll put on my Borat accent and tell Sher "it's sexy time" which really helps set the mood, and is way better than "brace yourself love!".

Thankfully food isn't really an issue for our kids. They eat well and aren't too fussy, but meal times are becoming a pain in the ass. Our daughter is refusing to eat, not listening when asked to eat or just plays withher food. This usually ends with her going to bed and sobbing for a few minutes. Its heart breaking on the one hand because she hates being alone, not because she's scared but because she feels lonely. On the other hand, just eat the fucking food! My son can be a fusspot at meal times, mainly because he wants to feed himself now. He's not quite one and a half so he usually ends up wearing more food than he eats. Tonight he tipped his bowl of pasta over his head, wore the bowl as a hat and laughed happily. It was really funny, so it's not all bad and at least our kids have a sense of humour.

I feel so haggard, thank goodness for my heinz baby moisturiser.

At the end of the day my wife and I find ourselves laughing more than anything else. What other choice do we have? I can't fathom being a miserable sod, it takes too much energy and I need all the energy I have to be a good Dad and husband, and occasionally for sexy times.

Newton's Law of Parental Motion

Sir Isaac Newton essentially created modern day physics back in 1687 when he published his work detailing the three laws of motion and the universal law of gravitation. Thanks to him we all understand what, literally, makes the world go round. We now have a plausible explanation for why the Earth doesn't shoot off into the cosmos like a mishit cue ball, as opposed to the old classics such as the theory of elemental attraction (earth to earth, water to water etc), or because we're at the mercy of God and if you masturbate again young Jim he'll be right displeased and kill us all. This last theory was known to prompt great scepticism in the listeners, along with mumbled apologies, embarrassed exclamations of "Muuuuuum don't talk about that!", and much washing of rather stiff sheets.

However, for years no one has known about Newton's Laws of Parental Motion (Motus Legem Parentis) or indeed any of his Parental Laws (Parentum Iura). This is possibly because it relates only to people with infants. Scientists are known to be rather reclusive and somewhat socially awkward, so procreating can be difficult for them. Physicists have an added reluctance to engage in sex as it falls firmly in the field of biology and that terribly wishy washy field of sociology. Its because there are a lack of scientists with children that we have yet to hear of Newton's Parental Laws. Incidentally its also the reason no teenager wants to be a a scientist, lack of sex being a massive deterrent. So what are Newton's Laws of Parental Motion? I shall explain.

Newton's first Law of Parental Motion states that the mass of an object will increase exponentially when placed in a darkened room containing a sleeping infant, the second law sates that any attempts at silent motion by parents in the room containing the sleeping infant are rendered impossible. His third law states that the amount of noise made by a parent is inversely proportional to how heavily or lightly the infant is sleeping, it is also directly proportional to the new, 'infant influenced' mass of the object making the noise. 

In layman's terms, if you drop a pin while your child is sleeping it will make the same amount of noise as if you had dropped a box full of pins (the box being the same size as a small child), and at the moment of impact the infant will be sleeping very lightly guaranteeing they will wake up. Another example is of parents attempting to walk quietly through the room. During daylight hours this can be achieved with relative ease, even when parents have consumed their recommended daily alcohol allowance before 11am. However when faced with this task at night, and having been forced into sobriety, parents will always step on squeaking floor boards which previously didn't exist; and their footsteps which just hours before would have put a ninja to shame with their swishing silence, now sound remarkably like a herd of wildebeest leaping clumsily through the room wearing combination tap / work boots that are two sizes too big. Given the scale of the noise, we can assume the sleeping infant will be deeply asleep at the time but not so deeply asleep that they don't hear the noise, waking in terror for their lives and screaming to let all persons within a 50 metre radius know this.

A more recent, real world example would be a father who attempted to carry a small glass of water from his bedside out of the room. The parent in question was sober at the time, having only consumed double the legal limit of alcohol to get him through the bedtime routine. When relating the incident later, he said the glass of water was not particularly full, nor did it seem heavy or unstable. However, within walking just 2 metres from his bedside the glass of water became highly unstable, resulting in what seemed like a half an ocean's worth of water but was really only half a glassful being slopped all over the floor, bed sheets and the man's pants. A great deal of cursing ensued before he got a towel and cleaned up the water. Interestingly, the infant didn't wake immediately, instead it remained asleep for a time. This phenomenon is known as the 'Relief Lull', whereby the parents falsely believe they have gotten away with making a noise and not waking the baby. They sigh with relief (some giggle) then continue on with whatever they had planned. The infant, sensing the parents are once again relaxed and unsuspecting waits for anywhere between 2-5 minutes before waking and crying; this is just enough time to allow the parents to get started with their chosen activity and thus cause maximum annoyance. This was certainly the case with the man mentioned above, who had just sat down to watch his favourite geek tv show.

As with Newton's laws,there is a possible link between his Laws of Parental Motion and a newly theorised Universal Law of Infant Gravitation (Lex universa est, infans Gravitas). It has been suggested that infants exert a strong gravitational influence on select members of society such as the elderly, broody women, new mothers, and mothers who judge other mothers. The infants gravitational field pulls these people in to give cuddles, kisses, cheek pinches and otherwise forces these rational people to dance like a marionette for the infant's entertainment. This phenomenon has been seen to occur at great distances, and its been observed that the chubbier the infant the greater it's gravitational pull.

So what conclusions can we draw from all this? First there is an exciting new field of science to be studied! Second, parents drink to excess. Third parents should give up all attempts at moving quietly during the night when their sleeping infant is present. Forth, babies are cunning little bastards who will make you their bitch given the opportunity. And fifth, babies may have super powers of attraction. Damn their cute chubbiness and smiles.

Reasons My Son Cries

I've been meaning to post this for a while. My wee man Benny is a sensitive little soul and cries for pretty much any reason. So I've decided to list some of those reasons here, it's by no means a complete list and isn't in any particular order. I hope to update it from time to time. Let us begin:

• The lions are coming!
• I'm awake!
• I'm still fucking awake!
• Why am I awake?!
• Why haven't you put me to sleep yet?!
• You're trying to get me to sleep!
• I fell asleep for a moment!
• You don't have boobs!
• Where are the boobs?
• You're not my Mum!
• I'm hungry!
• I'm tired!
• I'm covered in shit!
• I'm covered in barf!
• You're squeezing me too tight!
• You aren't squeezing me tight enough!
• Something loud happened!
• I gotta burp/fart/crap/barf!
• No really, the lions are coming!!
• I'm not screwing around, I really heard the lions this time!
• Stranger!
• Why is this strange person pinching me!
• Elderly person!
• You picked my boogers!
• My teeth hurt!
• You gave me medication for my teeth!
• No one has cuddled me for more than 2 minutes?! I need attention.
• Why aren't you looking at me?!
• Just fucking with ya, I'm not really upset.

Breaking Point

Breaking Point

Everybody has a breaking point, it just takes the right set of circumstances to push a person to theirs. For some people reaching breaking point means getting laid off, bad days at work, or someone nagging endlessly at you. There are different degrees of reaction to all that. For some it means getting loaded on cheap wine, for others it's anger and resentment leading to news headlines. I reached my breaking point yesterday, when Benny was totally inconsolable, screaming and crying on me. I told Sher I couldn't have a screaming baby on me anymore, I needed a break. For me that's a big deal. I define myself as a Dad who is always ready and willing to help with the kids. To say I didn't want to be with or console my son was terrible and felt a little sickening. 

You might well think that since he's a baby, crying and screaming are nothing unusual, and you'd be right. The trouble is he's been crying and screaming on me day and night for what seems like weeks now. When I get home from work it's late in the afternoon and he's tired, about two hours away from bed. I can get a bit of cuddle time in when he's a wonderful, chubby bundle of joy, but then it's bathtime, followed by the nightly round of I'm-NOT-going-to-sleep-and-you-won't-fucking-make-me bedtime battle, where Benny screams, cries and flails about like an enraged seal until he eventually slumps into and exhausted slumber. Now I don't have to do the bath and bedtime routine every night, sometimes I do it just once or twice a week. It's what follows that has just worn me down.

Benny will wake up after an hour, crying again, then again about half an hour later, then again, and again, and again. This will continue with different intervals of time through the entire night. Consequently neither Sher nor I get a decent nights sleep. I can't speak for Sher, but I'm rarely getting into deep sleep because I'm being woken every 2 hours or so. Sometimes he'll go back to sleep quickly with a few pats on his back, other times, like on Saturday night, he'll be up for 2 hours or more. It may be teething or gas that's keeping him awake, we've medicated him recently and that's helped, but he's also a cuddle monster and hates being in his spaciously appointed cot. We have a very cuddly family, a wonderful thing, but we've also created a wee monster who doesn't like being put down. 

It's not the cuddles that have pushed me to my breaking point, it's the nights. I don't remember it being this hard with Carys, and she was a terrible sleeper for a while. Maybe it's the combination of two kids that's making it so damn tiring, they both wake at some point in the night. I don't think I'm more tired than Sher who is working her ass off in the day and still being woken at night. The thing is, saying that I needed a break from my son felt like I was saying I didn't want to be around him, which also made me feel like a shit. I love him desperately, but I can't stand the screaming, crying and flailing anymore. I can't fight him to sleep anymore. I can't go to bed gritting my teeth in the certain knowledge that I'll be woken again in a few hours by a smack from a grunting, crying baby.

Parenting isn't easy. When we first had Carys people would joke about the lack of sleep we would experience. They did it again before Benny was born. It's never really bothered me that my kids wake up at night and need me. It's my responsibility to help them because they can't help themselves. But I've hit some kind of wall and need a break. It feels selfish, like I'm somehow a failure as a parent or a bad person. I feel terribly guilty, as though I'm letting my family down and burdening my wife with extra care of our kids. But here's what no one ever said when they were laughing at how little sleep I would get: sometimes you need to be selfish as a parent just so you can preserve your sanity and maintain a healthy relationship with your family. Being SuperMum or Dad is all well and good right up to the point it starts destroying the other relationships in your life, or the relationship with the child you're working so hard to raise and love. 

So last night I slept on the couch, and I may well be there again tonight because it was quiet bliss. It will make the difference between going to bed tense, gritting my teeth and anticipating a hellish night, and going to be ready and willing to help my wee man feel better. If being selfish for a night or two is what it takes to be a better Dad and husband then that's what I'll do. 

Super Sleep Fighter

My wife and I have been living in a miasma of smug for the past 5 months. When people asked us if we were getting enough sleep, if Benny was waking us often, we would smile a little smug smile and tell them that actually he sleeps through the night. He's a great sleeper and only really rolls over to pop a boob in his mouth. It's fantastic and we're both sleeping relatively well, in fact Sher sleeps far more than me because Carys calls  for me once a night just for a chat.

However the smug has begun to lift just recently; when bedtime rolls around now our sweet wee chublet, Benny is temporarily displaced possibly hurled into a parallel universe and replaced by an alternate version of himself - The Banshee Baby. Banshee Baby screams and cries like he's being flayed alive by the Inquisition, then brutally murdered by Jack The Ripper. Banshee Baby wiggles and squirms like a dying centipede. Banshee Baby flails his arms and kicks his legs with such vigour he could take flight if we let him go. Bashee Baby is a world class planker, able to go from soft and squishy yumminess to Oak rigidness in the blink of an eye. Banshee baby is a chameleon with a colour spectrum disorder, going from cute baby pinkness to angry beet red in just one held breath. Banshee Baby is a Super Sleep Fighter.

It turns bedtime into hell. When 7pm rolls it all starts and will go on and on and on for a minimum of 45 minutes. We use all the tricks, he's too old for swaddling, but we still put him on his side, shush, swing, and let him suck on a boob or bottle. None of it works anymore. He just cycles through the various Banshee Baby tricks. It's tiresome, grating, irritating and totally deflating. Every night I put the Banshee to bed instead of my wee Benny I come out feeling like a failure as a parent. It's not unusual for both Benny and I to be dripping in sweat by the time he goes to sleep. When he's being a Banshee all I want to do squeeze him till his wee head pops off, and I don't mean I'm violent with him but the urge to do something - ANYTHING - to stop him crying is absolutely primal and comes deep down from my exhausted, irritable Caveman self. So I'm not just fighting Benny I'm also fighting myself, conciously stopping myself from holding him too tight or making sudden movements that will likely scare the crap out of Benny and make things worse. I never, ever want to hurt my kids, I don't believe in hitting your kids as punishment and I sure as hell don't believe they should be frightened of you or by you at anytime, let alone at bedtime when they often feel most vulnerable. So when Benny does get scared by something I do, I stop everything I'm doing and start all over again feeling like a total, utter wastrel of a person, undeserving of such a wonderful little boy as I have. When Benny does the long silent cry, tears rolling down his face, I just want a do over to take back everything I've done to upset him. But I can't. Instead I accept that I've probably screwed up and start over, calm and controlled.

I've had to relearn how to put my baby to sleep; I'm much better at it now than I was. I'm calm, relaxed and gentle and unsurprisingly Benny goes to sleep much faster. He's still a Banshee Baby, but the Banshee is cast out far more quickly now. As stressful and trying as bedtime can be, I still wouldn't trade it for anything. For all the stress, anxiety and feelings of failure I may experience as a parent; they are totally and blindingly eclipsed by the unreserved love I have for and receive from my kids. They make everything feel better, they are the ultimate cure all; if I could bottle just how good they make me feel I could sell it and pay off the U.S. debt. There is no emotion stronger than the feeling of love and pride for your child, and it really isn't something you can understand until you're a parent. So I may put a banshee to bed most nights, I may feel awful as a parent, but that's completely erased in the morning when Benny presses the reset button by giving me the hugest smile and giggles the moment he sees my face. In those moments, everything is worthwhile, everything is forgiven and I know I'll do it as many times as needed because I love him with every part of my being and so much more. He's my wee man and I'm still a smug parent, just for different reasons now.

Benny Boo!

It's been 113 days since our second baby arrived so I figured it's high time I wrote about it; thus avoiding accusations later on in life that I love Carys more because I wrote about her birth and not his, but also because the experience was totally different to both our other ones.

Zen Master At Work

Once again it was a scheduled event, we knew right from the start that Sher would be having a C-Section. The fibroids which got in the way of the first pregnancy and birth hadn't magically disappeared, thankfully they hadn't grown either. So we knew there was no way Sher would have a natural birth, it was physically impossible not to mention highly dangerous. Try telling that to the hospital staff at QMH who carried on talking about a natural birth right up until a week or two before the delivery date. Incidentally Sher really, REALLY worked hard to be calm and good natured at the antenatal appointments this time around. There was lots of deep breathing and one word answers. If you know my wife at all, you'll know her tolerance for stupidity, in-the-box thinking or plain laziness is....low. If you put her tolerance or patience for those things on a scale of 1 to 10; 1 being none at all, 10 being a Zen-like mastery of calm and control; Sher would be about about a 1 when not pregnant. When carrying a 7 pound baby inside of her, with a constant need to pee, nausea, hunger, an hour worth of travelling, 90% humidity and 30 degree heat outside, her tolerance drops substantially into the negative. In this way I'm sure she's a lot like most women when they're pregnant. It's always slightly fun to see the startled, deer in a headlights look the staff at the hospital get when she explodes because they've asked her for the 10th time whether she smokes or drinks, or when her last check-up was. I do want to reach across and gently point out the answers to their questions, found on the first page of Sher's file which is often sitting in their lap. Ask a stupid question, piss of a heavily pregnant white woman.