Wednesday, January 17, 2007
I am realizing now how silly it is to have "stuff." I was chatting to hubs last night about it.
We have repeatedly had to pare down our belongings - bringing with us only what we could fit in 4-5 duffle bags (used to be 2-3 before we had baby). And we have lived off it for weeks and weeks. Sure, my jeans now have a hole in the crotch and my whitish khakis are no longer whitish, but at the end of the day, a person can live with only four pairs of pants. Basically, one finds out what one really needs.
I am realizing this is very different from the way most people live. If we were not so nomadic, I'm sure we'd have a house full of stuff. Lots of stuff. People are just programmed to buy and store stuff. Take Pottery Barn for example, they have a whole catalog of stuff, just waiting to be put on shelves, in drawers, or on display.
And then our stuff arrives. And I find that I have missed our stuff. It makes our new home feel more like home - but in a weird way. It doesn't change the appearance of our home, it just means we can eat off our own plates.
Hmmm, speaking of which, I am still trying to locate our silverware.
Don't tell hubs, but he may have to eat his cereal or French toast with chopsticks tomorrow if I can't locate proper utensils...
Today started off with a grocery run with my new helper (fabulous!). I like to think of her as my Chinese body guard. She really watches out for us. She made sure we had the best fruits and veggies in our basket. The cab gave us a discounted rate.
Plus, she watches Chase and makes sure that (1) there is no skin showing ever - the Chinese love to overdress their infants - and (2) she always has a tissue at the ready to catch a baby boog. Her name is You Pung. At least that is how you pronounce it.
Anyhoo, this afternoon I had a doctor appointment for Chase. Just a check-up with a local pediatrician from another hospital. You Pung and I made our way to the hospital. When we got there, we realized we were in the wrong hospital. Apparently the No.2 affiliated hospital is not the same as the Second affiliated hospital - go figure. The doctor said he would come to my apartment to see Chase, as he didn't want her to be exposed to germs. Cool.
So back the apartment we went. A half hour later, there was a knock on the door. The doctor, it turns out, has actually retired, but he works sometimes. He proceeded to tell me that he would have liked to walk; it would have only taken a half hour. He was a really nice man. Very friendly, although we had a couple miscommunications (nothing serious). He brought with him a stethoscope - and that was it. He asked me questions about Chase's development. Apparently she is the size of an average 1-year-old. When he went to look at her throat, he asked me for chopsticks (yes, chopsticks) to compress her tongue.
I asked him if he could check her ears. He said no, that was the job of the ear doctor, not the child's doctor. Okie dokie, artichokie. And then he left. He didn't charge us for the visit. Nice man.
And then I received a call that the movers were going to deliver our belongings (oh, yah, we do have more stuff). So I spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking. There are still boxes everywhere.
You Pung is going to shed a silent tear when she walks in tomorrow morning. The place is a mess and I am knackered.
Must go to sleep ...