Toys

I thought I had seen Krusty get excited before (we did get married only a few months ago, after all), but nothing could have prepared me for the 48 hours of woo-hooing and jumping up and down that our brand new kitchen appliances could have caused.

After the DIY extravaganza, now the festival of kitchen toys... My, my how we have changed. Is this what is called growing up?

Krusty Does-It-Himself

Now that we have decided to stay in our current flat, Krusty declared that we need a dishwasher, because doing the dishes made him very unhappy. He's only really ever done the dishes once or twice (and don't we remember about those times...) but who am I to say no?!

Of course getting said dishwasher entailed plumbing it in, and although I wanted to get a contractor to help, Krusty insisted on doing it himself. He actually seemed quite excited by the whole thing, and I think he saw it as a way of asserting his masculinity a bit and proving that even if I do have his balls in a box (as he likes to say), he is more than capable of claiming them back from me.

And so he got some pipe and a saw, and got down to work with a lot of "I know what I'm doing"s. Those transformed after a while into some not so reassuring groans, followed by "Ah, I know what the problem is". There is a problem? No, no, no; saw, saw, saw.

"Oh no, that was a mistake" came the follow-up. I was determined to stay zen. "Maybe the sink will be out of order for a while..." Oh really?

Ensued a series of "I just need to glue it" and "Oh what if I melt it?" swiftly joined by "it's that Cantonese man in the shop's fault" and "there's nothing on the market that fits".

Followed by dinner. By this point, I was actually rather enjoying the show. I have a bit of a cold at the moment, so I didn't have much energy for anything apart from watching Krusty at work, and remembering why I and some of our friends call him MacGyver.

"I'm working out some solutions" he said after dinner. "I'm just going to recreate everything". And so he did. Armed with some gasket, bbq gloves and a chicken madras, Krusty solved all of our problems, and sent me back down memory lane to London, when I woke up to find him doing some major drilling work in his dressing gown.

And then I had one of the those moments where you realise that you are witnessing a future memory. A life with Krusty is full of those moments. And no DIY job is small enough not to be entertaining...

Parenting without a pushchair

Winter has arrived almost overnight in Hong Kong. A few days ago we were walking through the streets in shorts and T-shirts, and today I am still shivering under my three layers of cashmere. It's not that cold in terms of temperature (18 degrees) but in contrast to what we are used to, it might as well be the ice age.

This drop in degrees, coupled with the flu vaccine I received on Saturday, is not making me want to leave the house much. I have to force myself to go to work, but if it were up to me, I would spend my days curled up under a couple of layers of blankets at home instead.

Our little tigger seems similarly lazy – actually the word that the doctor used is "uncooperative". We went on Saturday to get its nuchal translucency measured, something which apparently can determine the risk of Down syndrome, but the little nausea-inducing vegetarian was not willing to assume the correct position, instead choosing to curl up even further each time the doctor poked and prodded it. We're back tomorrow for round two in Determined Dr vs Stubborn Sprog.

In the meantime, the flat hunt continues, and in our search we might just have found the ideal abode - otherwise known as the place we are living in right now. Our landlord has offered an extension of 25% in size for only a tiny bit more money each month, so we'd have the biggest flat among the people we know, with the smallest rent to boot, which is saying something in this ridiculous real-estate mad city. Staying put comes with plenty of inconveniences of course, but then doesn't every flat?

We hashed it all out yesterday night (distracted mid-conversation by a Trivial Pursuit-off provoked by Krusty declaring that I was useless in every topic bar literature - I won) and came to the conclusion that the only actual drawback in our current flat were the stairs leading up to the lift.

Now this is a major drawback, I admit, but after extensive research, it seems doable. In fact according to numerous testimonials online, there are many, many mums climbing the same amount and many more stairs than I will be. Not to mention that climbing a few stairs each day is a recommended exercise for pregnant ladies to keep fit.

We first thought about getting a lightweight, foldable buggy which I would carry down the stairs while bub was in a Baby Bjorn-style carrier. Doable, but tiring on the old arms. Then we thought about getting a high tech buggy with wheels specially designed for stairs (yes, this exists - über-trendy Stokke has come up with an amazing buggy design, 2 of the 4 wheels of which retract at the click of a button to allow easy transit up stairs, over sand and in snow...) but that costs a small fortune (literally a month's rent).

Then I went to Mothercare, initially to test run the Stokke converter buggy. As I was practising going up and down the "stairs" of the display in store, a mum walked past with a tiny bub in a Baby Bjorn. Then another. Why weren't these ladies pushing prams? I asked one, and she unequivocally answered in favour of the baby carrier, saying that she didn't have stairs in her building, but that Hong Kong was such a stair-crammed, pushchair-unfriendly place that she found this solution the best and most adapted to her lifestyle. The second mum agreed, saying she had a pushchair, but only used it on longer excursions with her husband on the weekend, preferring the hands-free practicality of carrying bub around close to her body.

And then, as if on cue, a third mum chimed in, saying that I should look around next time I was in the street - most mums opted for the baby carrier option in Hong Kong on weekdays. For shortish, city-based activities, she was convinced it was the only way to go.

Anyway, all this to say that I spent a lot of time chatting with these ladies, and they all agreed that 2 x 15 steps to get home was very far from an obstacle to having a baby. And they added that they had lost weight much faster by carrying their babies this way! I'm tempted to agree with the mums who live here and have been through the whole process.

Speaking of Trivial Pursuit, did you know that should our progeny be a little boy (which, let's face it, its annoying behaviour seems to point towards), its testosterone is currently at the same levels as those of a 12-year-old tween. Thankfully they will drop by a fifth by birth, but still...

Testy

I have been way more tired than usual these last few days, probably from lack of sleep because of the weirdest dreams I have ever had.

In fact last night I dreamed that I was a man - does this mean that it's a boy? Krusty reckons so...

Fun facts for foreign families

The best thing about living abroad is that you get to interact on a daily basis with people who have a completely different culture and be surprised each time you learn about their rules and superstitions, which you wouldn't have thought up in your wildest dreams.

For example, in Hong Kong, working in an office full of local people, I now get to learn a new thing every day about the rules of pregnancy.

First I was told that for the first three months I should be laying down at all times, and that I should never leave the house. Strangely my boss did not agree. Then, as I mentioned to everyone our plan to move, I was told that this was really bad luck during pregnancy, and that we should wait until after the arrival of the baby. Finally I was told to avoid using a hammer and eating watermelon, or another other "cold" fruit. It's fascinating!

Of course this led me to ask more questions about what I could and could not do; here are a few choice tidbits for your cultural pleasure:

- Pregnant women should be as happy as possible at all times, as each of their emotions is passed on to the baby. Others should cater to their every whim – you can imagine how much I agree with this, although I am getting a bit tired of people in the office insisting to help me downstairs with my handbag.... I'm not handicapped!

- Light-coloured food will make your baby fair-skinned, and foods such as dark soy sauce will lead to darker skin – I'm pretty sure that with my disposition to sunburn and Krusty's Northern Irish origins, I could eat only dark chocolate for 9 months and still get a bub as white as snow...

- Absolutely no renovation work should be carried out around the house, no matter how minor, as anything that involves drilling, hammering, chopping, sawing etc could lead to miscarriage or deformities – I am a bit worried about this one, since we have a few changes planned for the flat if we stay...

- Pregnant women should place a knife under their bed to ward off evil spirits – hmmmm

- Don't use glue as it results in difficult labour – depends how you're using it I guess!

- Don't utter any swear words while pregnant, as your baby could get cursed – oops!

- Don't rub your bump if you don't want a spoiled child – but that's the best bit about having a giant bulge full of life!

Needless to say that there are many, many more. Which I will follow, I don't yet know...

Thump thump thump

Giving birth in Hong Kong is all a question of status – as is everything else. On one hand there are the wealthy families and lucky expats who can afford private hospitalisation, and then there is the rest of the population, who roam the corridors of the city's quality public hospitals.

Being a member of the latter, yesterday I made my way back to Tsan Yuk Hospital, the central registration clinic for pregnant ladies, where the first steps towards choosing a final hospital are taken for you.

After last week's experience of watching a video of babies with down syndrome and umbilical cords falling off to a backdrop of sweeping chords of heart string-tugging music, I wasn't too keen to return to Tsan Yuk. But this week there were less screaming toddlers around and more mums with ridiculous grins.

Of course the grins soon disappeared, after about three hours of hanging around and being carted from one medical student to the next – Tsan Yuk and Queen Mary (where I will give birth, hopefully) are both teaching hospitals, so that means there are plenty of students/interns/residents hanging around trying to learn.

In theory this is wonderful. I like being a part of someone's education, and helping young hopefuls become fully fledged doctors. But in practice, it means having many conversations (usually answering exactly the same questions) in back rooms, with the spotty students nervously flipping through your charts and mumbling worrying analysis that could either mean you are perfectly well or that your baby has hepatitis.

This is all very enjoyable when you're watching Grey's Anatomy and can't understand what medical jargon Izzy is using or when you laugh at O'Malley screwing up, but when it's your own health and your own time at stake, somehow if feels a lot less glamorous.

Not to mention the atmosphere it created. Scared, darting looks across the room were made even eerier by the sound of the nurses' plastic soles screeching across the plastic floor. The bleach was almost too much to bear for our heightened sense of smell, and every time someone coughed, the whole room stared to see if it could be swine flu...

Now, I'm not sure I made clear enough what happens in the private scenario of this process. For those ladies, it's all plush carpeting in the waiting room, fresh flowers in the examination rooms, and gourmet meals in the private maternity rooms after delivery. I daydreamed about this hotel experience while I zoned out the sickly pink walls and baby pictures from the 70s...

...until one of the nurses called my name, and then tugged and pushed me down on to a bed. She didn't speak any English, so I wasn't at all sure what was about to happen. But then IT happened...

The doctor came in, whipped out a little torch-like machine, placed it on my belly (from which the clothes had been rather aggressively removed by the nurse) and let me hear my baby's heartbeat.

The cacophonous plastic, the poor interior design, the nauseating smells... Nothing mattered anymore, as the little life inside lived on, and the thump thump was there to prove it.

Plus, once I had understood what was going on, the lovely doctor let me film the whole thing. Who needs carpets, flowers and gourmet food when you've got this...:

The oddest thing...

If I get too close to my desk and it presses lightly against my belly, my incredibly strong and fast heartbeat, channelled through the bump, makes my whole body bounce back and forward in my office seat... Such a strange feeling!