The Belly Diaries: Where do Babies come from?

If a picture can paint a thousand words, how many pictures can be heard by only a few sentences?

I was going to use my lunch today to put up some photos of my fabulous belly -- yes I'm biased -- but I'm still dwelling on an incident from this morning.

On Saturdays, I go to the orphanage to teach English and play or do art with the kids. Once Jason's done with this group, he'll join me sometimes and we'll add sport to that mix. I've been working up there on and off for a year now. They call me 'Lachel Lǎoshi' (Teacher Rachel) because Chinese have a hard time pronouncing the "Rrr" sound especially in the South. They call Jason "Gāo Shu shu" (tall uncle).

The director is so stoked to have us. Most days, I'm left asking myself why -- I'm not a teacher, my Chinese is ok till I get around kids and find I don't know any of the words they commonly use (how come the first two books of Chinese don't cover subjects like 'glue' and 'action fighting figures'?), and I'm picking up bad pronunciation of the words I do learn because many of the kids have special needs that affect their speaking capabilities. A while back, I expressed this to the director and she explained that she wanted to expose the kids to a healthy family relationship (Jason and I) outside of what they were familiar with. Her dream is that many of them will group up to lead as normal a life as possible -- with or without disability. My dream is to show the world how it is to be gloriously married -- so it fits.

So I keep going. I love it and this semester, the director is letting me work with some of the children with HIV too. Aside from feeling slightly bad that I can't pronounce all their names, let alone remember them, we have a great time and I've discovered that stickers are the best communication tools in the world, from 4 to 10 year olds alike.

This morning, the director told me she wanted to come in and let the kids know I was pregnant. Now I can tell you I'm pregnant in Chinese but I couldn't explain it to a Chinese four year old for the life of me. So of course she began the usual explanation, that inside my stomach, I have a baby, and how my tummy's going to get bigger ("Lachel Lǎoshi is going to be fat?" "How fat?" "Will the uncle (that's what they call Jason) be fat too?"), and then I'm going to return to my parents home to have the baby and that I'll bring the baby to show them all when I get back to China. Fair enough explanation...all the little black heads, bobbing up and down, eyes as big as saucers at the thought of me being so "fat" in only a few months.

And then the director asked if they had any questions. Oh she had to go and do that didn't she?!

A small hand shot up at the back of the classroom. A four year HIV positive child asks, "Lachel Lǎoshi? Why are you getting a baby from your tummy and not from the orphanage?"

I have to admit I wasn't ready for that question. Fortunately the director being used to questions such as this was able to step right in and come up with an explanation that apparently appeased his curious little mind. What struck me though was that it was such a matter of fact statement for him. Why would one choose a baby in their stomach over picking one from the orphanage? Why wear the red shirt over the blue shirt? Why eat apples rather bananas when you like both?

I haven't an answer. I don't think I ever will. But I also don't think I'll ever forgot his serious little face with the furrowed brow that later wouldn't sit still and knocked the bag of 500 buttons off the table, all over the floor (why does it take longer to pick up 500 buttons when six under six year olds offer to help you?). How does one answer that? "Come my babies, I'll scoop you all up in my arms and take all 15 of you home with me!" I feel like Wendy and the Lost Boys...I'm not really capable of being everyone's parent.

I would like to adopt someday. Or join a Chinese foster family programme. Maybe not for a few years till we have life with our own baby figured out (does that ever happen, I wonder...). And hopefully, I'll never have to answer that heart-stopping, gut-wrenching question from a four year old who's come to except his lot in life of being parent-less with such matter of factness. To tell the truth, I now know its going to be a whole lot easier to answer the my own baby when he or she asks the normal "Where do babies come from?" question...