I was watching the James Corden show, Carpool Karaoke, with Ariana Grande because she is an amazing singer. At one point, Corden asks her what the craziest thing she has read about herself in the news was. She said, everybody is really interested in whether or not she’s pregnant. Every week there is rumor that she’s pregnant.
I, being the Ariana Grande of DKU (this is a joke, though I am one of the lead singers in the lesser known “DKU Band”), also have many students who are interested in my state of baby making.
It’s important to state first that these questions don’t bother me in the way that questions about my skin color and place of origin can. It’s partially because the answers to these questions are quite straightforward. Do you have children? No. Do you want children? Yes. Are you pregnant? No. It’s also because it is an actual part of the Chinese culture. It’s not something that is happening specifically because I am black or female or foreign. Ben also gets asked about when the children will come in addition to other personal questions, like his income, whether or not he owns the apartment where he lives, etc. The questions about parenthood tend to progress like this: Are you married? Do you have children? You’re married but don’t have children?! Well, what are you waiting for?
I remember the first semester at my current university when a student saw me on campus and said, “So, Maxi, I hear you’re pregnant!” You can imagine that I was taken aback. I just laughed. “Really?! No one told me.”
“You’re not pregnant?” “No, I’m not pregnant.” “But I heard from a very good source that you are pregnant.” More laughter. “I assure you. I’m not pregnant.” “Really?” “Really.”
I’m not sure that student left believing me. She left looking like I had entrusted this information to some other student, and I was now lying to her about it because I didn’t trust her as much. I didn’t know how to convince her; as it was, it was taking all my effort not to laugh even more.
Once I reached my office, I stopped restraining myself. I shared with my colleagues the rumor going around that I was pregnant. I wondered if the students didn’t have enough going on in their lives to keep them from worrying about whether or not I was knocked up.
At this point, Ben and I had only been married for about 6 months. We had not started trying to have children yet. We were not sure when we wanted to start trying. I was planning to go back to graduate school after I finished my three-year contract with the university. After that, I would consider expanding our family. I was just 25 at that time. I did not feel any particular rush.
This rumor about my pregnancy would resurface all six semesters of my three years at the university, which is impressive since our students changed every semester. Each batch of students would often start with the more innocent question of, “So, Maxi, I’m not sure it’s OK to ask this personal question, but do you want to have children?”
I would normally respond vaguely that I do one day. This answer would then sometimes be followed-up with comments like, “In 6 months?” “In six months? Wait, you think I’m pregnant?” “You’re not pregnant?” “No.” “But you have all the signs and symptoms that we learned about in our maternal and child health course.” More laughter. This is what happens when you educate people. “I assure you, I’m not pregnant. Every semester there is a rumor that I’m pregnant. Yet, there is still no baby. I’m not an elephant. It shouldn’t take two years.”
However, when Ben and I started trying to conceive, the once funny rumors became more painful as I wished very much that I were pregnant. I did not feel comfortable, nor did I think it appropriate to explain to students that wanting children and being able to have them were two separate issues.
It wasn’t just the students though. It was the ladies at the canteen, the people on the facilities team, and the school’s shuttle bus driver who also wanted to know when the babies would come. When I missed work in April for surgery, some of the ladies on the facilities team congratulated me on giving birth. I mean, hadn’t I missed work to go on maternity leave? Isn’t that why they hadn’t seen me in a while?
I guess these ladies had not seen me in a long time. It would have been some miracle for me to have managed to get 9 months pregnant, have my 4 months maternity leave, and come back 55 kilograms. No? Or did I look like I just had a baby?
I sometimes think my average, 22 BMI body shape looks like a woman in early pregnancy to people in China. I’ve been asked before at a dance class,
“Were you fat before?” “Was I fat before?! Uh… no.” “Did you have a baby?” “Uh… no.” “Your butt just looks like that?” “Uh… yes.” “You have a very nice shape.” “Uh… thanks.”
I always wanted the maybe-fat-before, currently- or previously-pregnant shape.
I also do feel like some of the Chinese women around me are able to pop out babies and go back to size zeroes. It’s this incredible thing. So, maybe they think I can too. The problem is that I’m not a size zero to begin with, despite the illusion my pear shape gives that I’m only a100 pounds soaking wet.
I remember one time my students, in a discussion about questions that vary in appropriacy across cultures, commented on my weight, stating that I would be prettier if I were about 5 kilograms heavier (about 11 pounds). I was too thin.
“How much do you think I weigh,” I asked. “About 50 kilograms,” students responded. “Well, perfect! I’m 55 kilograms. Am I prettier now?” “Wow, really? You must have heavy bones.”
Yeah, I must have heavy bones.
I think the hardest conversations though were with the shuttle bus driver. We would often spend the 20+ minutes on the shuttle from the train station near where I lived to campus chatting about our lives and culture. This was because I was normally the only person on the bus, but these conversations were also great Mandarin practice for me.
During my years at DKU, the driver would always remind me that now was a good time to have children. I shouldn’t wait until I got any older. Once I got older, it would be harder. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Once his own daughter became pregnant, and he became a grandfather, the prodding came more frequently. I would nod that I was aware. On one occasion when I was going through the “excitement” of medically induced menopause (more on that later in the adenomyosis section), I almost broke down in tears and screamed that I was TRYING!
But I held it together.
Now that Ben and I have moved closer to campus, I don’t take the shuttle anymore. Also, the ladies in the canteen and on the facilities team have taken to asking Ben, instead of me, about the state of our baby making since he now also works at the university.
“Is your wife pregnant,” the woman at the checkout counter whispers to Ben as he pays for his meal. In a voice of surprise and confusion, he always responds, “No, she’s not.”
No, I’m not.
Unfortunately.
**The featured image is a close-up of my maybe-fat-before, currently- or previously-pregnant shape, and don’t forget the heavy bones.
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