To pee or not to pee?

Sidenote before blogging: For those of you who started seeing my blog feeds on Facebook (this is one of them) - that's all my brother's doing. My Facebook access in China is spotty at best. So many thanks to the new followers' messages that have been forwarded to my email, and please don't be offended if I don't respond back on Facebook. Email is the only surefire way to get me.

Second sidenote: If you are squeamish about potty talk, stop reading. This post is not for you.

So for the past three weeks, I've been potty training in China. The "in China" part will be explained later. First of all, I underestimated how absolutely nerve-wracking and annoying this would be. I imagined one week of continuously drilling and then it would be all pink heart underwear and "mommy, I have to pee." But what I'm finding now is that it's mostly me checking my watch every hour, announcing that it's potty time, and if we're out, I get to add a new page to what is becoming my "Shanghai Bathroom Guide." (To my Shanghai followers, so far Wagas and Element Fresh are the most reliable for cleanliness). My daughter has now touched tops of and sides of dirty toilet bowls, has nearly fallen into one at a mall, and has experienced her first Chinese park restroom squat hole.

Sadly, talking about this no longer seems strange or disgusting to me; in fact, these are the stories I tell my husband over dinner now. But why share all this here? Because potty training has revived the deep-seated fear in me that I share with many expats in China - that every single thing we (and our children) touch is completely and utterly poisonous to our inner being. Thanks to Manika, I've had to stare that fear down. I've had to look deep into Shanghai's filthy eyes, face it's middle finger flipped up at me and say, "Bring it on."

The germ war is now being waged.

First front: Food. A few weeks ago, I did a brief flirtation with an online organic grocery company to A. See if I could use the consulting side of my brain again (currently going to mush) B. To see if all the rumors I've heard about the food in China being cancer-causing are true. The result? A. I could use that side of my brain if I had fifteen more hours in the day. B. Yes, my food here will kill me and my family in the long run. If you manage to avoid the topical pesticides by buying organic, you risk financial bankruptcy. The cost is more than Whole Foods in the US. If you write the cost off as part of the "expat experience" then you still have to face facts that your veggies and fruits grown in or near Shanghai drink all the lovely metals and factory runoff that flows into the soil from both rain above and ground water below. If you decide that buying outside of Shanghai lowers some risks, then you've got to face the transportation truths. Food in China travels for a long time in non-refrigerated trucks, and often sits and sits and sits. Think eating out is better? Wrong. Shanghai tap water, that lead and mercury and other poisonous metal infested source of hydration, is drunk up daily by pasta, rice, dumplings, stews in most of the city's restaurant. When you eat out, 9.9 out of ten times, you've just swallowed things that weren't meant to be eaten.

So the way to get around it is to just eat at home. Wash vegetables with Evian. Cook everything to certain germ-death temperatures. Maintain blissful isolation to reduce your cancer risk by half and your contact with China by 90%. It's just enough to make you feel like you live in a prison cell made of filtered water and triple washed organic salad leaves.

Front two: Air. We've solved this with two $2,000 hospital grade air filters and are contemplating a third on for the newborn. While these do eliminate all coughing and other allergy related symptoms, they also keep you from ever opening the windows and doors to get "fresh air." As a result, our house is always silent. No sounds of children laughing or playing outside. No wind. No birds singing. But my nose never runs.

Front three: Bathrooms. At first, I tried to repeat my isolationist success by only taking Manika to places with "western toilets." Then I tried using diapers only when outside and sleeping, but she didn't seem to really understand the difference; she thought they were just back again. So finally, I decided to see what the Chinese do. Because of the prohibitive cost of diapers and the fact that, due to Communism, they care far less about the cleanliness of public places than we do in "all for one and one for all" democracies, most train their kids as soon as they can sit up on their own. Their method - open butt pants. You need to go, just squat. No matter that your kids have a constant draft (or more like a wind tunnel - those openings are huge).

At first, I thought this utterly repulsive. I told my friends that my kid would NEVER ever go outside like that, that I would ALWAYS find a toilet no matter what. Then I found myself this weekend in a big park with no public toilets in sight, no change of clothes, no diaper, and a child clearly hoping not to have to endure the disapproval from her mother for having another accident. I recoiled inside, I looked over my shoulder for other expats who might witness my crime against all things clean and Western, I found a bush as far away from people as possible (a long walk given that there are about billion people in this country) and then I told Manika to be as quick and discreet as possible.

Three seconds. Over. Painless, no glares or stares like I would've gotten in the US. In fact, it was kind of liberating. I now have an alternative (in an emergency only of course). And I am also not alone I've learned - a few hours later, my expat friends (with an older daughter) confessed that they too have eventually broken down and gone the same route.

Now, I can no longer judge the Chinese for this. I can no longer look down on their simple uneducated ways the way I have been when it comes to food and air. I can no longer write them off as dirty and disrespectful to public areas (as is popular in expat circles). Shanghai has stared me back down. "Squat on this," it has said, unapologetically (as it always does). I think we've declared a sort of tie on the germ warfare. And in a way, I'm glad. I can relax a little. I can actually see a bit of myself in the people of this country. After all, people are people, parents are parents. No one wants to carry around a kid with wet pants. Now, when I see a child in those open-air pantaloon things, I actually understand and even, maybe just a little, think it might just be a good idea... for emergencies only and for my son of course. Girls are a different story. For them, discretion remains key from the beginning.

I am still an Asian living in Asia.