A Full Day, Part 2

Patama and Noi had to go. I ate breakfast. Jip’s caregiver made her some lunch. A few minutes later, Jip’s accupressurist/masseuse arrived. The phone rang. It was an American couple I know. They and their two young children are thinking of moving to our neighborhood from across town. We had already spoken about their coming by for a swim and maybe a meal at one of the nearby eateries. They were cruising our street, not sure of our exact address.

Thomas, aged four, headed straight in to the bedroom. He asked, “Why does that guy in the bed have that thing on his belly? What’s that stuff inside it?” He had been fooled by Jip’s short haircut. The thing on her belly was Jip’s urine bag, which normally sits under her shirt like a belt, but at that time was exposed while the accupressurist worked on her lower back.

The parents followed behind slowly. Before long the conversation turned to the daughter, Sophia (aged “zero,” according to her brother). Sophia had been in great spirits all afternoon. In the pool she had kicked up a storm. Later, on a carpet, she showed off the muscles that should have her crawling before this month is over. (She was born last August.)

The baby continued to gurgle happily while Jip asked about her. Jip likes kids. As a health educator in the refugee camps, Jip midwifed countless Cambodian babies. She eagerly accepted the offer to hold Sophia, and instantly declared that the girl felt to her to be about two years old. We decided that Jip’s sense of kids’ age was based on the Cambodian refugee children’s growth rates, rather than that of American expat kids.

The five of us went out for a meal on the corner. It was simple fare, but the dad was nearly squealing with excitement because that kind of storefront place is rarer in his part of Bangkok than in ours. He was even more delighted when the (tiny) bill arrived.