Tania McCartney - Beijing Tai Tai: Life, Laughter and Motherhood in Chinas Capital

When my husband first announced wed be moving to China from one of the quietest, most charmingly provincial state capitals in Australia, I was 95 per cent horrified.

From a Californian bungalow with glossy floorboards and Tudor glass windows to a precariously constructed cement block in the sky? From streets with manicured lawns and the echoing pop of tennis balls to spit-laden, noise-polluted racetracks? From sunny strolls with the pram to harried, seatbelt-free taxi rides that strangulate the function of your heart?

How to forgo the comfortable Known in favour of the scratchy Unknown? How to release breakfasts of pouncy bread, gourmet muesli and silky yoghurt with essence of dried fig, in favour ofer ... what do Chinese people eat for breakfast? And do they even have bread in China?

I was a well-travelled, thirty-something woman when we received this 95 per cent horrifying news. I was well-educated, well-read and well-versed on the world, having already schlepped my working life around Europe and nearly every Australian state. I was liberal, open-minded, travel-hungry, ready for change, ever-primed for adventure, not a scaredy-cat, never shy of a challengeall that.

So it surprised no one more than me to learn that the prospect of living in China for four years made me 95 per cent horrified.

Maybe my initial terror was due to the cushy life wed been languishing in for so long. Maybe it was due to the rush of human rights propaganda that invaded my post-birth brain after a fifteen-year sabbatical. It may also have been the fact that China has remained towards the end of my lengthy travel list. Ive never felt that pull for China like I have for so many other countries around the globe. The Great Wall? Sure, Id love to see it. The 1703 summer retreat of Empress Dowager Cixi, surrounded by the worlds largest classical imperial gardens and eight minority temples?

Huh?

Simply put: I just didnt know anything about China.

There. I said it.

My fears were probably also compounded by the fact that the world was no longer about me and my husband any more. It was purely and simply about two other people. Our daughter Ella was three and our son Riley was just one year old when we received The News, and so our family was still heavily invested in a nappy-padded worlda world where everything is pastel and whimsically aesthetic and smells like lollies and cloisters snugly inside mothers groups.

Ive never been part of a mothers group. Having wanted and struggled to have kids for longer than expected, however, I had so bought into this artificially perfect world of babies and toddlers. A world of sweet, harmonious perfection, tucked inside a pretty house with echoing floorboards, white rugs, hand-knitted toys and un-mineralised baby oil. Oh, and popping tennis balls.

There were carefully structured days of best-for-baby routine coupled with pedantic meals served in expensive ceramic dishes with silver baby cutlery. There were daily Baby Einstein DVDs, mini-maestros music education and Gymboree, all bundled up in flashcards, fluffy toys and fun. Essentially, I was up to my eyeballs in the whole coo and caboodle.

Having this idyllic routine unplugged was a precarious position to be in. With babies, life isnt about challenges; its about eliminating the challenges for the sole purpose of clinging onto any semblance of sanity. And the ideal way to do this is in making life routine. Making it easy. Focusing, honing and committingnot diversifying, risking and freewheeling.

Going to China with two small kids and leaving our nappy-padded comfort zone was going to need more diversifying, risking and freewheeling than Id ever called upon before.

My life called. It was time to tuck a baby under each arm and plummet into the abysmal Unknown. No wonder I was 95 per cent horrified.

Ive revealed many things to my Xiansheng (pronounced see-anshung, aka my husband) over the yearsfrom my fear of untucked sheets to the fact that I would follow him to the ends of the earth and live in a tin shed if I had to. I specifically told him this: I will follow you to the ends of the earth and live in a tin shed if I have to. In fact, I will move anywhere in the world with you except Adelaide and China.

Be careful what you say out loud. Six months later, we were posted from our home town of Melbourne to Adelaide, and now eighteen months later, we are on our way to Beijing.

Not a word of a lie.

Moral of this statement? Just be really careful what you say out loud, because the all-permeating, all-knowing caretakers of Karma will hear it and will stick it to you. Not such a bad thing given that whatever we avoid in life probably needs to be part of our lives, as was the way with my facetious comments and subsequent uprooting from our beloved Melbourne.

Adelaide, the capital of South Australia, is in many ways a world-class city, but in many ways its also a large country town. The capital is known for its clique of long-term Adelaideansthe offspring of a long line of South Australian residents so thick, even their accent differs from the rest of the country. Many Adelaideans will probably agree: unless youre born inside it, youre always a bit of an outsider. As a result, Adelaide pulls the reputation with other state-dwellers for being a little, well ... lets just say its hard to get into the well-established clique.

I was nervous about this reputation, and having already lived in most Australian states by the time we left for Adelaide, it was with some authority that I abided by this somewhat tongue-in-cheek character assassination of our South Australian capital city; an assassination similar to the rivalry between Sydney and Melbourne as the cultural capital of Australia, and the affectionate stab at Queenslanders for being a littleer ... slower than the rest of the country. Its wonderful that Australians have such a great sense of humour and hefty aptitude for self-mockery.

So, typically, because of this somewhat ridiculous paranoia, Karma swooped down and gave us a posting straight to the innerburbs of Adelaide.

We stayed eighteen months, andsurprise, surprisewe loved it. It was a wonderful experience. And I was let into many a clique. In fact, I easily slipped into some of the loveliest cliques Ive ever had the fortune to be cliqued in. Some fascinating women welcomed me (and the kids) with open arms, and our time in this town holds some of the fondest memories of my life. So much for clichs, let alone cliques.