3/7/23 - Women who marry black people should have their Chinese citizenship revoked.
Mother posts a post complaining that she found the burrito she had made her kid for breakfast in the trash can downstairs. “Do you know that after mommy had your brother and you, she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep? Every day, my biological clock wakes me up early. Sometimes, because of stress, I’m up by four or five am, and just lay in bed, afraid of missing the time to make breakfast. Every day, I’m coming up with new recipes. I make tangyuan and you want noodles, I make noodles and you want rice. I’m so mad that I end up beating you, but that just hurts me more. And all your dad knows how to do is blame me for beating you too hard. I cried today. After I’ve done so much for this family, every one of my white hairs and my joint aches are telling me that I’m tired. Sometimes, I just want to stop caring. Child, maybe one day when you’re a parent too, you’ll understand that what you threw away today was my heart.”
The top voted comment is like, “I don’t know what to say. What’s the point in beating her? Just ask her the night before what she wants for breakfast, and if she changes her mind the next morning, oh well, good luck.” And second highest comment is, “I can’t believe people are blaming a mother for loving her kid T_T.”
Someone complains that they went to their favourite malatang today and joked tot he owner, “I’m so hungry today, could I have some extra noodles?” The owner looked at her all surprised and was like, “But you only paid for one serving of noodles? You need to pay for a second if you want more.” And they’re super disappointed and don’t want to go back anymore. They’ve ate here dozens of times, and now, it just feels so disappointing that the owner cares more about a couple of noodles that can’t be more than a cent or two in cost. Top comment is, “I’ve been renting this apartment for ten years too, but my landlord won’t give me a couple of square feet either.”
A thread of people discussing being scared of newborns: “When I was sitting the month, I didn’t know how to breastfeed sitting up, only laying down. I still wanted to try one day, so my MIL was showing me how, but the milk came out too quickly, and the baby choked on it a couple of times. She started coughing, refused to eat more, then turned to face her dad. And then, she sighed. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes, full of resignation and contempt, like, “Why would you marry such a smoothbrain.” She wasn’t even a month old yet. I was so convinced she had adult memories.”
“My son used to have this calculating, scheming, contemptuous smirk when he was first born. My husband even said he doesn’t like looking at our son, because he feels looked down on. My midwife even said that a scheming old man lives in my son’s body.”
“My hometown has this belief, that babies are born with memories of their previous life that they slowly forget over the first month or so.”
“I’ve totally had this feeling looking at some newborns—they have this expression of tired pessimism.”
“My son was just a month old, sleeping in his bed. I was in the bathroom washing my hands, when I suddenly felt my hair raise on end. Looked in the mirror and saw him staring at me with the eyes of a grown man who wanted me dead. I was scared of him for days. But he got stupider and stupider, and now he’s just a silly little kid.”
“I think this is because babies have too much black to their eyes, if you know what I mean? It looks scary when they start staring at you unblinkingly.”
“I mean, why don’t people have memories before three?”
“When my son was a month or two old, my husband was playing with him one day, asking, ‘Are you an old man or an old lady? You can actually understand everything we say, yeah? You just don’t have control over this body.” And my son smiled at him shyly. Once, I said the same joke to him while I was home with him alone, and he started squeezing my arm really hard and staring at me like an angry old man. I got legit goosebumps.”
An video of a black guy interviewing people on the street. One of the people he interviews is also black. He asks, “Where are you from?”
Guy replies, “I’m from China. I’m black Chinese.”
The interviewer laughs at him, “Come on, be serious!”
The guy being interviewed seemed resigned, “I’m really black Chinese. Why does no one ever believe me?”
Blogger says he can answer—because everyone thinks the whole premise of this situation is completely ridiculous. Comments say one day China will become like France, full of black people saying this is their country, and if the Asians don’t like it, they can leave. People agree that women who marry black people should have their Chinese citizenship removed.
An askreddit question, “Everyone says a c-section is the way to go on the internet, but why do doctors still insist you have vaginal delivery?” The answer is, “80 days after vaginal delivery, with forceps to help. I want to write about my experience so other people can learn my lesson—control your weight during pregnancy!!! My baby was just 7 pounds. If they were a bit smaller and I gave birth a bit faster, then I wouldn’t have to go through what I did…
28, great health, almost never been to the hospital. 165cm, 60kg, a little fat, big-boned, wide pelvis. No symptoms all pregnancy, great appetite, still fully active right up until delivery, no problems with any checkups. The baby is normal size. Everyone, including the doctor, thought I could have a successful vaginal delivery.
41 weeks along, baby is still not moving a bit, so I go into the hospital to get induced. I was lucky enough to get a single delivery room (3000RMB a night) and even celebrate. Got takeout, drank bubble tea, sat on my yoga ball. I haven’t even gotten the pertussin started yet, and my contractions started at 6pm. The first two hours were okay, just a little worse than my usual period cramps. I settle in for a long delivery, but my cervis opened really fast.
From about 8pm on, I had pretty intense contractions. The nurse checked and I was already 3cm open and ready for my epidural. But the anaesthesiologist is busy in the ER and couldn’t get over. So even if you want an epidural, it’s a matter of luck, sometimes, there’s just no one to administer it. The painful contractions last another 2 hours, and by the time the anaesthesiologist gets to my room, I was 7cm open. By the time he was done with the epidural, I was fully dilated and my water was broken. I tried pushing a couple of times—the epidural worked, no pain—but the baby had pooped inside. My water was very murky. So the hospital decided to hurry up with forceps, got a 7cm incision episiotomy. They spent a hour stitching me back up.
Up until this part, I had no complaints about my child birthing experience. If every child birth is like this, I can have five kids, no problem. But the next day, my incision hurt so much I wanted to die. It’s a lot worse than giving birth itself. I was on three types of painkillers—even Tramadol didn’t do a thing. They had to put me on Demerol before I had any relief. Can’t pee, though, probably because I got too much of an epidural and my pee muscles were still paralysed. I tried and tried—nothing. Even got medicine for it. Still nothing. Even when I left the hospital, three days later, it was with a catheter and a pee bag.
Three days after I got home, my incision was in a lot of pain. Even worse than at the beginning. I was going into the hospital anyways to get my catheter removed, but I couldn’t stand it anymore at 5am, and went to the ER. Found out the incision was inflamed and filled with pus, so the doctor starts squeezing the pus out. Again, hurt so much I want to die. Much worse than contractions and giving birth. I’m screaming and crying, and I didn’t even cry when giving birth.
Thus, I started my 50 day journey of going into the hospital every day to change my dressing. After my incision healed, it left a really deep scar, with fat liquefaction inside. They can’t restitch it, so they can only keep changing dressings, wiping it down with iodine, and cutting away any rotten flesh. Any thread that I didn’t absorb, they have to pull out. In the later days, they couldn’t fit a cotton bud inside my stitch anymore, so they have to stab with scissors, making me bleed every time.
Of course, there’s no anaesthesia for any of this. All I can do is lie shaking on the bed, staring at every crack in the ceiling, can’t even look at the doctors and what they’re doing, can’t let myself start anticipating which second is going to hurt the worst. I always thought I had great pain tolerance, never feared needles or anything. But I never could get up the courage to look at my wound.
I went though the care of about 10 doctors. I went through every doctor they had in the ob/gyn department. I couldn’t sit or walk for over a month. Even at home, I had to constantly keep a sterilising light on it. Used up three 500ml bottles of iodine. Don’t know how many cotton buds I went through. 80 days later, my wound is still not healed.
I don’t know if my body had a bad reaction to the absorbable stitches they used, if the same thing would’ve happened if I’d gotten a c-section. I just know that I wished that baby was smaller, I had given birth faster, they had pooped a bit later…”