… even if he’s still just a baby.
Raising a child abroad was one of aspects that appealed to us about this lifestyle, although I totally respect that there are drawbacks that could potentially scar our kid for life. I guess we’ll have to weigh in on that later. Third Culture Kids (TCKs if your brain can handle another acronym) are children who are raised in a culture other than their parents’ (in our case, American) for a significant part of their early development years. If you’re a glass half full kind of person, Third Culture Kids get to soak up lots of different cultures which is really cool. For those in the half empty camp, these kids may never feel like they truly belong in any of those cultures and will forever wander the Earth as outsiders. Tres and I are optimistic about what kind of life we can offer Osito, but he will most certainly have his own opinions on this. We are aiming for resilient, cultured, fluent in a few different languages, and as sweet as all the other Foreign Service kiddos we meet, but we realize it could just as easily backfire into confused, illiterate in several languages, and cursing us as an angsty teenager for ruining his life. He’ll probably curse us an angsty teenager either way, so we’ll give this our best shot!
In Osito’s first year of life he has lived in Massachusetts, Virginia, Ciudad Juarez, and he spent over a month staying at our parents’ in New Hampshire. He’s only a baby, but I do think he’s resilient. He seems to thrive in new situations and he takes changes in time zones and plane rides (eight flights his first year!) in stride. He eats everything we put in front of him and may even have a preference towards spicy food. I sometimes feel guilty that he doesn’t have the sweet woodland nursery I dreamed of and I worry that with so much change he won’t feel secure, but we are his constants in an environment that is constantly changing. I didn’t plan on it, but it has been a gift to stay home with him and be able to add on part time hours as we were both ready. His father’s work hours allow us to eat breakfast and dinner together as a family every day, something that would rarely happen for us back in Massachusetts. I’m hoping that those strong attachments count for something.
As far as language acquisition goes, his first word was “Mama,” followed by “hola,” then “Dada.” His receptive language is better and he quickly points to his head when we ask for it in Spanish. He loves to high five in Spanish (“chócala” which translates to “crush it”) and he responds appropriately to other Spanish phrases like signing for food when I ask if he’s hungry and stopping in his tracks when I tell him to be careful. On the days when it was really difficult to leave him with a nanny or bring him to daycare at the school where I work, I would remind myself how beneficial it is for him to learn Spanish. I really should speak to him more in Spanish myself, but I’m hesitant to teach him my broken Spanish. I’ll let the professionals teach him for now!