Lost in transit

The bones of small fish

I've been racking my brains for a really great post, this being my first. However, I finally decided that the thing to do was just get it over and done with, so quality is not guaranteed.
Falling pregnant in Japan has highlighted some interesting dietary differences. At first I thought I was going to have it easy, away from the British long-as-your-arm list of 'forbidden' foods. I have a supremely laid-back (British) doctor who is happy for me to eat anything, so I've been smugly gobbling up soft cheeses, sushi, prawns and, well, pretty much anything I can get my hands on.

The past couple of weeks have brought me into contact with the Japanese way, as I search for a midwife to continue my prenatal care and deliver the baby. I have found out that the reason vitamin supplements are not prescribed here is that Japanese women are expected to conform to a strict diet as soon as they conceive. I have been variously advised, by professionals, 'no dairy' - the traditional Japanese diet sources its calcium from the bones of small fish (my theory is that this explains the curled spines of the many minute old ladies here; how many small fish can one person consume?) - 'no sugar' (including fruit sugars), to eat lots of rice and not to eat too much rice. All of which has made me realise how much of a western mindset I have: no dairy, in particular, has horrified me. Yet we all know how healthy the Japanese are and they have one of the lowest infant-mortality rates in the world, so perhaps I should do as I'm told?
At the same time, our friends are doing their best. Not only is the conversation in the izakaya monitored to ensure only baby-friendly topics are covered (it can hear!), suitable foods are ordered. Thin-sliced pig's ears, beef tongue, yu-dofu (tofu in hot water - much nicer than it sounds) and sashimi are all considered 'good for baby' while my favourite, karashi renkon (mustard-filled lotus root, battered and deep-fried) is considered off-limits and I have to beg for a plate of greens. And moving to sit one seat further away is considered sufficient while smoking one's cigarette.
While we're on the subject, I was always impressed with the courtesy seats in every train carriage. Clearly marked, they are there for the use of people with small children, expectant mums, the elderly and the mysterious 'people with medical devices', variously represented by a plaster-encased leg or a bright-red heart (a pacemaker?). However, my research shows that they are purely a sop to the authorities' guilt over providing no facilities for wheelchair users (how many stations have a lift? Not many) and that nobody thinks a pregnant woman is worth standing up for. Of course, it is possible that all those seemingly young, fit salarymen are in fact burdened with an unseen medical device. I am gazed through as though invisible, even on those (fortunately few) occasions when I have turned a pretty pale green and had to push off the train to sit down before falling down.