China's Baby Care Superstitions - Very interesting.

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Nursing China's superstitions

 

By Louisa Lim

BBC, Beijing

New mums should stay indoors, eat purple porridge and avoid drinking iced

water. Or should they? Scratch below the surface in modern China and you will

find that old superstitions remain very much in force, as Louisa Lim has found

out since having a baby.

 

I had nine months to prepare, but when I was presented with a tiny squalling

bundle of scrawny arms and legs, it was still a shock. My waters had broken a

month before my due date. I hadn't even gone on maternity leave. I was

expecting to be at work, filing reports from our hot little studio. Instead I

found myself in labour, yelling like a banshee while fending off calls from the

BBC news desk in London. After several excruciating hours, our baby finally

arrived. He was small but perfect in every way. Traditionally the arrival of a

grandson who will carry on the family name is a momentous event in any Chinese

clan. And so it was with my in-laws.

 

My Chinese husband always called him the 'stinky little pig'

 

They adored the baby and spent hours cooing as he gurned and kicked. As time

went on, however, I noticed a strange thing. As I am half-English, we had

given our son both English and Chinese names: Daniel and Feng Yue, which means

Moon. But no one seemed to be using his given names. Instead, my Chinese

husband always called him the " stinky little pig " . And my father-in-law would

stare tenderly at the baby, but mutter things like " dog fart " . Perplexed, I

asked some Chinese friends what was going on. " They're trying to fool the evil

spirits, " I was told. " They don't want the evil spirits to kidnap Feng Yue, so

they are pretending he's just a stinky little pig or a dog fart. " Month in

pyjamas I had been expecting a tiny imperious master who would rule my life

with his demands. Actually we were blessed with a peaceful little being who

spent his first few weeks of life fast asleep.

 

But my days were ruled by another addition to the household: my maternity

nurse, Dong Ayi. She had been recommended by a Chinese friend, who had got

through two other nurses during her first two days at home. If Dong Ayi had

managed to co-exist with her, I figured, she would be able to cope with me. But

I had not reckoned on the cultural differences. Dong Ayi was already waiting

for us when we got home. A small, compact woman, the first thing she did when

we arrived was change into her pyjamas. That is because in China, new mothers

are not expected to leave their beds for a month after giving birth. Both I

and Dong Ayi were expected to spend the entire month pyjama-clad. Prisoner to

tradition I had already warned Dong Ayi that I would not be " sitting the

month " as they say in Chinese. But I soon discovered that besides not going

outside, a host of other activities were also forbidden. These included those

most ordinary of acts: taking a shower, washing your

hair, drinking cold water, opening the window, watching television and even

reading a book. All are considered unhealthy after childbirth.

 

When she saw me walking around barefoot, she was horrified

 

Most new mothers are too worried about the consequences to transgress. For

my part, I refused to be a prisoner to tradition and blithely ignored these

taboos. And Dong Ayi did not exactly complain when I took a shower or opened the

window or drank iced water. She would just fix me with a baleful glare... a

silent warning of the error of my ways. In one area, however, she refused to

compromise. When she saw me walking around barefoot, she was horrified. She

kept warning of cold winds, which would enter my body through the soles of my

feet, causing untold health problems. At first I laughed off her concerns.

Then as her laser stare followed my feet around the house, I started to feel

aches in my heels and knees. Finally she could bear it no longer and bought me

a pair of soft black slippers. Sensing defeat, I realised it would be easier

just to wear them all the time, and miraculously the pains vanished. Secret

bananas Food was another small battleground over

which we skirmished. The Chinese firmly believe that certain foods are

beneficial after childbirth, particularly purple rice porridge with dates, pig

trotter soup and black chicken broth. On one memorable occasion, my in-laws

even produced deep-fried pork-fat soup, which was surprisingly good. The

problem was that Dong Ayi firmly opposed my favourite foods: namely coffee,

chocolate and bananas. " Not for breastfeeding mothers, " she said, banning them

from my diet, " they're bad for Daniel's health. " I took the route of least

resistance and meekly agreed, though I would visit friends' houses for

clandestine coffee and secret bananas. Found out One day all this came to an

end. She was changing the baby's nappy and sniffing the air distractedly.

" This smells all wrong. He's got diarrhoea, " she said. " You've been eating

bananas, haven't you? " I could only hang my head in shame and promise to stop.

Six months have now passed. Thanks to my soup-filled diet, our

stinky little pig is as chubby and bouncing as they come. I am back at work,

filing reports from the BBC's hot little studio. And Daniel is safe at home,

still being looked after by Dong Ayi... still in her pyjamas.

 

 

 

 

We have grasped the mystery of the atom and rejected the Sermon on the Mount.

Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war

than we know about peace, more about killing that we know about living.

-- General Omar Bradley

 

 

 

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