Ways to Carry a Baby
by
I
There’re different ways to carry a baby, but not every one is right. Your mom immigrated from a village in Taisan to New York City in the 1980s. She spoke Cantonese with a Taisan accent. You were born in New York with a cleft palate and a clubfoot. The developmental pediatrician also suspected that you were developmentally delayed. Therefore, the hospital gave your mom a series of medical appointments, which drove her nuts. You had to be seen by specialists of the cleft palate team including a speech therapist, a dentist, and a plastic surgeon. You had appointments with an orthopedic surgeon for your clubfoot. You had to be evaluated by a psychologist. To take you to the medical center, your mom never used a stroller. She took the subway. She found it convenient to carry you on her back with a Mei Tai baby carrier. You know, the old-fashioned type that ties on. Your mom’s Mei Tai was daisy red, embroidered with the Chinese characters “Happy Child” and “Double Happiness.” She once carried you like that to a hearing test that your speech therapist had referred you to. She waited patiently in the hallway of the clinic, as she usually did. When you got cranky for reasons I can’t recall, she started to walk around the waiting area to hush you. The speech therapist happened to see your mom there from her room and was alarmed at the way she carried you. She called a physical therapist across the hallway to come out and see your mom. She wanted her colleague to confirm that the way your mom carried you would hurt your back. The PT said your mom didn’t tie you tightly enough against her back, and the Mei Tai failed to provide your back with enough support. And I had to translate whatever they said to your mom. Of course, your mom disagreed, arguing, “What’s wrong? That’s how we carry babies every day. Everything’s fine.” I didn’t translate that. I simply told the therapists that your mom understood. It was a lie but I was embarrassed. I knew your mom just wanted to get it over with. She didn’t want any more medical appointments, complaining that the doctors didn’t do anything. They just saw you and never prescribed any medications to heal you, grumbled your mom.
II
There’re different ways to carry a baby, but not every one is right. What a gorgeous day strolling along Green Lake! Your sis loves playing with you outdoors, but don’t carry her on your shoulders again. Your father would give you a lecture if he were alive. When he died, he left behind nothing but a bunch of papers and a Mercedes. Some of his work was on child safety issues. He was a public health specialist. But he only spent half of his time at “U Dub.” For several months a year, he was constantly on the move, giving lectures, presenting papers, attending conferences, doing research—not just in the country but all over the world. I went with him everywhere. We left you with Aunt Kim in Seattle. We hired private tutors to give you swimming, tennis, and skating lessons. You’ve had the very best of everything. Remember the car accident you had. Great Uncle was taking you on a Christmas trip to California when his convertible ran down a cliff just off Interstate 5. Thank goodness, it was a BMW. The EMT pulled you out of the wreckage, it was a total loss, but you survived with only some neck injury. That’s why we only bought European cars. Your father and I were in Papua New Guinea. Aunt Kim called us. She was scared to death but you and Uncle were fine at the hospital. Your father’s research was always meticulous and extensive. He was ahead of everyone else in the game. He never had to worry about funding. Some came from the federal government, but a good few large projects were sponsored by foundations and pharmaceutical companies. Sometimes, there were so many big-dollar contracts that your father had to ask the department chair to hire additional assistants and support staff for his team. I remember he once conducted international research on the safety of baby slings and carriers. He spent weeks looking up data in Washington D.C. He even asked me to help him buy all the infant carriers on the market. I checked out all the mail order catalogues. I asked our relatives in mainland China to send me some Mei Tai slings. Your father sent everything we had got to a lab in Denver and another one in Austin. He found there was an annual average of several injuries associated with the use of slings or carriers nationwide. He was disappointed that most developing countries didn’t have any surveillance system to collect data on this kind of accident. However, he had anecdotal evidence from countries like China and India about the potential risks of carrying babies when he discussed the issues with foreign professionals in international conferences. The labs found defects in some of the carriers and slings we had sent in. Your father was later invited to present his findings about the safety issues of carrying infants at a health ed. conference in Tokyo. He grew a bit worried about the carrier Aunt Kim used to take you to the grocery stores in the International District. She also used it to carry you at home when you got cranky. I had to call her. “Forget about the carrier,” she complained. You’d just begun walking, messing up the kitchen, and wouldn’t even want to get into any stroller, walker, or carrier while she was busy with chores.
III
There’re different ways to carry a baby, but not every one is right. It was 1962. It was pitch dark when your grandma was crossing the Deep Bay with a dozen or so illegal immigrants in a bark. Your grandma was taking your father in her arms. He was crying non-stop. She wanted to be reunited with your grandpa and great grandma, who had already gone to Hong Kong. She said going down to Hong Kong was the wisest decision she and your grandpa had ever made. One of her co-workers at Canton didn’t have the courage to steal across the border with her daughter. Then the Cultural Revolution broke out, and she and her daughter were forced to be separated from her husband for more than a decade. Your grandma said she was quite confident that the smuggling operation, unlike those nowadays, was safe. Quite incredibly, it was sponsored by the communist government, and the Hong Kong government turned a blind eye to it as much as it could. However, your father was “naughty.” He was crying too loudly, probably out of hunger and dehydration. The fellow passengers were furious, afraid that the junk would be discovered by the Marine Police. “Dump him in the water,” they yelled at your grandma. “You can give birth to as many as you want when you get to Hong Kong. They have good cheap hospitals.” Your grandma adamantly refused. She even went so far as to make a bold suggestion to the snakehead, “Leave me on one of the deserted islands and pick me up later.” Though pressured by other people, the snakehead dared not do that. He would be held accountable for every life on board by the mainland cadres, explained your grandma. Your grandma laid your father over the right shoulder, then the left shoulder, and afterwards carried him on the back with bare hands. But it didn’t help at all. His wailing was just as high-pitched and feverish in the deep of the night. It took two long days to get to an island in sight of Hong Kong. The snakehead ordered everybody to get off and wait in the water. He had to make sure the coast was clear before making the final move. Your grandma was short, and the cold water reached up to her waist. She had to hold your father high and waited patiently until the snakehead signaled, “Come.” When your grandma finally landed on Tsing Shan and got some congee from a Tanka family to feed your father, he finished it in no time and stopped crying.
IV
There’re different ways to carry a baby, but not every one is right. One of your father’s dissertation readers, a feminist Chinese historian, once made a remark in class with which I could not agree more. She said that male graduate students are subject to a feminized position. They find themselves at the bottom of the academic hierarchy. If that were true, how about those who take care of their children while their wife or partner works and supports the family? Would these men be even more feminized? Your father happened to be one such. I never asked him how he felt about the professor’s comment. But he appeared to be a contented stay-at-home father. He and your mom didn’t believe in day care. They didn’t like nannies. Nor did they like the idea of letting your grandparents care for you. They decided to take care of you themselves. You were born when your father was in the third year of his Ph.D. program, beginning to write his dissertation. He turned down two coveted TA offers from the Women’s Studies Department. It was in the early 90s when the economy was really slow and no graduate students would decline such offers. But your father had no regrets. Your mom worked as a public school teacher, and she made enough money to support the family, though not much. Your father stayed home. He took care of your daily needs, bathing you, changing your diapers, taking you to the pediatrician (you had the best doctor; your pediatrician was named “Doctor of the Year” by a health magazine), feeding you, reading to you, taking you out. Once in a while, he drove you to the university libraries for his research. And he worked on his dissertation when you were asleep or when you left him alone. Your mom had faith in your father’s care of you. She couldn’t do a better job. When she bathed you, you got cranky. But you were perfectly calm and cute when your father bathed you and changed your diapers. However, not everyone trusted him. One warm, sunny afternoon, your father wanted to take you out for a walk. He put you in a stroller. A woman living next door saw your father and commented, “You should put a blanket over your baby.” Your father shrugged, explaining that it was warm enough. “Babies should always be wrapped,” retorted the neighbor, and she walked away angrily, knitting her brows. This happened on Long Island. But it was no better for your father after the family had moved to New York City. Your father once took you out to buy cold cuts in Canarsie, Brooklyn. It was sleeting, and the wind chill was below freezing. Your father carried you with a soft baby carrier on the front. He put you inside his down parka, and zipped it up to keep you comfy and warm. Then he walked with your mom to a deli. A passerby saw the bulk in front of your father and asked, “Is it a puppy?” Your father blushed. “You bet!” he replied in passing.
V
There’re different ways to carry a baby, but not every one is right. Why don’t you put your Barbie in the doll stroller Auntie Laura bought you last Christmas? I’m not gonna get you any kid sling for your dolls. I donated mine to a year-end coat drive. I almost killed you in it when we were on summer vacation in Hong Kong. I never used slings here. I simply put you in a car seat and drove you everywhere door-to-door. Twice a week, I used to drop you off at Grandma’s house and attend the Weight Watcher’s meetings. I always had a stroller in the trunk if I ever needed to walk. It was very convenient. But I couldn’t do the same thing in Hong Kong. I had to take the subway, buses, and light buses to go shopping. There’re too many stairs, too many people, too many high rises, and way too much walking. Therefore, strollers are quite useless there. Though Hong Kong’s much hotter and more humid than San Francisco in July, I couldn’t give up going out. I bought a Japanese sling, and carried you to the local markets, restaurants, temples, boutiques, and stores. Hong Kong has a lot more to see than all the chain stores and Wal-Marts in California combined. It was exhausting to walk around the city carrying you though. I once took you to the Po Lin Monastery to see the Big Buddha. The bus was great; it took us all the way to the Monastery. But I wanted to get inside the Big Buddha at the top of the hill, and this meant I had to climb some two hundred stairs from the bus terminus. Since I had lived in my childhood years on the 8th floor in a Tong Lau, a building with no elevator, in Shamshuipo, I thought it was a breeze. So on I climbed the stairs to the Buddha, and on I climbed until I felt funny. My eyes got blurred, my head went dizzy, I passed out and fell. Thank goodness, two tourists walking behind caught us in time or we could have fallen down the stairs. The gentlemen sat us down for a while. You were a little baby. You didn’t know what had happened and weren’t scared at all. The men then walked us back to an air-conditioned restaurant of the Monastery. It was nice and cool. I came round and you dozed off. So come on! Barbies don’t need slings. They’re all pampered like you with car seats, Graco strollers, Dalmatian puppies, Ford Explorers, and spacious bungalows. And no stairs. No slings. Absolutely no!
VI
There’re different ways to carry a baby, but not every one is right. Your mom was a pediatric orthopedic surgeon. After the divorce, she relocated from Westchester to New York. She rented an upscale three-bedroom apartment in Park Slope, where yuppies and professionals live. She had a nanny who did nothing but care for you. Your mom didn’t need the nanny to cook. Most of the time, she either ate out or ordered Chinese take-outs. She had a busy schedule. She was on call for emergencies twenty-four hours a day. In addition, every Monday and Wednesday, she was on duty for elective surgery. Her regular clinic hours were on Thursday mornings and sometimes Tuesday afternoons as well. When you just turned two, your mom was devastated to learn that your nanny had to return to China because her mother had just died. Your mom didn’t know what to do. Your dad, while a responsible person, was in another state. He was too far away to help. It was a Wednesday night when the nanny left. Your mom called her partner Dr. Helfand to cover her in case of emergencies. The substitute nanny wouldn’t arrive till Friday evening. Therefore, your mom took you to the medical center for the Thursday morning outpatient hours. She carried you in a Gerry framed backpack carrier. You were quite chunky, about thirty pounds. Your mom used to carry you like that in Park Slope. Yuppies, both men and women, like to carry babies in backpacks. Some jog with extra-large-wheel jogging strollers. They look trendy, sportive, and always joyous as though they were making a statement to the world, “Yeah, I have a baby. But I’m not homebound. I’m still free.” That morning, your mom was as busy with patients as usual. Stoically, your mom maintained her professional composure—though with you visibly on the back. You were exceptionally well behaved in the backpack. Actually, you were sound asleep most of the time probably because the clinic was quite stuffy. Your mom ran from room to room to see patients. In Room D, Mrs. Chan was carrying her one year old on the back with a Mei Tai. Two weeks ago, your mom had surgically corrected the baby’s clubfoot without complications. Seeing you, Mrs. Chan was quite surprised. “Dr. Wong. Your son? How cute!” Untying the Mei Tai, she frowned, “Is it good to carry him in the hospital with so many patients and germs around? I have no choice with Little Ming. He’s had endless appointments since birth.” Your mom was at a loss for words. She forced a smile and changed the subject to the little patient’s post-surgery conditions, “Mrs. Chan, put Ming on the bed. I’m going to unwrap the bandage to see his wound. I need to make sure there’s no infection. Did he complete the full course of Amoxicillin?” Unaccustomed to strange hands, Ming Ming burst out crying, opening his arms wide for Mommy to hug. Patting him on the back, Mrs. Chan comforted Ming Ming in words all too familiar to your mom, Oi guai guai ng hou haam mou si ah mou si … Oh, be good, be good, don’t cry, everything’s fine, everything’s fine …