Diana At the Crossroad: A Month of Baby

One month ago, my sister gave birth. And in that moment, all of our lives were changed for good…

Okay, I’ll cut the dramatics.

But seriously, it’s been interesting.

My sister actually went to Phnom Penh to have her baby. She had a C-section, though I couldn’t really tell you why. I have to admit, part of me wonders if that was completely necessary, or if they just did that because to them it would seem ‘modern.’ I couldn’t say. All I know is that my family could not afford it, and my extended family forked over hundreds of dollars to pay for the hospital bill that amounted to over $1,000.

When my brother went to Phnom Penh to be with his wife, I sent him with a book I bought for her. My sister has recently showed interest in reading, and I wanted to encourage that, and also give her something to do in the days that she was bored in a hospital bed. I thought it was an awesome gift idea. It was a big book full of happy short stories in Khmer. Well, I found out later that she never read it. Her husband and her mother wouldn’t let her. Apparently it’s Khmer belief that if a woman uses her eyes too much after giving birth… well something bad will happen to her. So that means no reading and no TV.

Luckily, the most famous Khmer birthing tradition was avoided. In the villages, after a woman gives birth and comes home, the family will cook her for days. They lay her on a low wooden bed, wrapped in blankets, and light a fire under the bed. They believe they are releasing all of the sickness, weakness, and pain from the body by doing that. My sister was not cooked because she was in a real hospital in Phnom Penh.

Eventually, my sister came home to Prey Veng with the baby, and I got to meet her.

She is the SPITTING IMAGE of her father. The eyes might have a small trace of her mother, but the rest of her face is her father.

My sister came home wearing a ski cap. She wore that ski cap for 2 weeks straight. She didn’t even wash her hair. After a while, I finally teased her about it, asking if she was expecting it to snow. She laughed and said it is Khmer tradition to wrap a woman’s head and keep it warm after having the baby. Maybe this was her version of the cooking. At heart, my sister is a small village girl, and really sticks to all the superstitions and traditions that go with that.

Before the arrival of the baby, I was wondering about how breastfeeding was gonna go in the house. Where is she going to go for that privacy? Is she going to be embarrassed with me there? I wanted to make sure she had her space and that I didn’t get in the way. But realistically, I’m just awkward and I didn’t want to be present for that. Well, the first night I was there, I was meeting the baby, sitting next to her and watching her small purple face. Then my sister decided it was time breast feed. OH there’s her boob! She just popped it out right then and there, and all my questions were answered in that second. I guess we’re on that level. And I knew I’d be seeing quite a bit of my sisters boobs for the rest of my time here.

The second night she was home with the baby, I was going to brush my teeth and tuck in for the night when I smelled something awful… and then I saw my sister. She was covered in this stinky yellow/orange paste. She was rubbing it all over her body, making her look a sickly yellow. I probably looked a sickly yellow from the smell itself. She awkwardly laughed as I looked at her and just said “Khmer tradition!” I decided not to press this issue further. However, the house reeked of that stuff for days afterwards.

Since then every day has been pretty much the same.

My sister and the baby spend almost all day and all night upstairs under a mosquito net.

The baby gets a bucket back twice a day.

The baby poops a lot.

And cries a lot more.

My sister hasn’t left the house, and didn’t even leave the room for 3 weeks.

My sister eats upstairs. I eat downstairs with Kingla, the first daughter.

My sisters youngest sister and Kingla do all of the house work, which includes cooking my dinner.

My sister does no housework.

The baby cries at least 3 times every night.

Every once in a while, I stop by the bed, to crouch down and sit next to the baby and give her some love (what kind of an aunt would I be if I didn’t?) Every time I do that, my sister feels the urge to tell me that her baby is black.

Baby Solita has beautiful, soft, chocolate colored skin. But here in Cambodia, that’s the worst kind of skin, especially for a girl. Every day, my sister mentions the “ugly black skin” numerous times. When I come to coo at the baby she mentions it. When I walk through the room on my way to the bathroom she says it. When a friend or family comes to meet the baby, she says it. When she’s bathing Solita she says it. When she’s breastfeeding she says it. When she’s alone and thinks no one is listening she says it. Honestly, after some time it started to really get to me. Every time, I dutifully remind her that her baby is beautiful INCLUDING the skin. Can you imagine waiting 9 months for the arrival of your baby, and when it finally comes, you, the mother, are disappointed with the color of your baby? So disappointed that you obsess over it, and even make apologies and excuses when you introduce your baby to friends and family.

Sometimes my sister says she hates her husband for making her baby black like him. She’s kidding, but there’s always a little truth is jest, isn’t there?

Once, she sort of blamed me. She brought up the whole coca-cola belief. Months ago, she told me that coca-cola makes babies black when the mamas drink it. I told her that was not true. Then, at a party I convinced her to have a glass of coke instead of a can of beer (the lesser of two evils). Well, that was brought up, and she basically said “I told you so.”

Despite all her.. well, all her not doing anything, my sister is exhausted. I guess that’s from all the getting up in the middle of the night. One day recently, she was downstairs walking around like she was in a trance. She was actually talking to herself haha. She walked for a bit, and said “I have to..go.. Solita is crying.” Solita was not crying. She was sound asleep. My sister was hearing things lol.

My brother has been trying with the baby, sort of. Realistically there is not much for him to do, because my sister is at the baby’s side every second. But he has held her and laid next to her. One of our family friends said “just wait till she learns to laugh and listen, then he’ll really love her.” I’m sure that will be the case. I'm looking forward to that myself.

In just the last few days, the baby has actually been brought downstairs. The baby sleep on a mat in a hammock (the typical Khmer version of a crib). There is a string attached to the hammock, so a family member can always sit next to the baby, and swing the hammock. It works pretty well, the baby often stops crying when she is swung.

Solita, one week

Solita, one month, in her hammock crib.

The following pictures are from this past April

This is a traditional Khmer New Year Game. You have to knock down the rocks in a specific order by tossing another rock. When a player succeeds, they win the right to hit all of their opponents on the knee with a rock. I like this game!