My parents stayed with us for three weeks to help us take care of our newborn.
When I first asked her to help us out with our baby, my mom responded, "I think American babies are different than Korean babies."
"What do you mean?"
"American people take their babies outside right away. You would never do that with a Korean baby. American babies must be built stronger. I don't think I would know how to take care of an American baby."
I didn't get into a discussion about whether our baby would be an "American baby" under her definition, but I tried to convince her that all babies are the same, even though I lacked the basis to make such an assertion. When my persuasive skills failed, we agreed that she would help with only the cleaning and cooking.
On Wednesday, the day before I was scheduled to be induced, my parents arrived from New York with enough food to last us through a nuclear attack. When they unloaded their suitcase, it spilled out with cellophane packets of dried-out seaweed, an assortment of dried fish, varieties of ground rice powder, sesame seeds, and other ingredients for postpartum concoctions.
After unpacking, my mother marched into my kitchen and surveyed the cupboards, refrigerator, freezer, and pantry.
"Where is the sesame oil? What about the soy sauce? You don't have ground red pepper? Oh, these? These aren't the right kind. Where did you buy these? We'll have to get some more. How old are these black sesame seeds? Get me a basket. A big one..."
After she cleared the counter, re-arranged the pots and pans, and browsed through the refrigerator, she grabbed the Swiffer and put the vacuum in my dad's hands. By the next evening, the floors had been vacuumed and mopped, the refrigerator cleaned, the ceilings cleaned of cobwebs, the laundry done, all furniture dusted, the floor mats dried in the sun, my plants thoroughly watered, and our yellow lab Sherlock's fur balls exorcised from all corners of the house.
Early Friday morning, shortly after we called them from the hospital to announce the baby's arrival, my parents rushed over in a cab. After oohing and aahing over the baby and inquiring about my breakfast, they left the hospital in a cab. About five hours later, they returned, again in a cab, but this time bearing a pot of pine nut porridge.
"I thought you told me the food was good at the hospital!" said my mother. "How come you ate only a bagel for breakfast? You can't breastfeed on a bagel."
The next morning, they returned with a new pot of abalone porridge, more pine nut porridge, and two types of seaweed salad.
"I wanted to bring seaweed soup, but I wasn't sure how to transport it..."
When we returned home from the hospital, we were greeted with balloons and a big pot of seaweed soup.
During the next two weeks, I was mothered as I had never been mothered before.
As soon as I stirred in the morning, my mother knocked on my door.
"Are you ready for your breakfast?"
By 6am, my mom and dad had already had their breakfast. By the time my husband and I woke up, fed the baby, and sauntered out of the bedroom around 8am, we would find my mother in the middle of cooking a second breakfast just for me. She would bring over a steaming pot of soup, a fresh cooked bowl of rice, a whole fish, and various other side dishes.
"I cooked a separate pot of rice just for you. Dad and I'll eat the leftovers. You have to eat everything I cooked for you!"
"But Mom, I can't eat all this food. It's too much."
"You're nursing. You have to eat a lot. In Korea, you eat until you get sick and tired of eating. You eat for your baby. Tonight, remember you have to wake up in the middle of the night and have a snack. You can't go through the whole night without eating something. You can have some of the porridge I made for you."
"Mom, I'm tired of eating. I ate non-stop for 9 months."
"You do it for your baby!"
When I ate, my parents hovered over me. They jumped out of their chairs if I needed to re-fill my glass of water or wanted to check on the baby.
"You eat. You need to recover. I'll get it for you!"
And for the meals we ate together, they brought over my food first.
"You start eating. Don't wait for us. You have to eat when everything is hot. You are a mother now. You have to take care of yourself."
It wasn't the usual order of things, not in our family where Confucian hierarchy was strictly followed, with the father served first and the youngest child served last. And it was unlike the kind of parenting I had seen for the past 25 odd years when I had felt more like a parent at times as we played out the drama of an immigrant family.
When she wasn't cooking or washing the dishes or mopping or dusting or doing the laundry or weeding my garden, my mom held our baby. And I don't know how to explain how it felt to see my mother hold my baby the way she must have held me 38 years ago. To see her gently fold her arms around the child, to smile and coo at him, to wrap him in her love and to bestow all of her best of intentions on his well-being. To see her affection and tenderness spill out at his sight.
She must have forgotten her protestations about "American babies" when she showed me how to bathe him, how to hold him when breastfeeding, how to massage him.
I didn't get into a discussion about whether our baby would be an "American baby" under her definition, but I tried to convince her that all babies are the same, even though I lacked the basis to make such an assertion. When my persuasive skills failed, we agreed that she would help with only the cleaning and cooking.
On Wednesday, the day before I was scheduled to be induced, my parents arrived from New York with enough food to last us through a nuclear attack. When they unloaded their suitcase, it spilled out with cellophane packets of dried-out seaweed, an assortment of dried fish, varieties of ground rice powder, sesame seeds, and other ingredients for postpartum concoctions.
After unpacking, my mother marched into my kitchen and surveyed the cupboards, refrigerator, freezer, and pantry.
"Where is the sesame oil? What about the soy sauce? You don't have ground red pepper? Oh, these? These aren't the right kind. Where did you buy these? We'll have to get some more. How old are these black sesame seeds? Get me a basket. A big one..."
After she cleared the counter, re-arranged the pots and pans, and browsed through the refrigerator, she grabbed the Swiffer and put the vacuum in my dad's hands. By the next evening, the floors had been vacuumed and mopped, the refrigerator cleaned, the ceilings cleaned of cobwebs, the laundry done, all furniture dusted, the floor mats dried in the sun, my plants thoroughly watered, and our yellow lab Sherlock's fur balls exorcised from all corners of the house.
Early Friday morning, shortly after we called them from the hospital to announce the baby's arrival, my parents rushed over in a cab. After oohing and aahing over the baby and inquiring about my breakfast, they left the hospital in a cab. About five hours later, they returned, again in a cab, but this time bearing a pot of pine nut porridge.
"I thought you told me the food was good at the hospital!" said my mother. "How come you ate only a bagel for breakfast? You can't breastfeed on a bagel."
The next morning, they returned with a new pot of abalone porridge, more pine nut porridge, and two types of seaweed salad.
"I wanted to bring seaweed soup, but I wasn't sure how to transport it..."
When we returned home from the hospital, we were greeted with balloons and a big pot of seaweed soup.
During the next two weeks, I was mothered as I had never been mothered before.
As soon as I stirred in the morning, my mother knocked on my door.
"Are you ready for your breakfast?"
By 6am, my mom and dad had already had their breakfast. By the time my husband and I woke up, fed the baby, and sauntered out of the bedroom around 8am, we would find my mother in the middle of cooking a second breakfast just for me. She would bring over a steaming pot of soup, a fresh cooked bowl of rice, a whole fish, and various other side dishes.
"I cooked a separate pot of rice just for you. Dad and I'll eat the leftovers. You have to eat everything I cooked for you!"
"But Mom, I can't eat all this food. It's too much."
"You're nursing. You have to eat a lot. In Korea, you eat until you get sick and tired of eating. You eat for your baby. Tonight, remember you have to wake up in the middle of the night and have a snack. You can't go through the whole night without eating something. You can have some of the porridge I made for you."
"Mom, I'm tired of eating. I ate non-stop for 9 months."
"You do it for your baby!"
When I ate, my parents hovered over me. They jumped out of their chairs if I needed to re-fill my glass of water or wanted to check on the baby.
"You eat. You need to recover. I'll get it for you!"
And for the meals we ate together, they brought over my food first.
"You start eating. Don't wait for us. You have to eat when everything is hot. You are a mother now. You have to take care of yourself."
It wasn't the usual order of things, not in our family where Confucian hierarchy was strictly followed, with the father served first and the youngest child served last. And it was unlike the kind of parenting I had seen for the past 25 odd years when I had felt more like a parent at times as we played out the drama of an immigrant family.
When she wasn't cooking or washing the dishes or mopping or dusting or doing the laundry or weeding my garden, my mom held our baby. And I don't know how to explain how it felt to see my mother hold my baby the way she must have held me 38 years ago. To see her gently fold her arms around the child, to smile and coo at him, to wrap him in her love and to bestow all of her best of intentions on his well-being. To see her affection and tenderness spill out at his sight.
She must have forgotten her protestations about "American babies" when she showed me how to bathe him, how to hold him when breastfeeding, how to massage him.
Seeing her with him, I knew that I had been mothered in the best way possible. And that my child would be a part of this history -- of mothering skills passing from one generation to the next.
-Shinyung
What a nice story. Nothing compares to a mother's love.
Posted by: Asianmommy | Wednesday, November 04, 2009 at 09:34 AM
You're so lucky! Enjoy while you can. That will probably be the only time we moms get taken care of like that. My mom was working when I had my kids, so I missed out on all that mothering. Boo hoo.
Posted by: Joanne | Wednesday, November 04, 2009 at 10:09 AM
Oh Shinyung, you have me sitting in a puddle of my tears! So beautiful. Even through the fussing, I can feel the pride coming through your mom's words. Oh, there I go again. Sniff!
I think it's awesome that your dad was involved in your "recovery" as well. My dad just sat in a corner, totally mute and teary-eyed, and left after a couple days. I think it was too much for him to deal with all at once. :)
Posted by: Julie Kang | Wednesday, November 04, 2009 at 10:38 AM
Beautifully, beautifully written. The part about your mom taking stock of your kitchen cracked me up; my mom did the exact same thing. Having a baby certainly does tie you to the generations that came before you.
And congratulations, he's beautiful.
Posted by: Faith | Wednesday, November 04, 2009 at 10:57 AM
he's beautiful!
your story reminded me so much of the time my mother spent mothering me after the births of my children. brought me to tears.
(*don't tell her, but i never did finish the GALLONS of seaweed soup she made . . .) =P
Posted by: Angie in Texas | Wednesday, November 04, 2009 at 11:38 AM
You are blessed. How wonderful to be mothered like that!
Posted by: www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1547395863 | Wednesday, November 04, 2009 at 11:52 AM
Beautiful Shinyung. Your mother, this story and oh, your baby boy!
Posted by: Nina | Wednesday, November 04, 2009 at 02:59 PM
That post made me cry, not just because of the sweet imagery of your parents fussing over you and cooing over your baby, but because I feel like I squandered an opportunity to bond with my own mom when she was put here. She fussed over me in the same way, with the same good intentions, but I was so bristly from stress and hormones that I spent a large part of her visit out here fighting with her and pushing her away and feeling suffocated.
I feel so awful because I knew, as you knew, the love behind every gesture, but instead of taking it all in and reveling in the special mom-daughter bonding time that we may never have again, I acted out like a brat and behaved selfishly.
Your post is so beautiful and shows your appreciation for your parents. I have been trying to make it up to my mom since some of the hormones and panic have worn off, but I regret not making the best of our time together.
Posted by: eingy | Wednesday, November 04, 2009 at 03:10 PM
So wonderful, that's great that it was such a positive experience for everyone. I know I really appreciated the time my mom spent with me after both my children were born. I hope I can do the same for my children when my grandchildren are born.
And your son is so very sweet and lovely, absolutely love his hair!
Posted by: Angela | Wednesday, November 04, 2009 at 04:47 PM
That mothering behavior would never cease, you know that, right? :-) As others have said, you do have a way of bringing out the best images of the relationships in the family. You wow me every time.
My mom's mother goes through the same ritual of unloading food from korea and commenting on EVERYthing when she flies ALONE from korea at the tender age of 80. After a moment or two of happy greetings, it is back to business: opening the fridge and checking every ingredient in the kitchen. So my mom knows to empty out the fridge and pantries and let her mom take over the kitchen for the duration of time that my grandma stays around. And you can guess my mom's not very young - she will be grandmother herself pretty soon!
Posted by: gnsc47 | Wednesday, November 04, 2009 at 07:41 PM
That is a beautiful story and you are lucky to have had that much help when your baby was born! He is sooo cute. Congrats!!
Posted by: Mamasaurus | Thursday, November 05, 2009 at 04:22 AM
Oh I almost forgot! I got to wrapped up in the story lol. I wanted to invite you to join a site for moms! www.mamasaurus.net! Hope to see you there :)
Posted by: Mamasaurus | Thursday, November 05, 2009 at 04:23 AM
I really appreciated the mothering my mom did the first month or so.. but I felt so suffocated after that. She was living with us so that didn't help. I am so happy that your relationship with you parents are so good. It seems like they love you so much and you appreciate how they love you and it's so obvious also how much you love them back. Having a grandchild is such a special experience... i hope she was able to hold him as much as she wanted. =)
Posted by: Mary | Thursday, November 05, 2009 at 12:33 PM
I love this, I love this, I love this. I don't know what is it about your posts that compels me to emote so. This picture is beautiful, your mom looks so happy and serene, holding her little grandson's hand. My not-Korean but also not-American MIL also would say the same things, she thinks American parents are nuts to take their babies out, fed me bowl after bowl of this hot porridge type stuff to help me make milk, etc. I didn't realize until now just how much I needed this, the mothering that I didn't get from my own Korean mom.
Posted by: Carol | Thursday, November 05, 2009 at 07:56 PM
Love it! Thanks for sharing about your new-mom experiences.
Posted by: Karen the Californian | Saturday, November 07, 2009 at 11:54 AM
Count me in among the tearful. This made me think back to when my husband's parents came after our children were born. I'm SO GLAD I love seaweed in all it's Korean food incarnations :D
I'm used to always trying my best at playing 'dutiful Korean-but-really-just-some-white-chick daughter-in-law' so to be waited on by my in-laws was quite a shock.
I had no idea my floor vents had been so DUSTY!!! I did feel like a total slob for the way she cleaned and re-cleaned our house, but the truth is that I am a slob, lol.
And, I agree, the ONLY thing better than watching your mom hold your baby is holding you baby yourself.
Enjoy, and congrats.
Posted by: Sue Laguna-Whang | Monday, November 09, 2009 at 01:09 PM
Beautifully written! I am mildly jealous because my late mother and I never got along that well, and also because she never lived to see our 2 younger children being born.
Enjoy this mothering! And that seaweed soup will do you plenty of good, with all that iron. So drink up!
Posted by: Amy | Monday, November 09, 2009 at 08:57 PM
I come here from time to time and your posts ALWAYS make me cry a little. Or smile a lot. I love the things you write.
Posted by: Jennifer | Tuesday, November 10, 2009 at 01:33 AM
Everyone, thanks so much for your lovely comments. It means a lot to be able to write about my not-so-mainstream life experiences and know that so many of you can relate. It provides the validation I think we can all use from time to time!
Posted by: shinyung | Tuesday, November 10, 2009 at 03:42 PM
Beautiful post. Congratulations on your beautiful baby boy. My mom did the same thing, clearing out the cupboards, going shopping, so this really brought back memories for me.
Posted by: twitter.com/Glennia | Wednesday, November 11, 2009 at 10:29 AM
I was so hesitant to have my mom come when I had my first baby...but after she took care of me so well, I realized I wanted no one other than The Husband and her around. She was there to care for me when I had my second and third children. She took good care of me so I could take care of my babies. My relationship with her grew in a new way and I have newfound respect for her as my mom.
Posted by: Wife and Mommy | Thursday, November 12, 2009 at 07:10 PM
This is so beautiful. Thank you for writing this.
Posted by: twitter.com/cottonpop | Friday, November 13, 2009 at 02:52 AM
That was great. As a son-in-law to an equally prolific Korean mother, it was a load off our hands the two weeks she was here. Coming home to a hot meal was great! (I do almost all the cooking).
Soccer Dad
Posted by: Soccer Dad | Friday, November 13, 2009 at 12:52 PM