'Chook' her tongue

Pacifiers were banned in my house; my mother said they caused cock-teeth. Sucking finger was also a no-no which meant that my daughter had to be a little bit craftier when it came to self-soothing, she sucked on her tongue.

And while you and I would probably chalk it up as a harmless little habit, my mother said it would cause 'O-mouth'. This basically meant that her mouth would not close properly and leave her with (how do I phrase this delicately?)  that 'elevator-not-quite-reaching-the-top-floor', 'lights-on-nobody-home, short-yellow-bus type of finish.

But fear not, because, according to my mother, there is a simple way to dissuade a baby from sucking her tongue, you simply take a pin or a needle and 'chook' her tongue.
Now before you fly into a justifiable rage and call in child services and the big guns, please note that I put my foot firmly down where that was concerned. There was no way in hell that I was sticking a needle into my child - immunizations and ear piercings were bad enough. 

But apparently, in the olden days, it was all the rage to slightly abuse your baby under the guise of training...

Apart from this needle play, if your toddler showed too much interest in the stove or any open flame, you were to burn her finger and in this counterintuitive manner, you teach your offspring about the dangers of fire.
And if your baby sucked finger, smearing aloes or chicken droppings on the digit was supposed to break them of that habit.

Now, it' s in writing, that I don't have the cojones to stand up to my mother (mainly because she hits) but I stood my ground and won my case this time.

"Why?" You may ask ... and that's a very good question.
Well, my mother may be the expert on all things baby, but...my little sister sucked her thumb all thorough secondary school.
Yep, that's right.
My mother had tried that aloe trick, my sister simply lathered, rinsed and repeated a few times before sticking her thumb right back into her mouth.

Yeah, Mama...'chook' that!

Bald spot

When my daughter was about six years old, I almost did hard time for murder.

I was all set to commit, not just a homicide, but Matricide. I thought about various ways to get rid of the body, but where would I get a wood-chipper? I realised that I would definitely go down because this time, my mother had gone too far this time and gave my child with a bald spot.

Let me tell you the story and you will see why no jury on earth would convict me.

My baby was born with a full head of curly, black silk which quickly and inexplicably became a high top. It took close to two years for her hair to full back in but when it did, it became one of those thick, voluminous masses that half of us hate and the other half envy. I was still in that rainbow stage, you know what I mean, no bubbles or clips or ribbons could escape.

 One day, while not playing in my baby's hair, I noticed a bump, a 'button' on her scalp. Slightly concerned on the outside and completely panicking on the inside, I wondered aloud about its origin while thoughts of maldew (malju), dirty comb and God-knows-what-else passed through my mind.

 "It's eczema" says my mother, "you have to cut the hair around it".
How I resisted the immediate urge to scream, not just ‘No’, but ‘Hell Frigging No!’ at the woman who gave me life should be taken as proof of God's love and mercy. Instead, I almost politely disagreed and declined.

Instead, I parted around the bump and rubbed medicated lotion and powders onto it. About a week later, while combing my baby's hair (as good hygiene dictates, not because I had bought new bubbles or anything) I saw that the bump had gotten bigger and looked angry and inflamed.
Only slightly worried, not uncontrollable or anything, I mumbled and grumbled about this stinky, 'dutty', 'good-fuh-nuttin' button and the horse it rode in on.

"It's eczema", my mother says, "You have to cut the hair around it".
Again, I politely declined. 
(Okay, fine! I was a little rude but ‘no’ means ‘no’.)

One day I was out and about, maybe smelling daisies, I can't remember, but when I returned home, my daughter was sporting a brand-new, shiny bald spot around the bump. Shades of The Pig's Tale ran through my head.
"I warned that Mom, Your Honour. Your Honour, I warned that Mom."

Long story short, I did not kill my mother ...but I was really angry.
And it had nothing at all to do with the fact that within a week that eczema had dried right up, apparently, the hair around it needed to be cut. 

Go figure.

Bag And Broom

Last time I told you all about dew and its awesome ability to change a baby’s numbers to green. And one would think that there was nothing else to add. Sorry, one, you would be wrong,

Today, I am going tell you about a different type of dew: Maldew.

Maldew or ‘Malju’ can best be explained as ‘Bad-Eye’. The word, ‘creolised’ from the French ‘mal-yeux’.

Now anyone can get Maldew because it is caused by bad looks coupled with bad thoughts send via bad vibes … or something like that. Or, for no explicable reason, a perfectly good person, (family, friend) could give someone Maldew with a look or touch. Some would say that these people ‘have evil in them’ and while they smile to your face their envy and ill-thoughts affect those who are extremely sensitive, like babies.

When babies get it, it’s the worst because they can’t drink their milk or not enough of it, they get diarrhoea, they throw up and they can’t sleep and cry a lot… for any or all of those reasons.  The scientific method of diagnosing Maldew has yet to be discovered, as far as I know, but who needs it anyway, when all you need is Sweet Broom.

Sweet Broom, for those of you not as well versed as I am, is a bush. The baby holds a sprig of Sweet Broom and if she has Maldew, the Sweet Broom wilts. So modern medicine can kiss my bleep!

Do not worry, my dear Moms, there are both prevention and a cure.

To prevent Maldew, make your baby a blue bag

Simply sew a piece of blue fabric into a small square and put into it, among other things: a piece of Indigo blue, a clove of garlic, a ten-cent coin and a piece of square camphor. Then pin the bag onto your baby’s clothes using a brass pin. (Here’s a trick, seal it in plastic to help prevent stains on baby’s vests.)                
You can also buy jet or silver bracelets.

To cure Maldew, your baby needs to get a ‘Jarray’.

A Jarray is a type of spiritual cleansing involving prayers, chanting and a cocoyea broom. Not everyone can do it so make sure you find a suitably spiritual person –a Pundit or Baptist leader. It’s completely fool-proof as my mother can attest and can be repeated as needed throughout a child’s life.

And did I mention that Maldew can cause green twos too?

Interesting how concerned moms were about protecting babies’ stool, isn’t it?

Between you and me, my daughter used her blue bag until she was eight years old.

    After all, a mother can never be too careful.

Dew or Don't

My daughter was two day old when she left the hospital for the first time. My mom had swaddled her in Jesus-like fashion, face included, although it was only 2 o’clock in the afternoon. In the truly confused state only a spanking brand-new mom can master, I asked my mom why she had mummified my child. I know her father was no Prince Charming but she was no Penelope either so the impromptu disguise concerned me.

My mother, a veteran, with seven kids under her belt (no pun intended), replied that “dew was falling”.

Maybe it was residual exhaustion from labour (rightly named) or just the blissful euphoria that come from knowing that I had just made a perfect, tiny human who looked just like me, but that reasoning cleared things up not at all.

Dew? At 2’oclok in the day? Was dew not that moisture found on flowers early in the mornings?

Only the slightest bit impatiently – and by that I mean she was on the verge of biting my head off – my mother explained that dew starts falling in the afternoon and babies could not take dew for the first few months of their lives ,,,because, and this is where my jaw dropped in surprise, “it makes them ‘too-too’ green.”

While I wanted to ask her to repeat herself, I had heard her perfectly and had absolutely no justifiable cause to ask her to clarify that blanket statement. Instead, like any paranoid, overprotective, first-time mom, being advised by a pro, I did the smart thing and pulled the blanket up over my baby’s face to protect her from the faeces-changing power of the invisible moisture.

Because it took us a little while to get from Sangre Grande hospital to Arima, my mom had enough time to add that if the baby gets dew and presents a coloured diaper-full, the sure-fire remedy, tried and true, was to throw the dirty diaper onto the roof of our house.

Like I said before, maybe I was dazed from childbirth, but I did not ask another question. This is my mother, she brought me into the world and brought me up with the threat/promise of being the person who could take me out of it, and if she says toss toots onto the roof, then I would monkey the hell out.     

The dictionary says that dewdrops are “moisture droplets formed on cool surfaces at night, when atmospheric vapour condenses” but my Mother says anyone who comes into the house after dew has started falling has to “dew out” before entering the same room as my new-born. Basically, a time-out of 5-10 minutes to ensure that those hitchhiking droplets were gone before anyone infects her granddaughter with nature.

And being that we were all very smart individuals, everyone did the logical thing when approaching my daughter for a couple of weeks…we dewed out.

Because who in their right mind listens to a published book, filled with factual information and contains the basic foundation of the English Language, when their mother has spoken?

Not me, that for damn sure. I had a baby to live for, I was not going to flirt with certain death by telling me mother ‘No’.