The Grandma Gauntlet

If we weren't conspicuous before as a white, westerners living in a Vietnamese neighborhood, having a tiny baby with us whenever we went out made us even more so. In Vietnamese culture, after giving birth mothers are expected to rest while the rest of the family cares for the newborn. This period of rest for the mother typically lasts a month, while the corresponding period for the newborn, during which he or she is to be kept inside lasts a bit longer, with most children not making a public appearance until three months of age. Unfortunately, we did not have the time, nor the available family, for such luxuries, and Hazel and I were out and about the day after she came home.

Because of this breach of custom (one of many I'm sure), we received a lot of attention from the local grandmothers on the block each time we left the house. Each one would come out when they saw us coming and stop us to look at Hazel and dispense some sort of advice, much of which I couldn't understand, but with one continuing theme among them - Hazel was under-dressed.

In a country where woman cover themselves from head-to-toe in 90 degree heat, it should nto have surprised me that this would be the case for babies as well. But while I was free, as a westerner, to go out "under-dressed," it was not at all looked upon well for Hazel. Each time we were stopped we would inevitably be told, via sign language, that Hazel should have a hat, socks and gloves on - the hat to protect her head, the socks to keep her warm and the gloves to keep her from scratching her face. While we owned all of those items, we didn't put them on her because, in our minds, no sane minded person would dress their baby in a hat, socks and gloves in 90 degree weather. So each day, out we went, frightfully under-dressed, through the barrage of well-intentioned advice with an understanding nod and a gesture to my bag to show that, yes, I indeed had all of the necessary articles of clothing, even though she wasn't wearing them at the time. After two days of admonishments from little old Vietnamese women, I caved.

For our morning outing on the third day of bureaucratic paper gathering, I dressed Hazel in a onesie, matching socks, a hat and little pink gloves. As we walked down the alley way, inquisitive glances turned into approving smiles. I was feeling quite pleased with myself as I neared the end of the alley towards the main road,when I was stopped by a young Vietnamese man. He said hello and then asked, sounding surprised, "Why do you have your baby all bundled up like that? It is way too HOT for all that!" Incredulously, I countered, "Where are you from?" "Canada," came the reply. Once in the cab, I immediately removed all Hazel's extra clothing and learned to live with disapproval for the next three weeks.