Cultural expectations of a Filipino baby's birth

(1st of 2 parts)

Decades ago, on my way home from a study grant in London and Edinburgh, I found the late Fr. Horacio de la Costa as my seatmate on the plane. I found out that his family spoke Spanish quite fluently, which enabled him to do research on Philippine history in the rich archives of Madrid.

This was a few years before the Jesuit priest passed away. I recall still how he sadly noted that no one has written up about the social history of Filipino life. He wished that Filipino writers would collaborate to do this. Fr. de la Costa has been gone a long time and I have always been intrigued by what he said are the many historical anecdotes on how early Filipinos before, during and after the Spanish times laughed and cried, loved and lived.

Most of them are recorded in the antiquated valuable libraries of Europe, especially in Spain. It is a pity that our more affluent scholars who trailed after Rizal to Spain never pursued this quest of our beautiful heritage. Since the sixties, most of the Filipiniana writings, which fill up our local bookstores, are political in nature.

The closest material to current social history is a research book on what Filipino parents expect of their children. American professor of the University of Pennsylvania, George M. Guthrie, worked together with Pepita Jimenez Jacobs, who did her masters degree in an American university using a Fulbright Award grant between 1959 and 1960. The 223-page book entitled, Child Rearing and Personality Development in the Philippines, was printed in 1967, but was never revised. It has gone out of print since its re-printing in 1976.

In this book, the survey respondents were 279 mothers and their first grade children whose ages ranged from six to nine, about half of whom were boys. Most of the mothers were between 30 to 39 years old and lived in Rizal, Cavite, Laguna, Batangas and Bulacan. Senior college students of the Philippine Normal College acted as interviewers. Sixty-one percent of the mothers were elementary school graduates, 21 percent were high school graduates and 19 percent had college certificates.

A child’s birth

In the Filipino child-oriented society, with the typical Filipino family’s large extended set of families and relatives, a child’s birth is looked upon as a portent of good fortune.

To the question, “How many children do you wish to have?” answers were as follows:

“It is not mine to say; it is God’s will.”

“We didn’t think about how many children we were going to have. I believe that the more you have, the more you are blessed.”

(The young mothers who graduated from St. Scholastica’s College, St. Paul’s, Assumption, and other Catholic schools were averaging five to seven children each at this time in the sixties.)

Pregnancy and cravings

Filipino mothers experience “morning sickness” with nausea and strange food cravings and aversions. Often, foods longed for were never attractive to them before and usually were out of season. Mothers recall how it was:

“Chestnuts! I just had to have them at midnight. My husband had to go to Manila to get them right there and then.”

“I asked for the papaya that grew in our neighbor’s yard. I would not accept one bought in the market.”

“Just the sight of food was enough even if I did not eat them. If they were not there, I would be ill-tempered.”

“My husband had the same cravings.”

Fancies and whims filled up pregnant Filipino mothers, especially in the early months of their pregnancy. What the mother is attached to or disliked is believed to leave a pattern on the fetus.

“A beautiful fiesta queen. I kept staring at her. So you see my Isabel is quite pretty.”

“He looks exactly like his Dad. Oh, how I used to get irritated by his smiling face.”

“He is over-active. When I was pregnant, I took quite a liking to dalag (wriggly mudfish).”

“I liked balut (a Filipino delicacy – the boiled duck egg with embryo). Notice how hairy his arms and legs are.”

“Twin bananas were my obsession. My little girl’s last two toes are joined.”

The delivery

Babies are still delivered at home in the province. Seventy-five percent of those interviewed delivered their babies at home. Two-thirds were assisted in their deliveries by licensed midwives. Almost two-thirds of the most educated mothers had their babies in the hospital. The following happens when the baby is about to be delivered: The mother starts feeling labor pains. Largely for moral support, she calls for someone, usually the mother or a guardian with whom she has some “dependency relations.”

The father is present during the delivery, but he is helpless in his state of concern unless instructions are specified. He, or the errand-runner of the family looks for the doctor, nurse, or hilot — whoever has provided prenatal services. The wife is urged to walk about to ease the delivery. Actually, she has been doing this in the last months. Meantime, the husband is asked to boil water to dip the attendants’ things in. He gets the delivery beds ready. The hilot is the traditional old woman of the village, who has delivered most of the residents. Everyone in the village gathers herbs for the delivery. The husband may be asked by the hilot to stay throughout or is told to leave by the other attending old women.

The children are hushed outside the room. They are apprehensive, fearing the suffering of their mother and her possible death, leaving them orphans. They are all aware of this event where a new sibling will soon be born. The mother bears the pain stoically as the rhythmic heavy thump of the uterus becomes frequent. Then, she sighs with relief upon hearing the first cry of the baby.

What is it?

“What is it?” she eagerly asks. Boy. Girl. Twins.

“Anything missing?” is also often asked by the first-time mother. Mother is admonished to sleep. The attendant cleans the baby, cuts the umbilical cord and wraps him in soft baby garments. A thumb sized roll of cloth is dipped in Tiki-tiki (a commercial vitamin supplement to prevent beri-beri). Ampalaya (bitter melon) juice is given the suckling infant to induce the first elimination to cleanse the baby’s system.

After the placenta is disposed of, the mother is cleaned, swathed and changed. For nourishment, she is given hot soup. The other children quietly take a long look at the “new one,” being careful not to disturb Mother.

Old beliefs regarding the placenta

How the placenta is disposed of, what kind of godparent is chosen for the child, and the mother’s disposition during the nursing period are believed to affect the personality of the child, and are matters that entail much care and attention.

Either licensed midwives or skilled village hilot without medical training assists in deliveries. The former charges about P10,000 per delivery. The latter leaves the fee to the discretion of the family, for example, P500 for the delivery, P150 for the massage and steaming of the mother, with merienda, and P500 for the last day of the seven-day treatment.

Some of the placenta disposal practices are as follows: Wash the placenta carefully, salt it and bury it in a clean coconut shell. Not too deep so it won’t take long for the child to speak straight.

We asked the laundry woman to let it down in the stream. Mother suggested this so the child will be a traveler.

Bury a pencil, a page from a song book, and a piece of paper so that the child will be intelligent and good in music.

The cost of child rearing

To Americans, a child is seen as a large economic responsibility from birth to college graduation. Doctors’ bills, prenatal and postnatal care, house space, food and clothing (winter clothes, specially), plus the heating system all cost a lot.

In 1972, my Caesarian operation for my youngest child cost P3,000. In 1982, our foundation secretary spent P5,000 for her first child born through Caesarian section. Two years later, she spent P8,000. In 1988, she gave birth again by Caesarian section for P17,000. In 1990, her sister-in-law spent P30,000. Now 2012, a Caesarian delivery costs between P60,000 to P90,000.

In the sixties in the Philippines, the extended family connections made education of the children an attainable goal. The family sought resources outside itself for the first few children, and the older children then helped with the younger ones. The large family, or at the start the extended family, provided a built-in baby-sitting service. Older children helped mind their siblings. This is no longer true today. In fact, an estimated P100 to P1,000 is charged for kindergarten care alone. In addition, mothers today go to work in many towns and cities in the Philippines. Finally after more than two decades of public clamor and congressional lobbying, preschooling has been added to the Philippine educational ladder for five year old children.

(Erratum in last week’s column: Conclusion should have read “Computing the Future” instead of “Failure”)

Part II: Filipino Child-Rearing Practices Delay Maturity