I will never touch another bowl of miyukgook. I will not wear slippers or socks. And no, my kid will not wear a snow hat in the dead-heat of summer, damn it. In fact, I will throw any superstition that’s tossed my way and chuck it out the window.
Let me explain.
Eight months ago, I gave birth to my lovely Ella. And for a good month after her arrival, my Korean mom forced seaweed soup down my throat twice a day, every day. Sure, seaweed soup probably would heal my body after it just expelled a 7-plus-pound baby and swelled up like the Michelin Man thanks to sexy water retention and weight gain. But I wanted a burger. Or a Chipotle burrito. Anything but that healthy goop.
My mom also insisted I cover up my feet at all times to protect my reproductive system. She forgot that I live in Southern California, where there is virtually no winter and most natives live in flip flops. And that I was fully capable of procreating without wearing socks or slippers.
Lucky for me, I also have a Filipino mother-in-law who lives atop a mountain of superstitions. I dodged many of her nonsensical beliefs for a few years of my marriage, at least until baby arrived. Among other things, the MIL insisted I bundle my newborn like a burrito with blankets, a parka, snow hat and mittens. She also insisted I give up breastfeeding because in her mind, formula was golden.
So despite their good intentions, I got tired of listening to their old-school advice. I wanted to follow my instinct and refer to my handy-dandy “What to Expect” book.
I’m not opposed to receiving advice about my kiddo. Like any new parent, I don’t know what I’m doing 98 percent of the time. But if it involves throwing water over my shoulder to ward off evil spirits, I’ll pass.
