Don't Shake the Baby!

My mom said that I was really hard to care for as a baby. No wonder, I was allergic to over a hundred food items and it was easier to list what I could eat rather than what I couldn’t. Potatoes. Pears. Lamb. Like the shrimp scene in Forrest Gump, my mom made me fried potatoes, boiled potatoes, baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, stir-fried potatoes, braised potatoes, five-spice potatoes…

She remembered the multiple, torturous visits to the doctor for dozens of old-fashioned skin prick-tests. I would scream and squirm while the deed was done, over and over. Compared to today, food allergies in the 60’s seemed much less common, and the public and parents, were less aware and informed, especially in immigrant families.

Problems started after breast-feeding stopped and the milk-washing madness began, when I was less than one. After all, babies are supposed to drink cow’s milk, right? Actually, humans are the only ones on earth to drink the milk of another species. Perhaps health clue #1.

I couldn’t hold my milk and no one could sleep. After trying different feeding and soothing methods, my dad, being the problem-solving engineer, thought that holding me upright and still would keep me from spitting up. So after a stand-up feeding, he would remind my mom and sisters repeatedly, “don’t shake the baby” and I would be held at arm’s length with legs dangling. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

My skin would break into hives and rashes and at 11 months, you didn't think before you itched. I had a perennial blister on my nose from rubbing it against the mattress. My dad, being the evidence-based research scientist, wanted to test the allergy theory. He dipped a chopstick in the egg yolk to my wrist. A ring of welts appeared immediately. When I was a toddler, my sisters had to eat their ice cream bars quickly and furtively, crouched behind the furniture, since I would freak at the sight of the forbidden treat.

Amazingly and to my gastronomical relief, I outgrew all of my food allergies by the time I was three. Hallelujah! Now, I am Iron Stomach Girl! I eat almost everything, have an aversion to wasting food and am a platinum emeritus cum laude member of the Clean Plate Club. Although I am more Raccoon than Foodie, I am eternally grateful for the ability to enjoy a diversity of wonderful food and complex flavors from around the world. And I still love potatoes!