Birth and Babies in Costa Rica

We’ve gone from city mice to country mice, and are back in the hills of Nuevo Arenal, having rejoined our campo society one Tico citizen richer: Baby Sage, one of this country’s future machete-wielding hopes of tomorrow. He’ll be 8 weeks this Saturday, and in his two-month tenure on the Central American strip of the Mothership, he’s had quite an inauguration into the life of a Costa Rican. A few things unique to his birth and beginnings here:

• HOUSE CALL: Sage was born at home, so the pediatrician made a house call. Like Marcus Welby, M.D. (but shorter, younger, better looking, and Latino), the dapper, salt-and-peppered Dr. Orozco (medical doctor and natural medicine practitioner) came to our villa in Heredia with his black leather doctor’s bag full of the usual tricks and performed Sage’s first full check-up at home. He looked in Sage’s ears, eyes, nostrils, mouth, checked out his umbilicus, hips, internal organs, and genitals, listened to his heart and lungs, monitored his reflexes, asked us a few questions, answered our questions, told us about his afternoon TV show on natural medicine, and pricked Sage’s heel for the PKU test – all while sitting comfortably in our bedroom. It was a fabulous experience! Both professional and relaxed, despite its distant associations with pizza delivery and home plumbing services.

• BIRTH CERTIFICATE: Since we had a home birth, there was, of course, no hospital staff to process the paperwork for Sage’s birth certificate. This was a process we were supposed to f&$% up ourselves! Actually, considering Costa Rica’s bureaucracy, getting el certificado de nacimiento (or rather, registering for it) turned out not to be so bad. Chris, Sage (the actual proof), and I took a cab downtown to Registro Civil and turned in the necessary notarized, copied, stamped, and certified documents (some one-million-thousand of them) to a nice, somewhat green-seeming, little fella down at “Document Reception.” All he and his coworkers do all day long is take in documents, accepting frustratingly illegible handwritten documents from the general public, hour after boring fluorescent-lit-cubicle hour. Oh, the curse of a government job. But they don’t just receive the documents. They have to double check them and get you to correct them or send you for new forms when you’ve really messed them up and then check the new forms, possibly sending you back for even more forms, finally making you sign the forms and checking your signature against your identification, then finally accepting the double-checked, signed and approved forms, then having to process them and sending them to the right department (if they actually make it there) where they get triple-checked and submitted into the system (there’s no hiding from the government now) and then the documents get created (seemingly in someone’s elementary school computer class) and finally the documents are filed and made available to the public for whom they were intended. This usually takes up to 2 to 3 months for a birth certificate. But when we mentioned our currently expired visas and the need for our family to travel soon and smiled really nice, these kind government employees said Sage’s birth certificate would be processed and ready in two weeks!

I was so glad for the rare and unexpected nicety that I didn’t even complain about the law that says the father’s last name must come before the mother’s last name, making it legally mandatory that Sage’s last name be Bross-Bell rather than Bell-Bross. Darn machisimo machine! Both his CR and US birth certs and passports will be created with that as his legal name. We can’t change it, even in the States, b/c then he’d have two separate identities – what a mess.… Kind of funny though, huh? How 21st century we are – each member of the family has his/her own name – Bell, Bross, Bell-Bross, and Bross-Bell. Well, chalk it up to one of the idiosyncracies of our lives, though two brothers with names like Yin and Yang are sure to confuse or irritate certain folks in the future like medical file clerks, teachers, and school secretaries.

• FREE BABYSITTING: Every where we go – restaurants, video store – there is always someone – friend or stranger -- who offers to hold the baby. One day at one of our favorite restaurants, the cook came out of the kitchen and, as some Americans say, “took” our baby so we could eat. She stayed within view right next to our table the whole time. Another day at another restaurant, the waitress asked if she could hold Sage while we ate. “Sure!” we said. “Oh I’ll just be right in here,” she said, and went inside the restaurant, out of sight, while we ate on the patio. (First-time parents we’re not.) Another time, our friend and the proprietor of the macrobiotic/video store, insisted on taking Sage even while she worked so I could peruse the shelves. Of course, these are all small, local establishments that we frequent often; I wouldn’t necessarily hand Sage over to a strange Tica at the mall in Heredia. But they sure do love their babies here. People approach us often and ask about our Tico baby, and offer him blessings and pray over him that God will take care of him . . . It’s a very warm and wonderful cultural characteristic how babies are welcomed and honored and doted upon here, as if they’re all a part of this one, large, single Tico family.


• RIDING IN THE CAR: Though seatbelts and car seats are recommended and mandated, the laws are loosely enforced and oftentimes downright ignored. Most everyone walks, hitchhikes, or rides the bus or a moto (especially out in the campo), so car seats are not always a requisite (or even affordable) possession. At first we didn’t have a car seat. So I’d strap Sage on in the sling and strap myself into the back seat. Then we got a car seat (thanks Lisa!!), but when he cries and protests too much, I put him back in the sling. Then we returned to Nuevo Arenal, where the lack of traffic and potential for speed doesn’t necessarily necessitate a car seat at all times, so Sage is often still in the sling. As my dad said in the car one day, “We must be breaking 30-odd plus California DMV laws!” Of course, I had Sage in the sling in the back seat, Wilder sat on my dad’s lap in the front seat, none of us had seat belts on . . . As a California driver, I cringe and entertain worst-case scenerios, and categorize myself as the worst mother ever. As a Tica, it’s easy to bend the law and I feel safer traveling like this by car rather than walking in the rain on the side of the highway, or sitting on a hot, stifling, overcrowded bus (also without seatbelts). The safety of our kids is of the utmost importance and we use common sense . . .but remember we’re talking about a country where most families of 4 ride on an ill-repaired motorcycle without helmets and with arms full of kids and luggage.


• WASP STING: Sage’s first week home included a wasp sting on his hand. Welcome to the rainforest! Pobresito. There were a few moments of panic among parents and grandparents alike, but once I cleaned it with witch hazel and sprayed some breast milk on it (that shizzle’s good for everything!), and it didn’t seem like he was going to have an allergic reaction to it, all was fine. Not much we can do about flying, stinging things but put him in a beekeeper’s suit all the time.

We are, ultimately, enjoying and adjusting to our lives as a family of four. And it’s pretty cool that we get to do it down here – not, however, in spite of the differences of raising a child in CR vs. the US, but because of them. Sage’s birth has refreshed and renewed my perspective of our lives – nothing’s all that frustrating and la vida isn’t all that dura when the most important things in your life – your kids and your partner – are healthy and happy, and when you’re living your life with intention and gratefulness in the very spot in which you are. . . surrounded by love and nature.