At one of our antenatal classes we were shown how to bath a newborn baby. Our teacher used a plastic doll who was, of course, obligingly still. In the hospital, the nurse demonstrated with our very own baby. In her very capable hands, bathing looked easy. When we got home, my husband took on bath duty so that I could have a bit of free time. (And in those early days, free time meant nap time.) Imagine our delight when Angelique was as still as the plastic baby when Hubby bathed her.
What nobody mentioned was that things would change drastically once our princess graduated to the big bath.
I’m seriously considering investing in a pair of knee pads but I’m not sure how to prevent the backache from bending over the tub. I have yet to find a bath toy that Angelique thinks more appealing than the face cloth. And I have completely given up trying to prevent water from getting into her ears. She has discovered the joy of splashing, wriggling, trying to roll onto her tummy in the bath, as well as the fun of general bath time mayhem.
But this is hardly worth mentioning compared to what I discovered at the end of Angelique’s first Big Bath Experience: getting the baby out of the bath is somewhat tricky. (They could have mentioned this at those antenatal classes.)
Through a process of trial and error I’ve developed a method that works well for us: I tuck the hooded part of the towel between my chin and chest, and pin each corner of the towel to the side of the bath with my knees (while doing some sort of semi-pliê). Then I pick Angelique up, holding her facing away from me, and manage to wrap her in the towel. Impressive, right?
The other day I explained this to my mother. “Oh,” she said, “I just used to put the towel on the floor.”