The first couple weeks that Stephen was home from the hospital, bath time was…well, traumatizing. That’s the best word to describe it. The poor baby would scream bloody murder through the whole process. Then Gadoo would sit by the bathroom door and meow incessantly. I would be stressed to the max – it was physically painful because I would get so tense in my back and shoulders.
My poor husband usually watched in horror from the sidelines. Until finally, one night I told him “You need to do the bath so you can learn how in case I’m not here”. So reluctantly he drew the bath and as he placed the baby in the tub – SILENCE. This time I watched from the sidelines, baffled. Stevie lay in the tub, totally relaxed. Even went as far as to have his leg hanging over the side and almost fell asleep!
I blurted out “What the hell!” and huz insisted that I feel the water. It was quite a bit hotter than I had been making it. And that was the secret to successful baths. The running joke is that I might as well have filled the tub with ice cubes.
Oops.