A Womb in the Shape of a Heart by Joanne Gallant

Author:Joanne Gallant
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nimbus
Published: 2021-07-14T13:29:13+00:00

With Teddy now eating, his umbilical line removed, he is allowed to have a bath for the first time. Normally this occurs before two weeks of age, but things move slower in NICU. Our nurse wheels a plastic basin beside his incubator filled with warm water. We ask if we should strip him down and remove the cords and stickers that are stuck to his chest. She explains how pulling off the leads—the stickers and wires that monitor his heartbeat and breathing—can cause damage to his skin; it is thinner and more delicate than that of most newborns. Instead of peeling them off before the bath, she says we should bathe him with everything still attached. We’ll let the warm water and gentle soap loosen the adhesive beneath, hoping to maintain the integrity of his precious skin.

I wrap Teddy in a towel before placing him in the water, at the instruction of my nurse. It feels odd to be swaddling him before he is wet, but his small size means he can’t be exposed for long. We place him, towel and all, into the warm basin.

He is calm and serene when the water engulfs him. Tilting his head gently, I rinse water over his soft head like a priest performing a baptism. As I unwrap his towel, exposing his body to the water for the first time, he lets out a sigh. He loves it. I keep my hand protectively under his neck, and gently wash his body in an act that feels intimately maternal. His skin turns bright pink with every stroke of the cloth; even the softest of materials acts like an exfoliant against his premature skin. I gently pull off the stickers stuck to his chest and they leave angry welts in their wake despite my best efforts. He looks like a baby bird; a downy fuzz called lanugo covers his body, and it reminds me of how baby penguins fluff out their soft grey feathers after being born.

When the bath is over, I wrap him in warm blankets and towels. While cradling him, I tilt my nose toward his scalp, inhaling his freshly washed scent. He smells new, the way I remember babies smelling before I became a mother, and when I breathe in deeply, beyond the scent of baby shampoo and lotion I smell him, the sweet scent of my child.

When I bathe my son now, as a toddler, I still place my nose against his head and breathe in his perfect scent. The act of washing cannot erase the most beautiful smell in the world.

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