Bathing Beauty

Your mother had been looking forward to this moment for the past two days. Probably longer- since you were born really, maybe even since she was your sister’s age, dressing up dolls in her room. But, it’s at least been two days- that’s when one of the nurses told your mom that they bathed you and that mom could request to be there and help the next time. So, for two days your mother has talked every possible moment about getting to soap down your naked little body.

W day…the day of the big washing finally came and your mother was all teeth. She was ecstatic knowing that for the first time she would be able to touch you, caress you, if for but a brief moment, the way a mother should. You would be our baby bird, all flesh; without the hindrances of wiring and tubing blocking her every motherly touch.

We walked into the NICU room and Nurse Aura was patiently waiting for our arrival. Without loosing a beat she sternly instructed us that it was imperative to your health that this be done quickly and efficiently. Part of the tender motherliness would have to be put aside for pragmatism. However quickly and unattached they wanted us to be, we had the knowledge that at its basest level this was our doing, our time, our bond.

The nurse and respiratory therapist quickly removed all your hardware and for the first time since you were born I got to see my lovely little lady. I mean I really got to look at you. It was tantamount to removing Vader’s mask and seeing Anakin. Your tummy was swollen and your bottom was no where to be found. You looked amazing and full of life, all two pounds of invigorating existence.

Your mother beamed! She looked up at me, gleaming, eyes sparkling with joy inexpressible. I pulled out my camera to do what every good father is supposed to do in this situation- stay out of the way and get a few good photos. I pushed the button to turn on my family snapper and all I got was blackness. The battery was out of juice. My heart fell for a brief minute and then I remembered we had recently left an antique in your drawer- a disposable camera. I pulled it out and manually snapped off a couple pictures to capture the preciousness of your first bath by your mom. Though, I’m not sure where to get the film developed or if there are even places that will do that sort of thing anymore.

Immediately and efficiently, as instructed, your mother plunged in. You were soaped, sponged, and scoured with a cloth given to us by the nurse that looked like it was one grade below steel wool. All the while your mother looked like a seasoned saint, twinkling and glowing. You dear one, did not look so saintly. The whole time your eyes were on me, crying out for help like the child of Matthew 17! While through mom’s eyes it was precious and soothing, you’re eyes showed the pain of torture and cruelty that love sometimes brings. You screamed but we could not hear, for you had one tube still in, the ventilator tube, constricting your vocal cords. So, you looked intently upon me; pleading for the soapy water torment to be over. And as swiftly as your bathing had started it came to a conclusion. You were dried and the Vader hardware reapplied; our bionic baby a little while longer.