Bath Time

When I left the hospital with a baby who weighed a mere four pounds, fifteen ounces, I wondered how this scenario could be sanctioned; clueless, new, half delirious parents going home to raise a teeny tiny baby - I was petrified. I was scared that her weight would continue to decrease, worried that I wouldn't be able to feed her. I was nervous that I would drop her or break her little arms as I pushed them through a onesie. And when it came time to give Mary her first bath, I was afraid that she would drown or freeze to death.

The little pink bath tub seemed to frighten Mary at first too. Although the feeling of being in water must have felt familiar, the marketed smell of clean baby, the experience of being lathered up, the site of me hovering over her and the stark contrast between wet and dry, hot and cold were a shock. So bath time guaranteed some hearty sobs. I'm pretty sure the neighbors could hear the wails coming from the bathroom of the white house.

But as Mary put on some pounds, she not only started to accept the soggy part of her routine, she seemed to like her baths as well. What was once an in and out agenda item, dragged on for fifteen and twenty minutes at a time. And this past week in Nana and Opa's little tub, there was even splashing, squirming and smiling through bath time.

So, when Sunday came around - Mary's big Baptism day - I felt confident that we had this water on the head thing under control. We would surely walk away with the best behaved little Catholic in Pittsburgh's diocese. That is, until it was time to get to dressed and out came the fussing. Then get in the car seat; there went the crying. By the time the car was parking, we were at all out yelps for help. With 11:30 Mass, a 1:00 Baptism, and a 2:00 party to make it through, I started to panic. As soon as we arrived at the Church, I snatched her from her car seat, held her tight, walked around with her, and just like that, she passed out, deep in sleep.

She slept through Mass, through the choir's belts and the brass section's wails. She slept through her costume change - from party dress to a very special, 101 year old Christening gown - the same one that her great Grandma, Opa, and mom wore.

She slept through the arrival of all her aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends. She slept through her scheduled feeding. She even slept through her anointing and the heavy smell of chrism. But just as she was about to get her holy bath, her little eyes opened and I thought, 'oh no, here it comes.' Maybe it was all the practice or that she knew she was on center stage, but she was as cool and calm as a cute little cucumber. I'd claim the best baby title, but Deegan Robert was just as good.

At the after party, as she was passed around more frequently than the tea sandwiches and Fizzy Marys, she kept on soaking up the spotlight and sharing her smiles.

Yes, it was my big first Mother's Day on Sunday as well. And seeing my baby girl baptized, getting to celebrate so many wonderful mothers at once, scraping the burnt almonds and icing off of my favorite Prantl's torte, sipping champagne cocktails, startling the Chanel clad moms as I gave Mary her dinner in the Ladies Lounge of the Golf Club, and being spoiled in iconic Burberry fashion by my hubby was the most fantastic way to ring it in. While I know Mary was the one receiving all the blessings on Sunday, I couldn't help but feel showered by just as many.

Lo.