What Was Mine by Helen Klein Ross Read Free Book Online Page A

some neighbor might drop by unexpectedly. I barely knew who my neighbors were; I spent most of my waking hours at work in Manhattan. I took the precaution because I didn’t want to risk the chance that anyone—landscaper, postman, salesman—might peep in and see me walking around, suddenly endowed with a baby.
    Gently, carefully, I took her from my shoulder and laid her down on the changing table. She looked around, taking in the mobiles, the stars on the ceiling, the ducks on the wall, the sconces, which were in the shape of sheep, smiling as if in appreciation of the decorating efforts I’d made on her behalf. For years, I’d imagined a baby in that outfitted room. In my mind, she had long been a presence there. Butnow I realized that tending to a baby was different from imagining one. How vulnerable, how trusting she was in my care, and how little I knew about taking care of her. Changing a diaper, which I’d done only a few times as a sitter, now loomed as a terrifying prospect. What formidable responsibility. My ignorance could cause her injury, perhaps even death! What if I made the diaper too tight, cutting off her blood supply? What if I missed a spot with the cream and she got infected? How much more was at stake when the baby was yours. Holding her with one hand to keep her from rolling off the table, with the other I tore into the package of disposable diapers on the shelf below. In my nervousness, I dropped the first diaper. How far from my reach it looked on the floor. Rather than bend down, which would require removing my steadying hand from the baby, I retrieved another from the package. I saw that the diaper was too small for her. For babies up to ten pounds, said the packaging. I unsnapped the crotch of her sunsuit, which was now stained brown from the seepage, unpeeled the sticky tabs of tape at the sides of her diaper and marveled that such a tiny, sweet-looking body could have produced such a mess. But I didn’t find the foulness offensive, which was strange because I didn’t have a strong stomach for that kind of thing. I hadn’t been able to deal with my mother’s incontinence at the end. My sister had rolled her eyes at my squeamishness. But she was a nurse.
    â€œWhat the heck did your mother feed you?” I wondered. Saying “your mother” made me flinch, but she didn’t notice. She seemed intent on grabbing a cloth star from the mobile I’d hung above the table. It played “It’s a Small World.” The song made her smile. I rewound it and she pumped her tiny fists to the music as a colorful galaxy twirled above her head.
    I was afraid the wipes had gone dry, but when I broke the seal on the plastic, I was glad to feel that the cloths, though years old, were still soft and wet. She smiled as I cleaned her, gurgling a little, kickingfree, glad to feel the fresh air. I checked the old diaper, expecting it to be marked with a size, but all that was on it were decorative animal prints. Not even the name of the company that made it! I rolled it up and slid it and its contents into a step-on metal can and reached to a shelf where I’d stacked some cloth diapers. Once, in a focus group for Pampers, I’d heard that cloth diapers were the better, more comfortable option. But how to turn a cloth rectangle into a diaper? I reached for a book. The answer was on—I’ll never forget— page 137 of Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care , the trusted bible by which my mother had raised Cheryl and me. Well, not her edition. That had gone to my sister when she’d had her first baby.
    Folding a diaper looked easy in the simple line drawings explaining the process. But I had to lay the baby down on the braided rug while I practiced folding and folding the cloth into shapes that seemed as complicated as origami. No wonder disposable diapers had taken over the market. Lying on her back, she gurgled with happiness at her half