As of today, I am ten weeks postpartum. Aside from
congratulatory and awing remarks about Baby and my recovery, one of the
many questions people ask is: Did you take a bath and/or wash your hair during
your postpartum confinement?
One of the old traditional Chinese rituals
for postpartum confinement is for the new mother not to bathe or wash her hair
for an entire month following the delivery of her newborn child(ren).
This practice dated back in ancient China. The reason behind such
practice is so that the cold, harsh air (or chi) should
not enter the woman's body and head as she bathes and washes her hair during
this vulnerable state. It is said that all the pores of the woman's body is left opened following giving birth by expelling the fetus, placenta, hormones, and such, leaving the woman susceptible to climate changes. If precautions were not taken and a woman has
allowed water or cold air to touch her body during this period, alas, woe be
onto her senior years as she is plagued with ailments far too many to count.
I
have been forewarned by many well-meaning ladies to take extra care of myself
during my postpartum confinement. There were horror stories from friends of friends who did not do exactly what was told during the postpartum confinement were now suffering pains and aches here and there. There were also miraculous stories of women who suffered disorders prior to pregnancy were now cured after they obediently heeded to this ritual. These were robust women could now bear the burden of childcare, household, and a career without ever taking a trip to the doctor's office. To accomplish this, the first and foremost rule was not to bathe or wash her hair.
As this is my third and final child, I have determined to follow
the ancient ritual as closely as I could - meaning that I would try my very
hardest not to bathe or wash my hair.
In preparing for such event, I've decided to "practice" during my third trimester pregnancy - to practice not to bathe and not to wash my hair. My goal was threefold: 1. To practice to sustain my body cleanliness, 2. To practice to ignore the feeling of uncleanliness, and 3. To practice to skip my daily hygiene routine. I was proud to say that my highest record was 5 days without washing my hair. I had to see people after all, and any longer than 5 days was deemed horrific. My estimated due was was dead in the winter so I thought that I could definitely do it if I didn't have to be in the public.
The first few days after the birth of my
dear son, I was entirely too excited and too overwhelmed to let my personal
hygiene be on my schedule. Staying in the hospital in that first few days
meant that medical personnel would pop into my room every 18 minutes. In
between the check ups, I was trying to induce breast milk so Baby was feeding
around the clock. Squeezing in a shut-eye was nearly impossible.
Who has time for bath? I seriously didn't even remember brushing my
teeth.
After coming home, the arrival of a brand
new member of the family meant that everyone had to adjust to a completely
different schedule and dynamics. Without an easy call-button to summon
medical personnels, we were left all alone with a long list of DIY tending to
daily routine and the likes. The urgency of Baby's wants and needs took
precedent over personal hygiene.
It began as an itch. An itch so
nonchalant that I absentmindedly brushed away.
One predecessor gave me her tips on
keeping clean during such time: Her mother in-law boiled hot water mixed with
alcohol for her to wipe herself from head to toe daily. This method is
great and all, but the bathroom/bedroom is on a different floor than the
kitchen. The logistic of carrying boiling hot water upstairs would prove
to be difficult, not to mention that we didn't have an extra helping hand around
the house.
There was a tip to obtain dry shampoo.
But adding more material onto a head full of oil and debris seemed
counter intuitive. A witch hazel and alcohol concoction was used but did
little to soothe the itch. So instead, I brushed my hair and put them in
braids to avoid attracting dirt and managing. I also began to wipe my
entire body with hot towelettes but soon discovered that the moisture quickly
turned cold immediately upon wiping. So much for keeping the heat in.
The itch, now more pronounced than ever,
quickly transformed into oil and grime and flakes and stench. The oil in
the hair has accumulated so much that no hair fixture or product is needed to
maintain a hairstyle - if you call pulling all of the strains out of the face a
style, that is. Breast milk stains began to stale - I was wondering if human milk cheese would be a new hype in haute cuisine.
But then that simple itch multiplied and
magnified. It started to take on a separate identify of its own. The
reoccurring itch began to taunt me as if they were daring me not to get rid of
them. The filth was beginning to creep under my skin and rouse my mind.
The lingering odor could not be extinguished by sponge baths anymore.
The last draw was when I secretly suspected that Baby's fussiness was a
nonverbal cry protesting against his new but odious mother.
In other words, I was as dirty as dirty could be.
Alas, I have given in to take a hot
shower! Ancient ritual or not, all precautions were thrown overboard.
Ancient Chinese did not have heaters; we do now. Ancient Chinese did not
have adjoining bathrooms; we do now. Ancient Chinese did not have hair
dryers; we do now. Ancient Chinese did not have instant hot running
water; we do now. All I knew was that a bath would return my sanitation
and sanity.
But in order to cheat the system, I would
be armed with every toiletry I would ever need so that the bathroom door would
stay shut in order to keep the stale cold air out. I was to be equipped
with stacks of towels and clothing so that I may step out of the bathroom,
brand new, dried, and warm. Knowing that I would need at least an half hour to
scrub the half month worth of grime off my back, everyone in the household was
warned the eminent lockdown. Need to brush your teeth? Do it now.
Get your lotion? Grab it now. Gotta do your business? Do it
now or be redirected to the adjacent facility.
Stripping off pieces of clothing never
felt more liberating. Even though looking at the post-baby body in its
entirety for the very first time could be cruel, rushing sounds of hot running
water and clouds of steam coming out of the shower were too inviting to care.
(And frankly, the mirror fogged up too quickly to see.) That
long forgotten fragrance of shampoo and body wash that was combined with
luxurious suds and bubbles were as fresh and exhilarating as a butterfly could
be when danced in an English garden in the Spring. Never ever underestimate
the power of tiny froth.
After scrubbing every portion of my body thrice or more and after standing in the hot shower for what
seemed like an eternity, senses kicked in (or rather the thought of gas and
water bills come end of month). It was time to step out of the shower.
Curious things started to happen after I
dried myself with a towel and wrapped my hair in the other. I noticed
that I was still wet. Granted, the humidity in the bathroom was 110%, but
droplets were forming on my skin. I turned on the vent and dried myself
again. Wet still. I picked up the hair dryer and aimed it at the
mirror and myself. To no avail. I even sheepishly opened a crack to the door to let out some steam. Totally futile. I dried the upper body, the lower body sweated. I dried the lower portion, the upper body sweated again! I dried the back, the front sweated. I dried the front, the back sweated again! I had exhausted all the dried towels I had brought into the bathroom. Then suddenly it daunted on me.
I was hot. Too hot. So hot that I sweated. The hot water that
nearly boiled me to purity was now making the entire bathroom like a sauna and
me a sweaty pig! I got rid of the oil and grime alright. But in
return, I was now wet and sticky. The sweating after the shower was
making the shower itself completely pointless!
By this time, I perspired so much that I
was nearly exhausted. It felt like I just stepped out of an intensive
aerobics boot camp. To shower again was really not an option either since Baby was now calling and boobies leaking.
In the end, there is some truth to ancient wisdom after all. After all, there is
nothing new under the sun. Hundreds or thousands of years ago, there must
be a group of women as crazy as I was who went through this entire debacle of
to bathe or not to bathe, ended with the same predicament as I did, and thus
laid down the law of do not
bathe for the future
generations of women to follow.
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