A question that often comes up: can I bath my baby in the sink? And to be fair, it’s one that we asked ourselves back when our own children were tiny- and presumably our own parents pondered the same, too! So we thought we’d settle the debate once and for all, and give you the low down on sink baths for baby- whether you should do it, what you need to think about and why it might be a good idea to try it after all!
Before the boom in the nursery industry (and way before there were so many new baby essentials to add to your shopping lists!) lots of families would bath their baby in the sink because there simply wasn’t any alternative. These days, baby bath tubs are aplenty, but still lots of parents decide that sink baths are a lot more convenient- if it works for you, then why not?
BATHING YOUR BABY IN THE SINK VS A BABY BATH
If you’re not sure whether or not to fill the sink or splash out on a baby bath, then it might be a good idea to consider the pros and cons of each.
Use less water
Sink baths tend to use less water as you’ve got a smaller space to work with, which is a huge plus for many. Not only will this cut down on water bills, but it’s a huge win for the planet too.
Easier on your back
Standing at the sink can be a lot kinder to your back than having to bend over a baby bath on the floor. Sink baths can also be a lot easier for new mums recovering from a c-section tor this reason too.
WHY BATH YOUR BABY IN THE SINK?
Can I Bath my Baby in the Sink?_Cuddledry.com
There are many reasons why new parents consider bathing their baby in the sink. Some families may only have a shower in their bathroom, or they might not have access to a baby bath when they bring their new baby home. Other families might just be following on a tradition that has lasted generations!
Can I Bath my Baby in the Sink?_Cuddledry.com
Quick and easy
It’s considerably faster and less hassle to fill the sink to give your baby a bath, than it is to get everything ready for the baby baht tub. Plus, you can have all your equipment ready to go on the draining board so it’s more easily accessible too.
Location is key
Lots of kitchen sinks tend to be by the window in the kitchen and in cooler weather, this might not be ideal. The good thing about baby baths is that you can move them to water parts of the house when you need to.
Not all sinks are sized the same
Mot baby bath tubs will come in more or less the same size and shape, designed for small babies to use. Your sink can be deeper, shallower, smaller, bigger… not all sinks are great for sink baths so it’s worth checking the logistics before you write off investing in a tub.
Consider your cleaning products
We’ll go over cleaning your sink later on, but for now it’s worth noting that you definitely will need to clean your sink before and after your baby has their bath- so consider what products you’re going to be using.
Buttons and Memories
I miss my mom. I used to push all the buttons just as she would walk down the aisle, a mischievous glint in my eye. Each time we visited the grocery store, I’d dash ahead, my small fingers dancing over the colorful buttons of the self-checkout machine. With each beep, she’d turn around, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You little rascal! One day, you’re going to break it!” she’d say, shaking her head, but her smile would give her away. Those moments were filled with laughter and light, the kind of memories that could brighten even the dullest days.
Since her passing, the grocery store has become a hollow place for me. I walk through, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh, and I feel the weight of the emptiness settle in my chest. The shelves filled with brightly packaged goods seem to mock my solitude. I can still hear her voice, echoing in my mind, reminding me to pick up my favorite snacks or to try a new recipe. I wander through the aisles, my heart heavy, searching for a piece of her in every corner.
I remember how she would linger by the produce, inspecting the apples with care, always choosing the shiniest ones. “The best things in life are worth taking a moment to choose,” she would say, her hands gently brushing over the fruit. Now, I find myself standing there, staring at the apples, unable to choose. They all seem dull and lifeless without her touch.
The self-checkout machines are still there, their buttons waiting to be pressed, but they feel like a cruel reminder of what I’ve lost. I can’t bring myself to push them anymore. The last time I stood in front of one, the memories flooded back. I could almost hear her laughter, feel her presence beside me. But it was just a memory, fleeting and painful.
Every week, I return to the store, hoping that somehow it will feel different, that I’ll find a way to connect with her again. But the aisles remain unchanged, their fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a persistent reminder of my loneliness. I see other families laughing and chatting, and I feel like an outsider looking in on a world that no longer includes me.
One evening, as I walked past the cereal aisle, I spotted a box of her favorite brand. It was decorated with bright colors and cheerful characters, a stark contrast to the heaviness in my heart. I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and grabbed it, a sudden rush of nostalgia washing over me. I could almost see her standing beside me, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Let’s get it! We can make our special breakfast tomorrow!”
With the box cradled in my arms, I made my way to the checkout. I felt a warmth spreading through me, the kind of warmth that comes from cherished memories. But as I stood there, scanning the items and watching the screen flash numbers, I realized that I was alone. The laughter we shared, the spontaneous dance parties in the kitchen, all of it felt like a distant dream.
When I got home, I placed the box on the kitchen counter, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. I thought about making pancakes, just like we used to, the kitchen filled with the scent of vanilla and maple syrup. I reached for my phone to call her, to share the news, but my heart sank as reality set in. There would be no more calls, no more laughter echoing through the house.
That night, I sat in the dark, the box of cereal beside me, feeling the weight of my grief settle in. I poured myself a bowl, the sound of the cereal hitting the milk breaking the silence. As I took the first bite, tears streamed down my cheeks. Each crunch reminded me of the moments we had shared, and I felt an ache in my chest for the warmth of her presence.
“I miss you, Mom,” I whispered into the stillness of the room. “I wish I could press all the buttons just one more time, hear you laugh, feel your hand in mine.”
But the buttons would remain untouched, just as the aisles of the grocery store would remain silent, a reflection of the emptiness I felt inside. And in that moment, I realized that while the world continued to move forward, I would always carry her with me, a bittersweet reminder of the love that once filled my life.
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