The Drama with the Hebamme

Enter, the Hebamme. In Germany, parents get to avail the services of a midwife (aka Hebamme) who makes home visits to check on the mom and baby’s development and well-being. On her first visit, she decided to give me my first bath. Out came the baby tub which was filled with lukewarm water. The Hebamme held me expertly in one hand, while squeezing a wet cloth over my body. It was a surprise, but not a very bad one. I held my calm for about one minute. The adults were just beginning to appreciate how brave I was being, when, without warning, she swiped the wet cloth over my face. Yikes!! Now that I did NOT like. All my bravado promptly fell to pieces and I whimpered. Somebody, anybody, stop this please!! It did stop, Gott sei Dank, but not before my neck and my head were wiped as well. By the time it was all done, all I wanted was to be dry and warm and snug again. In her expert opinion, I was to be bathed no more than once every 5 days (so as not to irritate my delicate baby skin). I guess I should have been grateful for that? Because, I do know that babies in India get a bath DAILY. *Shudder*. You can be sure Papa recorded the whole thing and promptly released it on their precious Whatsapp group for everyone to watch. She advised Lolo to have an alcohol-free beer to increase her milk supply (Papa jokingly called us the ‘drunk duo’ for a while afterward). Lolo was also asked to stay away from a lot of things, like garlic and lentils and spicy foods.  One day, the Hebamme decided to check how much I weighed. She shook her head solemnly. ‘Zayn is not gaining weight as he should be’, she reprimanded a very concerned Lolo and Papa. But Hallelujah! She had a solution! ‘You need to check his weight before and after every feeding session. Record this in a chart. By doing so, we can ensure that Zayn is getting his requisite ml of milk per day. Report back to me on my next visit.’ With that, she was gone and the madness began. From then on, every time I cried for some milk, I wouldn’t get any without first being made to lie on the weighing scale. The baby’s weighing scale is a ridiculous thing. You need to lie very flat and still on it to get a reading. I hated that thing with a vengeance. Which meant that I would kick up a huge fuss when it was time to get weighed, which in turn meant more time on the scale until Lolo or Papa could get a reading. After a few blissful uninterrupted minutes of milk, it would be time to get weighed again. Aaaarghhhh! Can you believe that this was done even in the middle of the night?! Unbelievable! After a week though, it was mercifully established that I was gaining weight again (Praise the Lord!) and the circus came to an end. The Hebamme decided that we were doing fine and bid us adieu. All’s well that ends well!