MISCELLANY No 13
MRS BEETON: THE VICTORIAN BABY PART 1: THEORY AND PRINCIPLES
THE REARING, MANAGEMENT, AND DISEASES OF INFANCY AND CHILDHOOD.
CHAPTER XLII.
Physiology of Life, as illustrated by
Respiration, Circulation, and
Digestion.
Digestion.
2445. The
infantine management of children, like the mother's love for her offspring,
seems to be born with the child, and to be a direct intelligence of Nature. It
may thus, at first sight, appear as inconsistent and presumptuous to tell a
woman how to rear her infant as to instruct her in the manner of loving it.
Yet, though Nature is unquestionably the best nurse, Art makes so admirable a
foster-mother, that no sensible woman, in her novitiate of parent, would refuse
the admonitions of art, or the teachings of experience, to consummate her
duties of nurse. It is true that, in a civilized state of society, few young
wives reach the epoch that makes them mothers without some insight, traditional
or practical, into the management of infants: consequently, the cases wherein a
woman is left to her own unaided intelligence, or what, in such a case, may be
called instinct, and obliged to trust to the promptings of nature alone for the
well-being of her child, are very rare indeed. Again, every woman is not gifted
with the same physical ability for the harassing duties of a mother; and though
Nature, as a general rule, has endowed all female creation with the attributes
necessary to that most beautiful and, at the same time, holiest function,—the
healthy rearing of their offspring,—the cases are sufficiently numerous to
establish the exception, where the mother is either physically or socially
incapacitated from undertaking these most pleasing duties herself, and where,
consequently, she is compelled to trust to adventitious aid for those natural
benefits which are at once the mother's pride and delight to render to her
child.
2446. In
these cases, when obliged to call in the services of hired assistance, she must
trust the dearest obligation of her life to one who, from her social sphere,
has probably notions of rearing children diametrically opposed to the
preconceived ideas of the mother, and at enmity with all her sentiments of
right and prejudices of position.
2447. It
has justly been said—we think by Hood—that the children of the poor are not
brought up, but dragged up. However facetious this remark may seem,
there is much truth in it; and that children, reared in the reeking dens of
squalor and poverty, live at all, is an apparent anomaly in the course of
things, that, at first sight, would seem to set the laws of sanitary provision
at defiance, and make it appear a perfect waste of time to insist on pure air
and exercise as indispensable necessaries of life, and especially so as regards
infantine existence.
2448. We
see elaborate care bestowed on a family of children, everything studied that
can tend to their personal comfort,—pure air, pure water, regular ablution, a
dietary prescribed by art, and every precaution adopted that medical judgment
and maternal love can dictate, for the well-being of the parents' hope; and
find, in despite of all this care and vigilance, disease and death invading the
guarded treasure. We turn to the foetor and darkness that, in some obscure
court, attend the robust brood who, coated in dirt, and with mud and refuse for
playthings, live and thrive, and grow into manhood, and, in contrast to the
pale face and flabby flesh of the aristocratic child, exhibit strength, vigour,
and well-developed frames, and our belief in the potency of the life-giving
elements of air, light, and cleanliness receives a shock that, at first sight, would
appear fatal to the implied benefits of these, in reality, all-sufficient
attributes of health and life.
2449. But
as we must enter more largely on this subject hereafter, we shall leave its
consideration for the present, and return to what we were about to say
respecting trusting to others' aid in the rearing of children. Here it is that
the young and probably inexperienced mother may find our remarks not only an
assistance but a comfort to her, in as far as, knowing the simplest and best
system to adopt, she may be able to instruct another, and see that her
directions are fully carried out.
2450. The
human body, materially considered, is a beautiful piece of mechanism,
consisting of many parts, each one being the centre of a system, and performing
its own vital function irrespectively of the others, and yet dependent for its
vitality upon the harmony and health of the whole. It is, in fact, to a certain
extent, like a watch, which, when once wound up and set in motion, will
continue its function of recording true time only so long as every wheel,
spring, and lever performs its allotted duty, and at its allotted time; or till
the limit that man's ingenuity has placed to its existence as a moving
automaton has been reached, or, in other words, till it has run down.
2451. What
the key is to the mechanical watch, air is to the physical man. Once admit air
into the mouth and nostrils, and the lungs expand, the heart beats, the blood
rushes to the remotest part of the body, the mouth secretes saliva, to soften
and macerate the food; the liver forms its bile, to separate the nutriment from
the digested aliment; the kidneys perform their office; the eye elaborates its
tears, to facilitate motion and impart that glistening to the orb on which
depends so much of its beauty; and a dewy moisture exudes from the skin,
protecting the body from the extremes of heat and cold, and sharpening the
perception of touch and feeling. At the same instant, and in every part, the
arteries, like innumerable bees, are everywhere laying down layers of muscle,
bones, teeth, and, in fact, like the coral zoophyte, building up a continent of
life and matter; while the veins, equally busy, are carrying away the débris
and refuse collected from where the zoophyte arteries are building,—this
refuse, in its turn, being conveyed to the liver, there to be converted into
bile.
2452. All
these—and they are but a few of the vital actions constantly taking place—are
the instant result of one gasp of life-giving air. No subject can be fraught
with greater interest than watching the first spark of life, as it courses with
electric speed "through all the gates and alleys" of the soft,
insensate body of the infant. The effect of air on the new-born child is as
remarkable in its results as it is wonderful in its consequence; but to
understand this more intelligibly, it must first be remembered that life
consists of the performance of three vital functions—RESPIRATION,
CIRCULATION, and DIGESTION. The lungs digest the air, taking from it its most
nutritious element, the oxygen, to give to the impoverished blood that
circulates through them. The stomach digests the food, and separates the
nutriment—chyle—from the aliment, which it gives to the blood for the
development of the frame; and the blood, which is understood by the term
circulation, digests in its passage through the lungs the nutriment—chyle—to
give it quantity and quality, and the oxygen from the air to give it
vitality. Hence it will be seen, that, speaking generally, the three vital
functions resolve themselves into one,—DIGESTION; and that the lungs are the
primary and the most important of the vital organs; and respiration, the first
in fact, as we all know it is the last in deed, of all the functions performed
by the living body.
THE LUNGS.—RESPIRATION.
2453. The
first effect of air on the infant is a slight tremor about the lips and angles
of the mouth, increasing to twitchings, and finally to a convulsive contraction
of the lips and cheeks, the consequence of sudden cold to the nerves of the face.
This spasmodic action produces a gasp, causing the air to rush through the
mouth and nostrils, and enter the windpipe and upper portion of the flat and
contracted lungs, which, like a sponge partly immersed in water, immediately
expand. This is succeeded by a few faint sobs or pants, by which larger volumes
of air are drawn into the chest, till, after a few seconds, and when a greater
bulk of the lungs has become inflated, the breast-bone and ribs rise, the chest
expands, and, with a sudden start, the infant gives utterance to a succession
of loud, sharp cries, which have the effect of filling every cell of the entire
organ with air and life. To the anxious mother, the first voice of her child
is, doubtless, the sweetest music she ever heard; and the more loudly it peals,
the greater should be her joy, as it is an indication of health and strength,
and not only shows the perfect expansion of the lungs, but that the process of
life has set in with vigour. Having welcomed in its own existence, like the morning
bird, with a shrill note of gladness, the infant ceases its cry, and, after a
few short sobs, usually subsides into sleep or quietude.
2454. At
the same instant that the air rushes into the lungs, the valve, or door between
the two sides of the heart-and through which the blood had previously passed-is
closed and hermetically sealed, and the blood taking a new course, bounds into
the lungs, now expanded with air, and which we have likened to a wetted sponge,
to which they bear a not unapt affinity, air being substituted for water. It
here receives the oxygen from the atmosphere, and the chyle, or
white blood, from the digested food, and becomes, in an instant, arterial
blood, a vital principle, from which every solid and fluid of the body is
constructed. Besides the lungs, Nature has provided another respiratory organ,
a sort of supplemental lung, that, as well as being a covering to the body,
_in_spires air and _ex_pires moisture;—this is the cuticle, or skin; and so
intimate is the connection between the skin and lungs, that whatever injures
the first, is certain to affect the latter.
2455. Hence
the difficulty of breathing experienced after scalds or burns on the cuticle,
the cough that follows the absorption of cold or damp by the skin, the
oppressed and laborious breathing experienced by children in all eruptive
diseases, while the rash is coming to the surface, and the hot, dry skin that
always attends congestion of the lungs, and fever.
2456. The
great practical advantage derivable from this fact is, the knowledge that
whatever relieves the one benefits the other. Hence, too, the great utility of
hot baths in all affections of the lungs or diseases of the skin; and the
reason why exposure to cold or wet is, in nearly all cases, followed by
tightness of the chest, sore throat, difficulty of breathing, and cough. These
symptoms are the consequence of a larger quantity of blood than is natural
remaining in the lungs, and the cough is a mere effort of Nature to throw off
the obstruction caused by the presence of too much blood in the organ of
respiration. The hot bath, by causing a larger amount of blood to rush suddenly
to the skin, has the effect of relieving the lungs of their excess of blood,
and by equalizing the circulation, and promoting perspiration from the cuticle,
affords immediate and direct benefit, both to the lungs and the system at
large.
THE STOMACH—DIGESTION.
2457. The
organs that either directly or indirectly contribute to the process of
digestion are, the mouth, teeth, tongue, and gullet, the stomach, small
intestines, the pancreas, the salivary glands, and the liver. Next to
respiration, digestion is the chief function in the economy of life, as,
without the nutritious fluid digested from the aliment, there would be nothing
to supply the immense and constantly recurring waste of the system, caused by
the activity with which the arteries at all periods, but especially during
infancy and youth, are building up the frame and developing the body. In
infancy (the period of which our present subject treats), the series of parts
engaged in the process of digestion may be reduced simply to the stomach and
liver, or rather its secretion,—the bile. The stomach is a thick muscular bag,
connected above with the gullet, and, at its lower extremity, with the
commencement of the small intestines. The duty or function of the stomach is to
secrete from the arteries spread over its inner surface, a sharp acid liquid
called the gastric juice; this, with a due mixture of saliva, softens,
dissolves, and gradually digests the food or contents of the stomach, reducing
the whole into a soft pulpy mass, which then passes into the first part of the
small intestines, where it comes in contact with the bile from the
gall-bladder, which immediately separates the digested food into two parts, one
is a white creamy fluid called chyle, and the absolute concentration of all
nourishment, which is taken up by proper vessels, and, as we have before said,
carried directly to the heart, to be made blood of, and vitalized in the lungs,
and thus provide for the wear and tear of the system. It must be here observed
that the stomach can only digest solids, for fluids, being incapable of that
process, can only be absorbed; and without the result of digestion,
animal, at least human life, could not exist. Now, as Nature has ordained that
infantine life shall be supported on liquid aliment, and as, without a
digestion the body would perish, some provision was necessary to meet this
difficulty, and that provision was found in the nature of the liquid itself, or
in other words, THE MILK. The process of making cheese, or fresh curds and
whey, is familiar to most persons; but as it is necessary to the elucidation of
our subject, we will briefly repeat it. The internal membrane, or the lining coat
of a calf's stomach, having been removed from the organ, is hung up, like a
bladder, to dry; when required, a piece is cut off, put in a jug, a little warm
water poured upon it, and after a few hours it is fit for use; the liquid so
made being called rennet. A little of this rennet, poured into a basin
of warm milk, at once coagulates the greater part, and separates from it a
quantity of thin liquor, called whey. This is precisely the action that
takes place in the infant's stomach after every supply from the breast. The
cause is the same in both cases, the acid of the gastric juice in the infant's
stomach immediately converting the milk into a soft cheese. It is gastric
juice, adhering to the calf's stomach, and drawn out by the water, forming
rennet, that makes the curds in the basin. The cheesy substance being a solid,
at once undergoes the process of digestion, is separated into chyle by
the bile, and, in a few hours, finds its way to the infant's heart, to become
blood, and commence the architecture of its little frame. This is the simple
process of a baby's digestion:-milk converted into cheese, cheese into chyle,
chyle into blood, and blood into flesh, bone, and tegument-how simple is the
cause, but how sublime and wonderful are the effects!
2458. We
have described the most important of the three functions that take place in the
infant's body-respiration and digestion; the third, namely, circulation, we
hardly think it necessary to enter on, not being called for by the requirements
of the nurse and mother; so we shall omit its notice, and proceed from
theoretical to more practical considerations. Children of weakly constitutions
are just as likely to be born of robust parents, and those who earn their bread
by toil, as the offspring of luxury and affluence; and, indeed, it is against
the ordinary providence of Nature to suppose the children of the hardworking
and necessitous to be hardier and more vigorous than those of parents blessed
with ease and competence.
2459. All
children come into the world in the same imploring helplessness, with the same
general organization and wants, and demanding either from the newly-awakened
mother's love, or from the memory of motherly feeling in the nurse, or the
common appeals of humanity in those who undertake the earliest duties of an
infant, the same assistance and protection, and the same fostering care.
THE INFANT.
2460. We
have already described the phenomena produced on the new-born child by the
contact of air, which, after a succession of muscular twitchings, becomes
endowed with voice, and heralds its advent by a loud but brief succession of
cries. But though this is the general rule, it sometimes happens (from causes
it is unnecessary here to explain) that the infant does not cry, or give
utterance to any audible sounds, or if it does, they are so faint as scarcely
to be distinguished as human accents, plainly indicating that life, as yet, to
the new visitor, is neither a boon nor a blessing; the infant being, in fact,
in a state of suspended or imperfect vitality,—a state of quasi
existence, closely approximating the condition of a still-birth.
2461. As
soon as this state of things is discovered, the child should be turned on its
right side, and the whole length of the spine, from the head downwards, rubbed
with all the fingers of the right hand, sharply and quickly, without
intermission, till the quick action has not only evoked heat, but electricity
in the part, and till the loud and sharp cries of the child have thoroughly
expanded the lungs, and satisfactorily established its life. The operation will
seldom require above a minute to effect, and less frequently demands a
repetition. If there is brandy at hand, the fingers before rubbing may be
dipped into that, or any other spirit.
2462.
There-is another condition of what we may call "mute births," where
the child only makes short ineffectual gasps, and those at intervals of a
minute or two apart, when the lips, eyelids, and fingers become of a deep
purple or slate colour, sometimes half the body remaining white, while the
other half, which was at first swarthy, deepens to a livid hue. This condition
of the infant is owing to the valve between the two sides of the heart
remaining open, and allowing the unvitalized venous blood to enter the arteries
and get into the circulation.
2463. The
object in this case, as in the previous one, is to dilate the lungs as quickly
as possible, so that, by the sudden effect of a vigorous inspiration, the valve
may be firmly closed, and the impure blood, losing this means of egress, be
sent directly to the lungs. The same treatment is therefore necessary as in the
previous case, with the addition, if the friction along the spine has failed,
of a warm bath at a temperature of about 80°, in which the child is to be
plunged up to the neck, first cleansing the mouth and nostrils of the mucus
that might interfere with the free passage of air.
2464.
While in the bath, the friction along the spine is to be continued, and if the
lungs still remain unexpended, while one person retains the child in an
inclined position in the water, another should insert the pipe of a small pair
of bellows into one nostril, and while the month is closed and the other
nostril compressed on the pipe with the hand of the assistant, the lungs are to
be slowly inflated by steady puffs of air from the bellows, the hand being
removed from the mouth and nose after each inflation, and placed on the pit of
the stomach, and by a steady pressure expelling it out again by the mouth. This
process is to be continued, steadily inflating and expelling the air from the
lungs, till, with a sort of tremulous leap, Nature takes up the process, and
the infant begins to gasp, and finally to cry, at first low and faint, but with
every gulp of air increasing in length and strength of volume, when it is to be
removed from the water, and instantly wrapped (all but the face and mouth) in a
flannel. Sometimes, however, all these means will fail in effecting an
utterance from the child, which will lie, with livid lips and a flaccid body,
every few minutes opening its mouth with a short gasping pant, and then
subsiding into a state of pulseless inaction, lingering probably some hours,
till the spasmodic pantings growing further apart, it ceases to exist.
2465. The
time that this state of negative vitality will linger in the frame of an infant
is remarkable; and even when all the previous operations, though
long-continued, have proved ineffectual, the child will often rally from the
simplest of means—the application of dry heat. When removed from the bath,
place three or four hot bricks or tiles on the hearth, and lay the child,
loosely folded in a flannel, on its back along them, taking care that there is
but one fold of flannel between the spine and heated bricks or tiles. When
neither of these articles can be procured, put a few clear pieces of red cinder
in a warming-pan, and extend the child in the same manner along the closed lid.
As the heat gradually diffuses itself over the spinal marrow, the child that
was dying, or seemingly dead, will frequently give a sudden and energetic cry,
succeeded in another minute by a long and vigorous peal, making up, in volume
and force, for the previous delay, and instantly confirming its existence by
every effort in its nature.
2466. With
these two exceptions,—restored by the means we have pointed out to the
functions of life,—we will proceed to the consideration of the child HEALTHILY
BORN. Here the first thing that meets us on the threshold of inquiry, and what
is often between mother and nurse not only a vexed question, but one of
vexatious import, is the crying of the child; the mother, in her natural
anxiety, maintaining that her infant must be ill to cause it to cry so
much or so often, and the nurse insisting that all children cry, and
that nothing is the matter with it, and that crying does good, and is, indeed,
an especial benefit to infancy. The anxious and unfamiliar mother, though not
convinced by these abstract sayings of the truth or wisdom of the explanation,
takes both for granted; and, giving the nurse credit for more knowledge and
experience on this head than she can have, contentedly resigns herself to the
infliction, as a thing necessary to be endured for the good of the baby, but
thinking it, at the same time, an extraordinary instance of the
imperfectibility of Nature as regards the human infant; for her mind wanders to
what she has observed in her childhood with puppies and kittens, who, except
when rudely torn from their nurse, seldom give utterance to any complaining.
2467. We,
undoubtedly, believe that crying, to a certain extent, is not only conducive to
health, but positively necessary to the full development and physical economy
of the infant's being. But though holding this opinion, we are far from
believing that a child does not very often cry from pain, thirst, want of food,
and attention to its personal comfort; but there is as much difference in the
tone and expression of a child's cry as in the notes of an adult's voice; and
the mother's ear will not be long in discriminating between the sharp peevish
whine of irritation and fever, and the louder intermitting cry that
characterizes the want of warmth and sleep. All these shades of expression in
the child's inarticulate voice every nurse should understand, and every
mother will soon teach herself to interpret them with an accuracy equal to
language.
2468.
There is no part of a woman's duty to her child that a young mother should so
soon make it her business to study, as the voice of her infant, and the
language conveyed in its cry. The study is neither hard nor difficult; a close
attention to its tone, and the expression of the baby's features, are the two
most important points demanding attention. The key to both the mother will find
in her own heart, and the knowledge of her success in the comfort and smile of
her infant. We have two reasons—both strong ones—for urging on mothers the
imperative necessity of early making themselves acquainted with the nature and
wants of their child: the first, that when left to the entire, responsibility
of the baby, after the departure of the nurse, she may be able to undertake her
new duties with more confidence than if left to her own resources and mother's
instinct, without a clue to guide her through the mysteries of those calls that
vibrate through every nerve of her nature; and, secondly, that she may be able
to guard her child from the nefarious practices of unprincipled nurses, who,
while calming the mother's mind with false statements as to the character of
the baby's cries, rather than lose their rest, or devote that time which would
remove the cause of suffering, administer, behind the curtains, those deadly
narcotics which, while stupefying Nature into sleep, insure for herself a night
of many unbroken hours. Such nurses as have not the hardihood to dose their
infant charges, are often full of other schemes to still that constant and
reproachful cry. The most frequent means employed for this purpose is giving it
something to suck,—something easily hid from the mother,—or, when that is impossible,
under the plea of keeping it warm, the nurse covers it in her lap with a shawl,
and, under this blind, surreptitiously inserts a finger between the parched
lips, which possibly moan for drink; and, under this inhuman cheat and
delusion, the infant is pacified, till Nature, balked of its desires, drops
into a troubled sleep. These are two of our reasons for impressing upon mothers
the early, the immediate necessity of putting themselves sympathetically in
communication with their child, by at once learning its hidden language as a
delightful task.
2469. We
must strenuously warn all mothers on no account to allow the nurse to sleep
with the baby, never herself to lay down with it by her side for a night's
rest, never to let it sleep in the parents' bed, and on no account keep it,
longer than absolutely necessary, confined in on atmosphere loaded with the
breath of many adults.
2470. The
amount of oxygen required by an infant is so large, and the quantity
consumed by mid-life and age, and the proportion of carbonic acid thrown off
from both, so considerable, that an infant breathing the same air cannot
possibly carry on its healthy existence while deriving its vitality from so
corrupted a medium. This objection, always in force, is still more objectionable
at night-time, when doors and windows are closed, and amounts to a condition of
poison, when placed between two adults in sleep, and shut in by bed-curtains;
and when, in addition to the impurities expired from the lungs, we remember, in
quiescence and sleep, how large a portion of mephitic gas is given off from the
skin.
2471.
Mothers, in the fullness of their affection, believe there is no harbour,
sleeping or awake, where their infants can be so secure from all possible or
probable danger as in their own arms; yet we should astound our readers if we
told them the statistical number of infants who, in despite of their motherly
solicitude and love, are annually killed, unwittingly, by such parents
themselves, and this from the persistency in the practice we are so strenuously
condemning. The mother frequently, on awaking, discovers the baby's face
closely impacted between her bosom and her arm, and its body rigid and
lifeless; or else so enveloped in the "head-blanket" and
superincumbent bedclothes, as to render breathing a matter of physical
impossibility. In such cases the jury in general returns a verdict of "Accidentally
overlaid" but one of "Careless suffocation" would be more in
accordance with truth and justice. The only possible excuse that can be urged,
either by nurse or mother, for this culpable practice, is the plea of imparting
warmth to the infant. But this can always be effected by an extra blanket in
the child's crib, or, if the weather is particularly cold, by a bottle of hot
water enveloped in flannel and placed at the child's feet; while all the
objections already urged—as derivable from animal heat imparted by actual
contact—are entirely obviated. There is another evil attending the sleeping
together of the mother and infant, which, as far as regards the latter, we
consider quite as formidable, though not so immediate as the others, and is
always followed by more or less of mischief to the mother. The evil we now
allude to is that most injurious practice of letting the child suck
after the mother has fallen asleep, a custom that naturally results from
the former, and which, as we hare already said, is injurious to both mother and
child. It is injurious to the infant by allowing it, without control, to imbibe
to distension a fluid sluggishly secreted and deficient in those vital
principles which the want of mental energy, and of the sympathetic appeals of
the child on the mother, so powerfully produce on the secreted nutriment, while
the mother wakes in a state of clammy exhaustion, with giddiness, dimness of
sight, nausea, loss of appetite, and a dull aching pain through the back and
between the shoulders. In fact, she wakes languid and unrefreshed from her
sleep, with febrile symptoms and hectic flushes, caused by her baby vampire,
who, while dragging from her her health and strength, has excited in itself a
set of symptoms directly opposite, but fraught with the same injurious
consequences—"functional derangement."
THE MONTHLY NURSE.
2429. The
choice of a monthly nurse is of the utmost importance; and in the case of a
young mother with her first child, it would be well for her to seek advice and
counsel from her more experienced relatives in this matter. In the first place,
the engaging a monthly nurse in good time is of the utmost importance, as, if
she be competent and clever, her services will be sought months beforehand; a
good nurse having seldom much of her time disengaged. There are some
qualifications which it is evident the nurse should possess: she should be
scrupulously clean and tidy in her person; honest, sober, and noiseless in her
movements; should possess a natural love for children, and have a strong nerve
in case of emergencies. Snuff-taking and spirit-drinking must not be included
in her habits; but these are happily much less frequent than they were in
former days.
2430.
Receiving, as she often will, instructions from the doctor, she should bear
these in mind, and carefully carry them out. In those instances where she does
not feel herself sufficiently informed, she should ask advice from the medical
man, and not take upon herself to administer medicines, &c., without his
knowledge.
2431. A
monthly nurse should be between 30 and 50 years of age, sufficiently old to
have had a little experience, and yet not too old or infirm to be able to
perform various duties requiring strength and bodily vigour. She should be able
to wake the moment she is called,—at any hour of the night, that the mother or
child may have their wants immediately attended to. Good temper, united to a
kind and gentle disposition, is indispensable; and, although the nurse will
frequently have much to endure from the whims and caprices of the invalid, she
should make allowances for these, and command her temper, at the same time
exerting her authority when it is necessary.
2432. What
the nurse has to do in the way of cleaning and dusting her lady's room, depends
entirely on the establishment that is kept. Where there are plenty of servants,
the nurse, of course, has nothing whatever to do but attend on her patient, and
ring the bell for anything she may require. Where the number of domestics is
limited, she should not mind keeping her room in order; that is to say,
sweeping and dusting it every morning. If fires be necessary, the housemaid
should always clean the grate, and do all that is wanted in that way, as this,
being rather dirty work, would soil the nurse's dress, and unfit her to
approach the bed, or take the infant without soiling its clothes. In small
establishments, too, the nurse should herself fetch things she may require, and
not ring every time she wants anything; and she must, of course, not leave her
invalid unless she sees everything is comfortable; and then only for a few
minutes. When down stairs, and in company with the other servants, the nurse
should not repeat what she may have heard in her lady's room, as much mischief
may be done by a gossiping nurse. As in most houses the monthly nurse is
usually sent for a few days before her services may be required, she should see
that all is in readiness; that there be no bustle and hurry at the time the
confinement takes place. She should keep two pairs of sheets thoroughly aired,
as well as night-dresses, flannels, &c. &c. All the things which will
be required to dress the baby the first time should be laid in the basket in
readiness, in the order in which they are to be put on; as well as scissors,
thread, a few pieces of soft linen rag, and two or three flannel squares. If a
berceaunette is to be used immediately, the nurse should ascertain that the
mattresses, pillow, &c. are all well aired; and if not already done before
she arrives, she should assist in covering and trimming it, ready for the
little occupant. A monthly nurse should be handy at her needle, as, if she is
in the house some time before the baby is born, she will require some work of
this sort; to occupy her time. She should also understand the making-up of
little caps, although we can scarcely say this is one of the nurse's duties. As
most children wear no caps, except out of doors, her powers in this way will
not be much taxed.
2433. A
nurse should endeavour to make her room as cheerful as possible, and always
keep it clean and tidy. She should empty the chamber utensils as soon as used,
and on no account put things under the bed. Soiled baby's napkins should be
rolled up and put into a pan, when they should be washed out every morning, and
hung out to dry: they are then in a fit state to send to the laundress; and
should, on no account, be left dirty, but done every morning in this way. The
bedroom should be kept rather dark, particularly for the first week or ten
days; of a regular temperature, and as free as possible from draughts, at the
same time well ventilated and free from unpleasant smells.
2434. The
infant during the month must not be exposed to strong light, or much air; and
in carrying it about the passages, stairs, &c., the nurse should always
have its head-flannel on, to protect the eyes and ears from the currents of
air. For the management of children, we must refer our readers to the following
chapters; and we need only say, in conclusion, that a good nurse should
understand the symptoms of various ills incident to this period, as, in all
cases, prevention is better than cure. As young mothers with their first baby
are very often much troubled at first with their breasts, the nurse should
understand the art of emptying them by suction, or some other contrivance. If
the breasts are kept well drawn, there will be but little danger of
inflammation; and as the infant at first cannot take all that is necessary,
something must be done to keep the inflammation down. This is one of the
greatest difficulties a nurse has to contend with, and we can only advise her
to be very persevering, to rub the breasts well, and to let the infant suck as
soon and as often as possible, until they get in proper order.
THE WET-NURSE.
2435. We
are aware that, according to the opinion of some ladies, there is no domestic
theme, during a certain period of their married lives, more fraught with
vexation and disquietude than that ever-fruitful source of annoyance, "the
Nurse;" but, as we believe, there are thousands of excellent wives and
mothers who pass through life without even a temporary embroglio in the
kitchen, or suffering a state of moral hectic the whole time of a nurse's
empire in the nursery or bedroom. Our own experience goes to prove, that
although many unqualified persons palm themselves off on ladies as fully
competent for the duties they so rashly and dishonestly undertake to perform,
and thus expose themselves to ill-will and merited censure, there are still
very many fully equal to the legitimate exercise of what they undertake; and if
they do not in every case give entire satisfaction, some of the fault,—and
sometimes a great deal of it,—may be honestly placed to the account of the
ladies themselves, who, in many instances, are so impressed with the propriety
of their own method of performing everything, as to insist upon the adoption of
their system in preference to that of the nurse, whose plan is probably
based on a comprehensive forethought, and rendered perfect in all its details
by an ample experience.
2436. In
all our remarks on this subject, we should remember with gentleness the order
of society from which our nurses are drawn; and that those who make their duty
a study, and are termed professional nurses, have much to endure from the caprice
and egotism of their employers; while others are driven to the occupation from
the laudable motive of feeding their own children, and who, in fulfilling that
object, are too often both selfish and sensual, performing, without further
interest than is consistent with their own advantage, the routine of customary
duties.
2437.
Properly speaking, there are two nurses,—the nurse for the mother and the nurse
for the child, or, the monthly and the wet nurse. Of the former we have already
spoken, and will now proceed to describe the duties of the latter, and add some
suggestions as to her age, physical health, and moral conduct, subjects of the
utmost importance as far as the charge intrusted to her is concerned, and
therefore demanding some special remarks.
2438. When
from illness, suppression of the milk, accident, or some natural process, the
mother is deprived of the pleasure of rearing her infant, it becomes necessary
at once to look around for a fitting substitute, so that the child may not
suffer, by any needless delay, a physical loss by the deprivation of its
natural food. The first consideration should be as regards age, state of
health, and temper.
2439. The
age, if possible, should not be less than twenty nor exceed thirty years, with
the health sound in every respect, and the body free from all eruptive disease
or local blemish. The best evidence of a sound state of health will be found in
the woman's clear open countenance, the ruddy tone of the skin, the full,
round, and elastic state of the breasts, and especially in the erectile, firm
condition of the nipple, which, in all unhealthy states of the body, is
pendulous, flabby, and relaxed; in which case, the milk is sure to be imperfect
in its organization, and, consequently, deficient in its nutrient qualities.
Appetite is another indication of health in the suckling nurse or mother; for
it is impossible a woman can feed her child without having a corresponding
appetite; and though inordinate craving for food is neither desirable nor
necessary, a natural vigour should be experienced at meal-times, and the food
taken should be anticipated and enjoyed.
2440.
Besides her health, the moral state of the nurse is to be taken into account,
or that mental discipline or principle of conduct which would deter the nurse
from at any time gratifying her own pleasures and appetites at the cost or
suffering of her infant charge.
2441. The
conscientiousness and good faith that would prevent a nurse so acting are,
unfortunately, very rare; and many nurses, rather than forego the enjoyment of
a favourite dish, though morally certain of the effect it will have on the
child, will, on the first opportunity, feed with avidity on fried meats,
cabbage, cucumbers, pickles, or other crude and injurious aliments, in defiance
of all orders given, or confidence reposed in their word, good sense, and
humanity. And when the infant is afterwards racked with pain, and a night of
disquiet alarms the mother, the doctor is sent for, and the nurse, covering her
dereliction by a falsehood, the consequence of her gluttony is treated as a
disease, and the poor infant is dosed for some days with medicines, that can do
it but little if any good, and, in all probability, materially retard its
physical development. The selfish nurse, in her ignorance, believes, too, that
as long as she experiences no admonitory symptoms herself, the child cannot
suffer; and satisfied that, whatever is the cause of its screams and plunges,
neither she, nor what she had eaten, had anything to do with it, with this flattering
assurance at her heart, she watches her opportunity, and has another luxurious
feast off the proscribed dainties, till the increasing disturbance in the
child's health, or treachery from the kitchen, opens the eyes of mother and
doctor to the nurse's unprincipled conduct. In all such cases the infant should
be spared the infliction of medicine, and, as a wholesome corrective to
herself, and relief to her charge, a good sound dose administered to the nurse.
2442.
Respecting the diet of the wet-nurse, the first point of importance is to fix
early and definite hours for every meal; and the mother should see that no
cause is ever allowed to interfere with their punctuality. The food itself
should be light, easy of digestion, and simple. Boiled or roast meat, with
bread and potatoes, with occasionally a piece of sago, rice, or tapioca
pudding, should constitute the dinner, the only meal that requires special
comment; broths, green vegetables, and all acid or salt foods, must be avoided.
Fresh fish, once or twice a week, may be taken; but it is hardly sufficiently
nutritious to be often used as a meal. If the dinner is taken early,—at one
o'clock,—there will be no occasion for luncheon, which too often, to the injury
of the child, is made the cover for a first dinner. Half a pint of stout, with
a Reading biscuit, at eleven o'clock, will be abundantly sufficient between
breakfast at eight and a good dinner, with a pint of porter at one o'clock.
About eight o'clock in the evening, half a pint of stout, with another biscuit,
may be taken; and for supper, at ten or half-past, a pint of porter, with a
slice of toast or a small amount of bread and cheese, may conclude the feeding
for the day.
2443.
Animal food once in twenty-four hours is quite sufficient. All spirits, unless
in extreme cases, should be avoided; and wine is still more seldom needed. With
a due quantity of plain digestible food, and the proportion of stout and porter
ordered, with early hours and regularity, the nurse will not only be strong and
healthy herself, but fully capable of rearing a child in health and strength.
There are two points all mothers, who are obliged to employ wet-nurses, should
remember, and be on their guard against. The first is, never to allow a nurse
to give medicine to the infant on her own authority: many have such an
infatuated idea of the healing excellence of castor-oil, that they would
administer a dose of this disgusting grease twice a week, and think they had
done a meritorious service to the child. The next point is, to watch carefully,
lest, to insure a night's sleep for herself, she does not dose the infant with
Godfrey's cordial, syrup of poppies, or some narcotic potion, to insure
tranquillity to the one and give the opportunity of sleep to the other. The
fact that scores of nurses keep secret bottles of these deadly syrups, for the
purpose of stilling their charges, is notorious; and that many use them to a
fearful extent, is sufficiently patent to all.
2444. It
therefore behoves the mother, while obliged to trust to a nurse, to use her
best discretion to guard her child from the unprincipled treatment of the
person she must, to a certain extent, depend upon and trust; and to remember,
in all cases, rather than resort to castor-oil or sedatives, to consult a
medical man for her infant in preference to following the counsel of her nurse.
To be continued
next week, with Mrs Beeton’s views on feeding and rites of passage, such as
teething
