Dear Tom: Put down the baby neck float and step away from Instagram

Dear Tom from six months ago,

You're currently perched on the edge of the downstairs loo at 2am, hiding from the twins, staring bleary-eyed at your phone. The Instagram algorithm, sensing your big exhaustion and desperation for a quiet life, has just served you a video. In it, a serene, chubby infant is floating in a pristine white bathtub, suspended entirely by a brightly coloured plastic ring around its neck. The child looks like a tiny, aquatic Buddha. There's ambient spa music playing. You have your thumb hovering over Apple Pay, ready to drop thirty quid on this miraculous device so you can finally drink a cup of tea while the girls float themselves into a state of zen.

I'm writing to you from the future to say: put the phone down, mate. Don't buy the baby neck float.

I know exactly what you're thinking because I'm you (just with slightly less hair and a permanent stain on my left shoulder). You think this plastic contraption is going to solve your bath time woes. You think it'll turn the chaotic, slippery wrestling match of washing two screaming humans into a peaceful hydrotherapy session. It won't, and the reasons why are frankly quite terrifying once you peel back the pastel-coloured marketing.

The viral illusion of the aquatic infant

Let me paint a picture of what these floats actually are, rather than what the influencer mums portray them to be. They're essentially a PVC guillotine. You're meant to inflate this ring, pry it open, and clamp it around the throat of your most prized, fragile possession, leaving their entire body weight dangling from their chin like a medieval torture device.

The videos always show these babies looking blissfully relaxed, but I suspect that's just because they're entirely immobilised by confusion. The aesthetic of the 'baby spa' has somehow convinced sleep-deprived parents like us that infants belong in independent floatation devices before they can even hold up their own massive heads. It's a completely absurd visual when you really look at it—a tiny human bobbing around like a cork in a wine bottle, completely detached from human contact, while a parent stands three feet away filming it for TikTok.

And that whole marketing spin about it being 'water therapy' that aids motor development is absolute rubbish, by the way.

What Dr Patel actually said about them

When you eventually take the girls in for their immunisations (spoiler alert: they'll cry, you'll sweat profusely), you'll casually mention to Dr Patel that you were thinking of getting one of those neck rings for the local pool. She will look at you over the top of her NHS monitor with a mixture of pity and absolute horror.

From what I gathered through the fog of exhaustion, she explained that a newborn's spine is basically cartilage and hope. Suspending a twelve-pound baby by their jawbone places an unnatural and frankly dangerous amount of strain on their developing cervical vertebrae. I'm certainly no anatomist, but I'm pretty sure the neck is not designed to be a load-bearing structure for the entire body.

She also muttered something about airway compression, which sent a cold shiver right down my spine. Apparently, if the ring is slightly too tight or shifts while they kick, it can press against their squishy little windpipes or restrict blood flow. And then there's the deflation issue. The American safety boards (the FDA and CPSC, I think) have put out massive warnings about these things because the seams can burst. If that happens, the baby just slips straight through the hole and goes under in a fraction of a second. The idea that you could be standing right there, feeling completely secure because you bought a safety device, only for it to silently fail, is enough to put me off swimming entirely.

The wet chaotic reality of bath time

So, what do we do instead? We do exactly what parents have done for thousands of years, which involves getting very wet, sustaining minor back injuries, and accepting that bath time is a contact sport.

The absolute safest way to introduce the girls to the water is just to hold them. Skin-to-skin contact in shallow water supports their flimsy little spines and means if they slip, your reflexes kick in immediately. Yes, they're as slippery as buttered eels when wet. Yes, they'll probably try to launch themselves backward out of your arms. But holding them against your chest in a few inches of warm water is the only way to guarantee they're safe.

For the proper baths, we ended up ditching the fancy floaty things and just using one of those rigid plastic infant tubs that sits inside the main bath. It looks a bit like a tiny reclining deck chair. It holds their heads up securely, and crucially, it allows me to wash one twin while maintaining a firm grip on the other without anyone's airway being compromised by a plastic ring.

Have a look at our collection of organic baby essentials for the bits you actually need when they get out of the tub.

Clothes that don't induce a parental breakdown

The real challenge, as you'll soon discover, isn't the water itself—it's the frantic three minutes immediately after you pull them out. They're cold, they're deeply offended by the sudden change in temperature, and the screaming hits a pitch that I'm fairly certain shatters glass.

This is where you need to be strategic about what you dress them in. My absolute favourite thing to shove them into when they're damp and furious is the Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit Sleeveless Infant Onesie. It's a genuine lifesaver (if you can call a piece of clothing that, though at 7pm I absolutely do). The organic cotton is incredibly soft, which is brilliant because their skin seems to flare up with red blotches if they so much as look at a synthetic fibre. But the real genius is the envelope shoulders. When you've a squirming, damp toddler performing a flawless crocodile death-roll on the changing mat, you don't have time to negotiate a tight collar. This bodysuit stretches right over their massive heads without trapping their ears, and you can snap the bottom shut before they've a chance to escape.

On the other hand, we also have the Organic Baby Romper Long Sleeve Henley Winter Bodysuit. It's... fine. Don't get me wrong, the fabric is lovely and it definitely keeps them warm when our Victorian windows let the autumn draft in. But trying to fasten three tiny, fiddly Henley buttons at the neckline while the baby is actively trying to buck you off the changing table requires a level of fine motor skill I simply haven't possessed since my journalism days. I usually just leave the top button undone and tell my wife it's a stylistic choice.

How to handle the local leisure centre

When you eventually muster the courage to take them to the actual swimming pool, you'll see other parents using neck floats and water wings. You will feel a brief pang of jealousy as they stand on the edge drinking a coffee while their child bobs around.

Don't cave. That false sense of security is exactly what makes those products so lethal. You think you can just step back and grab a towel, but water emergencies with infants happen silently and instantly. If you could just manage to chuck any thought of buying a plastic ring in the bin and accept that your pool trips will entirely consist of standing waist-deep in tepid water holding a child against your chest until your arms go numb, you'll be a much safer parent.

When they're a bit older, maybe eight or nine months, you can look into proper, approved life jackets if you're taking them on a boat, but for now, your arms are the only flotation device they need. It's exhausting, your back will ache, and you'll smell permanently of chlorine and Calpol, but it's the only way.

Hang in there, mate. Get some sleep. And step away from the Apple Pay.

Explore our full range of safe, organic baby clothing to make those post-bath moments a little less chaotic.

The messy reality of water safety

Are infant neck floats ever seriously safe to use?

Honestly, not unless your idea of safety involves constant, low-level panic. Even if you're staring right at them, the pressure it puts on their tiny neck bones just isn't worth the Instagram photo. Dr Patel essentially told me to throw the idea in the bin, and the major safety boards agree. Just hold them.

How should I introduce the twins to the pool without floats?

One at a time, mate. Don't try to be a hero and take both into the water yourself unless you've an extra pair of arms hidden under your t-shirt. My wife and I take one each, hold them securely against our chests so they feel our body heat, and just gently bounce in the shallow end. They will likely hate it for the first ten minutes anyway.

Can I just watch them really closely while they use a neck ring?

I asked this exact question and was told in no uncertain terms that watching a baby closely while they use a dangerous product doesn't magically make the product safe. If the seam bursts, they sink before you can blink. Plus, you're still hanging their entire body weight from their chin, which staring at them won't fix.

What's the best thing to dress them in after swimming?

You want the path of least resistance. Anything with too many buttons or a tight neck is going to result in a meltdown. I always pack our sleeveless organic cotton bodysuits because they stretch easily over damp skin, and the fabric doesn't irritate them when they inevitably get a bit of pool rash. Throw a warm blanket over the top and run for the car.

Is it normal for babies to hate the bath at first?

Ours screamed as if I was dipping them in acid for the first three months. It's completely normal. They're cold, naked, and confused. Keeping the room ridiculously warm and placing a warm, wet muslin cloth over their tummy while they're in the water seemed to stop the worst of the tears for us.