What Nobody Tells You About Baby Helmets
Before I had twins, I’d seen babies wearing helmets on occasion, usually at a restaurant, living their best lives. Maybe the baby was learning to walk? Maybe it was a sensory thing? I truly had no idea. I wasn’t going to ask the parents and I never thought to Google it.
I didn’t know they were cranial remolding devices managed with precision medical supervision. I didn’t know living with helmets was hard or that I would feel badly for putting them on my babies. I didn’t know how miraculous the outcome would be if I followed the protocol.
And then I had Oak and Ash. Suddenly, I had to learn it all to get us through months of OT, laser scans, adjustments, eczema flare‑ups, and the emotional roller coaster of tracking your baby’s head changing shape.
This is our story, in case you’re a parent standing where I once stood: confused, overwhelmed, Googling at 2am, and wondering if your baby really needs a helmet or if you’re overreacting.
You’re not overreacting. And you’re not alone.
The NICU, the Diagnoses, and the Referrals
My boys were typical small but determined preemies in the NICU. When their doctors finally started discussing discharge, Easter Seals was looped in. (Side note: Easter Seals is incredible. They had already provided speech services for Lily, so I knew how supportive and proactive they were. In our state, all NICU babies automatically get Easter Seals evaluations post‑discharge. I didn’t know this beforehand but was so grateful for it.)
Both boys left the NICU with torticollis, which is when a baby’s neck muscles are tight or shortened, causing their head to tilt or turn to one side. Because of the torticollis, both boys preferred to turn their heads left.
Having said that, Ash would let me gently reposition him sometimes. His neck wasn’t quite as tight and he tolerated stretching.
But Oak was just stuck left. I could not turn his head to the right. Not during sleep, not during play, not during tummy time. His neck was so tight that his whole body resisted. At their 4-month well visit, I asked the pediatrician for a referral for cranial remolding. She referred both boys to be safe, although at the time I didn’t think Ash needed one. I took him anyway.
But for Oak, the changes were already visible. All that left‑side pressure caused plagiocephaly, which is the medical term for a flattened or asymmetrical head shape. One cheek stuck out farther than the other. It stuck out almost as far as his nose. His ears were asymmetrical. His whole face and head were shifting. I was terrified for him.
Occupational Therapy x2
The Easter Seals evaluated the boys at around 2 months of age and began occupational therapy. Their OT came weekly, and I had to be there for every single session. Not just to watch, but to learn, because I was assigned homework.
I learned:
the extra emphasis on tummy time for strengthening their necks
how to reposition them during sleep
how to carry them in a way that encouraged turning right
how to play in ways that strengthened the weaker side
Oak continued with OT support for a full year. Ash graduated first, around 10 months. I was amazed and so proud at their 1 year evaluations that neither qualified for any further services.
Getting Helmets
But even with all the stretching and positioning, Oak’s head shape continued to worsen. Ash’s was still not noticeable to me. I genuinely didn’t think he would get a helmet. But at the initial visit, the helmet specialist told me something I’ll never forget: “Every mother of twins says that. You’re comparing the ‘better’ twin to the ‘worse’ twin. But both need treatment.”
Ash ended up needing a helmet for less than 90 days. His head needed mild correction.
Oak’s treatment took more than 5 months. And not just one helmet, but two. At some point, the foam inside Oak’s helmet had been shaved down so many times to reshape his skull that there was no foam left to work with. He had actually come so far the helmet couldn’t be further adjusted. The helmet specialist ordered a second one to complete the last 6 weeks or so of treatment. Thankfully, all 3 helmets were covered by our insurance. A small blessing.
Every two weeks, Grandpa and I would load the boys into the car and drive to the helmet specialist. They’d get laser‑measured in a machine that reminded me a bit of taking an x-ray. The specialist would carve the helmets based on a computer model of their skulls. Once a month, we would review their progress.
And also one of the hardest seasons of my motherhood.
I had selected a different helmet for each boy because I didn’t want to confuse the helmets. Oak had dinosaurs. Ash had kitty cats. My mom made name labels with her label maker and stuck them on the helmets so everyone had a cheat code of who was who. It was sweet. It was practical. It was one of those tiny gestures that made the whole thing feel a little more manageable.
The Reality of the Helmets
People would tell me the helmets were cute. I would smile politely, but inside I disagreed with every fiber of my being.
I hated the helmets and I hated how much hidden effort they required. Normal shirts didn’t fit over the helmets. It was summer when we started and very hot so I hated making them wear them. In fact, I was given instructions about setting the ambient temperature our house to avoid overheating the babies.
The helmets flared their eczema and made them sweat. Their little cheeks turned bright red. I hated how heavy and burdensome the helmets seemed to me.
And there was only one hour each day they could be without their helmets. During that hour, I had to wash at least the baby’s head (or better, do their whole bath), disinfect the helmet with rubbing alcohol, let both dry completely, and put the helmet back on. And I had to do it twice because each baby needed it every day. It was relentless.
Every month when I took their milestone photos I had to remove the helmets, give a bath, dress them in their matching outfits and take the pictures in less than an hour. In most of the pictures from that era, you can see a red spot on each forehead where the helmet was reshaping their heads. I tried to take as many pictures as I could while the helmets were off, because I hated to see them like that in every single picture.
Lily, who was 2 ½ at that point, would occasionally grab a drying helmet and place it on her prized possession, a stuffed bunny. The pictures still make me smile.
The Supplies That Saved Me
If you’re in the thick of helmet life, here are the things that made it survivable:
1. Booster Seat
You need the baby upright and still while you remove or replace the helmet. When you’re doing it alone, this seat is a lifesaver. It was even easier than having another person assist by holding the baby for me. Even the helmet specialist had a Bumbo seat in his office to use during fittings. These are the ones I used, and they live on today as high chairs at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
I didn’t even know these existed until helmet life. They made disinfecting so much faster and easier.
3. Timer
Because you will forget when the hour is up. And the guilt of realizing you went over time is real, even though you’re doing your best. I used Alexa.
Not required, but helpful if your baby has eczema or sensitive skin. Both of my babies, but moreso Ash, would break out on both cheeks and this cream calmed down the flares.
The Emotional Side No One Talks About
I lost a lot of sleep worrying about Oak.
His head shape was getting so severe that he was becoming deformed. I don’t say that lightly. I say it because it was true, and it terrified me.
I worried:
Would the helmet help enough?
Would he always look asymmetrical?
Would kids tease him?
Would his face shift permanently?
Would he grow up self‑conscious?
I worried and worried and worried. Then I finally started to see progress.
The Turning Point
Around the 3‑month mark, I started noticing changes in Oak’s head shape. Subtle at first. Then more obvious. His forehead evened out. His ear alignment improved. The back of his head rounded. His left cheek receded.
By that point, Ash had graduated from his helmet. (They even got graduation certificates, which I have tucked away for both of them.) Today you’d never know he ever needed one.
Oak? He is the slightest bit asymmetrical, but only if you know exactly what to look for. One cheek is still slightly rounder than the other. But compared to where he started, it’s miraculous.
And the helmet specialist reassured me: “He will continue to become more symmetrical as he grows.” And he has.
For Parents Going Through Cranial Remolding Right Now
The cranial remolding process will feel: Hard. Exhausting. Emotional. Relentless.
You will have to bring the seat, wipes, timer, and eczema cream any time you travel in addition to all the usual baby accoutrements. And you will have to deal with strangers telling you how cute your baby looks. You will chauffeur them to frequent appointments for measurements and adjustments. You will dress your baby only in tulip shoulder onesies that you will put on feet first to avoid the helmet. You will fit the helmet break around naps with NASA precision.
The boys took to it better than I did. They played and bumped helmets. I thought they would react like their lives had been significantly altered, but you know what? They didn’t. Helmets did not slow these boys down for one second. Strangers in restaurants told me how cute they were. Bunny got to try on a helmet from time to time.
You’re doing something incredible for your child that will benefit them for the rest of their life. Even if you can’t see it now, you’re doing a good job. And it is worth it in the end. And one day, you’ll look back and realize how far you’ve all come.
And if you’re like me, with the benefit of hindsight, you’ll look back at pictures of your babies wearing their labeled dino and kitty helmets and see how incredibly adorable they actually were.