Bath time

Tonight was bath night at the zoo. The two older kids have long outgrown the take-a-bath-with-a-sibling phase of their lives. While they were busy taking their own showers, I got to give the little guy a bath.

The ritual began with his frantic search for his froggy goggles. Then we picked out an appropriate towel - it had to be a solid color. He selected his pyjamas - blue one-piece jams that turn him into blueberry boy - and chose his bedtime music. After twenty minutes of meticulous preparation, he was ready to get into the bathtub.

But not to bathe. First he had to play for a few minutes. I figured a slightly later bedtime was worth it, so simply watched from the sidelines as he explored the tub and took himself on a pirate's adventure with the Tupperware bowl I had left on the side.

Eventually, I suggested we get washing before he turned into a prune. He reluctantly agreed, then helped me make his hair shmushy with his shampoo. He's getting more ticklish these days - he is his mother's son, after all - so I let him do his neck on his own, too. I admit I enjoyed trying to clean there, because his giggles were priceless.

After what seemed like nowhere near enough time, it was time for him to get out. I wrapped his wiggling, shivering form in his too-large, solid-color towel and sent him on his way to finish drying off.

It wasn't an overtly memorable event in his life. He's had plenty of baths thus far, and he'll obviously have many more. But as a vignette, a slice, I wanted to remember what it felt like to spend those few minutes with a little guy who so very much loves being a little guy.

Maybe those small moments are worth writing about after all.