They are my water babies.
On days where nothing is going right, when they are irritable and fretful and so are we, this is our retreat. It’s a prescription that’s guaranteed to work: a tub full of warm water and sloshings of baby bubble bath, plenty of splashing. Nobody comes out until everybody is laughing.
There is something so delicious about them in the bath. Perhaps it’s the vulnerability that appeals to my ‘mama senses’, the slipperiness of their little bodies and the way that they cling. Perhaps it’s just the act of holding them so tightly, skin to skin and heart to heart. Perhaps it’s the smell, that baby-shampoo scent that takes me back to my own childhood.
The softness of them, all curved thighs and wrinkled bellies and dimpled bums. How readily they trust. How easily they allow us to submerge them under the water until only their little faces peer out, smiling. The sound of their laughter, high-pitched as bells.
These are the moments that I want to remember. These are the memories that I want to bottle and carry with me into old age.