When your daily activities are in concert with your highest priorities, you have a credible claim to inner peace. – Hyrum Smith


Slippery little devil

I gave Caleb a bath today.  Not an unusual occurrence.  In fact, quite the opposite.  I can't tell you how many baths I have given little babies over the last 7 years.  Too many to count!

I sat perched on the edge of the toilet, Caleb on my lap, and turned on the bath water.  As the tub filled, I slipped his onesie over his head and his diaper off his bottom.  Plop, into his bath seat he went.  A quick scrub, some shampoo, rinse, conditioner, and out again.  As I toweled him off in my lap, I shook my head at the ease of it all.  Second nature.

Then tears sprung to my eyes.  Because it won't be second nature for long.  I can handle slippery little babies with ease, but this is a skill based upon repetition.  My confidence is a direct result of experience, and lots of it.  But I doubt it's like riding a bike.  I may not forget how to bathe an infant, but I will never be as adept at it as I am now.  And this makes me incredibly sad.

I remembered how very nervous I was to give Parker his first bath.  It was torture trying to get him out of his little gown.  I agonized over the water temperature and was certain he would catch a cold because I couldn't dry him quickly enough.  I remember humbly accepting grandparents' help.  Even then I hovered...What if he slipped from their grip?  What if soap got in his eyes?  Did they really remember how to do this?

I snapped back into the moment.  A darling, slippery little devil bouncing on my knee.  And I realized that this routine I had repeated oh so many times, was not as mundane as it had seemed yesterday.  It was in fact, fleeting…precious.

Swallowing hard, I let the water out of the tub.  I nuzzled Caleb's neck, as only his momma can, and dried his cotton candy hair.  I thanked God for the moment, reserved only for parent and child.  For a momma and her last baby.

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