Tonight I bathed Tové for the first time in her eight-month existence.
It went pretty ok. It was a straightforward process. Nothing went wrong. But I never want to do it again.
You see up until tonight bath time was Daddy’s thing. But, he wanted to make stew tonight since the Great Arctic Freeze is upon Chicago. So we switched roles – he’s cooking and I gave baths.
Bathing the girls made me realize how much I love the roles we’ve carved out for ourselves. My responsibilities around the house are things that either I generally enjoy or come natural for me. I don’t dislike giving the girls a bath, but it’s awkward for me. I haven’t regularly bathed* another little person since my sister was Tempess’ age. That was 11 years ago.
Then there was the absence of laughter that usually fills the house during bath time. No, it wasn’t replaced with screams or cries, but there were no squeals of joy either. I felt like I was encroaching upon Todd’s territory where I was not invited. The whole experience just was not natural.
So I will gladly take my nursing, cooking, singing and rocking to sleep duties. Daddy can have bath time.
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