dive into mark

I put a towel on my lap, and you raise your hands towards me to be picked up. I open the drain and we listen to the water whooshwoosh gurglegurgle. I pick you up and put you on my lap, knees bent, facing me. I take a second towel and wrap it around you tightly. You lean forward and put your head on my chest and sigh quietly. I pull you close and hug you and rub your back and we listen to the whooshwoosh gurglegurgle until it’s all gone. You say “All gone!” And I say “Bath all gone.” And you say “Bath all gone.”

“All gone” is one word to you. You elide the “L” and it comes out as “ahgone.” Lots of things go ahgone. Chips go ahgone. Juice goes ahgone. Bath goes ahgone.

I unwrap the towel slightly and rub you down, first your back, then your arms, then your chest, then your legs, then your feet. You say “Oh, feet!” And I say “Feeeeet.” And you say “Feeeeeet.” Feet are always funny. Then you lean back onto my chest and steal a few more moments of warmth.

I ask, “Brush teeth?” And you say “Brush. Teeth.” I lean over to the sink and find your toothbrush and toothpaste. I say “Paste.” And you say “Paaaaste.” Toothpaste is always funny. I say “Brush brush brush,” and motion with my hand like I’m brushing. Sometimes you ask, “Dada brush?” and I take my own toothbrush and paste and brush my teeth along with you. You say “All done” but it comes out as “ahdone.” Lots of things are ahdone. Dinner is ahdone. Blue’s Clues is ahdone. Brush is ahdone.

You reach over to the faucet and turn on the water and rinse your toothbrush and put it back in its cup. I ask “Jammies?” and without a word you climb down off my lap and run naked out the door, down the hall, and into the future.