Past Due

Dad gives us our bath. As with everything, we have a rhythm, a schedule, a way of doing things. I guess that is why they hadn’t really given up the baby towels yet. That, or it is just off mom’s radar and dad is very good at making do. But there is a rhythm. Dad gives us our bath and towels us off, quickly puts on a clean diaper if we don’t escape him (the carpet must last at least a little longer), and we’re off. The baby towels have a little nook that goes on our heads. As the towel hangs down like a cape, we escape the bathroom and run. We run and laugh and scream with our baby towels flowing behind like a super hero’s cape.Problem is, we’re getting bigger. Much bigger. And then mom gave us our baths on Saturday. As we wriggled through the toweling off (part of the rhythm), she started grumbling about using a washcloth to dry us off. We don’t even know what a washcloth is; dad doesn’t like to bother with them. (And, shhh, he really just uses soap as shampoo as well.) “These don’t even make it to your butt anymore!” she exclaimed.We guess it’s just part of growing up, but Tuesday night we no longer had the baby towels. The bath time rhythm isn’t nearly as heroic feeling, but it sure is much softer and warmer now.