Saturday, September 9, 2006

Bath Time

There was a time when I wanted, desperately, to be a star. Christmas was my favorite time of year followed closely by the Oscars. And when it came time, again, for award shows, the red carpet was my favorite time of day. I watched the ceremonies with a certain degree of envy and a certain degree of dillusions big enough to believe that maybe one day it would be me. I'd be the one in Vera Wang and flawless make-up with her hair all done up. I'd flash a smile and gaze at the camera with these eyes that I've decided are famously brown and altogether mysterious. Maybe I still watch them with some of those grandiose dreams.

But my favorite time of day is bath time. It only takes a few minutes because he's still so small, but it's the best time. There's kicking and grinning and soaping and splashing. Because at seven weeks he already knows what every baby learns, bath time is magical. It's when I sit with him, giving him my complete and undivided attention. Undistracted by anything because if I get distracted, he drowns. And, that's, quite frankly, not an option. So I sit with him. And Pooh, Tigger and Eeyore, his bath time friends, come out to play. Together we sing him the ABC's and Tigger gets stuck on "T" because he's altogether too excited to finish. It's always the same old thing with Tigger. "Q, R, S, T...hmmm, T stands for Tigger. That's me. The wonderful thing about Tigger's is Tigger's are wonderful things..." Eeyore gets mad and starts complaining and Pooh tries to keep the peace. And if it wasn't for Pooh and Eeyore we'd never get to Z. But thankfully, we eventually do. And the four of us ask Garrett if next time he'll sing with us. Garrett opens his eyes wide and looks at us like we're nuts. For the most part we are. But still, despite having a crazy mother, he gets clean. I lift him out and snuggle him tight in his towel. And his mostly-bald head smells like Johnson & Johnson's and I take notice and sniff. Because when he's 16 he won't smell like that and he probably won't like it if I sniff his head.

Somewhere behind these eyes is a glimpse of what fame might look like, but I am not famous. It doesn't matter. It doesn't make one bit of difference. Because I have bath time.

No comments:

Post a Comment