I have mighty revelations in the shower.
But there's nothing much to do in their but think.
Because my hands and arms know the routine. They've been doing it for decades. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Position leg. Shave. Repeat.
And so I think.
What should come to me the other night in the shower but a simple math equation.
My six-year-old is one third of way raised.
Oh sure, I know that I'll never stop being his mom and he'll always be my baby but in two thirds time he won't have (and I use have here as though I'm fooling myself into thinking I have some major influence over that independent child) to listen to me or take my advice. In two thirds time he'll be a man.