Reflections from Bath Time

The other day, after Peter's bath, I wrapped him up in his Elmo towel and carried him out to visit with Charles and Clare.

Unrelated. Already on Instagram and FB.

There is nothing I love more than snuggling my freshly bathed and not-yet-pajama'd babies. I had never quite put my finger on why. It isn't the lingering smell of Aveeno, though that's not bad. It could be simple pleasure in knowing that I wasn't likely to be smeared in jelly or sweet potatoes. But for the first time, it really dawned on me. Holding my wet, squirmy babies takes me back in some small way, to the moment when they were each placed on my chest, wet, squirmy and freshly born. There is something primal and beautiful there. Something sweet and special and sacred.

I was standing there, basking in the joy of my not-so-tiny, clean and squirmy baby, when Clare came over to tickle his feet. There were my babies, playing together, laughing. Charles was there, and we were grinning stupidly at each other, overjoyed by the moment of affection. I knew I had the most beautiful family. I knew that I was blessed.