Towel Hug

Most nights, Sam’s bath time is my responsibility. These days there isn’t much to it unless, horrors, it’s hair wash day, but I like the routine of it all. Corralling a spirited (though never bucking) bronco away from his toys and into the bathroom stall. Striking the right balance between the gentle offers to help free him from the grip of a tight pullover and the show of respect for what this big boy can do all by himself. Then, advising that he test the temperature of the soapy water before plunging in. Finally, turning the face of my Dove soap container towards the corner wall because its icon of blueish water circling a drain looks to Sam like the baleful stare of an evil eye. The nights I forget that last step, Sam calls me back in reproach: shrunk tightly against the opposite corner of the tub with a deep frown – “You forgot that I don’t like the drain eye.”

But my favourite part is the end of the bath. Sam calls me back from some household chore or another with the never-changing announcement: “I’m ready to get out of the tuh-UB.” He then pops the plug himself (these days with his toes), my cue for a prompt return to lather and rinse him in the disappearing water. From what I can tell, Sam doesn’t use his bath time to bathe, per se. The tub is really just a wet change of scenery for his continuing game of good guys versus bad guys.

Once the tub has emptied, I gather Sam into a large towel and pull him onto my lap for “towel hug – the best hug of the day.” For a minute or two, he presses his small swaddled body against me and holds his soft damp cheek against mine – sometimes quietly, sometimes humming a satisfied “mmmmm,” and sometimes murmuring about how great our towel hug is. For these minutes, Sam is still the littlest of little boys, still my sweet-smelling warm baby who lies limp with fatigue in my arms as he always has. This ritual marks the end of every single Sam bath in my memory.

And then last week, Sam proclaimed that some of his bath nights wouldn’t be towel hug nights anymore. That some of them would end with him drying for his pj’s and cutting straight to milk & story time. I must have looked stricken, because he half-snatched back the declaration in appeasement, explaining “But not yet! Not this night. This night is a towel hug night.” I quickly composed myself and said it was always up to him which nights had towel hugs in them and which ones didn’t. Time to grant him his non-baby status.

So, it’s coming. Soon the treasured towel hug will be a fond memory. And soon after that, Sam’s bath time won’t include mommy at all. And so I took a picture. Sam’s smile is as winning as ever, but if you look closely you’ll see that mommy’s smile conveys the bittersweet knowledge that this is a limited edition moment. Perhaps 1043/1200. I’ve loved them all.