Baby Soap

I am amazed at the way the smell of baby soap captures everything sweet about children. The softness of their skin, the silky curls in their hair, their cuddlyness. Snuggling with a freshly washed child is a balm for tired Mommy. It almost, almost makes me forget that not five minutes ago I resembled Linda Blair in the excorcist as I begged, pleaded and demanded that the over-exuberant splashing come to a halt. Then threatened. And was ignored. Then raised my voice. And was ignored. Then started turning red. And was ignored. Then came close to having my head spin about my shoulders. And was given the: "What? I'm not splashing. I'm making waves" line. My kids have all the loopholes figured out. I'm not jumping, I'm hopping.

Abby likes to hang from the safety bar in the shower while yelling at the top of her lungs: "Help! Help! There are Caimans in the water! You've got to SAVE ME! Whew. Thanks Mom!" And then repeat. (Thanks Diego and Dora). J.T. would just soak forever. No amount of soaking time prevents this phrase from popping out of his mouth: "But Mom, I'm not ready to bathe! Just five more minutes?"

But then they are all warm and snuggly and sleepy and I just love them. Dressed in their little PJs and ready for a cuddle.

Me: When they're like this, it makes you want a million, doesn't it?
Rob: No.
Me: But they're so sweet and innocent. (as I bury my face in their freshly washed hair)
Rob: Must be the soap.