To my child.
This week, I showered you while watching you play with your shower toys. As usual, you refused to cooperate, insisting on filling the tiny stacking cups with water before wasting copious amounts of shampoo into the cup to create bubbles. As you dipped your tiny fingers in to smear the bubbly foam all over the bathroom walls to create your latest soapy murals in glee, I rinsed off the shampoo on your head. You held your breath and closed your eyes, as would anyone else when soapy water flowed down their face.
Then I realised.
You used to loudly protest getting your face wet, punching and screaming to get away from the shower head. Instead, you stood still, already used to the routine. Water no longer scares you.
Then I noticed.
You can wash your face yourself now. With both hands cupped into a bowl, you asked me to fill them with water before scrubbing your face clean. You turned to me and smiled before going back to playing with the toy cups.
Then I became aware.
I no longer have to bend down to rinse your body clean. The back strain, it’s gone.
And I am ever so proud of you.