Bath Time

Dear Emerson,
There once was a time,
when you were young,
when bath time approached
tantrums begun.
Wriggling your little naked bum
wailing hysterics have begun
“warm water will soothe,”
they all would say-
but we decided you’d hate us if we bathed you every day.
Sponge baths it was
and quick little wipes,
a hair wash or two
and all was alright.
But soon you started drooling,
and dribbling milk some more,
and that funky smell exuding from your neck
was one we could no longer ignore.
Attempt two at baths had commenced
and suddenly the water you did not resent–
however;
the towel, lotion and clothes were to blame
for the newest decibels of your screaming game!
No matter how quick, no matter how warm
you hated the lotion and screamed up a storm.
It was the opposite to the definition of fun
but to ward off dry skin it had to be done.
We spaced out the trauma with days in between
as you collected gunk and funk, and saved up your screams.
Then, one day when I had a picc in my arm
I took you to the sink, and there was no alarm
there was no screaming, just a stern look about
as you splashed away, happy as a trout.
You played with some toys and tried to steal the wash cup
but you to the sink was like a lake to a pup.
You were able to sit, which was quite an improvement
I’m able to stand so it allows you more movement.
A couple weeks in and you’re still having a blast
and all those screams are a thing of the past.
Now you have coo’s and squeals of delight
when we lotion you up and dress you for the night…
a nice warm sink was all that you needed
a huge tub and cushion limited your freedom.
With our mystery solved we end our rhyme
and hope that you continue to love bathtime.

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