When I was a little girl, I constantly played mommy. I took my babies with me everywhere. I dutifully changed their diapers, fed them bottles, changed their clothes no less than sixteen times an hour, and gave them baths.
I was a little mama who loved giving her babies a bath, it was my favorite part of being a mommy. For my fifth birthday, I was gifted Cabbage Patch Kid doll that was made for the bath. That doll was scrubbed so hard the paint came off of it’s eyes. Getting it made my LIFE and to this day still remains on my top ten gift list.
When my first born came, I thought that I would adore giving him a bath as much as I did my childhood dolls. While I was pregnant I dreamed about watching him learn how to splash in the tub, soaping up his hair, and wrapping him up in a towel.
We gave him his first bath in a sweet fish shaped bath tub on our kitchen table. He hated it. And so did I.
One of the things I love the most about blogging is when a friend asks me to share my story on their blog. Today, I’m over at Raising Humans talking about baths, motherhood, and grief. Click here to continue reading this story.