Being Watson

Only yesterday, I would pile 4 little boys into the bath tub. One in a chair with sticky feet to prevent him from toppling over into the sudsy water. One by one, I would wet their small heads of hair, then follow with a fragrant dollop of soap that was guaranteed to not cause them pain. After washing each head of hair, I would encourage them to stand and wash their bellies, their arms, and their feet. Hoping that one day, they would become responsible for these tasks, and that I would be free of the lingering backache that came with washing so many children at once. The bath time ritual was never complete without the rinse. The spray of water from the removable shower attachment, eliciting screams of anger, pain, and from the sounds - eminent death. Then on to the toweling dry, the gritting of my teeth in hopes that I could get them dressed, teeth brushed and flossed, and into bed without losing my mind, my sanity, or my temper.
And today, I washed only 3 boys in the tub. One has fled to modestly shower in the bathroom down the hall. And none sit in the chair with sticky feet. I begin to see that my future is changing. Possibly more quickly than I will be ready to let it go. What ever will I do when there is no one left for me to bathe in the tub. No reason to use tear free shampoo? No little people to wrap in a towel and hug until they begin to squrim?
Today, I will be grateful for those 3 heads of hair. For all of those fingers and toes. For the dirty ring around the tub after the water drains down - signifying the wonderful day spent playing outside.
Today, I will enjoy bathing those little boys.