The Rider Chronicles 13 – Grandma, Grandpa, and the Little Pink Frog

For whatever reason, perhaps because plenty of willing hands are always available to perform the office, or because the hands typing these words have had their fill of it, helping raise three children as they did, I have never really changed Rider’s diaper.  Perhaps I took care of an early, benign, safe, slightly wet one some time ago, but certainly no more than that.  I am fully prepared to accept posterity’s censure, its criticism of me for this.  I don’t care.  I get excellent, quality Rider time without it.  A few times I’ve stood by Rider’s Grandmother as she did it, but I even avoid that.  Bad Grandpa!

But for bath prep, I was willing to strip the baby down while my wife filled the tub up.  I enjoyed disrobing duty because little Rider, though tired, was still happy and playful, observing everything around him, smiling on cue, lighting up whatever room he’s in.  Like a spring-loaded reflex, as soon as his back hits the changing table and his pants come off, his foot takes its place in his mouth.  Ah, yes, that’s what yoga’s Happy Baby pose is all about.  Was I ever even half this flexible, even at six months?  I wrapped him in a towel and carried this happy pink grandson of mine to the little, white, plastic pond for what must be one of his favorite play times of the day.

This child loves water.  From a cup, slowly pour a stream of water next to him and he stops splashing, stops playing, stops looking at whatever lesser object had caught his eye, and focuses intently on the water, reaching for it with both hands.  He wants nothing more at the moment than to stop the flow and hold the little cascade next to him.  Or maybe he just loves the feel of the warm bathwater pouring on his hands and running down his arms.  Perhaps he should have been named Swimmer.  We were delighted to watch him and couldn’t help smiling, almost breaking out laughing, his joy in the moment was so obvious, so infectious.  It was truly and purely fun to watch this pale little frog of a boy enjoy something so much.

Sadly, time’s march gradually cooled the water and grandma said that we had better wash and get him out of the tub.  I’m sure he would have been happy to stay there, all tiredness forgotten, for a lot longer, but we didn’t want him getting chilled.  With expert hands that had not forgotten their craft, she washed him quickly, efficiently, then asked me to hold the towel so she could place Rider in it, so I could carry the very wet child back to the changing table to dry and clothe him which I did, slipping his night wear on his dry, squirmy body.  Out of the water and into clothes once again, he remembered he was tired, so began to sweetly but unmistakeably call out for the comfort of his mother who put my little aquanaut to bed.

About literarylee

I sling words for a living. Always have, always will. Some have been interesting and fun; most not. These days, I write the fun words early in the morning before the adults are up and make me eat my Cream of Wheat.
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