Bath time has become quite the event, chez sueeeus. We have a giant tub that has, until now, had very little use. I’m just not a soaker, much as the idea of candlelit baths with wine, roses, and soft music sounds appealing. I’m far too functional. Even if I try to soak, I invariably end up washing, and once washed there seems little point of remaining, so I get out, shower (one must rinse the residue, after all), and that’s that. So. Not much of a bather. But Harry, on the other hand, has quite taken to it. Boats, frogs, cups, bubbles. What could be better?
Another nice thing about having a palatial bathroom is that I can drag a body pillow in, lie down and rest while he’s playing bathing. Because these days? I’m tired. T.I.R.E.D. All.The.Time. Attributed to high progesterone, for which I am grateful, because it means that the pregnancy is progressing well.
Harry demonstrates the versatility of homespun bath goodness.
