When Collin was three, I was asked to babysit for the evening.  Usually he would have been fed and bathed before I arrived, but not this time.  When it got close to his bedtime, I decided to bathe him.  Now it must be said Ihadn’t bathed a squirmy toddler in decades, let alone a little boy child, and my bones were hurting from our rambunctios play time.

I was trying to keep an eye on Collin and draw a bath at the same time.  When there was a few inches in the tub, I undressed him and put him in the water, which was cooler than I intended.  He wasn’t at all happy, I wasn’t making much of a headway with the whole ritual and none too happy either.

When I finally got him wrapped up in a towel and dried his tears, he declared, “Nana doesn’t give great baths!”   When parental units arrived, he announced to them, “Nana doesn’t give great baths!”   For the next year, whenever I babysat, I would ask him if he needed a bath and his answer was always, “No, Nana, you don’t give great baths!”   He wasn’t shy about sharing it with family friends and probably would have with strangers given the chance.  Nana gave up on the bathing duty!