Heather in January
As part of his fatherly duties, Eric is in charge of Heather's evening bath. He assembles the blue plastic baby bath (which Heather is precariously close to being able to twist her way out of at this point, but I'm not saying anything because bath time is Eric's deal, and I want to leave it that way), places it in the kitchen sink, and fills it with warm soapy water. I've been naked-izing Heather in the front room during this time, and as it turns out, she is usually ready at almost exactly the same time as her little hot tub. So, I bring her into the kitchen, and she and daddy have a great time splashing and playing and making a little bit of a mess.
Then Eric calls me and I come, towel in hand, to pick up the little princess. We wrap her up, and then it is up to me to dry, lotion, and dress her for bed. Before I start that process though, Heather and I nearly always poke our heads into the downstairs bathroom, so I can feast my eyes on the reflection of my little towel-wrapped girl.
Surprisingly (to me) there are very few things that bring me as much joy as seeing my squeaky-clean baby all wrapped up in a nice clean towel.
It's like a little terry-cloth present, every other night.
What's not to like about that?