There is an awful smell behind the baby’s ears. It is a sharp mix of yoghurt and armpits, the kind of smell that is so bad that you can’t help smelling it, coming back time and again for another whiff, as if to confirm that, yes, it really is that bad.
As a result we have stepped up bath time to two nights a week. It seems to be about time. The baby seems to be more inclined to tolerate the bath now; she looks up at me with wide, worried eyes and doesn’t start shrieking as long as she can brace her feet against the bottom with her arms clutching wildly at the sides. That is until she gets her face wet, so we have to wash that last. Then her composure crumbles.
She has a flannel duck to try to inject some fun into bath time. When you squeeze it’s belly it goes QUACK-QUACK-QUACK, QUACK. I’m not sure she isn’t a bit scared of it. Nobody expects that fourth quack.
As a result we have stepped up bath time to two nights a week. It seems to be about time. The baby seems to be more inclined to tolerate the bath now; she looks up at me with wide, worried eyes and doesn’t start shrieking as long as she can brace her feet against the bottom with her arms clutching wildly at the sides. That is until she gets her face wet, so we have to wash that last. Then her composure crumbles.
She has a flannel duck to try to inject some fun into bath time. When you squeeze it’s belly it goes QUACK-QUACK-QUACK, QUACK. I’m not sure she isn’t a bit scared of it. Nobody expects that fourth quack.
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