My Little Manipulator

Camille does not really like baths. She used to like them. She played with toys in the water. She splashed everything she could and soaked me all the time. She was fascinated by the water coming out of the faucet and would practically sit under it. I don’t remember when exactly this changed, but now sometimes she refuses to sit down. She won’t play with anything. She’ll stand with her arms clenched to her sides and whimper or cry the whole time. Other times she’ll play for a bit, but then decide she’s done and try to climb out of the tub when she’s had enough.

The worst part is when we wash her hair. I think she may have realized she doesn’t like water in her face or her eyes or something. We’re working on trying to help her through this, and it has gotten a lot better with the use of washcloths on her forehead and telling her to ‘look up,’ but it still can be a battle with her. I’d love for her to actually enjoy baths, though, to take her time and play and experiment with stuff in the water.

Sunday mornings before church is usually the key bath time. As the weekend mornings go, we bring her into bed with us when we all wake up - to play and lounge and hang out for a bit before we all get moving. It’s some of her silliest and cutest moments, and it’s become a weekly routine that I cherish. A few months ago during this time, Michael tells her she’s needs a bath. The conversation went like this:

Michael: We’ve gotta get you a bath, Little Girl.

Camille: No bath.

Michael: Yes, bath.

Camille: No bath.

Michael: Yes, bath.

Pause.

Camille taps me on the shoulder, lovingly: Hi, Mommy.

Me: Hi, Sweetbug.

She leans in close, face to face with me, and whispers: no bath.