Rubber Duck Heaven

I don’t know what the heater in our bathroom was installed for but as I sit on the cold porcelain toilet seat I appreciate the warmth. My son, Atticus, tiptoes in the storage bin I use as his bathtub, reaching for his rubber ducks. One by one he drops them into his bubble bath. Half of their bodies hidden under the fuzzy whiteness. It’s not a bath if there’s no bubbles… Or ducks. What started off as a simple purchase turned into an obsession. Not for the boy, but for me. I couldn’t leave the store without at least one new duck. Fast forward to the present day and now he’s placing them on the rim of the bin like he’s called them all in for their daily meeting. It’s an everyday thing but every time I watch him it’s like the first time.

I don’t know why I have this concept in my head that every moment has to be an extraordinary moment. There’s this need for me to add a little bit of magic to his daily routine. That magic is bubbles. As soon as he hears the water running I hear the small pitter patter of his feet follow suit. He races into the bathroom with his arms in the air, wailing “yaaaay”. He helps me take off his clothes until he’s in nothing but a diaper. We wait patiently for the water to warm up. Meanwhile, he’s already eyeballing the ducks shoved in a small basket at the corner of the tub and I’m pouring the syrum into the water.

That’s his magic. But for me, he’s my magic, and in that moment we’re both in the happiest place on Earth.