“Did you wash your hair yet?” I called into the next room where my five year old son was in his bath.
“What exactly does that mean? You either did, or didn’t,” I said, walking into the bathroom to see what trouble he was causing. G. I. Joe was perched on the shampoo shelf, prepared to make a spectacular dive into the tub while a crowd of plastic horses and lego-men had gathered on the opposite edge to watch. As usual, there was a large pool of water outside the tub.
“You know you’re supposed to keep the water in there, right?” Standard question.
“G. I. Joe was splashing. I told him not to.” Standard answer.
“Now, did you wash your hair?”
“Bubble bath doesn’t count.”
“No. Not yet. I will,” He sighed in defeat.
I smiled, and left the room to go get the towels out of the dryer. I was going to need them. As I continued my daily routine, I reflected on my life as it was now. Five and a half years ago, my son had been the last thing I wanted, and I thought my future had been popped like one of his soap bubbles. All my big plans would have to be put on hold, probably indefinitely, because of one stupid mistake with someone that I thought loved me. When I found out I was pregnant, I also found out that he didn’t love me enough. My son does, though. And as I pulled the towels out of the dryer it suddenly hit me that I had everything I’d always wanted. I had someone who loved me unconditionally. I was needed. I would change someone’s life. I would shape the future.
I have bubble bath and water on the floor.
Elizabeth R. Browne has been writing since she was a little girl. She is currently studying English at Binghamton University in New York, and writes in her very limited free time.