I remember when my grandmother used to bathe me in her pink granite 90s bathtub

She would pick me up a cup, laced with BPA, and fill it with lukewarm water

Never too hot, for it might harm the child

The water would pour over my head

I was baptised as it cleansed my body from the baby three-in-one shampoo in the legendary yellow bottle who's name escapes me now

In the water floated free sand pails from tourist resturants on the beach, only God knows why she took me there

The room was always quite as she sang out those Thai nursery rhymes from the days when she was a hand model in a South East Asian country and when she counted money on the military base where she would meet my grandfather

But for the life of me, I cannot remember the lyrics to those songs

Not even the one that she would sing to me after the bath was over

The one that she would sing as she toweled my naked self off and bounced me on the cold, hard tile floor

The one that she would sing to the newest grandchild, Iris, who's only response to it was a smile and giggle

Nevermind it now, for those days in the bathtub were too good to me

For the days soon arose when I could shower!

I could shower on my own, no need for my grandmother and her silly foreign songs

No, I was an independent child who did not need to be toweled off and who did not need to be bounced

The songs began to disappear, and never once did I miss them

I should have

I should have missed the songs and the tub and the towel and the bounces and even the shower for that matter

There never is time enough in life to appreciate what you have before it is gone