“I want daddy.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Really? You don’t want me to give you a bath?” My voice cracks.
“No, I want Daddy for bath. Daddy, give mommy [Little Bird],” my older son insists.
Sigh. “I’ll give him his bath,” my husband acquiesces and hands me the baby.
I watch as my almost three-year-old (nicknamed Sprout) ambles over to the bathroom, where I usually need to drag him. I’ve always been the one to put him to bed, only relinquishing it to my husband on the rare occasion I’m out of the house. My husband follows him, pulling my son’s monster towel out of the closet on the way.
I didn’t expect it to be like this.