When I was about three and my baby brother didn’t yet sit or walk, the evening bath time was a very hectic event for my mother. In our tiny half-dilapidated apartment, as soon as the bathtub was filled with the warm water, my mother would usher us all to the bathroom. She would place my baby brother in a safe spot near the bathroom door, and wash me first. Once I was in the bathtub, she would wash herself in a great hurry, and when she finished, it was time for me to go out of the bathroom and my mother would take my baby brother to bathe him.
As soon as I changed into my pajamas, I would hurriedly head to our main room, and there on the carpet, I would spread my father’s big bath towel, making sure that it was spread evenly. Once it was all done, I would call out to the bathroom in a loud excited voice,
“It’s ready Mommy!”
Upon my signal, my mother would take out my baby brother from the bathroom and join me in the main room. And I would carefully watch my brother as he was carefully laid down on the bath towel. That was always my favourite part – to see him looking happy on the towel I had prepared while hearing my mother say to me,
That was our night routine.