Bath time and Impermanence

“Is it time for a bath party?” 

I lined up the crew: Swim Girl, Frog and Rain maker on the edge of the bathtub. 

“Who’s coming today?” 

A gleeful smile spreads across Stella’s face. 

She picks up Swim Girl. Aims her toward the water. Toss. 

Her little hands reach for Sheep. Toss.

Frog. Toss.

Rain-maker? Yep, Rain-maker joined the party. That old punctured Dunkin Donuts styrofoam cup made the invite.

“Is Stella joining the bath party?”

Stella shakes her head and exits stage left.

Somehow, me, the 34 year old adult, asks this question of my 13 month old with the trepidation of a novice recent graduate to her first time employer. 

Let me explain…

Somewhere between clocking in her first year on earth, Stella decided that baths were in fact not the joyous, playful waterpark of childhood. One day, with no notice to her parents, baths were deemed Terrible. Horrible. No Good. Never to be enjoyed again. 

I filled up the small inflatable tub decorated with jumping cartoon frogs ready to delight in the splish, splash, and laughter of bath time to only be met with shrieks of terror. 

“WAHHHHHHHAAAAAAA”

Why you might ask? Well, I’ve learned bath time, like all things of childhood, is ruled by the ABCs of parenting. 

ABC. Always. Be. Changing.

So in order to maintain some semblance of dignity and pass the parent sniff test, I still attempt a bath every third day. In a moment of creative genius, I devised a plan to convince Stella into the water. Bath time is a bath party. Who doesn’t love a party? We’ll invite her favorite toys, Swim girl, Frog, and Rainmaker (yes that styrofoam Dunkin Donuts cup did make the cut). While Stella loved imagining the edge of the bathtub as a diving board and springing her toys into the water, every time I asked “Is Stella joining the bath party?” She’d smile, shake her head, and walk out of the bathroom. 

Maybe you’re thinking, what gives, Leah? Give up on the bath. Smelly kids are a fact of life. But, I realized, the obstacle wasn’t the potential social alienation of a smelly kid. Instead, it was my attachment to past bathtimes. I missed delighting in Stella’s smile as she dunked her face in and out of the water. I missed giggling alongside her as she discovered her legs' newfound function as flippers. I missed singing my rendition of 1958 rock n roll classic “Splish Splash” while doing the snorkel dance. 

Here’s my tiny buddha reminding me of one of the truths of existence: Impermanence. 

Everything. Everywhere. Always. Be. Changing. 

We can love bathtime for 12 straight months. 365 consistent days. And, one day, without cause or notice or sign, it can change. 

Now, as a quintessential human being, my immediate response to change is pretty standard. It involves three words. No. Thank. You. (I try to be polite even to the aspects of reality I avoid.)

Under those three words is an underlying belief that change is a terrible part of the human condition that should be reconsidered in future iterations of planetary living and human existence. Loss of any kind should be avoided. 

So here I am parenting a toddler. With no time to sit on the cushion because God gave me a baby who needs less sleep than I do (To be discussed at a future date, God), so I made parenting my practice. I heard the phrase once that children are like little Buddhas. Awake beings closer to knowing and accepting the realities and wonders of life. So when Stella smiles, shakes her head “No” and quickly exits bathtime, I accept it as practice. 

Meditation practice is a mirror. I see myself, my experience, the human experience more clearly. Practice with impermanence (even the impermanence of bath time) can feel grim. A lot talk about “letting go.” Oof. 

But, what if, impermanence is as much about beginning anew as letting go? What if impermanence holds two truths: things are always ending and things are always beginning. Joyful bath times have passed and, perhaps, something new will arrive in its place. 

But, as my tiny buddha reminds me, the more I clutch on to the past (cajoling, convincing, persuading bath time is truly wonderful!) I cannot perceive what is starting anew. 

I stumbled on the image below pasted to the Departures Sign in Albuquerque New Mexico SunPort. I was flying home after gathering with family and friends for a funeral. Another ending. While holding space for the ending of a human life, the universe reminded me of a simultaneous truth: “The beginning is (also) near.”

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Possibilities:

What’s ending in your life? How can you honor it?

What new beginnings are arising?

What helps you cultivate awareness of new possibilities?