Who’s a good boy?
“I’m a good boy,” he said. (in spanish of course)
Bathing my daddy has become something I look forward to. At first, I agreed because someone had to do it—so why not me? But now, it’s more than just an obligation.
Today, as we were wrapping up, I teased him and asked if he was a good boy.
Without hesitation, he replied, comfortable and confident.
It has to be hard for him—to let his guard down, to allow me to care for him like this. He’s always been a macho man. And yet, here we are. Playing with water and soap.
I love him so much.
I’m working on my technique and processes to make it efficient and to make sure we don’t hurt each other.
He’s still a grown man.
His appreciation is evident, though he still apologizes for putting me in this position.
I tell him I’m cool with it—so long as he doesn’t fart on me while I’m putting on his underwear.
That’s where I draw the line.
