My wife finally snapped. “Sweetheart, we do *not* have all night. Get. In. The. Bath.”
Our daughter looked up at her, totally calm, eyes wide with innocent wisdom, and said:
“Mom, I’m not *delaying*… I’m *mentally preparing*.”
There was a long pause.
My wife blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then she burst out laughing so hard she had to sit on the toilet lid. Any anger she had melted instantly.
“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she said between laughs.
My daughter nodded seriously, lifted one foot into the tub like a tiny monk entering a sacred ritual, and added:
“Okay. Preparation complete.”
And honestly?
None of us have ever respected bath time more.
