The bathtub.

I would touch the topic of my new job that requires me to stand almost the entire shift.

I would mention my first day of school, which was truly an exersadist’s dream: class #1 in the basement of the building at the bottom of the hill, class #2 on the third floor of the building at the top of the hill. Then a few buildings over to complete some paperwork, and a walk back to the bottom of the hill to eat. Oh, and did I mention class #3 on the second floor of building #2? Good thing it’s a beautiful campus.

But no, today I want to talk about The Bathtub. Imagine a bathtub so deep that a Very Pregnant Belly can be totally submerged in warm water. Imagine a bathtub the *perfect* length – no bent knees, no tippy-toes. An enamelled cast-iron (and therefore heat-retaining) wonder.

I want to fill this tub with waaaaaaaarm water, a bath bomb, and me. Classical music lulling in the background, a glass of wine, and the kids sleeping sweet dreams.

No tubby-toys cluttering my line of sight, no ring around the tub to be scrubbed before I get in, no soaking-wet towels on the floor from the latest splash-fest.

Doesn’t it sound simply wooooooonderful?