The other night I was bathing my 15-month-old son. He grabbed the shampoo bottles, the rubber duck and a hairbrush, and sank them in the bathwater. He squealed, delighting himself in some private game. I turned away, picked up my phone, refreshed my email and checked Instagram. Then I scrolled while my son played in the bath beside me, thinking he didn’t want to be observed. When he noticed me on my phone, looking away from him, his smile vanished. He whined and teared up. I immediately put the phone down, cooing: “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” But he cried unforgivingly.
My wife, hearing the commotion, came into the bathroom, picked him up in a towel and carried him into his bedroom. I followed behind, still apologising. He scowled at me. “He’s upset because you weren’t paying attention,” my wife said. I’m sorry, baby.
