Fish is Fish

A couple of weeks ago I was turning the water on to get a bath started for the boys. Typically, Big H waits until he's called to come and then trys to negotiate that I not wash his hair. Little H on the other hand, usually bolts for the tub and tries to climb in. At this point I don't worry too much. Little H has been "blessed" with short legs and a long torso, which is my dad's side of the family.
However, on this day I scooted across the hall to grab new clothes and in the 10 seconds of doing so heard a loud splash. Then it was silent. I yelled for Big H to respond, but not a sound. I ran into the bathroom to find this...

Yup. My short legged son has figured out how to get into the tub in his green footed pajamas. (Please disreguard the pretty pink tub, it's on the to-do list.) It was somewhat funny afterwards, but I have learned one importnat lesson. My son is a fish, and fish is fish.