Conversations with a three year old

I took the dripping wet little boy out of the bath. I began to towel dry him off with an old peach colored towel. His little teeth chattering away. It is small battle of drying him off; he goes one way, while the towel moves the other. As I rub his little head dry, I can see the waves growing back through. He looks at me with his big green eyes and smiles.
"Thanks, Mom," he tells me.
"For what, honey?" I ask.
"For me."