I'm speaking, of course, about myself. Undertaking the task of moving Otter out of her baby bath and into the real deal. But if rousing success is what I was after, the universe was determined to put me in my place.
I've gotta admit (and this may go far in explaining a great deal) that I am not a bath person. I find the idea of soaking in a tub filled with warm, sudsy water while a day's worth of dirt sloughs off me a bit repellant, on the best of days. I've always felt the strong urge to shower afterwards, and in the name of water conservation have generally just skipped to the chase. In fact, I can only think of one compelling reason to take a bath, but that involves booze, water jets, and is not fit content for this particular blog.
Needless to say, however, that one does not stick a 16-month-old into a shower. And since the baby bathtub has become rather, um, snug, that left me facing a bit of a conundrum. So I did what any parent in similar circumstances would do. Setting brawn before brains, I decided that I was just gonna muscle through the situation. As I fought the sliding shower doors and the vinyl curtains behind them (yes, we have both - don't ask), flickers of doubt lapped around the edges of my consciousness, but I beat them down into temporary submission.
The water was turned on, the temperature checked and a quantity of soap was added to the mix. As the wall of bubbles began to grow, I briefly entertained the thought that I should have probably checked the proportions before blindly dumping in that much bubble-bath (not the first time this has happened, and usually with disastrous results) but it was too late now, wasn't it? No use crying over spilled soap. And who doesn't like some bubbles?
I dumped my kid into the fizzing foam and shut off the water. Immediately I realized that something was terribly wrong. The distinct sound of water escaping down the drain became apparent. I checked the position of the stopper. Up. The way it should be. Right? I pushed it down. The water continued escaping. I pulled it back up. Nothing changed. At this point, SB was sitting in about 2 inches of water covered with 10 inches of soap scum. Time was not on my side. Saying a silent apology to the Earth, the conservationists, and my wallet, I turned the water on full throttle. The goal was to keep the 2 inch-deep "bath" going long enough for me to scrub down my offspring.
Overestimating my abilities, I had also introduces toys into the mix. What I imagined to be a joyous romp in the name of cleansing, became a mad dash of fruitless swathing with a washcloth while staving off the frantic calls for "Elma" and "kak kak kak" - aka rubber duck - who kept drowning in the foamy abyss. After 10 minutes of mad flailing, it was time to throw in the towel (quite literally) and rinse.
Which leads to the question - how the HELL do you rinse in a bathtub? Letting the water go down was clearly not an issue. But that leaves a foot of soap that child is either sitting or standing in. At best, you can keep the faucet running and splash them down to their knees - which is where their legs disappear into the bog of soap suds. I know people. I KNOW I used too much soap.
I splashed water. I made hand motions. I let the bath mat and the towel absorb whatever lather was left.
After drying, lotioning, and pajama-ing my slick-with-soap-scum child (and scrubbing down any less-than-thoroughly-washed areas with baby wipes), I returned to the crime scene to try and get rid of the evidence. While fighting back the wall of soap, one of the shower hooks (the one cleverly shaped like a sea horse) came flying off, the hook missing my eye by 1/2 inch. That about summed up the evening.
You say I have to wash my kid every day?
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment