This is a memoir written explicitly to express my displeasure in showering with “company” for the past week. When you are sweet and pregnant dreaming about pink ruffles and baby carriages your friends and family never bother to tell you to enjoy showering alone. They should, because you will likely never do it again. At least not until your child is old enough to be left alone in a room without breaking something, breaking themselves, swallowing small, hidden, foreign objects, or climbing up the wall and then falling out the window. Yeah. There are two choices for showering at my house. The first one is I shower while Tiny-Small roams the bathroom looking for trouble. The second one is she showers with me. Both choices have unpleasant aspects, concerns, and lack of freedom involved. What? Why don’t I shower at night after she has gone to bed? I don’t shower after she has gone to bed because by that time of night I am way too tired to even turn the water on. I wish I was exaggerating.
SO, this is my past 7 days of showering:
Day 1: While I am in the shower Tiny-Small is pilfering through the bathroom drawers and throwing toothpaste and hair bows left and right. Then it gets quiet. Too quiet. I call out, “Are you OK? Hello? Say something!” Then I hear a little giggle. I pull back the curtain and find her writing with a blue crayola marker all over her stomach. I have no idea where the marker came from. I don’t know how she got the top off. I close the curtain, shut my eyes, and pretend I am someone else for 30 seconds. It doesn’t work, I’m still me.
Day 2: This time Tiny-Small is in the tub with me. She’s writing on the walls with her bathtub crayons while I wash my hair. All of a sudden I feel a big glob of something land on my foot. I open my eyes and she is pouring her dad’s fancy schmancy bath gel out of the bottle and screaming, “Lotion, lotion, lotion! Soap!” I give her some lecture my parents gave to me (at least a thousand times), about money not growing on trees, and then I get soap in my eyes. Then I start screaming, “Ouch!!!” Then she starts screaming because now she has soap in her eyes too. Two gals flapping around screaming because their eyes are literally on fire. It’s a great way to bond. I’m starting to hate peppermint soap.
Day 3: While I am in the shower Tiny-Small keeps pulling the shower curtain back while singing, “Where awww uooo, Mama?” The hot water sprays out each time leaving a big puddle on the floor. I keep pulling the curtain shut and trying to redirect her to the other end of the bathtub where the water is less likely to squirt out all over the bathroom. Then, she rips the curtain open so hard that it rips off a couple of the hooks. By the time my shower is over she is completely soaked and needs to be redressed, the floor looks like a kiddie pool, and then just for extra fun she runs across the wet floor, slips and falls. Scream, scream, scream…
Day 4: I’m in the shower (she is not) and I hear banging around. “What are you doing? Are you All right?” I beg, I mean ask. Then I hear “I right.” So, I start rinsing the soap out of my hair. Then I hear her screaming, “I Schhhhtuck. I Schhhhtuck. Hep me! Hep me!” I pull back the shower curtain and somehow Tiny-Small has gotten the dental floss off the bathroom counter, opened it, pulled out the floss and wrapped it around both legs. She looked like a deer that had been bound after hunting season. I could have just picked her up and put her on the roof of my car and called it a day. She rolled around on the floor squawking and flailing. I shut the curtain and counted to a million. I’m still counting to this day.
Day 5: Tiny-Small is in the shower with me. She is playing nicely with her toys. All of a sudden she has my razor. I don’t know how she got it because I usually keep it on a shelf that is at least shoulder high. She has magical powers when it comes to retrieving objects she is not allowed to touch. She especially loves the dangerous objects and will put much effort into getting them. She starts trying to shave my leg with it while I attempt to wrestle it from her slippery little hands. The whole time she is yelling at me, “Stop! No. Stop!” I think she probably hears that said in her general direction a few times a day. Nobody got hurt, but one of us was very angry for a while. I’m not naming names, but she was both tiny and small.
Day 6: Tiny-Small takes a bath by herself. I take a shower by myself. Paradise. Oh no: Paradise interrupted by hubby who comes into the bathroom and wants to complain about the neighbor’s dog coming in our yard and biting poor Rosie. Guess who comes with him? You got it. Tiny-Small. She says, “Mama? Mama?” Then she pulls back the shower curtain and throws several of her toys in with me. I throw her toys back out, but realize I missed one when the water starts rising up past my shins. The drain has been blocked. Meanwhile, the hubby keeps strategizing about how to keep the horrible dogs next door from coming into the yard. I secretly plot to run away from home.
Day 7: I’m in the shower. Tiny-Small has knocked over the laundry basket. She is in a full out tug-of-war with the dog. I don’t know how the dog got into the bathroom or when, but there she is on one end of my sweater while Tiny-Small pulls on the other end screaming, “No bites! Nooooo bites!” I pull back the shower curtain and see Tiny-Small rolling around in the dirty laundry like the bad guys in movies always roll around in the money after they rob a bank. I close the curtain thankful the clothes were at least dirty to start with. The next thing I feel is a cold draft. I open my eyes just in time to see Tiny-Small throw my sweater into the shower and before I can stop her she throws a towel in too. As I bend down to pick them up she pulls the shower curtain back one last time and throws in a cookie. A cookie?! She didn’t have a cookie before we entered the bathroom so she must have stored it in some secret location waiting for just the right moment to fling it at me in the bathtub. It’s hard to believe she doesn’t plan these things out weeks in advance sometimes. I keep thinking about the book, “If You Give A Mouse A Cookie” and keep thinking yeah, but if you give a toddler a cookie she’ll just throw it in the bathtub with you.
Good grief. It’s no wonder I look like something the cat dragged in half the time. I’m not completely positive I rinsed the soap out of my hair today. I keep asking myself, “Did I rinse it out? Did I?” I don’t know the answer to that question. Anyway, let this be a warning to all of you bright-eyed, bushy-tailed soon to be parents: shower while you can. Don’t take anything for granted! It’s the little things that will drive you crazy someday or everyday or sometimes on an hourly basis. I’ve got cookie crumbs between my toes, red burning eyes, and bubbles in my hair and that is after I took a shower. Maybe some things are just better left unsaid. I mean, how many people would want to have kids after reading this weekly adventure? I’m guessing some people just got real serious about over populating the planet and other such causes. It’s OK though because someday Little Miss Tiny Small will have a child just like her….