Moms tend to claim that we get Mother’s Day because labour is the worst. It’s pretty bad, but I’ll tell you the real reason: bath time.
I quietly tiptoe upstairs on a Saturday for a little relaxation in the tub. My expectations are not high, just 15 minutes or so to soak and unwind in the calm ambiance of the bathtub.
Alone.
I clear out the hodge podge of bath toys and turn on the water. No need for bubbles, I know this won’t be a long soak (see how resigned realistic I am?).
Just as I get in a little face peeks through the door (how did I forget to lock it?) and chirps sweetly: “I, too?”
I tell Little that it’s just Mommy’s turn.
“I soon?”
Sure, you’re next. Close the door.
He pulls the door shut and I presume he goes off to play. That is until I turn on the hot water and hear a muffled tiny voice ask, “mine turn now?”
No, not yet.
I now realize he is standing right outside the door. Any time I make any noise he inquires: “mine turn?”
No, just rinsing my hair.
“I turn now?”
Nope, just dropped my razor.
“I go now?”
No, soon. Still bathing.
“Mommy, me go? Now?”
Pretty soon.
“I go?”
That was just your brother flushing a toilet somewhere else in the house.
“Mine turn? Mommy?”
Nope, toilet again.
“I come in?”
I think a brother just got a drink.
I keep my head under water hoping for the illusion of isolation, but fun fact: you can still hear someone opening and closing all the dresser drawers. Repeatedly. With vigor.
I pretend not to hear the slamming and convince myself I won’t discover my underwear strewn around the room. Or on his head. Or both. I’m pretty sure I hear him nosing around in my jewellery box, but those macaroni necklaces will just have to sacrifice themselves for my inner peace.
The sound of the water draining from the tub is like a rally cry. He scurries back to the door to ask one more time: “Mine turn? Now?”
Yes, Little, your turn.
Thrilled, he strips himself down (something he has vowed to be unable to do, I won’t forget that slip-up, you’re on your own now with your coat, buddy) and clamours into the tub.
“I no need soap, Mommy. No wash my hair.”
Apparently, Little has learned that sometimes tub time is not about the bath itself.
——
Bath time – is it a family affair at your house or a peaceful oasis?
Tough Bananas 
It’s funny if you read this assuming it was BH asking the questions.
Awesome.
I don’t usually struggle with taking a shower by myself, it’s that everyone is waiting for me when I open the door. I then have to try to kick everyone out of my room so that I can face the day in more than a robe and towel. I should bring my clothes in with me. Boom. This post just changed my morning routine.
Jan: life-changer.
It’s showers for me, and pretty much the same thing transpires.
Bunch of mini-stalkers.
Nothing is a peaceful oasis at my house until my kids are in bed! 😉
Amen.
I thought you should know that this can happen to older siblings as well. The girls were showering tonight and the little guy was pounding the door for them to come out. Then he started scratching the door making a really irritating noise. I admit it. I was a little amused.
Sometimes I’m not sure if it’s a toddler or a zombie at the door. Either way, I’m not opening it.
l shower. When the boys were young, Dad and four boys would pile into the tub for a good time. Baths still are an exciting affair, however at this point the boys usually pair up. When they are done, the bathroom looks like a tsunami has struck! Fortunately baths are more exciting than showers so I have my own space!