When A Mother Takes a Bath

When A Mother Takes a Bath

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Several weeks ago, I took a bath. A real one, with bubbles and everything. I do it once every seven or eight months. It is never relaxing, but I am no quitter, so every once in a great while, I’ll give it another go. I stopped locking the door years ago because quite honestly, I’d rather have unwelcome visitors than listen to them screaming at me and/or each other from the other side of the door.

“Mom, are you done yet? What are you doing Mom?  Move over, I was here first!  Stop hitting me!  Mom, he just hit me!  Mom, I have to go potty RIGHT NOW!”

We have four bathrooms in our house.

Four.

Regardless, the lesser of two evils is to just leave the door unlocked and hope for the best (heavy sigh).

I had approximately six minutes (pure heaven) before my first uninvited guest arrived, walked in, put the toilet lid down and made herself more comfortable than I have ever been on a toilet seat in my life.

“Why are you taking a bath Mom? You never take a bath.”

Before I can answer, Uninvited Guest #2 arrives with a bit more enthusiasm.

“Mommy! You’re taking a bath!  Can I watch?”

“No, and aren’t you suppose to be doing your homework?”

“Oh yeah, I’ll go get it.”

“Okay. Wait.  What?”

Almost immediately, she returns (still no invitation), and proceeds to sit down next to the tub holding a pencil, her worksheet, and a lap desk.

Really?

“I need help with my homework Mommy.”

Uninvited Guest #1: “Mom is trying to take a bath! Right Mom?!”

“Why yes, yes I am very thoughtful child of mine,” who is still sitting on the toilet looking down on me from her throne very softly stating the obvious, “Mom, I can see your (and then she points in the general direction of her chest area). Maybe you should cover them up with a washcloth or something?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?  You see, in most cultures, it is customary to remove one’s clothing prior to settling into a water-filled bathtub.  Generally speaking of course.”

What can I say, I take advantage of every possible opportunity to teach life lessons (i.e. common f**king sense) to my children.

Enter Uninvited Guest #3. Well now it’s a party.

“MOMMY! Why you takin a bath?  Can I come in?”

“No Buddy. Go find your Dad (Where the hell is he?!).” 

“Otay Mommy, be right back.”

“Perfect.”

UG#2: “Mommy, do you like taking a bath?”

“Sometimes more than others.”

UG#1: “Mom, the bubbles are disappearing. Are you sure you don’t want a wash cloth or something, you know to (more chest area pointing)?”

“Nope. I’m good.  I really appreciate your concern though.  Here’s a thought.  Get out.”

Re-enter UG#3 who turns the corner like Cole Trickle on speed coming out of turn #4 on full throttle in the general direction of the bathtub wearing nothing but an ear to ear grin.

“Stop the car Cole! Get out of the car!”

“BUDDY, YOU ARE NOT COMING………..”

(sigh)

“Hi Buddy.”

“I yike takin a bath with you mommy.”

“Give me the goddamn wash cloth.”

Me time, in a nutshell.

Related post: “Me Time” Is Bullshit Once You’re a Mother