My child takes her clothing off in whatever room she happens to be in with no care for opened curtains, drafty doorways or the friends we have over for dinner. All clothing is thrown about, except for the panties. Those are placed on her head while she dances around singing, “I’m naked! I’m naked!” No. She didn’t learn that from me. She’s seen her older brother do this a thousand times and thinks it’s hilarious. The friends we had over for dinner smile politely and suddenly make an excuse to leave. They have children of their own and know it only goes south from here.
Eventually, we make it to the bathroom! She puts one little foot in the tub and screams because it’s too hot, cold, warm, wet, what have you. Whatever she can complain about to keep from putting her entire body into the tub, she will complain about. I resist the urge to just pick her up and toss her in like I used to have to do with the dog, and instead bribe her with snack time once the bath is over.
It works! She gets in the tub.
And now she has to pee. Leaving puddled footprints all over the floor she takes care of business and hops back in. We can now get to the actual bathing part of this bath.
Hair first. In a perfect world, the shampoo would be like those adorable scrubbing bubbles on t.v. and just swoosh along her body, scrubbing away all the dirt and dried food and whatever other kind of nasty fungus she’s gotten in to. But it doesn’t, so now it’s washing time. Silly me, though. I forgot the wash cloth. I take two steps out the door to the closet and when I return I slip on the 4 gallons of water she has managed to splash out of the tub. I fall to my doom.
It hurts. I yell for my husband who rushes in and yells, “Why is there so much water on the floor? Weren’t you watching her?!” I make a mental note to flush the toilet several times the next time he’s in the shower. Blood is mixing with the water and I suggest he take me to the emergency room. I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure bleeding from your ear is not a good thing.
Hubby gets the girl dressed while I put shoes and coats on the boys, pack the diaper bag, make a couple bottles to take along, grab the older kid’s video game thingys, double-check my purse for the checkbook, cash, and insurance cards, put the baby in the car seat and tell the older one to buckle up, start the car and have it nice and toasty for Hubs and Girl.
The emergency room is crowded, but we manage to find two seats together. The kids take the seats and we stand until I begin to feel faint. I’m bleeding all over the ugly blue chair (which I’m sure they’ll charge me for) while the girl wiggles about on my lap. She turns to give me a kiss when I notice she has red lipstick all over her face! Where the hell did she get red lipstick?!?! My husband nonchalantly nods to the comatose woman next to us whose purse has fallen open. Inside lies an open and mangled tube of bright red lipstick. I quietly take the girl to the bathroom while my husband snatches us two other chairs that just came available on the other side of the room.
We’ve been sitting for three hours. The kids are screaming cause they’re hungry and tired and bored and hate each other. My husband and I aren’t talking because we’re hungry and tired and bored and hate each other. I’ve been laying so long with my head against the chair that 2 pints of blood has dried my hair to the back of it. When they call my name I get up too quickly and rip a giant bald spot out the side of my head. My husband and kids get up to come with me, but a voice I’ve never heard before comes out of my mouth, “NOOOOO. YOU STAY.”
3 more hours later we are home. Turns out I just had a cut on my ear that was fixed with a $300 band-aid. Hubby and I are super exhausted, but smile at each other, thinking the same thing. It’s all over.
Inside, I lay my sleeping little girl down and get her snug as a bug in a rug when her bright eyes flutter open. “We’re home, Sweetie. Go ahead and go back to sleep.” Her face is still stained from the lipstick and her hair is crazy knotted and warped since we forgot to brush it after the bath. She lovingly brings her little hands to my face, but instead of the tender embrace I think we’re about to have, she digs her nails into my cheeks and twists her face into an evil scowl, “YOU SAID I COULD HAVE A SNACK AFTER MY BATH!!!! I WANT MY COOKIE!!!!!!!”
I fucking hate bath night.