Saturday, January 19, 2008

Shower wars

We just recently ended a year-long phase in which I was not allowed to shower. Well, not really, I just couldn't shower when it was just Sam and me at home. We tried it a few times and it basically consistedof Sam getting more and more frantic and eventually trying to crawl into the shower with me. We tried having him in there, too, but we have a tub-shower and it got awkward with one and a half bodies in there and one person was always cold or trying to not slip orgetting stuck in the curtain. Showers were furtively taken a night in the downstairs bathroom,or on weekends while Sam and Dad had tome together. Within the last month, though, we've figured out a system in the morning where Sam can manage to not kill himself in the bathroom or attached hallway while I bathe. The tradeoff is a less luxurious shower, though. Here's a rough example.

"Sam, mommy's going to take a shower now."
(Cling) "No, no, no!"
"Let's go see if your truck is in the bathroom"
(Happily lets go of my leg and trots through the landing into the bathroom, while I close the door to the bedroom)
"Truck! Truck!"
I get undressed and turn on the water. Sam grabs my towel and drags in onto the landing, I give chase.
"Mommy needs that, Sam."
"How about we see if your bus is in the bathroom?"
I'm running out of toys in the bathroom, but he lets go and I hop in, speedily wash my face and lather my hair while peeking out from behind the curtain about every 10 seconds.
"(Something) broken! (Something) broken!"
"What, honey?"
He sticks the bus into the shower for my observation. Soap is getting in my eyes, but at last I understand that the wipers on the bus are broken. Actually, there are no wipers. I think that's the issue, and that brings up another thought in his toddler mind.
"Do you want to sing Wheels on the Bus?"
"Wheel? Wipers? Beep-beep?"
(Verses of Wheels on the bus are sung while I rinse off and soap up. I get through about 4 verses before I hear the door closing.
"Bye, bye, mommy!"
I really need to rig that door so it can't be shut. I hop out of the shower and open the door again. Sam is sitting in the corner of the landing looking at the bus.
"Honey, the rule is that the door stays open while mommy is in the shower."
Blank look from Sam. This beats the alternative that occurs the other half of the time, which is to come over and pig-headedly shut the door again. I race back to the shower to rinse off the conditioner.
The hand comes through the gap in the curtain.
"Wet! Wet! Bear wet?"
Indeed he is. Bear has apparently needed to wash his hair too and is sticking his head through the curtain. So much for that long soak in hot water. I turn off the shower and pull the curtain aside.
At least he's stopped trying to climb onto the top of the toilet tank.

So I get to take showers now, but the trade-off is that they aren't exactly relaxing.

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