I adore playing with my children. I habitually suspend my own preferences in lieu of digging up worms, going fishing, examining bugs and even playing with random baby snakes on the driveway. I have spent countless hours playing tag, battling with pirate swords and racing cars through the house. I have frozen myself to the core sledding outside and earned brush burns from unfortunate incidents on the slip and slide in the summer. I invest a lot of time into my kids, which is why it is surprising to many when I admit that I despise bath time.
Most relish watching their little cherubs splish and splash in the tub. I have always hated it. Being relegated to sitting on a toilet while my child splashes water all over, soaking me along with everything else in the vicinity, is not my idea of fun. From the annoying plastic toys that always squirt moldy water regardless of how I try to empty them after each use to the bath crayons that don't easily remove from the walls or my child's toenails, I dread the entire chore.
My strong dislike for doling out baths is another reason that I love summer. Too many nights than I care to admit I figure that the kids get clean enough swimming in the pool and running through the sprinkler in the driveway. In a pinch, I've been known to pull out the water table to encourage the top layer of dirt to wash away from Timmy while playing. These certainly aren't my proudest parenting confessions, but they are my reality.
Last night I had no doubt that my grubby little boy needed a bath. When he was done eating he decided to turn his bowl into a hat. The remaining macaroni and cheese became embedded in his hair with the cheesy orange sauce dripping down his cheeks and neck. There weren't enough wet wipes in the house to get him clean, and I knew that I was destined to sit on toilet for 30 minutes while he splashed and played.
Scott understands my aversion to bath time and we often barter to try to bounce the responsibility. While I drew the short straw, he took the opportunity to go for a scooter ride. He promised to clean the tub and toys when he returned, which was his consolation for leaving me behind with my little splasher.
After nearly 40 minutes of playing and drenching everything within reach, Timmy stopped and uttered the dreaded "ut oh" warning. I retrieved him quickly, but not before he had finished pooping in the tub. I have to admit that I felt oddly smug wiping away the remaining bubbles and getting him dressed in his pajamas. I might have been stuck with bath time, but Scott was going to be on soggy poop patrol. It turns out that last night, I chose wisely!
Most relish watching their little cherubs splish and splash in the tub. I have always hated it. Being relegated to sitting on a toilet while my child splashes water all over, soaking me along with everything else in the vicinity, is not my idea of fun. From the annoying plastic toys that always squirt moldy water regardless of how I try to empty them after each use to the bath crayons that don't easily remove from the walls or my child's toenails, I dread the entire chore.
My strong dislike for doling out baths is another reason that I love summer. Too many nights than I care to admit I figure that the kids get clean enough swimming in the pool and running through the sprinkler in the driveway. In a pinch, I've been known to pull out the water table to encourage the top layer of dirt to wash away from Timmy while playing. These certainly aren't my proudest parenting confessions, but they are my reality.
Last night I had no doubt that my grubby little boy needed a bath. When he was done eating he decided to turn his bowl into a hat. The remaining macaroni and cheese became embedded in his hair with the cheesy orange sauce dripping down his cheeks and neck. There weren't enough wet wipes in the house to get him clean, and I knew that I was destined to sit on toilet for 30 minutes while he splashed and played.
Scott understands my aversion to bath time and we often barter to try to bounce the responsibility. While I drew the short straw, he took the opportunity to go for a scooter ride. He promised to clean the tub and toys when he returned, which was his consolation for leaving me behind with my little splasher.
After nearly 40 minutes of playing and drenching everything within reach, Timmy stopped and uttered the dreaded "ut oh" warning. I retrieved him quickly, but not before he had finished pooping in the tub. I have to admit that I felt oddly smug wiping away the remaining bubbles and getting him dressed in his pajamas. I might have been stuck with bath time, but Scott was going to be on soggy poop patrol. It turns out that last night, I chose wisely!
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