Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Why I Hate Showering

    Am I the only mother who loathes even the thought of showering?  Not because I enjoy maintaining the appearance of a homeless woman or because I want to smell like regurgitated infant formula. Oh no! Despite what you may think when you knock on my door during the day, unannounced, only to find a completely disheveled, bra-less, body odorous mother of three, barely hanging on to sanity because she's hanging on to a 2nd grade English teacher's guide in one hand and a fussy baby in the other. Don't let this picture fool you!  I actually enjoying smelling fresh and having hair that doesn't stay in a pony tail long after removing the elastic hair band. For this reason I LOVE showers!  But I'm a mother of young children.  Showers involve much more than simply rinsing away the dirt and grime of the day.  They involve things such as sacrifice, fear, panic, etc....   How, you ask.  Let's recap my shower earlier today.
   I was gross today.  So gross.  As in, my only plans were to go to the gym and sweat like crazy, but in order to do that I had to shower first.  I was that gross. I had it all planned.  Because showering when you have three children involves planning. I was going to have the boys at a point where they could finish their school work while I was in the bathroom and hopefully rock Calvin to sleep right before the shower began.  Of course, Calvin decided to reject my idea of taking a nap while I showered and chose to do it an hour before.  At least the big boys cooperated.  As I marched up the stairs, baby on my hip, it started.  The  It's like he knew what was coming and he needed to get his motor warmed up.  I tried to get him cozy and sleepy in his vibrating seat that stays in the bathroom, but he wasn't having it.  I gave up and jumped in the shower.  I was prepared to speed wash.  Get in.  Get out.  I haven't perfected completely showering in 3 & 1/2 minutes like my mother, but I can usually do it in just under 10 with the right amount of pressure put on me.  Pressure today was provided by the adorable baby who isn't happy unless someone is staring at him.  He was on his "A" game today! 
    So I'm going through my routine at lightening speed.  All while singing nursery rhymes and any song I can remember from KLOVE in a loud, lullaby-ish tone.  Occasionally hanging half of my body out of the shower door trying to reinsert a fallen paci to soothe a baby who sounds like he's enduring a surgical procedure without the aid of anesthesia (I'm sure that's what my neighbors are thinking). Meanwhile I'm dripping enough water on the floor to fill a kiddie pool.  I'm now past the halfway mark (mainly because I've decided shaving my legs today is no longer worth it today).  All I need to do now is rinse the shampoo out of my hair and condition it.  That's when I get the dreaded knock at the door.  It's one of the big kids.  I'm surprised I heard it over the blood curdling screams of the baby.  I reply in an ever so agitated tone, "What?". I hear no reply.  I try again, "WHAT!?".  Still nothing.  That's when insane mother logic kicks in.  I kid you not....  The following thoughts flew threw my head in under 2.3 seconds.
    "Why isn't someone responding?  Is that a neighbor checking to see if I'm performing surgery on my baby without the aid of anesthesia?  How did they get in my house!  Don't be ridiculous.  It's just one of the boys.  Why aren't they responding?  Oh no!  Whichever one it is must have sustained a debilitating head wound and only had enough strength and consciousness to climb a flight of stairs and knock on the door once before falling to the ground unconscious.  And now here I am agitated at my unconscious child when all he wants is the comfort of his mother while he bleeds to death on my carpet!  I have to save him!"
    So I leapt from the shower, over the screaming baby, while grabbing a towel and throwing it around myself in one swift motion.  I rip the door open and with shampoo now streaming down my face and burning my eyes I yell, "What's wrong!!!". There I find two giggly boys wrestling on my bed.  They look at me innocently, mind you not even faced by the half nekkid, crazy, blind lady in the doorway, and ever so sweetly say, "Nothing.  Can we play the game?". 
    Obviously, nobody was dying.  Well, maybe the baby who was now screaming even louder because he saw me leave the shower and not take him with me.  Can you guess how happy I was?  Standing there dripping wet, freezing cold because you have no choice but to run the exhaust fan so your angry baby doesn't overheat and smother from the heavenly warmth and humidity that normally fills your bathroom while showering.  If you guessed I wasn't very happy you'd be correct.  We'll fast forward through my tantrum.  Let's just pretend I reacted with the grace and self control of the Duggar mother and that my kids were not scarred for life from what they witnessed next.  The rest of my shower was a blur.  Probably because the shampoo had burned my corneas.  Calvin stopped crying soon after I got out.  Probably because I could now stare at him while he blew spit bubbles and flailed his arms around like the most interesting baby in the world. 
    So there you have it.  The sacrifice, fear, panic, etc... that comes with showering while having young children. So I loathe it.  Can you blame me?