Sometimes, in the evenings, I have to scheme my way away from Baby Dude in order to get a shower. This never goes well, as I’m sure you can imagine. He’s kind-of like the cutest boob-addicted leech you can imagine, but pulling him off of me for 15-minutes for a much-needed shower is like trying to rip duct tape off skin – painful and not something you ever want to have to do, let alone more than once.
My husband was busy doing his best, trying to keep him occupied while I scurried fast-as-I-could upstairs for a quick cleanse, but he must have heard the water start. Even in the loudness of the shower I could hear the wailing happening from down below, slowly increasing as his crying body crawled up the stairs to seek out momma. Sigh.
It wasn’t long before I peeked out the shower curtain to see a pajama-ed Baby Dude, full-on crying, red pathetic eyes, arms extended (OHMYDEARGOD the arm-stretching, pick-me-up-I-need-you thing should be illegal), moaning “Mommaaaaa!” over and over again until I picked him up. Double sigh.
I was already sudsy, shampoo in my hair, half shaven, I couldn’t get out! So, I came up with a plan – I’d strip him down and have him join me. It used to work, I figured, why not?
Wrong.
Once in the shower, he screamed. It wasn’t too hot, but that was so not what he wanted. He yelled, cried, freaked the ever-loving hell out. My husband came in, scooped him up, re-dressed him, much to his dismay (because this child prefers nakedidity) (yeah, I made up that word.) (so what). And of all things, my husband took him out of the bathroom, away from me, again.
Cue the freak. Triple sigh.
(P.S. You don’t think anyone’s going to care that I have one shaggy leg, and one clean-shaven leg, do you?)
(P.P.S. Guess I’m only showering during nap-time now. When hubby’s home. Which is, like, never. Quadruple sigh.)
(P.P.P.S. How many wackos you think are gonna respond to my job ad “Need Babysitter to Take Shower”? Yeah. That’s what I thought.)
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