Ahhh bath time. The baby gets to sit in the tub, play with toys and mom and dad get to chill on the sidelines and relax. Bath time in our house is usually pretty calm. We will splash around with B, blow bubbles and play with boats and toys. Bath time, 99% of the time is uneventful..
There was one time where the dog jumped in the tub with the baby. The scene looked like something out of Titanic. The baby was reaching for the dog, the dog was trying to swim, I was slipping trying to rescue all parties involved and the band kept playing on the deck while the ship went down. The bathroom was wetter than Jack Dawson when Rose let him sink to the bottom of the ocean off that plank of wood.
I guess i need to preface this particular incident with a little note. I have a notoriously weak stomach. I literally can not stomach certain sights and most smells. When it comes to odd aroma’s I count on Sakya to pull me through. I frequently make her smell the milk if its past the expiration date and clean out the refrigerator of left overs while I vacate the premises by at least 50 yards. I require multiple candles to be lit when she has a new cooking idea and Febreeze is carried with me on a belt like holster in desperate situations. When B was first born, I had to wrap a towel around my nose and mouth, scuba goggles on with a plastic bag on my head to make it through a diaper change. I seriously Googled “Hazmat Suit” and priced them out accordingly. I have got a lot better about diaper changes, due to the fact I can now hold my breath for roughly 5 minutes with out passing out, but there are certain things I’m not sure I will ever grow accustomed to.
One particular night it was bath time. B had just finished eating dinner and we were playing submarines in the tub. I do a fierce Sean Connery from the Hunt For The Red October impression which B loves by the way. We were probably 5 to 10 minutes into battleship positions, body and hair had been washed, all the tough to reach places were scrubbed and the baby was squeaky clean. Out of no where B gets a really serious look and his face and stops splashing. He places his hands on head, looks down at the bottom of the tub and I hear what sounds like a tug boat pulling a cargo vessel into port. Only a sound that a quick release of air can make on water filled porcelain. That familiar nauseated feeling starts creeping up. I panic, not sure what to do.
I look down in the water and it looks like the Gulf Coast: Summer 2010. Either our tub sprung an oil leak or B had done the unthinkable. Poop in tub. This wasn’t a solid poop either… what a time for diarrhea. Sakya runs into the bathroom, and at this point I had scooped B out of the “water” and was dangling him over the tub. He wasn’t finished. BP would have been embarrassed by the amount of water to foreign matter filling the bathtub. B is laughing hysterically, I am turning green and Sakya is staring stone faced at the picture we laid before her.
There is only one thing left to do, I quickly hand the baby to her, turn to the toilet and proceed to dry heave for 10 minutes. The tub is drained, the toys get a bath of their own and B is cleaned all over again. And I, for one, hope and pray we never again face the infamous bath tub catastrophe of August 2011. I’m not sure my stomach could handle this again.