Don’t worry… I promise you this isn’t another post about B pooping in the tub. But it seems bath time got the best of me again.
Before B was born, Sakya and I had separate bathrooms. She used the master bath and I was sent packing to the guest bath. This was fine with me. I was able to accomplish all the manly things that needed to be done. Manscaping, washing of masculine areas and most importantly deep thinking was done in my own private realm of peace and tranquility. Baby comes along and the serenity and harmony of my man-room was invaded like the beaches of Normandy.
Toys. A lot of toys. Toys in drawers, toys on floors, toys in closets and most importantly toys in the bathtub. If you were to glance into my tub it looks like that cast from Fantasia and Mr. Hooper’s Store had a mass suicide attempt. Mickey, Donald, Elmo and Cookie Monster are face down in a shallow pool of baby body wash and tearless shampoo.
B’s favorite toy, however, is a Weeble Wobble duck that floats and stays upright at all times. B unleashes Poseidon’s fury on this thing. Plenty of splashing, buckets of water, and an extra loofah have all been incorporated into sinking this toy without luck. It will just not sink or tip over, much to the delight of B. How ironic.
Skip to an hour after B gets out of the bath. Its finally my turn to take a shower. I tiptoe into the shower like I’m avoiding a minefield at Guantanamo Bay, I kick Goofy to the side, hang the Big Bird wash cloth on the bar and get down to business. There’s veritable who’s who of Nickelodeon characters surrounding my feet. I wash essential body parts, shave my face, possibly sing a song on two and start to wash my hair. Obviously any grown man shampoo has been removed from my shower so I am left scrubbing away with Kermit Foaming body gel and Johnson’ s and Johnson’s Sensitive Scalp Shampoo. I normally leave the shower smelling like a mixture of Hello Kitty and Teddy Rumpskin.
Eyes closed tight and washing away, the unsinkable duck makes in appearance. I step forward to wash the soap from my hair, bump into the bubble making machine, step on the Weeble Wobble duck and:
I have opened up negotiations with Sakya for master bath time. Main bargaining chips include the Caillou Bath Crayons™ and the Sponge-Bob Submarine®.
raising a toddler armed only with an iPad... 
Like you I also do my deep thinking in the shower. Perhaps it is because I so enjoy the sound of my own singing. I’ll admit, though, I’m scratching my head over the word “manscaping.” No, don’t bother defining it. I don’t wanna know.
That sounds like a lot of toys. Here’s a fun experiment: Anywhere in your home stop at a random spot and do a slow 360 degree circle. See anything that belongs to you? If not, you’re doing it right.
Watch your step.
Toys everywhere when my grkiddos come. Love your post great watch it yikes
You are KILLING ME!!!! LOL!!!
You crack me up! These stories remind me so much of when my kids were younger.
I haven’t kicked hubby out of the mater shower yet, but since our little guy is still… well, little, they sometimes shower at the same time in the boy bathroom. I think there’s some pretty strict rules around what is and what is not acceptable in the tub. Pretty sure he’s using baby shampoo too. Ah, the sacrifices you guys make, huh?
Thanks for linking up with BOTB!
translation: ‘mater’ = master
Hubby has the master bath – I prefer the privacy of the hall bath, which, unlike the master, has a tub. Besides, he painted the water closet area something called Pine Green which is a brilliant chartreuse or puke green. Who likes whiskers from manscraping in the sink – I say give me a rubber ducky, some SpongBob bubble bath and close the door.
That was a nasty fall – good thing your wife had the camera in hand.
Wait until you step on Legos with your bare feet. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.