Bath Time Gone Bad

Yesterday was a hard day. I was running on 4 hours of sleep and by 10:30 I had completely run out of gas. I was staring down the barrel of a very long and trying day. But, thanks in part to a long visit to the indoor play park, and about a gallon of coffee, I made it through the day.

When bath time finally rolled around that evening, Captain Crazy asked to take a shower with me. My exhausted brain and body couldn't think of a reason to deny his request, and since I looked and felt like "shit on a stick" it sounded like a great idea to me. After all , I still take baths with him sometimes. But no sooner did we step into our little one-man shower did I realize why showering with my three-year-old son was a bad idea.

To begin with, we were very close together, and he was eye-level with my crotch which he thought was just fabulous (his vantage point - not my crotch) I spent the rest of our shower swatting his hands away from me as he tried to yank out my short hairs one by one. Oh, and I must mention here that he has a nickname for my crotch. Yes, indeedy - my three-year-old has a nickname for his mommy's crotch. He calls it a "stit". Sometimes he calls it a "pooty". I have no idea how he came up them, but my husband thinks they're pretty bitchin' nicknames and laughs like hell whenever he hears them.

Another reason I will never take another shower with my son is because every shriek, laugh, yell, whine, and chorus from "Laugh Cookaberra" was amplified to ear-splitting decibels in our shower stall. My poor tired head nearly exploded right there.

I hustled us out of the shower, stuffed him into his jammies, and handed him over to his daddy for tooth brushing and book reading.

I took my pooped out "stit" and went to bed.