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He Doesn't Want Me To Shower!

Oh shower. How I miss thee...

I remember reading an interview with Katie Holmes in which she said that her mother, who has five children, told her that she didn’t get a solid night of sleep for something like fifteen years.

I know what she means. Except I don’t think I’ll get a decent shower for fifteen years.

The boy, he doesn’t want me to shower. I suspect he has some sort of internal barometer that senses the minute I step under the hot spray of water. The barometer trips a mechanism that, in turn, jump starts an alarm that signals Henry to cry.

Happens the same way every morning. Henry drops off to sleep. I mean, the kid appears to be dead asleep, y’all, so I distract Violet with a DVD and tiptoe to the shower. Was that him? Nope, just my imagination. I undress and – wait, was that him? I creep back into his room, naked boobs swinging in the breeze, but he appears to be sleeping contentedly although I now think he’s playing possum at this point, probably giggling the minute I leave the room.

I breathe a sigh of relief and step into the shower. Ah, yes. Mama loves her shower. Pretty much the only alone time I get. I have just soaped up my pits when I think I hear his cry. I turn off the water and stand there, dripping and listening. Again, must be my imagination. I shave my pits. But I’m not enjoying myself, my whole body is a jangle of nerves, listening for and expecting the cry. I scrub my face and still, nothing. Hmm. Maybe I’ll get an entire shower this morning.

I have just worked the shampoo into a fine lather in my hair when I hear it for certain. The boy is wailing loud enough to wake the dead. He has this cry that will give you the shivers even in the midst of a steamy shower.  The only way I can describe it is it sounds like an adult screaming in pain.  Like, someone is ripping off his toenails with pliers pain.  When he does The Scream both Serge and I leap to action and rush around bumping into each other while doing nonsensical things in our effort to just make The Scream stop.

So The Scream is at full strength, I’ve got a head full of shampoo that I’m desperately trying to rinse. I end up bolting before conditioner, which means I won’t be brushing my hair today. It’ll be bunched atop my head in a supersexy librarian bun. But the boy, he doesn’t care about the likes of showers and conditioner. He just wants what he wants when he wants it. Kind of like his dad.

What about you? Got any tips or tricks for showering while trying to look out for two kids? Or, like Katie Holmes’ mom, am I resigned to not getting a decent shower for the next few years?

Ignoring is Bliss: Tuning out the tantrums

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