Rub a Dub Dub

My kids are filthy and refuse to get into the tub. Actually, it's only Gee who actively refuses, the rest of the mob is dirty due to tremendous laziness on my part. About a month ago, shortly after the trip to Mexico, he developed an aversion to bath water that had me wondering whether pigeons carry rabies. You would certainly think, from the screaming and foaming at the mouth, that something terrible had occurred. I had allowed him to contract a bizarre disease like hydrophobia. I had filled the tub with holy water and it was burning his unrepentent toddler bottom. I had misjudged the temperature and it was melting the skin from his body. But, no, I stuck my hand in and it was merely tepid tapwater with a little lavender soap. I allowed him to skip the bath the first time because, despite some frustrated fantasies, water torture really isn't on my list of things to do with my toddlers. It became clear over the next week that his objection centered around the getting clean part of the bath. He had no problem getting wet stomping his way through every mud puddle in our neighborhood.

Three weeks and three missed baths later, I felt the need for fresh ideas. Nothing I tried came even close to convincing him. When I declared bath time in a cheerful, upbeat voice, Ess happily stripped and jumped in the tub. Gee grudgingly followed us into the bathroom, but, once naked, hunkered down in a squat on the bathroom tiles and refused to budge. The situation was not ideal. He still wears diapers. Pooping daily in one's pants and going three weeks without bathing are not complimentary life choices.

I brought up the problem at toddler school. We can raise parenting issues during the weekly meeting. I have so very many issues that I try to save up my time for really big problems. This had gone passed a parenting issue to become a full blown stench. The very smart mothers at toddler school had great ideas. Get new bath toys. Let him pick a special shampoo and soap. Talk up the first 'new toy, new soap' bath. Let them wear their bathing suits. Get in the bath with them. After the discussion, I felt armed and ready for the next round of bath time.

We went shopping and bought new toys. We picked shampoo. I talked it up. I had bathing suits in reserve. While my preference was to stay dry myself (did I mention that they poop daily in glorified plastic bags taped to their butts), I wasn't ruling it out. I put Ess and all the new toys in the tub and played enthusiastically with her while Gee went from naked hunker, to peering over the side of the tub, to splashing in the water with his hands. Finally, with an enticing dinosaur just out of reach, he asked to get into the tub. Hallelujah and pass the lavender soap. Success.

In fact, the advice proved a little too successful. Half an hour later I gave the five minute warning. Gee actually whined to stay in the bath. I told him he could certainly take one again, as often as he would like, but that wasn't satisfactory. He threw the worst bath temper tantrum of his bathing career about getting out of the bath. Unbelievable. Somehow, despite the fact that he'd grown at least six arms and legs, in the midst of the thrashing and screaming, I managed to get his diaper back in place. After that, I gave up and went to put him in his crib to continue his fit at will, leaving Ess playing nicely with the toys in the bottom of the now drained bath tub.

It might be fifteen feet to Garrett's crib from the bathroom, but in the ten seconds it took me to carry him there and tell him that he could come out as soon as he calmed down, Ess started screaming hysterically. I found her still sitting in the bath tub surrounded by toys and also a large quantity of poop. Apparently, she'd been saving up for just such an occasion. Although, in her defense, she had probably been in the tub an hour between enticing Gee, actually bathing him, and then handling the post-bath drama. The whole situation - screaming son in his crib, screaming daughter in the bath tub, unfortunate mess - did make me wonder why I had felt the need to try and clean them in the first place? I have decided that Gee may have been right, bathing may be overrated.

Thank HP for the slip-proof mat, which contained the mess fairly effectively and could be pitched out the back door to deal with later. It wasn't even cold enough to freeze into a poopsicle. The take home lesson? For me, shower in a different bathroom.