Note to self: when we’re knee-deep in the worst of it — when she’s got the shampoo all in her hair, and she has moved from stubbornly refusing to let it get washed out, to desperately begging through tears that we not wash it out, and we know there’s little else we can do at this point but impose our will against hers, and being parents in this moment feels way too much like being cops (and sadistic ones at that) — in these moments, we need to remember that:
- a) less than ten minutes later, reading a book and drinking her milk, she will have forgiven us and forgotten, bless her,
and
b) we are damned lucky that this is the worst of it, if that’s the worst it is getting these days.
5 Responses to “Afterbath”
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Lesbian Dad is written by a parent who answers to the name "Baba" and works toward a world in which amor does indeed vincit omnia. 
What is it about the bath?
We have entered a phase in which the idea of getting into the bath occurs to Noah like so much cruel torture — and yet, if the foam car toys vroom excitingly enough to get him into the bath in the first place, a second round of cruel torture must follow: getting out of the bath.
Every step occurs for us like a tragic battle of wills. Most of the dirt lovingly ground into your hair and feet and ears must be removed on a regular basis. And sometime later, once the water has been cold for 5 or 10 minutes, it must go down the drain and toddlers must be pyjamaed and made ready for bed. Would that it could occur with fewer tears and screeches of “No, Mommy!”
Last night, our two year old decided that screaming through her bath would give us all a much needed break from all of that pesky love and harmony pervading the house. Afterwards, Luisa and I drew straws for the two last parental duties of the night: 1)reading Harry Potter to the older, content child and 2)putting the banshee into her bed. I lost…so, I lead the screamer down the hall to her bedroom and put her into bed. She didn’t want books, didn’t want songs, didn’t want anything I had to offer. I climbed into bed with her and started to sing even though she protested. Soon, she stopped crying and turned to me and said, “I sing it”. She sang “twinkle twinkle” to me and then “favorite things” and then I realized I hadn’t drawn the short straw after all. Sorry for that corny ending but it sure felt true in the moment.
Parenthood: toughest job we’ll ever love.
So true. It’s the aftermath that reminds us that every battle is worth it.