Tonight’s post is brought to you by a greedy little baby who drank too quickly and covered mummy in puke…and an awesome husband who took the baby and sent mummy off to have a bath.
I have a confession to make. But you’ve probably already guessed it based on the title. Hmm. Should have thought that through a little more. Anyway.
I hate baths.
Not for the kids. I love bath time for the boys – they have a blast and it means
freedom bedtime is imminent.
No, this is for me. Hate is possibly too strong a word – I just really don’t get them. I love the idea of them. I know that they’re supposed to be the height of luxury and relaxation, but they don’t seem to agree with me.
First, there’s the issue of comfort. I can never get bath pillows to work properly, leaving me with two options – a hot tap between my shoulders, or swapping ends and sitting with a plug under my bum. Quite frankly, neither of those appeal to me. I usually wind up sitting bolt upright down the deeper end near the taps.
Any second now.
Oh, wait. There are more hurdles to getting really comfortable. I’ve always understood the aim of a relaxational (that’s totally a word) bath to be sinking in up to your chin and enjoying almost total submersion in hot water. Sounds like bliss…
My legs are the length of our tub. I can’t get all of my body into the water at once. I can sink in up to my ears to ensure a deliciously warm back and leave my legs freezing (a logistical challenge with no bath pillow), or I can sit (once again) bolt upright and shivering from the waist up while my legs are toasty. I usually opt (again) for sitting up and pour a cup of water over my back periodically.
Soooo…am I relaxing now?
Then there’s the matter of what to do. I don’t bring books or i-things into the bathroom because I don’t trust myself…so I just sort of sit there. Staring at the water and my hairy legs. For a brief moment I consider shaving them. Then I remember it’s nearly winter and I’m kidding myself if I think I’ll wear anything other than jeans.
Sure, I could just enjoy not doing anything. I understand the appeal of being alone with your thoughts, but quite frankly, sitting in a half-icy, half-toasty condition isn’t conducive to peaceful reflection or meditation.
Have I been in here long enough to justify the amount of water I’ve used?
There’s only one cool thing about baths.
Kids’ bath toys are cool. If I have a bath, I can play with them to my heart’s content and I don’t have to share.
Eventually, though, the water gets cold and I move to a half-icy, half-icy state. That’s even less comfortable, so I manoeuvre my way out of the tub. My feet are all wrinkled and prune-y. I wrap myself in a towel and then glance back at the bath.
I realise I haven’t yet pulled the plug.
Now I’m really in a pickle. Do I pull the plug and risk waking the kids, or leave the water in until morning and brave it then?
I choose the former, but try and mask the sound with the bath mat. I fail miserably. An unholy noise like a kraken realising it’s Monday morning erupts and I hold my breath, waiting for a cry.
Blissfully, none is heard.
But, honestly, that’s too close for comfort. I once again resolve to forego baths in favour of slightly longer showers until I forget the reality again and get sucked into the bath bliss myth.
Am I the only one who dislikes baths?