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Recently the youngest has begun to have an aversion to bath
time. I don’t mean just a small aversion either. It’s full-fledged, knock down, leg kicking, screaming bloody murder. Decibel level 10, ear piercing, CPS-is-surely-coming-a-knockin’-because-it-sounds-like-I'm-beating-him type
of screaming. I can say, “It’s time for a bath” and the reaction I get is akin
to if I said, “It’s time to peel your fingernails off.”
Now because he has previously enjoyed bath time, I have to
wonder what’s prompted this drastic change. Of course my first thought turns to
some sort of traumatic experience. Immediately I’m suspicious….did the children
play bathtub baptismal when I wasn’t looking? Did he almost drown in a freak
bath time related accident. (And here on my elbow, I got this scar from the
Great Tubby War of ’16.) No, I’m pretty sure I would remember that one since I
am the giver of the baths. Did he drink a glass of water too fast and think he
was going to drown and the resulting trauma spread to any water that comes in close proximity to his body? Did he watch some PBS documentary that extolled the
virtues of not washing your hair every day and now he’s on an “au naturale”
kick? I’m flummoxed. Give me a hint here kid. I know you’ve just started
speaking in complete sentences and usually they are along the lines of “I want
the red bowl”, but tell me some deeply insightful information about your
sudden 180 on the bathing process.
My very active and fertile imagination provides me with a
variety of unlikely scenarios. What it doesn’t provide, is an explanation or
some therapy sessions to calm the irate kid down.
My best guess is that he’s two, he’s decided baths are evil,
and he’s sticking to his story. What this means is that he turns into a
flailing, angry octopus every other night. (See? I’m not even trying to bathe
him every single night, just every other. And he doesn’t even appreciate it.) I
have to get everything ready before I even start the water running because if
he even has a hint of what’s coming, he’s running around the house like a
maniac, crying and blubbering about not wanting a bath. Once that’s done, I
have to strong arm him into the bathroom, shut and lock the door, and try to
wrestle him out of his clothes. If you ever want to feel like a creeper, this
is the way to go about it. “Hey kid, let’s lock ourselves in the bathroom while
I try to peel your clothes off your tantruming little body in the hopes that
you’ll calm down and realize that taking a bath is FUN again!”
 |
| This is the kid I want for bath time. Uh, minus the flooding. |
Side note: Do you know how hard it is to do ANYTHING with a
mad, 30 pound toddler? It’s like they’re Hercules. They have some mad strength.
I’m hoping this phase ends soon because I now lack the physical stamina needed to give my not-even-3
year old a bath. How sad is that. I'm out stamina'ed by a tiny human who's existed on this planet for a mere 2 3/4 years.
So once I wrangle the naked toddler into the tub, I have to
play the “No, you can’t climb out and drip all over the bathroom floor” game.
It’s REALLY easy, by the way, to keep them in the tub when they’re slippery and
soapy and pissed off. On the upside, I have the hair wash/body wash system down
to like 3.5 minutes total. After all of that is done, you’d think he’d
immediately jump out of the heinous and offensive tub, bitterly complaining about the parental
injustice I have forced upon him by making him be clean. Instead, he sniffles a
few times and says, “Want my toys.” Seriously kid?
So until this phase passes, or until he gets in touch with his inner therapist and tells me what the root of the problem is, bath time will continue to be a tortuous struggle. (For both of us.) Until then, it's time for me to get my riot gear on. It's bath night.
