A chill had set in. It was one of those damp days, where you can feel it settle in your bones. Even with the supposed promise of spring. I spent the day at work, dreaming of a hot shower and cozy pajamas. Really, is there anything more comforting, at the end of a long and exhausting day, then having a long, steaming shower? Well, maybe a gigantic glass of red wine, but I digress.
So, when the supper is finished and the littles are playing happily, I make my escape. I whisper my plan, to my hubby, on the way past. I mean, there is no point in attracting any extra attention. I lay out my jammies and get the shower running at that perfect - not burn you, but turn your skin red - temperature. I step under the water and take a deep breath. The heated drops work their magic on the chill and on the tense neck and shoulder muscles. This is exactly what I needed....
I grab my poof and go to get some soap. Empty. WTF? I quickly scan the 3x3 foot enclosure for the new bottle. Someone wouldn't leave an empty bottle, right? Wrong. No new bottle. F**k. Okay, think. I always do do my best thinking in the shower. Then, and at like 4 am. You know, the times that are really conducive to being productive. I could try and scream, at the top of my lungs, and see if my hubby hears me. Nope. Screw that. I am too exhausted, and, in the off chance that he does hear me, the entire family is going to barge in, on my long awaited relaxation time. It comes to me that there is a bar of soap, on our bathtub. Not ideal, but manageable.
I jump out of the shower and take as few steps as possible, to the bathtub, and back. Like a naked and horrifying hopscotch. Crisis averted. My anxiety, aka: this bitch, is like, 'Someone is going to come up and trip on the water, that you have left on the floor. They will probably crack their head on the side of the bathtub or the toilet. Then, you are going to be heading to the emergency room." Does my anxiety have no shame? Is there anywhere she won't go? I try and shut her out and return to my previous calm state.
Wham!!!! I jump. Two small hands, pressed against the other side of the shower door. Shit. They have found me....
"What are you doing?" (Really, kid???)
"Having a shower, honey. Now, can you give Mommy some privacy? I will be out in a few minutes."
He stands for a minutes, considering this option. Then he disappears. But he doesn't leave the bathroom. No..... He goes further into the washroom and then returns to the shower door. This time, hands on his hips. I can't see his face, for the steam, but I know the judgement, in that stance.
"Mama, why is there water on the floor?"
"Because I had to get out of the shower to get some soap. Now, Mommy will be.."
"Is the water from the toilet?"
"No, it is from the shower but.."
"It looks like it came from the toilet."
"It didn't come from the toilet, so if you..
"The toilet water is on my socks!!! Yuck! We need to get them off!"
I turn off the shower. I should really know better, by now. Just like some animals can sense fear, kids can sense a mama trying to relax. As I towel off, I can hear my little explaining to my husband that I got toilet water, all over the floor. It occurs to me, that the shower to cure the chill, had no chill. Next time, I think I will opt for the colossal glass of wine.
Does Mommy need to lose her shit?
Not this week.