The art of having a shower.

Whenever I read “take a shower” on one of those how-to self-care/relax/reset/be mindful lists, I laugh.

The good old days. When having a shower could actually be any of those things.

The other day I didn’t shower for two days (really not that bad in the big scheme of things). When I mentioned it to my husband in passing, he said “why? Don’t you just bring [Miss 15 months] with you?” You know, overall daring to imply that it wasn’t that hard.

I just looked at him. Gave him a look that says, “oh, sweetie (with a healthy dose of eyeball transmitted sarcasm)” or “how often do you take her into the bathroom with you while you shower?” or “yeah it’s really easy, that’s why I choose to do it five times a day just for fun.”

But because I don’t have the emotional energy for an argument (I wish I could take credit for trying to be a Good Partner, but this is marriage. Sometimes it’s a power play), I let it drop with an unimpressed “mhm.”

So, since ranting online is definitely a healthier way to get my feelings out instead of communicating with my husband, and because I’m one Very Flawed Human, who will probably regret writing this rant later, here is a brief how-to guide:

How-To Shower with your Toddler in the Room.

It’s so blissful! It’s so easy! Do it every day because it’s so darn relaxing! You will feel so refreshed and rejuvenated!

First, lug everything into the bathroom. I mean everything. Your clean clothes (because taking a toddler upstairs so you can get dressed is just a whole other mission). Towels. The squirming toddler. The toddler’s bunny. The miniature piano to keep her occupied.

Shut the door, enclosuring yourself, the toddler, and all of those miscellaneous objects in a very confined, hazardous space with multiple opportunities for flooding. 

Dump your clean clothes on the vanity, which will inevitably end up being pulled onto the floor.

Place the bathmat outside the shower door. Replace it at least three times in the next 10 seconds as the toddler moves it.

Set up the piano next to the shower. Press the button so that it starts playing one of the six nursery rhymes that haunt your every long afternoon. Try to encourage the toddler to play said piano, because it will make the next step easier.

Strip off all your clothes. Fast. You’re working against the clock now - the clock of toddler destruction and/or tears.

Watch your toddler find your body hilarious. You still don’t know why she points and laughs so hard. However, this is not the time for reflective questions.

Spring open the shower door and get in. Straight away. Close the door. Straight away. Avoid jamming any little fingers in the process. Avoid the toddler entering the shower with you at all costs. It’s one of her greatest desires.

Keep either one leg or one hand pressed hard against the shower door for the entire duration. Don’t. Move. It. Ever. Especially when you think it’s safe because she’s occupied. That’s exactly when she will open it to join you, and get soaked.

Start your refreshing and relaxing shower. Ah, bliss!

Glance at the toddler. Ask her to stop going through the bin.

Again.

Again.

Ask her to play the piano instead. Hear Twinkle Twinkle Little Star start and feel relieved.

Swear you need to move the bin when you get out. Immediately forget because she’s trying to break in through the door.

Press both one hand and one leg against the door. Be thankful you don’t have a shower curtain instead.

Use one hand to put a dollop of shampoo in your hair. Don’t question whether you’ve already wet your hair or not. Don’t bother to spread the shampoo out.

Hear the toddler going through the bin once again. Try the piano distraction. Know she’s just taking out all of her bath toys and putting them on the ground instead. Count it as a win anyway.

Start shaving one knee for the first time in weeks. Try to comfort the toddler who is now crying through the shower door, because she misses you.

The crying continues. Half-heartedly wash the shampoo out of your hair in seven seconds. Question whether you can still hear Twinkle Twinkle Little Star playing or if it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. Take yourself and your unshaven legs out of the shower.

The crying ends immediately. Make a large puddle on the floor because the bathmat is now at the other end of the room. Try to dry yourself while the toddler hugs your legs.

Get dressed while the toddler hands you all of your dirty clothes one by one. Admit that she has a point. What’s the point of wearing clean clothes? It just makes more laundry.

Stand on and then trip over several bath toys while trying to pull up pants over your pregnant belly in a confined space, with a small person grappling at your legs.

Question whether you’re wearing the clean or dirty clothes. Watch the toddler sit in the puddle on the floor. Lug her and all of your worldly possessions out of the bathroom. Go into her room and change her out of the puddle-clothes. Note that it’s her fourth change of clothes today.

Feel a slight sense of achievement and a large sense of stress.

Repeat the process in 2-3 business days.

Brief side notes:

- yes, technically I could shower before my toddler wakes up in the morning. However, the bathroom is right next to her room and the noise could wake her up. Also, she tends to wake up anywhere between 5:00am and 6:45am, and I’m not really one to get up voluntarily at 4:50am after a night of broken sleep.

- yes, soon I’ll be attempting The Shower with two little people. I think I’ll just give up then and we can all stand under a sprinkler together or something.