What you’re about to read are true events.
A friend was coming over for dinner so I decided to throw the girls in the bathtub directly after school to get it out of the way. They’re normally pretty well-behaved in the tub so I thought, Hey–why don’t I jump in the shower real quick? After all, the baby was sleeping in the bassinet so I figured I had a little time.
Plus, my scalp was really hurting. Has your scalp ever hurt because your hair is so heavy? Y’all don’t hate on my thick hair. I’m grateful for it and all, but sometimes it can be a real pain in my… er, head... because it’s so thick and long and the weight just pulls on my scalp. Damn gravity. The pain is comparable to when your two year-old wants to “play with Mommy’s hair”. Wait, maybe that’s why my scalp really hurts? I can’t be sure at this point anymore. Anyway, the only thing that makes my scalp feel better is washing it. Actually, a scalp massage by my husband does the trick, too, but since he was flying, a shampooing would suffice.
But I digress.
I put Alexander in front of the shower (there’s no door or curtain to our shower) so I can keep an eye on him, should he wake up. Which he does because Law of Babies: Whenever a mother enters a shower, a baby shall cry.
my actual shower.
pic cred: my actual iphone.
So I’m rinsing out the shampoo and dreading turning the hot water off, when I hear, “Adelaide stop hitting me! MOOOOMMMMM, she’s hitting me thirty times!”
How long has she been hitting her big sis while I was in the shower? How dare I care about my hygiene! Moms can be so selfish sometimes…
I throw a towel around me and fly down the hall to see: Yes. Yes, the toddler is hitting her sister. To which I sternly state, “Adelaide, stop hitting your sister.” Naturally. Then run back down the hall to tend to the still-crying newborn.
I know he’s hungry because he looks like a blind baby bird searching for a worm. But my hair is sopping wet and I don’t want to baptize him because I don’t think I am qualified to do that; plus none of our family is here and I’d be such a jerk if I held such a momentous occasion without them. So I tell him he’s gotta take one for the team and wait while I brush my hair and ring out some of the water. But this isn’t an easy feat because my hair is naturally wavy-curly and it takes half a bottle of detangler spray and a month to brush it. No joke. My roommate in college could take a full shower before I was done brushing my hair. It sounds like I’m being ungrateful for my thick and long hair. I promise I’m not. Well maybe just a little.
So three hours go by and the baby is STILL crying. Sheesh, doesn’t he understand priorities? So I go to pick him up to nurse him, only to hear, “STOP IT ADELAIDE! MMOOOOOMMMMM, she’s hitting me again!” I run down the hall, but this time in the buff, and also this time leaking breastmilk down my body. It’s like the Hoover Dam has sprouted a leak from my boobs. I shout to the girls, “Drain the water; you’re getting out!” Then run back down the hall to the baby. Still crying.
I start to pick him up then think, I better put on some pants. It’s drafty. I STILL hear fighting from the girls so I shove the baby on the boob, then run back down the hall. With one hand, because Baby on the Boob, I get Adelaide out of the tub, towel her up, dry her off, and put on her pull-up and jammies. Emmalyn is old enough to fend for herself. Well, I wouldn’t send her out into the wild to fend for herself–yet. She’s only six! She needs to be at least ten for that. Geeze, what kind of mom do you think I am?!
The moral of the story? There is none. This was just a crazy and true scene from my life and I thought I’d share. You’re welcome 🙂
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