I’ve got a confession to make. I’m not sure whether it’s going to make me sound like a miserable git or uncaring dad, but sod it. I know I’m not and I can’t resist a good rant, so here goes. I hate bath night.
Every other day, I’ll be on my way home after a busy one at work. Having sprinted between connecting trains and slumped into a seat, I’ll start to think “Well at least that’s over and done with for another day.”
It’s at this point that I’m hit by the realisation that the boys have to be hosed down when I get home. I’m immediately consumed by a feeling of dread about the battle that awaits me. There will be thrashing limbs, tantrums and water everywhere. Guaranteed.
First up is Xander. Although he doesn’t seem to mind having a bath, he has a lemming-like determination to escape my clutches and go scuba diving. He quite likes puking while he’s in there too. Bless.
Due to his determination to escape our collective grasp – yes, it takes both of us if he is going to be held still and washed – his bath is a mercifully speedy one. But there’s always the chance he’ll wee all over himself and the floor before we get him dried and dressed for bed.
Then it’s Dylan’s turn. He used to hate the water, but now he loves it. Mostly. Washing him is okay. Washing his hair, not so much. He still goes berserk whatever we do in an attempt to achieve the latter.
A stealthy bit of distraction used to suffice. But now he’s wise to the fact that the eagle I point him towards doesn’t actually exist. Ah well, it entertained me while it lasted.
Once this part and the ensuing tantrum have passed, we have another tempest of sorts as he repeatedly slams his foot into the water, soaking everything. Seriously, the bathtub is the driest thing in the room after this.
Once he’s been lifted out, his little legs desperately trying to get one last splash in as he goes, you’d think the woe would be over. You’d be wrong. He often has better things to do than stand around to be dried.
The other day, he legged it into our room, grabbed a book on his way and pretended to read it, using the bed as a table. “Come on, Tom, let him play this game for a minute. It’s kind of funny,” I thought to myself. He pissed on my side of the bed. The git.