Last week, I asked you “Do you want to shower with baba?” You knew what a shower was because we use it to rinse off after swim. You also know it because we say “Baba is showering” whenever you wander into the bathroom and smush your face against the glass pane as if trying to get through.
“Yesss,” you said. “Shower with baba.”
You had never suggested it before yourself, but I felt like it was time to try something new with bath time when I have to keep three towels next to me rather than just the one for yourself. You’re bigger and stronger now, so when you splash, water actually gets everywhere, and by that I mean myself and the tiles on the ground.
You stepped in with deliberate steps holding onto the shower door frame as the water came pelting down on your head. You swiveled around a few times and as I soaped myself up, you scraped at the same three inches of the shower glass with a squeegee / wiper. You continued scraping at those three inches as I soaped you up.
We stepped out of the shower twenty five minutes earlier than normal (normal = 30 minute baths). What I hadn’t worked out was how to dry us both off. You shed the towel in the first instance and puttered off around the corner. As I dried myself off, I started hearing little yelps of “Towel.”
“I know, Baobao, you need to dry off still,” I yelled back.
You walked back into the bathroom and said “Qian shou” (hold hands), leading the way to our closet with my towel still draped around me.
“Towel,” you said again and I saw exactly why for in the middle of our closet was a puddle of liquid that could’ve only come from one particular source because I didn’t do that bad of a job with drying you off.
We showered again the next day and this time you dropped a small pee on your mother’s pillow while I was drying myself off.
“Why can’t you just close the bathroom door when you’re showering?” your mother asked.
And so we did for the rest of the week because “showering with baba” is now your preferred choice for bath time.