As the title suggests... If there is one thing i hate, its bathtime!
Most people love bathtime with their kids, its a way for the kids to have fun, while being cleaned and to create a happy, bonding occasion between parent and child.
Not in this family.
I have three children who all need to be bathed on a regular basis. Each and every time this day rolls around, it fills me with dread.
However, despite my reservations, they all look forward to this occasion with much glee. There is something about the water that children just seem to love. Never mind the fact that its a highly dangerous combination when left in the wrong hands, all they see is the enticing depths of the blue lagoon and what fun there is to be had there.
Anyway.. i fill the bath up and my eldest two (aged 7 and 4) immediately jump in and get to work splashing, screaming, and having a whale of a time.
I then plonk my just turned 3 yr old into the mix and at first she is ok, the water isnt scary, she even plays for a few minutes but as she's the first one out (to free up the room for the rapidly growing other two) she is the first to be washed, and this is where it all goes wrong.
Sophie freaks out as soon as you pick the sponge up. So deathly afraid of being clean, she turns into a screaming, sobbing, slippery, shrieking banshee and dont we all hear about it!
She tries to run away, whilst in the bath to get away from me which as you can imagine is never a good idea. She tries climbing out, she tries flinging herself into my arms, all while im trying to wash her and rinse out her hair.
She just doesnt listen to any sort of reason, she is screaming so ear piercingly loud that im sure every neighbour within a 5 mile radius believes that once again, im trying to murder my daughter.
The bathroom ends up looking like a swimming pool, i end up resembling a drowned rat and well you get the picture.
John has long since given up trying to bath Sophie as he cant cope with it and so the task is left to me. He gets handed the nice, quiet child all snugly wrapped in a towel who at that moment in time despises Mummy and thinks Daddy is her hero.
That then leaves me with the other two. I try to encourage a bit of independence, hand them the sponge and soap to wash themselves and monitor their progress. Sometimes it goes well, other times like this evening, it doesnt.
They had worked themselves up into such a silly mood (over tired i think) that they were beyond all reason and sense. There was water everywhere, there was two helplessly giggling girls, an angry daddy who had had quite enough of giggling girls for one day and me in the middle desperately trying to hurry them up so that i could get them into bed for the peace and quiet time of the evening to begin.
Cue a few screams, rants and tears later, three monstourous (but clean) children tumbled into bed and we retired to the living room, Indian takeaway menu in hand.
Aaaahhhhhhhh. Bliss!
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