July 25th, 2011
I have always been a fan of a good hot shower. I can remember living in a freezing cold sorority house in college and taking half-hour long showers in the middle of the afternoon to warm up. It was heaven.
When I became a mother, showers took on a whole new aura of magic. Those blissful moments of sudsy solitude — made more precious for their rarity during the sleepless, manic days of early motherhood — were indescribably refreshing to both body and soul.
Let me just say that the calming, rejuvenating powers of the shower are somewhat diminished when you are joined by a small naked two-year-old who cheerfully dances, sings, does the hokey-pokey, and repeatedly demands — “Mommy, can you move so I can be in the water?”
Overnight, Miss Mouse has gone from fearing the jets of water raining down from the sky, to loving nothing so much as to cavort below them. With me, of course. A shower without Mommy is just pointless. And so, each morning, she cannonballs into bed with me as soon as my alarm goes off and begs to shower with me.
It’s hard to say no. As much as I love my me-time in the shower, she’s so darned cute, chin upturned to the spray, eyes squinched closed, bangs and smile both plastered onto her face. If only she would stop hogging the water!