Bath Time

Among my many duties as a husband and father is bath time for our kids. Now, I don't mind bath time (well, usually), because the kids have a great time in the bath and it always puts me in a good mood when they laugh and act silly. Plus, as most of you know, I'm a bit of a sap, and I can already see the time coming when my oldest announces that she is too old to have a bath with the other two and wants to take a shower. Now, I know that is part of growing up and all, but man, I am just not ready for a lot of the "growing up" milestones that we encounter as parents. Actually, the silly thing is that I am ready for them, but then when they happen, I immediately want to turn back the clock and pretend they didn't happen. Take, crib sleeping for example. When one or more of our kids were sleeping in cribs, it meant getting up in the middle of the night, usually several times a night to comfort a crying child. This involves dragging yourself out of bed, inevitably cracking a toe, shin or other more sensitive body part on some darkness-hidden hazard to come to the aid of my child. At this point, I am secretly praying for the day that they have their own bed and can come and go as they please. Then that day comes and I regret it instantly. First, good luck keeping a rambunctious three year old in bed at bedtime. Second, when they have a bed they don't stop crying in the middle of the night, they just bring the crying right to you - sort of like a crying delivery service. I should actually have them publish a menu, so I know what I am getting when they come in. They will come in wailing and before I ask them what's wrong they hand me a crying menu and I can pick the reason: nightmare, fell out of bed, sore throat, rolled over on doll and snapped off head of said doll, just threw up, just wizzed the bed, just crapped the bed, sister hit me while sleepwalking. (This way, my two o'clock in the morning wake up can go something like this: "Yes Julia, I will take an order of sore throat with a side of have-to-go-potty, hold the just-wizzed-the-bed. Thanks.")

But, as usual, I digress. The topic at hand is bath time. And (probably since it is summer and they are outside playing all day) I have come to the conclusion that there is nothing more disgusting then having a bath. OK, that's actually not true, there are probably dozens of things more disgusting, but there is nothing that claims to be a cleaning ritual as disgusting as having a bath. And I think that is why there are billion dollar consumer product corporations that produce all manner of bath gels, bath salts, bath lotions, bubble bath liquid - because without that cornucopia of perfumed bubble stuff, we'd quickly realize that we are spending twenty minutes wallowing in our own filth. Who has kids out there? Have you seen the water after your child(ren) takes a bath? On a good day it looks like puddle water after a rain storm (and I don't even want to talk about the bad day scenario) with dirt, pebbles, hair, glitter, grime, sand, various unidentified sticky substances. And they sit in this stuff for twenty minutes and allegedly come out "clean" at the end of the bath. How does this work exactly? You get into warm, clean, bubbled, bath salted water, filthy it up for twenty minutes and then emerge clean? At least in a shower, you are constantly being hit by clean, warm jets of water. In a bath you are soaking in a bacteria farm. And don't get me started on hottubs - when I want to soak in a bubbling cauldron of urine and bacteria soup I'll let you know. I suppose I'd make an exception if I knew the person to whom the hottub belonged - and were comfortable with their cleanliness and personal grooming habits. But, the idea of going to a hotel or lodge and climbing into that hottub - dear God, just save me the time and douse me in human pee and hair follicles and let me go shower.