I don’t always have the luxury of having a shower without an audience.
Sometimes Greg is already at a meeting or away camping with fifteen of his closest nearly forty year old friends so I’m the bathroom host for the lather, rinse, repeat show.
Car-seat baby is always a big question mark at shower time. Now that she’s mobile, there’s no telling how much sweat pea, cherry blossom bubble bath could be smeared on the floor if I’m not proactive.
I load two baskets with building blocks, stuffed toys, large, colourful bouncy balls, books, a wand that lights up, squeezy things, squeaky things and textural wonders. A toy xylophone, a juggling monkey, several clowns crammed into a small car, bouncy castle and we’re ready to lather up.
Just as the steam becomes thick enough to impede my view, I squeegee a single retina-sized stroke across the glass door.
As she approached the unthinkable, I would stack my shampoo foamed hair on top of my head in case I had to jump out of the shower to slide her backwards before she touched it or put something in her mouth. I would start with, “CHLOE! NO!” and she would turn slowly with a sly grin on her face knowing if she wanted to, she could have a mouthful of God knows what before I could get to her. Crawling another inch toward it again, “Chloe………Chloe………… Chloe…………. NO!” another half turn, smile and this time slapping the floor, dragging her body to the finish line she was in a sprint for it.
Out I slide onto the floor, white globules of shampoo in a medusa swirl on my head, I set her in front of the elephant with bell inside, the plastic spoon, the soft copy of Goodnight Moon now sopping wet and hop back into the shower seconds before being permanently blinded by the soap dripping down my forehead into my eyes.
I close my eyes to rinse and she’s out of position.
Despite the gerbil on a wheel, the elephants playing soccer, the world’s tallest chimp and fire breathing dragons, she’s made her choice.
Toilet brush in the mouth.