Bath Time Sucks

These pictures were taken about a year ago, but are still accurate representations of bath time hair washing.

It used to be that as soon as Hannah saw a filled bathtub (or was placed naked in the kitchen sink) the wailing would begin. The past few months have seen a shift in attitude. Who would have thought bath crayons make all the difference?

Last night, after realizing Hannah hadn't had a bath in a week, (don't judge, bathing Hannah as an infant has made us gun shy - she used to cry so hard she'd poop in the water) we fired up the tub, drug out the huge basket of bathtub toys, plopped her into a lukewarm bath and handed over the crayons. We drew circles, triangles, spirals, and squiggles. We used the pink crayon, the green crayon, the purple crayon, and the brown crayon (please be sure your toddler has pooped before getting into the tub if you plan on using the brown crayon). It was fabulous.

I asked her to show me how to float on her stomach. I asked her if she could float on her back. We played with a toy watering can and the spray bottle I got from the hospital after Hannah was born. All of these succeeded in her hair getting mostly wet. But not quite wet enough to wash her hair.

The screaming began as soon as I gently laid her back in the tub and slowly poured water over her hair to get it ready for a very necessary scrubbing. As I massaged shampoo on her little noggin she continued to scream and cry and wail her displeasure. Bryan and I have remarked in the past that we are surprised the police haven't been summoned by the neighbors during bath time on suspicions of child abuse. This is how loudly and passionately she screams when we wash her hair.

And now what to do with the sudsy hair but rinse. Rinsing her hair breaks my heart. I am not often drawn to tears, but rinsing her hair and hearing the fear in her cries breaks my heart. And then there are times when I'm just annoyed. I'm not going to hurt her. I'm not going to let her drown. I don't want to get soap in her eyes. I'm so tired of this struggle. She needs to Just. Get. Over. It.

Last night was a rare combination of the two. I began in the Just Get Over It mode and then shifted to feeling so bad for her I wanted to pick her up, soapy hair and all, and just cuddle her. But that would delay the necessary. And, I would wind up needing to change clothes, and I really hate late-in-the-day outfit changes. I already have enough laundry to do, do I really need to create more because my child won't let me rinse her hair? So, I worked to get the shampoo out of her hair, fighting freakishly strong toddler arms, hands, and legs while doing my best to keep the suds from running down her face and into her eyes. All of my efforts didn't keep her from swallowing a large mouth of bathwater, causing a large sputtering coughing jag, or from stinging her eyes with shampoo suds. She's really strong.

As soon as I was finished, I quickly got her onto her feet and asked her to look at me. She looked up, tears streaming down her face, snot dripping onto her lip, and I asked her, "Hannah, do you think mommy would ever, ever hurt you?" She said, "Yesh."

Spent, soaked, and a bit sad, I turned to Bryan, and informed them both, that, "Daddy will take it from here."