I thought about not posting this because, well, it's TMI. Information you probably just don't need to know, or don't want to know. Especially if you're one of my students or something. So if you just don't want to know, stop reading now. Go to this website about singing nuns or something.
Go on now, shoo.
No really, go.
Last warning. I mean it. The nuns are calling you, telling you this will be less traumatic.
We have learned of late that it is possible to do things like, say, cook while watching after Xan by simply putting him into this fantastic vibrating chair that just whirrrrrrrrs like mad, making his whole body shake and making him very happy. He just sits there and stares and we can talk to him to explain exactly why chopping onions makes Momma cry, that it's not necessarily the story about Senate filibuster reform playing on NPR. That chair is one of the best inventions ever, really.
So the other day I'm at home and looking after Xan, as usual. In my life before parenthood, I basically couldn't even consider waking up without taking a shower, much less leave the house because (a) I have bad bed head, (b) I stink and (c) it's just the way I wake up. These days, however, certain small people have placed other priorities over my bathing and I have learned that sometimes getting a nap or food in my mouth is a better idea. Nevertheless, it is sometimes good to shower. I began to ponder how I might have one without it being 29 seconds long before I began to wonder if his crib was blowing up or something.
I remember the whirring chair. Great! I'll put it on the floor and take a shower, talking to him and looking out of the curtain all the time.
This actually works really well. He sits there quietly and I am able to get clean. Great. And no, this is not a tale of how I slipped and dropped him or anything. No physical damage to my child.
I step out of the shower. Dripping and naked, of course.
My son stares at me.
It is important to know that at this point, Xan probably can't see colors quite yet. He is instead drawn to stark contrasts, like my hairline. He would love a goth these days far more than a clown, for example.
Can you guess where Xan is staring? (For the record, let's just say I haven't quite gone in for the latest trends in body hair removal either.)
Well. Xan was entirely non-plussed. Me, I'm thinking one of us will need therapy for this someday.