Good Clean Fun. Not Really.

In commercials, bath time seems so fun; it's full of frothy bubbles and tender moments.  In real life, it's a sweaty, funky mess.  First of all, bubbles are a non-starter.  We can't use anything of the sort because the kids are allergic.  Also, because my pediatrician believes that Mr. Bubble is the Devil Incarnate Who Will Only Bring Your Child the Misery of Urinary Tract Infections.

When I was a kid we used Mr. Bubble, which I think in those days was actually just Tide laundry detergent, only harsher.  But not with these kids.  The most exciting product we can use is that powdered oatmeal stuff, which just turns the whole thing into a gross stew of kids and papier mache paste.  However, it does have the advantage of not causing urinary tract infections.  As an added bonus, instead of causing eczema, it helps heal it.  And those are the sort of things I look for in children's products.  I know: picky, picky.

Bath time at our house has always been a production.  When Cookie and the Pork Lo Maniac were born, they were small and fragile and had those preemie low-tone froggy legs.  Even in the smallest of infant tubs, they would sag and slide down.  Eventually they got bigger and stronger, and looked more like human babies.  Soon I was able to bathe them together in one baby tub.  Before I knew it, they were sitting up.  I tried those tub seats, but it turns out I am not coordinated enough to wrestle a baby into a plastic ring.  Getting them out of the seats was even worse: the babies were slippery, the suction cups on the bottom of the tub seat didn't work properly, and I'd end up covered in sweat and tepid bathwater.

Just about when they were able to sit up and enjoy the bath, we had another baby: the Peanut Butter Kid.  She was full-term and a jowly 9 lbs., 7 oz, so comparatively, it was like I'd given birth to a three-month old.  She was the size of Cookie and the Pork Lo Maniac put together. So without fanfare I added the Peanut Butter Baby into the mix, plopping the newborn tub into the regular bathtub, with one twin on either side.   

Just as the Peanut Butter Kid was able to safely sit up in the tub on her own, I became pregnant again.  By the way, when you have a bunch of babies in a row like I did, the doctors refer to you as "serially pregnant."  This is a delightful term that is clearly intended to evoke images of Ted Bundy and the Unabomber sugar and spice and everything nice. The context was that I needed to drink more milk, because being "serially pregnant" can make you calcium-depleted.  I believe all that progesterone can also cause permanent brain-damage, but the doctors never said anything about that.  I had to find out the hard way.  Case in point: I've completely lost track of what I was supposed to be talking about.

Ah yes, bathing. 

So, we had our fourth baby: Little Dude.  We simply could not fit the three girls plus an infant tub in our bathtub, so we had to start doing separate baths.  At the time, it was considered a big treat to have a bath with Baby Little Dude, so they had to take turns. I think at one point there may even have been a chart to keep track of who had to bathe with whom because that's exactly the kind of things our kids will bicker over.

So then it was double the amount of time hanging out in a steamy bathroom, awkwardly leaning over the tub, straining both back muscles and patience.  Double the cajoling of small people to "tilt your head back.  No, back.  Back is the other way.  Look up.  No, look up but close your eyes.  This would go a lot faster if you would just tilt your head back instead of trying to cover your head with that My Little Pony.  Ugh, what's that smell?  The My Little Pony?  Gaaahh, it's all mildewed!  Get that thing off your head!  Now I have to wash your hair again.  Tilt your head back.  No, back."

After many years and a few pinched nerves, we decided that the girls, at least, were ready for showers.  The older two are now completely self-sufficient.  When we were visiting our friends with four-year-old twins in Pennsylvania, I sent Cookie and the Pork Lo Maniac up for showers, and up they went.  When they returned they were clean, dressed, and their hair was combed.  Our hosts were nearly in tears because it gave them so much hope for the future.  I savored the moment for a bit, and then went up to sweat get the other two clean.