The Baby and the Bathwater

Nothing speaks louder about the difference in my life con bebe than my experience in the bathtub last night. And even though I love my little Matteo, I am not so thrilled about the impact he has made on my bathtub, or should I say, what used to be my bathtub.

For those of you who know me, you know that I have a long running intimate relationship with my bath. It is my decompression chamber, my safe haven from all things stressful and unwanted.  For many years I have taken a bath every night.  Ev-e-ry night.  My bathtime ritual involves aromatherapy, candles, books, wine, smoke, and whatever else I feel like including (use your imagination).

It wasn’t until last night that I was hit right between the eyes on the impact having a child has made on my favorite evening ritual.  And I must say I wasn’t too happy about it.  Granted, it’s not enough to make me drop him off at the fire station, but I swore to myself that I must make sure that our next house has TWO bathtubs; one for me (and me only) and one for my offspring.

Glaring difference #1:  I haven’t even taken a bath in ages!  I can’t even remember the last time I took a bath for a reason other than to shave my legs (another event that rarely happens, but I can’t blame that one on the kid).

Glaring difference #2:  I’m out of product.  I used to have salts, scrubs, bubbles, candles, waterproof books, cup holders, you name it.  Last night the only thing remaining was a half used tub of bath salts.

Glaring difference #3:  All my products have been replaced by all Matteo’s products.  He has a non-slip mat (like the one my grandma used to have), bubble bath in the shape of an oil can from the movie Cars (which he hasn’t even seen), Johnson’s head to toe baby wash, Burt’s Bees Baby Bee milkbath, stacking cups and other bath toys.  He even has a frog mounted to the wall to hold all this shit in.  And the worst part?  I bought all this shit.  Yeah, it was me…guilty as charged.

So as I was taking my bath and staring at this less than ideal situation, I was crabby.  I was tired (standard) and laid in my lukewarm water (I made the mistake of washing bottles and running the dishwasher before running my bathwater - bad idea) wondering where my life has gone.  Not only do I not have my bathtub sanctuary, I have lost that “me” time spent in that space.  The best thing that came out of this experience (other than clean shaven legs) is my shift in perspective to preserve the things that are most important to me.  I love my bath time, and that damn frog is coming down.  The baby stuff is going in the cabinet when it’s not being used, and I’m reclaiming my territory.  And it’s my right, dammit.  This is MY tub, and Matteo can share it, but he’s not taking over (at least not yet).