I took a bath yesterday.
This was simultaneously hilarious and offensive to my kids.
They must have been searching for a solid ten minutes when they finally discovered me scrunched up in the teeny tiny tub in the teeny tiny back bathroom in our house—the only tub we have in our “new” house.
When we moved into this house after my separation two and a half years ago the teeny tiny tub was a drawback to me. I LOVE a good soak. Hot water up to my chin, my whole body completely immersed, possibly some Jo Malone amber and lavender oil to soothe the inner senses. But the house had a good kitchen, three bedrooms, a playroom for the kids, and a Jacuzzi. I figured if I got desperate, I could pop in there. “Yes.” I thought when I took the house. “This will do.”
Well, “popping” into the Jacuzzi proved more difficult than I had planned. Two and a half years, three power outages, eight leaks, and two busted pipes later, I’ve given up on the Jacuzzi and it sits abandoned outside my bedroom window.
So for months I’d been craving a soak. I was missing my old house. The dream house I lived in with my husband. The old marble bathroom with the tub big enough for two with the “bubble therapy” option. The only bubble therapy I get now is from a good laugh at a kid farting in the bath.
But I was desperate. Craving warmth and immersion. So I thought I’d try out our teeny tiny tub.
I had to bend my knees, and it wouldn’t fill high enough to cover my entire body. But it was hot and if I sunk all the way down, it wasn’t a total loss. Maybe I could grab a little peace and quiet. If I just closed my eyes ...
I ignored them.
Okay...I have that darn “three calls” rule ... I felt obliged to answer. “I’m in here!”
I heard them coming in my direction. I involuntarily sunk down deeper into the tub.
They were in the room outside the bathroom but still confused. “Mom?”
“In the bathroom!”
They peeked in the door at the toilet (because that’s the most likely place I’d be) even though the tub is right in front of them. They didn’t see me.
“Hey.” I say.
“Whatda!” My oldest daughter turned and started to crack up.
“Mommy! You never use this tub. You look funny.” She pointed to my boobs which were a buoyantly floating at the top of the water because it wasn’t deep enough to submerge them.
“BEN! LIVI! Come here! You gotta see this!”
They appeared. Ben peeked in, saw me and yelled “AAAH!” He ran away. A vision of his naked forty-three-year-old mother burned into his young brain forever.
Livi stayed with her sister and they pointed, giggled and asked personal questions about my body parts I would’ve prefered not to answer. I wished the water was deeper.
“Mommy? Why are you taking a bath in our tub?” Asks Livi.
“Because I like to take baths.”
“But you never take a bath in this tub.”
“I do now.”
“Oh.” She continued to stare.
I realized my solitary time was up. “Want to come in?”
“Fine. Then close the door. You’re letting out the heat.”
Nothing new left to point at, they went to watch TV.
I was left by myself in my teeny tiny tub. Soaking up what few moments of quiet I have left.
The water began to cool.
I got out.
Okay, that wasn’t so bad.
It wasn’t a Jacuzzi, and it wasn’t my marble tub for two. But I had a nice hot soak. In my own house.
Yes. This will do.