Bouncy Castle Belly Syndrome, a.k.a. Motherhood

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I’m supposed to be typing a grant application essay right now, but I am sick of research and dry writing.  I keep wanting to answer the questions sarcastically, and I hear that those people tend to not have a sense of humor.  I just wrote an entire paragraph about finding my special purpose in life, without giving any accolades to Steve Martin.  Just seems so wrong.

 

I have to write about something funny, NOW, before I get too serious!

Today, I needed a bath.  That’s not the funny part.  I often need a bath because when I sweat I smell worse than my dog does when she rolls in whatever that brown, matted, poo-looking stuff was on the trail.  It’s true.  I can’t even stand MY OWN SMELL, and you know that’s bad. I was hoping that my husband would take over the bed time routine for my kiddo, but I guess that “I’m gonna take a bath now” wasn’t a big enough hint.

I get in too soon, because I have a hard time delaying gratification.  The water isn’t hot enough, which always happens when I really want to sit in my own filth for a while.  At least if it’s scalding, I feel clean.  I sweat more, too, but I can’t smell it because there are orange scented  bubbles.  I open my book and read 4.5 words before the bathroom door opens.

“Mommy?  Are you taking a bath?”  hmmm.  No.  I am doing the dishes.  Naked.  In the tub.  While reading.  No fun at all.  Go away.

“Yeah, baby.  Go see what your daddy is doing.”

“Ohhhkayyyy!  Bye-bye, Mommy!”

I almost finished the sentence when the door opens again.

“Mommy? I brought you the cat.”

“Oh, thanks sweetie.   See you in a bit!”

“Ohhhhkkaaaaayyyyyyy, Mommy.” She locks the cat in the bathroom with me.  Poor kitty.

Almost began the next sentence when the door opens yet again.  My water is now tepid  from the constant draft.  The yummie orange bubbles are quickly deflating and their opaque sludge is forming a not-so-attractive film on the surface of my pathetic attempt at bathing.

“Mommmmyyyyyy?????”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can I just put my feet in with you?”

“Well…. in about… ten minutes you can.  I’ll call you when it’s time.”

“Okay.  I’ll just wait here with the cat.”

(3 seconds pass)

“Can I get my feet in now?”

“Sure you can.”  What the hell.  I wasn’t actually reading.  I had considered shaving my legs, but I guess I will let the forest continue to grow.  Conservation.

“I’m just going to take off my clothes in case I accidentally get wet.”

“Do you just want to get in, honey?  (big smile)  Okay.  Just get in with me for a bit.  I’m trying to read though.”

What ensued from there was, well, I guess it was life as a Mommy… and I must admit it was pretty great.  I love that kid.  She starts skiing her plastic toys down my legs while I read an entire chapter!

And then the landing strip for the skiing plastic animals became my belly.

“Wheeeeee!  Splash!  Boing!”

It’s a good thing I love her so much, or I may have kicked her little naked self right out of my luke-warm bath after the comment that came next.

“Mommy! (this said in a manner similar to the joy of finding cookies being served for breakfast)  Your tummy is just like a jumpy castle!!”

“Wheeeeee!  Splash!  Boing!”

Now, I never ever ever had a washboard tummy, but a bouncy castle?!  Things have really changed.  In my bubble I am worshipped for my awesome skill of doubling as a bouncy castle.  Only for small plastic animals though.  As soon as real children try to bounce on me, I quit.  I will still double as a love seat, though.  A nice, velvety one, that kids shouldn’t jump on.

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