Turd in the Tub

Millie has always enjoyed the bath. I will never forget balancing her on my left forearm while bathing her in my kitchen sink. When she first learned to splash, she’d get water in her face, blink, and gasp; inevitably I’d get soaked. She would try to grab the water coming out of the faucet with her clumsy, little hands. I still love to rub oil on her clean, baby body when she’s fresh out of the tub. And how adorable are baby towels with the hoods?

This summer, Millie loved swimming in the pool; she would relax in her floaty, letting the water move her around. We swam in three different pools this season and each got Mill’s approval. When Millie was six months old, My grandma, Mill and I traveled to VA to visit my sister, who lives on the beach – I’m so jealous of her daily view – and Millie loved the ocean; she would yell at the waves when they would ripple away.

Millie takes a shower with me every Saturday morning. She clings to me while the water hits us. I spray shaving cream on the wall for her to play with. She doesn’t mind when the water hits her face and it’s probably because she dumps water on her face, daily. When Millie attempts to drink from a cup, she tips it back too quickly and the water splashes out and spills everywhere – she doesn’t seem to mind getting wet.

I read in, What to Expect When You’re Expecting: 1-2 years, that babies can start to revolt against the bath around 15 months. I shrugged it off considering how much Millie enjoys the bath – my karma. The next evening, after a delicious (but messy) taco dinner, Millie needed a bath. I undressed her, set her down in the tub, and she started to cry, real tears. I checked the temperature of the water; fine. I checked to see if she was sitting on anything uncomfortable; nope. I began singing to calm her down; didn’t help. I gave her, her waterbaby to play with; she pushed it away. I quickly washed the black beans off of her arms and face and took her out of the tub. As soon as I lifted her from the bath, the tears ceased.

I feared that the tub was now a time of terror and unfortunately, the next time a bath was necessary, cue the waterworks. I was determined to not let bath time turn into a habitual melt down, so I stripped down to my undergarments and joined my daughter in the tub. I poured water on myself and said positive things about the tub with a smile on my face, trying hard not to think about the baby pee that I might have been sitting in; and it worked! She stopped crying and began splashing and kicking her legs under the water. I felt victorious having navigated my daughter through a developmental hurdle.

That feeling soon changed when I saw a stream of bubbles floating up from Millie’s backside. I turned my attention to her face and she was turning a shade of red; pushing. As I lifted her from the water, attempting to sit her over the toilet, a turd accompanied us in the tub, corn kernels and all. A turd. In all its glory. A floater in the tub. The What to Expect When You’re Expecting book did not properly prepare me for bath time trauma we endured!