One morning back in July, Regina finished her breakfast. I wiped her face and told her it’s time for a bath.
“I want a Bubble Bath Daddy.”
“Bubble Bath? Sure!” I opened the bathroom cabinet and the bottle was empty. “Oh. I’m sorry Hun, we’re all out of bubble bath.” Regina, being who she is, had to check the bottle herself. Cue the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree music. Cue naked toddler with her chin touching her chest. Saddest. Bath. Ever.
Mental note: tell Annie to grab bubble bath next time she runs errands. The note turned to dust before lunch.
Flash forward two weeks:
“I want a Bubble Bath Daddy.”
“Bubble Bath? Sure!” I opened the bathroom cabinet and there was no bottle. “Oh. I’m sorry Hun, we have no bubble bath.” Regina, being who she is, had to check for the bottle herself. Cue the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree music. Cue naked toddler with her chin touching her chest. Second. Saddest. Bath. Ever. Mental note: tell Annie to grab bubble bath next time she runs errands. The mental note turned to dust before lunch.
Flash forward two, maybe three weeks…I hope you’re picking up on a pattern here.
Now, we’re in September. Somehow all of my synapses lined up and before Annie went out the door to run some errands with Reg, I (drum roll) remembered the (bleep)ing Bubble Bath!
“Annie, you’ll be out with Reggie, when you pull it off the shelf, make a bit of a production about it, and please tell her that I made the request for her.” Yep. I’m using it as a propaganda piece. I’m the mean parent who makes the girls eat lunch and take time-outs. Annie’s the fun parent who takes them out on errands. Any chance I have to be cast in a positive light is taken.
When they came home from the errands, the first thing out of Reggie’s mouth was, “We have bubble bath Daddy!”
“That’s wonderful!”
“I want a bubble bath now.” She actually began stripping right there.
“I’m sorry! We need to go to Grandma & Grandpa’s in a few minutes.” Cue the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree Music…you get the idea. “But I promise, you will get your bubble bath tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The next morning, the bedroom light was flipped on, revealing two groggy little girls burying their faces into their pillows. The routine was officially on, I grabbed Lyd, Annie took care of Reg, “Good morning Sweetie!” Annie said to Reg as she undid her heavy morning diaper.
“Bubble bath Mama.” (Be careful what you promise this little girl)
Lydia joined Regina for breakfast. Annie set out Lyd’s oatmeal and gave us all kisses before heading out the door.
“Bubble Bath Daddy?”
“After we’re Home from taking Lyd to school. Okay?”
“Okay.”
We went on through our morning routine. Nothing out of the ordinary except Reg finally wiped out on her tricycle after my four-hundredth warning about cranking on the handlebars.
Finally! We were back Home, “Ready for your bubble bath Hun? You’ve only been waiting since July.”
“Yeah.”
She Loved it! She was putting bubbles up on her hair, she attempted a beard, she was floating in it. She didn’t even want bath toys, the bubbles were enough. I pulled out my phone and was messaging Annie about how happy Reggie was. Just as I hit “send” Regina spoke, “I pooped Daddy. I made poop in the bubble bath.”
Saddest ending to a bubble bath.
Ever.