Forget it. I’m out.
Boys at age 4 are wiggly. This makes some of our routines a bit of a gymnastics exercise.
Last night, the muppets splished and splashed their way through bath time. Once the bathroom was thoroughly flooded – meaning the balance of water was out of the tub rather than in – it was time for pajama wrestling.
Destroy surged out of the bath and scampered off toward his bedroom, leaving a stream of bathwater behind him. Jon chased after him with a towel.
Search climbed out a bit more tentatively and I wrapped him up in a towel, while he stepped up onto his sink stepstool. Given the architecture of the bathroom, there is an approximate distance of 2.5 feet between the tub and vanity.
Search stood literally 2 inches from me as I turned to put toothpaste on his toothbrush.
Our routine was suddenly interrupted by a humongous crash.
Search was no longer standing next to me.
I turned my head 15 degrees to the right.
There was no longer a shower curtain affixed to wall.
I directed my gaze downward.
Search was now lying in the still half-full tub, cocooned in his towel and further wrapped in the beach-themed shower curtain he’d brought down with him. He was wielding the shower rod like a champion lance, complete with a set of conquered rings. His eyes, wide with shock, stared back up at me.
I knew he couldn’t be too badly hurt, due to the padding created by all the wreckage created in the fall. (Side note – turns out we have VERY absorbent towels.)
“Are you ok?!” I asked, attempting to keep my voice measured so as to not freak the little man out – yet growing increasingly concerned that he had uttered nary a peep. (Head injuries are scary shit, y’all.)
“I’M WET!” he wailed, wildly casting his eyes about and thrusting his shower-rod-lancet toward the drain plug.
Glad he’s got the bigger issues in life identified. But to be fair – he hadn’t really dried off from bath yet anyway.