From the first spurts off the nozzle til the towel is pulled out of the hanger, my shower room turns into a vocalization nook for a Pavarotti score. If I am lucky I get a kick. Little Mr. Bath-hater struggles to master the art of not missing a breath while water cascades down his face. I grapple with the effort of making him comfortable while getting rid of suds the quickest way possible. The pic below shows him having a great time on the tub playing with his cousin in Digos city (I have to tweak it for obvious reasons) .
Anyway, how in the name of Thailand’s goddess of water and the Philippines’ own San Juan, did my ex-mom-n-law, my mother and all talented yayas bathe my kiddo without a single scream from his diaphragm? Three Fridays ago after work, I sat listening to Cj splashing. Number of screams: zero. He even emerged from the bathroom grinning with his proud yaya in tow. I turned purple with jealousy.
Bathing my other boy, Mozart is entirely an opposite experience. We are bath time buddies! His only issue is when the water temp is not adjusted to his liking. The little rascal is more maarte than I could ever be. Cj observes Mozart and me having fun with shampoo bubbles. Sometimes he gives me a look that tells me, “good job with Mozart, Mom; you suck with me.”
I’m learning; the TH (trying hard) mom that I am. Any tip from you, veteran moms out there? Meanwhile, the screaming continues.