So if you are a mother you already know that when your kids are little, there is nothing off-limits. If you go to the bathroom? They will follow you right in the bathroom and talk to you about things like turtles while you are pooping. They will watch you, with a mixture of fascination and disgust, as you pluck a hair off your chin. It is almost impossible for you to take a shower without a little head poking through the curtain to tell you such life-altering news as, "The phone rang!" and "I made a pee-pee on the couch!" or ask you important questions like "Why do you have hair under your arms?".
But you tell yourself that it will get better. Eventually they will get older and they will not be utterly fascinated by every move you make. They won't DESPERATELY NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING the moment you get on the phone with your grandma. That someday, somehow, you will get to a point in your life that you will have a moment of peace.
And then you remember.
You have a husband.
Last night I was exhausted. I mean, exhausted . Stupidly ridiculous exhausted. And also sweaty because I had been walking and despite the fact it's September, it's still hot as balls.
So I decided to take a bath.
My beloved, who was watching the Republican National Convention, JUST BECAUSE HE LIKES IT (for the love of God), said,
"Oh! Before you take a bath? Can I take a shower?"
I looked at the clock. It said 9:27pm. This did not bode well for me.
"I'm tired hon," I said. "I just want to take a bath and go to bed."
He said, "How about if I take a shower REALLY, REALLY quickly? I'll be out by 9:45pm".
Did I believe him? Oh hell no.
So I said, "No you won't".
He appeared wounded. "Of course I will!"
So I said, "Fine".
At 9:59pm? He got out of the shower.
And then? He stood in the bathroom drying himself off. I went into the bathroom with him in an effort to get him to, you know, get his ass out of the bathroom so I could take my bath. I finally had to tell him that I had to pee in order to get him out, because God knows he can't even accept the fact that I ever have any kind of pee or poop coming out of my body, much less actually have to see it happen.
So fine. He's finally out of the bathroom. I run the bathwater, get in and try to relax.
At 10:19pm? After I had actually physically been in the tub for about 8 minutes? There was a knock at the bathroom door.
It was Jason.
He desperately needed to get in.
So he could hang up the hand towels that he had just washed.
No. I'm not kidding.
I gave him a look that I feel certain conveyed, "OH MY GOD, I WILL KILL YOU".
So he left.
Five minutes later? He was back.
Because he forgot one of the towels.
Seven minutes after that? He was back.
Because he needed to BRUSH HIS BEARD AND HE HAD TO LOOK IN THE MIRROR WHILE HE DID IT.
I am quite positive I gave him a look that conveyed my true feelings for him at that moment. Which were pretty much, "YOU ARE SO LUCKY MY FOOT IS NOT IN YOUR ASS".
And then he said, after apologizing again, "Have a nice bath".
In case you were wondering? It wasn't relaxing at all.