There's A Bear In My Bubbles

I confess. I bath. And no, for all you haters who think you caught me in a ginormous faux pas, I meant to spell it that way. (I'm probably the only blogger who makes up imaginary hate mail and then creates snarky comebacks for fake insults that never actually happened. Or did they?)

For me, the bath is the only place, both mentally and physically, that is truly, completely mine and mine alone. From the moment we women pee on that magical pregnancy stick, we're never alone. For nine months it's literally an Alien cohabitation of the most invasive kind, and then once that little critter busts out, me time is forever changed to we time. Whether it's trying to speed shower with the curtain open to watch a toddler locked in the bathroom with you or it's trying to scarf a meal down quickly and dropping food on the head of the baby napping in your arms, we mothers are never, ever alone.

As my kids got older, it became less about the supervision and much more about the imposition. There was no place for me that wasn't occupied or interrupted by a child or two. The bathroom itself was a free-for all. My kids insist on using MY bathroom and that means my towels are usually swiped, or they're still there but wet from recent use (which I usually discover too late). Too often, halfway through my shower I find my own shampoo is an upside down, completely empty bottle and all I'm left with are three other bottles of different Axe products. FYI - The Phoenix scent is the prettiest. Even my pets are in on the action, and heaven forbid I close a door to pee in peace without a cat paw clawing under the door or dogs downstairs snarling and barking at the poor UPS man. For the family's peacemaker, there can be no peace.

Back to me and my addiction to bath-ing. In my life, it literally is a verb. I bath, and I am an evil bitch when I can't. A shower is utilitarian; it gets the job done, but getting the freedom to bath is truly the only way to find that inner peace I search for every day. Haven't found it, but I'm still searching. To bath, for me, is to turn the water so hot my skin is red, to turn the lights low, to lock the door, and to just let everything not exist. Not the kids, not the husband, not the laundry, not the dishes; nothing but the scent of lemongrass and the sound of absolutely nothing. 

So as I settled in to relax and unwind, staring at the bubbles and trying to drift off into mental nonexistence, there it was: The shape of a bear in my bubbles. A little bear body, a little bear face, and two little bear eyes staring right at me. Even in my most precious of places, I still can't catch a break and be alone.

So I say to you, little bear in the bubbles, kiss my ass and leave me to bath in peace. I've earned it.