Baby falls asleep and I enthusiastically march into the shower. As the warm water hits my tired body, I feel as if I stepped into some forbidden exotic waterfall. I dab Pantene onto my hair and revel in this delicious opportunity to wash myself clean of all the baby puke that’s been spewed onto various parts of my body over the past … um, who needs to count how many days.
As I slather conditioner onto my strands, I hear a cry. Am I hallucinating? I always seem to hear baby cries whenever I’m more than a few feet away from him. I stand still, trying to tune out the noise of the water, intently listening for signs of Baby’s distress.
Nope, not hallucinating. Baby woke up and is now screaming his head off in his bassinet.
Ok, I reason with myself, maybe he will self-soothe and fall right back to sleep (yeah, right, dream on, lady). I proceed with rinsing conditioner out of my hair, quite frantically. Every second is precious commodity. I finish the rest of my shower routine in record time (yay), run out of the bathroom and head in the direction of the screaming child.
At the bassinet, my towel decides to slide off to the floor. As I pick it up and wrap it around myself again, I realize that one of my armpits is still unshaven.
Oh well, maybe next time. I get my screaming child, hold him close and kiss his head.
And in that moment, nothing else matters.