Showers

Dear Zoey,

I love you.  Of course I do.  One of the things I had always loved about you, in fact, was your hesitation when it came to showering.  You are a good old-fashioned soak-in-the-warm-tub kind of gal.  Or, you were.  As of last week, the shower--that beloved realm of the house you never set foot in, thus ensuring me at least ten minutes of uninterrupted semi-peace per day--has become your new playground.  Just when I think you are content to work your puzzle or color a picture or even sit happily in front of the TV so I can sneak off and inhale the scent of my Dove body wash, I can hear you coming down the hall, yelling out 'I have a surprise for you, Mommy!' 

'Great!  Is your surpise that you are going to get dressed while I'm in the shower, like I asked you to?  I left your clothes in the hallway and--'

Before I can finish calling out directions from the steaminess that is my shower, the curtain is yanked back and with all the flexibility of a track star clearing a hurdle, here comes your tiny naked body yelling 'SURPRISE MOMMY!  I'M GETTING IN WITH YOU!'. 

Surprise indeed.

And, for as anti-relaxing as the entire experience ends up being for me, I can't help but watch you and smile.  Or maybe I'm crying and almost banging my head against the wall, it's hard to tell.  I want you to leave me alone and yet I don't mind that you are here.  You request shave gel for you legs and rake a plastic toy, standing in as a safety razor, through the foam.  You shiver and accuse me of hogging all the hot water.  MY hot water.  You set up elaborate scenes on the ledge of the tub, involving toy frogs and washcloths and full cups of water that are bound to spill all over the floor.  And finally, when I wave the white flag and trip over you as I leave the comfort of the warm water, you announce you will stay in the tub 'just to warm up, and I'll get out after you get dressed'. 

Ten minutes of peace while showering quickly morphs in to ten minutes of peace while getting dressed and brushing my teeth.

You hop out sooner than I would like you to, actually, and shiver your way out the door to find your clothes.  You leave your towel on the floor and don't even get me started on the underwear that are still lodged inside your dirty pajama pants.  You trail a mess and plenty of chatter and love and joy everywhere you go, and despite the fact that I can not escape you even for one second, I would not trade you and the magical age you are right now for anything in the world.