Nurture Girl
Thursday, October 22nd, 2009I’m starting this post from the lip of the tub. (Well I’m actually sitting on the toilet, but the “lip of the tub” sounded so much more poetic.)
I am in the midst of bath time. And, as you can plainly see, I’m not very attentive during bath time. I usually leave bath time to the boys. They enjoy swatting each other’s penises and I enjoy some time out.
But tonight my hubbie is cooking up some NOLA staples: roast beef po boys, homemade french fries w/ Cajun dipping sauce, and mint juleps. (Yes, I know that mint juleps are really a Kentucky classic but we always enjoy them at a little piano bar in the French Quarter. Therefore, it’s New Orleans to us.)
So, tonight, bath time is left to me. And, since my parents claimed that bath time meant pruned feet and a good book to them, it only makes sense that bath time should mean blogging space for me.
In many ways, it’s really quite refreshing. Silas is content splashing in a 3X5 foot pen and I am here writing and sipping my mint julep and preventing him from drowning. It’s almost a perfect set up. Save for the fact that the toilet is not a very comfortable seat.
***It’s, maybe, fifteen minutes later.***
Bath time is over.
I was just pushed from the bed by my son. He was asking for Daddy and Snuggle Time and when I climbed in the bed he said “No, Mommy, No Snuggle, Mommy, No” and then proceeded to push me until I left.
And they say that boys LOVE their mamas.
That has not been my experience. Silas is a Daddy’s Boy to the very core. Since the awful hour that my breasts stopped making milk, Silas has been a boy of boys.
