Scrub a dub dub

My Tiny Enzo boy loves the bath. He always has loved it. It’s nice that he’s big enough now I can go in the other room while he plays in the bath, so long as I’m within ear shot.
Tonight a weird thing happened. He actually got tired of the bath and wanted to get out before I deemed it necessary. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Sure, a time or two he’s climbed out himself and come running to find me dripping and naked, but to stand there in the tub, calling for me to come and end the bath is really unheard of.
I went in to get him out and… I don’t know if I should tell you, but I’m going to. Take a deep breath and get ready for it folks, this is unpleasant. The toilet brush was in the bath tub with him. I guess our actual bath toys just weren’t cutting the mustard last night.
He did not appreciate the scrubbing I gave him next. He didn’t appreciate it at all. In fact, even after he was clean, dry and diapered he continued to voice his displeasure. He went right on voicing it until I showed him his new dinosaur jammies. After a look at that dino he stopped the crying and started roaring. Then his pop got in on it and he was a happy boy again.

It took a little more than that to make me a happy mama again. A little more by way of a healthy amount of Clorox and some tub-ward elbow grease.

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