This blog is a sequel to Bath Night Blues. As sequels go it was disappointing. (If you haven’t read the first one this will still make sense, don’t worry. It's not The Matrix.)
Kids are supposed to enjoy baths, aren’t they? I can only assume that our two lads would rather stink like a yak’s armpits than get a good wash.
This one started off so promisingly – no cries when I removed their sleepsuits and only a mild frown when nappies were taken off. Then we slowly lowered them into the perfectly-monitored bath water like you might carefully dunk a wafer biscuit into your cuppa, and still no tears. In fact, Ben pulled one of those grimace-come-smirk faces that babies seem to be keen on. We dunked them a little deeper until both lads had their legs fully submerged.
They looked at each other and then at us, then both grumbled a low end murmur that seemed to suggest they were enjoying this against their better instincts.
I got over confident at this point and dripped about a thimbleful of water onto Zac’s shoulders. He was quick to let me know this was a mistake.
The transition from total bliss to sheer terror was almost immediate as their facial expressions changed quicker than Clark Kent in a phone box.
There was a brief but beautiful moment when their synchronised screaming connected in a divine harmony. But it was a short lived moment of respite in an otherwise miserable ten minutes, like someone complementing your shoes in the middle of a savage street beating.
I thought we’d turned a corner but it turns out that corner led us right back to Bawling Baby Boulevard.
They’re starting to dread bath night. So are we.
You can follow this blog on my Twitter and Facebook pages. Just click here and 'like' for daily updates.
Read from the beginning here.