He let her do what?!?!?

I’m not really a bath fan. It always seemed to me that once you have washed all the dirt and grime off, you're left there brewing in your own filth. Real pleasant. Needless to say, I don’t take baths; I take showers, once a month if I'm lucky to get a kid-free minute. Miss Piddle Pot however, absolutely loves bath time.

After playing at the park today and slathering herself with eating Spaghetti for dinner, my plan was to get Lauren in the bath and let her soak the funk off. The tub was filled with toys and bubbles, and our Water Baby marinated for a bit. While Lauren was bathing, I enlisted Justin's help as I cleaned up after dinner. The directions for him were simple; continue talking on the phone but just sit in the bathroom and keep an eye on her. Easy, right???

So he did and I periodically checked on the two of them to make sure our lil' Busy Body wasn't dumping water outta the tub or ingesting the delicious soapy flavored bubbles. And surprisingly she wasn't. Everything was going well; daddy was blabbing on the phone to Grandma Apps while Piddle Pot splashed and squealed in delight. That is, until I came in to wash her up.

That's when there came a shriek from yours truly, “Justinnnnnn!” He turns around and looks in the tub, completely oblivious to the small chunks of poo floating amongst the rubber duckies and foam alphabet letters!! There they were, trying to disguise themselves like E.T. in a closet full of stuffed animals. It was puke-worthy.

“Watch her, while I go get a shower started” I said. He stood at the bathroom door, snickering and smiling at his daughters clever accomplishment. Clearly this was something to be proud of. And as the shower was started, bath time was met with an abrupt, sanitized end. The HazMat Team was on her way; bath toys were about to be bleached, sterilized, and disinfected before being burned and turned over to the Toy Gods. Had Justin actually caught the lil' poop-machine in the act, he probably would have fished out the offending poop and added more soapy bubbles to disguise the little nuggets of Black Death.

I mean, I knew this was bound to happen. It's happens to all parents, especially those who gloat that their child has "never done that!!" Believe me, that was my response when my BF called me hysterically screeching that her daughter crapped in the tub. And if it hasn't happened to you yet, count your blessings because I assure you, it's comin'. It can be caused by many factors: the warmth of the water, the nice relaxing spa setting, the proximity to dinnertime, or some twisted vendetta against you. In my case, it's the latter.

Anyways, I digress. As I'm showering Lauren and rinsing the pollution off her previously clean body, in walks the Hubster, desperately trying to mask the huge grin on his face. I ask him what we should do to remove the little Sea Monkeys....

His answer??

"I was going to get the litter box scooper and fish them out."

Seriously, I wish I was lying. As if the bathtub isn't nasty and disgusting and foul enough now, lets add even more repulsiveness to the one place in our home that is imperatively clean. Sounds like a great idea Babe.

It was a traumatic experience; not for Lauren who was excited by her new "toys" or for the Hubster who beamed with pride, but for me, the one who cleans and sanitizes the tub each month. But as I've been writing this blog post, I've come to realize that I can try to prevent this from happening again (read: don't leave daddy in charge of bath time) but honestly, it's a crap shoot.