Almost, But Not Quite, the Meanest Mom Ever

Last night I got involved in yet another tussle with Demigoddess the Younger regarding bathing. It was late. She needed a bath. She said she’d take one tomorrow. I noted that she had said the same thing the night before, and hadn’t managed to take one yet. I also observed that she had become a little… aromatic.

I didn’t say it in a shaming way. I was very nice about it. I said it like you’d tell someone they had spinach in their teeth, or the tag was hanging out the back of their shirt. I was trying to save her from possible future embarrassment.

Still, she got defensive.

“You act like I NEVER take a bath,” she said.

“Well, you don’t, unless I bug you about it.”

“You act like I HATE taking baths!”

“If you enjoyed bathing so much, I wouldn’t have to point out the fact that your armpits are a little stinky.”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO MEAN?”

Then she went and got a towel and some pajamas and stomped toward the bathroom because she was going to SHOW ME.

Through the door I could hear her in there, sighing and splashing and stomping her feet. Stomping her feet in the tub.

I am so mean that I actually make her bathe when she smells bad. Call child protective services. Clearly, I am unfit.

So I turned out the light in my bedroom and tried to be asleep by the time she got out of the tub, because I didn’t particularly want to discuss the issue any more (not to mention the fact that I was weary because I had spent three hours that evening shopping for HER BIRTHDAY PRESENTS). I was not quite there yet when I heard her come out of the bathroom. She paused outside my door. Then the door opened slowly, and, after a moment, in a perfect stage whisper, I heard through the darkness...

“What-EVER.”

(And she isn’t even a teenager yet. I weep for my future with this child.)

Ten minutes later the door opened again. I rolled over as she was taping a piece of paper to the headboard of my bed.

"What is that?" I asked.

"A note."

"Well, let me see."

Written with fruity-scented ink was this.

Apparently I had been forgiven.

“Come here and let me smell you,” I said. So she sat down on the bed, and I pulled her close and loudly sniffed her wet hair.

She smelled like cucumber melon body wash.