Our New Nemesis

Yesterday we celebrated a birthday party for our cousin at this awesome place to tire out your children called Pump It Up.  It’s basically just an indoor playground FULL of inflatable fun, so you could basically throw your kid inside one of the obstacles and know they most likely won’t get hurt.  Unfortunately, Charlotte is a little too young to enjoy the benefits of solo play on an inflatable playground, so I had to go in with her.  We had a GREAT time, my muscles are extremely sore, and I knew it would guarantee a good nights sleep after so much action, for both of us.  However, after a day like that the only thing you can think about doing before bed is taking a bath, which brings me to my point of today’s post.  Giving Charlotte a bath has become the worst time of our days together.  I hate it, she hates it, and it isn’t fun for anyone involved.  She used to love the bath so much, and now she starts to scream when you even say the word.  She refuses to sit down, and now the only way she’ll stay in the tub without hooking a wet leg over the side and almost face planting on the tile floor is if I stand in the bath tub with her.  She refuses to let you put water on her without screaming as if it was hot lava instead of regular water, washing her hair is about as easy as wrestling an alligator, and all of her bath toys sit untouched in a bag because she refuses to even look at them.  WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

I can’t wait until winter so she doesn’t sweat anymore and I can get away with not bathing her.  I’m a good mom, I swear.