Rub a dub dub
Last night when I got home from my marathon day at the office, I scarfed down some dinner and put Ess to bed. And then I took a bath.
Perhaps this does not sound unusual. People take baths all the time; my mother, for example, swears by the restorative value of a nice long soak. But they've never done much for me. Perhaps that's because I've never before been tired enough to really appreciate the nice hot water, the bubbles and the time alone. I usually get antsy in a bath, wondering what the heck I am supposed to be doing while I'm laying there. Baths just didn't seem very productive.
Last night, though, the bath was heavenly. I soaked for a while, surrounded by some fancy bath products F and S got me for the birthday before last, and finally finished the New Yorker from about three weeks ago (the one with the incredible, depressing Lorrie Moore story that Becca wrote about, which prompted me to ponder drowning myself in that scented six inches of water if only to avoid the misery of a divorce like the one it depicted). I only got out when it was time for Grey's Anatomy (which, are they ever going to stop with the heartstring-tugging subplots about injuried babies and/or little kids?).
In short, I am a convert to the glory of the bath. And I think motherhood is what did it to me. That, and the onset of the cold I seem to have caught from Ess. (She is doing much better but still has a low-grade fever, so D is taking her to the doctor for a once-over this afternoon.)
Damn it, I did it again. I have been trying to make my posts short and focused, so that they are about just one thing, like a proper blogger would do. Instead they careen all over the place and I end up telling you what I had for lunch (PB&J) and how I feel right now (tired and bitchy) instead of just focusing on the bath. Grr.
Perhaps this does not sound unusual. People take baths all the time; my mother, for example, swears by the restorative value of a nice long soak. But they've never done much for me. Perhaps that's because I've never before been tired enough to really appreciate the nice hot water, the bubbles and the time alone. I usually get antsy in a bath, wondering what the heck I am supposed to be doing while I'm laying there. Baths just didn't seem very productive.
Last night, though, the bath was heavenly. I soaked for a while, surrounded by some fancy bath products F and S got me for the birthday before last, and finally finished the New Yorker from about three weeks ago (the one with the incredible, depressing Lorrie Moore story that Becca wrote about, which prompted me to ponder drowning myself in that scented six inches of water if only to avoid the misery of a divorce like the one it depicted). I only got out when it was time for Grey's Anatomy (which, are they ever going to stop with the heartstring-tugging subplots about injuried babies and/or little kids?).
In short, I am a convert to the glory of the bath. And I think motherhood is what did it to me. That, and the onset of the cold I seem to have caught from Ess. (She is doing much better but still has a low-grade fever, so D is taking her to the doctor for a once-over this afternoon.)
Damn it, I did it again. I have been trying to make my posts short and focused, so that they are about just one thing, like a proper blogger would do. Instead they careen all over the place and I end up telling you what I had for lunch (PB&J) and how I feel right now (tired and bitchy) instead of just focusing on the bath. Grr.
posted by mc at 12:24 PM
<< Home