This Mothering Thing is a Dangerous Gig

I have a puncture wound to prove it.

It was toward the end of what had been a long day. It was only 3PM, but it might as well have been midnight. I was tired, the girls were getting on each other's nerves and therefore mine, and so there was only one thing to do. Throw them in the bathtub. Baths are relaxing. And having two sweet smelling kids just makes me feel better.

Remember this sweet time when the girls bathed so nicely together? Well, it was a one time deal. Now it is separate baths, usually at separate times. I was tired though and obviously not thinking clearly. I decided I would bathe them at the same time in two different bathtubs...in two different bathrooms.

I ran Lily's bath water in our master bathroom. She likes the water deep and with lots of bubbles. I ran Jade's bath in the hall bathroom. She likes it shallow and bubbleless. I put Lily in first and then Jade. My plan was to bathe Jade quickly and get her dried, lotioned, diapered and dressed and then retrieve Lily to do the same.

Just as I had plopped Jade in the tub, I heard Lily summoning me. She had done another type of plopping. "Mommy, I poopy in the tub"! No. NO. NO YOU DIDN'T. Ugh! Retrieving said poopy, draining tub, bleaching out tub and tub toys, rinsing tub, and refilling tub were not a part of my plan.

I know it is just plain stupid, but I left Jade in the her tub and ran back and forth between the bathrooms while I completed my sanitizing efforts. I have practice at this sort of thing and was well stocked with bleach after this finger painting episode in February.

Sometime in between draining and bleaching and running back and forth, I was stopped in my tracks by an excruciating, sharp, shooting pain. It stemmed from my foot. I had just stepped on this:


If you are wondering what in the world it is, you must not be a proud owner of the Little Mommy bathtime set. It is the top to one of Lily's baby's shampoo bottles. Except I couldn't tell that at the moment it was burying itself into my foot. The tile floor didn't exactly give any. But my foot sure did. It was punctured and well, let's just say it soaked through multiple band-aids. Curious George band-aids no less. It is still sore several days later.

I guess fathering is a dangerous gig too. You can read about my husband's latest parenting injury on his blog. A Saturday morning trip to the urgent care center is probably more exciting (and painful) than my puncture wound.

Stay safe. I don't think OSHA is looking out for the SAHM crowd.