My Monologue While Showering My Son

Privacy, like a third nipple, is an aberration in my house.

My kids only allow it by accident. If I'm granted five good minutes to remove my ear hair, it's because my older son is lost in a Minecraft day dream or my 4-year-old has paused to pee on the carpet in his room.

It's no surprise then that not even our shower is sacred. I fantasized that in my 40's I'd have sort of a chic bathroom with the shower as its jewel, bedecked with a Kohler rain shower head, a sleek sliding glass door and supplied with some over-priced product.

Instead it looks like a pre-kindergarten break-in, which it actually is, with Bubble Guppy windups, water crayons, kid buckets and other toys strewn about.

Yes, the boys do have their own bathroom, but you have to cross an amber floor that has the potential to be white except it's caked with dried urine and topped with wet urine and the un-occasional feces streak.

I don't go near it. Monkey houses have more pride. I'd rather hang out with the sump pump and mice in the scary room in our basement.

Our shower is their shower. While my oldest can shower independently in there, his younger brother, who truly believes the shower is his playroom, gets quite distracted by the toys and requires supervision and a lot of coaching.

Here's the monologue I have while showering my son:

Alright, you undressed yet?

Wait, take your socks off before going in.

Okay...no, don't do that...Jesus Christ...please pee in the drain and not on the door. If you pee in the drain it goes down the drain. When you pee on the door, it stays on the door.

It's time to wash your hair. Get your hair wet. No it's not wet...I'm looking at it...it's dry, like the door was right before you pissed on it. Can you get your hair wet? You have to actually put your head under the water. Okay, now you need to get the front of your hair wet...the front, the part above your eyes. Put the crayons downs and get the front of your hair wet. 

Okay, okay, relax...here's a towel...dry your eyes. Can you hand me that bottle of shampoo? No, the one that's right there...no, the one that I'm pointing at. That's not shampoo...that's shaving cream. No, that's conditioner. I'm only pointing at the shampoo...it's the only bottle in the corner...it's impossible to confuse it with anything else. Form a line from my finger to that bottle, and that's the one. Yes...hallelujah...thank you. 

You gotta hold still while I scrub your head...come on, my clothes are getting wet...If you don't want the water getting in your eyes then close your eyes...dude, stand still...no, I need to scrub. Well if you want to do it, then do it. Don't sit down and play with Bubble Puppy...you want to be all mangy? It's not too hot...the water's lukewarm at this point.

Now we have to rinse your hair off. Close your eyes so that...ooh, okay, okay...I know it stings...let some of the water in your eyes...listen, I know it stings, but you have to wash your eye out...better? Good...that's why I said to close your eyes. No, we're not done...you need to also rinse the back of your head...that's not the back...that's the front...that's not the back...that's the front...no, you did not rinse it off yet...the back of your head is full of foam...it looks like it has rabies.

Let's do your body now. Got your tummy, one arm...please don't pull away...come on...come back...my shirt's getting soaked...other arm, back, one leg, two legs. Now the tuchas...whoa! Did you shove a bunch of rocks up your butt? When's the last time you wiped? You need to keep that space a littler cleaner. 

Rinse one more time, and we're done. Good...turn around so we can get the back of you...you have to turn all the way around...all the way please. Oh, your armpits...I know it tickles...okay, now your other one...and under your chin, so you don't get neck cheese. Yay, were done. Sure, you can play for a little bit.

Motherfucker, my back hurts. 

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    David Telisman

    I am a vitamin D-deficient former Floridian--who, despite the spring...er...extended winter--loves Chicago. I contradicted convention (and common sense) by moving FROM the beach to the Midwest, but Lou Malnati's and any Italian beef sandwich reinforce that I made the right decision. I also got a wife and two sons out of it, and I would do anything for my family, except miss a Miami Hurricanes football game. This is my take on fatherhood. You can contact me at david.telisman@gmail.com. Thank you for reading!

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