There’s a baby in the tub!
Have you ever realized how dumb that actual nursery rhyme is?
Rub-a-dub-dub
Three men in a tub,
And how do you think they got there?
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker –
They all jumped out of a rotten potato!
‘Twas enough to make a fish stare.
Dumb.
Anyway, this post is about giving baths, or not giving baths.
I have to give Baby B all his baths. Hubby will not do it.
He has a different excuse every time. They range from “Men don’t give boys baths” to “I don’t know how.” I started to wonder if he had a terrible experience with it or if someone molested him. But then I finally figured it out.
He is just scared sh*%#less to do it.
I’ve tried to coax him into it and to teach him the technique, but he just won’t do it. Even if I am right there. It ranks up there with climbing a ladder (he’s deathly afraid of heights). I understand his fear of drowning, but it should be a healthy fear, not a paralyzing fear.
I hope he gets over it soon because bath time is one of the joys of parenthood. I’m sure he’ll come around, but hopefully it won’t be after it’s too late.
I just want to cherish every moment–even bath time–and I want him to cherish it with me.
