Wednesday, November 23, 2016

After Her Bath Time

She stank.
That's why I gave her a bath.
But after it was over,
I discovered the reason should've been
because I needed a laugh.

No sooner had her 2.5-year-old glistening self
emerged from the bubbly tub
than she started to giggle,
in stark contrast to the moans she emitted
upon hearing the news that she was about to be sans sauna.

When we got in her room,
she commenced a weak whimper
pleading, "no woof jammeez"
(which, being interpreted, means 
"do not place upon my body 
the gray and red plaid pajamas 
with the Scotty dog emblazoned 
over the stomach region").

In the stead of the canine footy jammies, 
she quickly suggested 
(shrugging her shoulders and eyebrows nonchalantly 
in a rapid transition of tone from the moment before) 
"'Go' jammeez." 
("Go" referring to the song "Let it Go" 
and by extension the sister princesses Anna and Elsa 
from a film whose title must not be named).

Fortunately for all parties involved 
(and anyone withing scream-shot 
going for their nightly neighborhood jaunt), 
some long-sleeve pink princess jammies 
were procured from the top dresser drawer, 
at which she emitted the most triumphant maniacal bellow 
I've ever heard from female toddler lungs - or, really, anyone's.

Before donning said jammies, though, 
she had to get lotioned up, 
which occasioned its own series of screams 
(odd, since a number of people pay for such
moistening and rubbing).

After lotioning and diapering, but before clothing,  
we had to have the obligatory, ritual tickle session, 
which produced a range of laughters in 15 seconds 
that far outstrips the possibilities presented 
in Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dykes' nigh encyclopedic recitation 
of the modus laugherandi.

Now in a good mood, she readily consented
to having her jammies on,
but when I tried to add some blue socks to the ensemble
to warm her feet, she freaked!
"Pink Socks! PINK!!!" she shrieked!
At which I sprang to the drawer once more
to find the footwear that would calm the beast
and force the horror that had reared its ugly head
back to its lair. 

She's clean now. 
And asleep. 
And not stinky. 
And I can't help but reflect on how
her mercuriality never ceases to amaze me.
I wonder how we'll survive till she's 13
and then beyond.

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