Lately, Scarlet has hated taking baths. Only a month or so ago, they were a real source of excitement and something she specifically asked for on a daily basis. Now? They are a real source of tears and something she avoids on a daily basis.
Mostly, I don’t let her win. The kid has growing curls and a tendency to spill yogurt down her dress, after all.
For several weeks I have attributed this bath fear to being in a new house. Maybe she just loved her old bathtub very much. Maybe she just knew her old bathtub very much. I can honestly relate to that way better than I should. It wasn’t until the other day, when she was fine getting into the bath and not fine getting out, that I realized there may be another cause – cold shivers and the recovery. Every day of my life during the winter, it’s always on the tip of my tongue and I always mean to post it on Facebook – literally, every day – but it’s always so brief that I recover quickly and never remember to complain about it. I hate getting out of the shower. I don’t mean this on any normal levels. For me it’s something traumatic and I go through it every day and I push it off and I nearly cry about it every day. Maybe one day I’ll buy a heated bathroom floor or heat my towels or step out of the shower into a sauna and then into a fireplace-lit room until I eventually get dressed. Maybe eventually money will find a way out of something I’m seriously not exaggerating. I hate it so much. So much.
It occurred to me that maybe my kid does too.
It may sound silly and petty and as they say a “first world problem.” I can’t argue with that. To me it’s just symbolic of how things are harder during my harder times of year. If I’m already traumatized by the lack of sun and the abundance of cold, something as simple as getting out of a warm shower into a cold bathroom becomes climbing Mount Everest to me. Getting out of something warm and soothing and quiet, where no one expects anything from me, into something cold and jarring and loud, where I’m expected to do things. Some people have trouble getting out of a warm bed. For me, it’s a hot shower.
We both fight our way through this every day, and we recover quite quickly. So quickly we don’t even think to be scared about it again until we’re right up against it the next day. Next days are still cold and showers are oh so steamy.
It’s the little victories.
It takes me up to an hour sometimes after I get home to take off my coat and stay awhile. I don’t like taking off my coat because it takes time for my body temperature to adjust. All adjustments just take time.
Lately I fight my November Blues with Starburst candies and blasting Florence and the Machine as loudly as possible while driving. Alone. When the sun is setting but not quite dark yet. New books from the library. Caramel Brulee Lattes.
One of my favorite photos I’ve ever taken:
Scarlet fights her non-existent November Blues by being super cool and totally herself. Running around like a maniac. Singing. Dancing. Laughing. Frolicking. Yes. She frolics.
Spastic. Joy. Frolicking. Spontaneous. Awesome.
It’s those moments where you realize you don’t have to wait until your kids are 13 and embarrassed by you that you realize you’re not actually cool. Nope. I realized when she was two that I wasn’t nearly as cool as she was.
Cause I don’t dance and sing to myself while wearing my Halloween costume, after it’s Halloween. Or, at least, I don’t do that nearly enough.
This one below needs a caption, don’t you think? Any takers?