Today is Wednesday. So just like clockwork, I tossed the boys into the tub to wash off whatever happens at preschool.
Little E had an unidentified yellow mess crusted to the side of his face. The jury is still out on whether it was mustard or paint. I wasn't willing to taste it, and Little E told me he ate cottage cheese for lunch. Which is, in fact, a bold faced lie.
Little E had other plans for bath time. Like not taking one.
He refused to sit down. He screamed. And then he tried to climb out.
This is super dangerous on so many levels.
His wet, stubby legs are never going to scale the side of the tub. And so I know how this story ends. He slips and falls and cracks his head open. Meanwhile, Big E obliviously sits there and bathes in his brother's blood.
Um, no thanks.
I try and force him to sit down. That doesn't really work. His screams escalated.
I reached for him again, but this time my fingernail nicked him right under the eye. At first I thought I got him square in the eye ball, but lucky for him it was a tad south.
A trickle of blood slid down his cheek.
I felt horrible.
KISS IT! KISS IT, MOMMY!
He cried over and over again.
Sigh. Bad mommy.
When (IF) we renovate the Yoys' bathroom, we'll have to get Little E a tub like this so he can escape in a safe fashion.