I haven't taken a bath in a looooong time. By that, I mean I haven't soaked in a tub, not that I haven't washed myself. I typically keep on top of the personal hygiene stuff.
I decided to take a bubble bath. I take a pretty serious Pilates class and I am sore in places I didn't know could be sore, so I figured a soak in a hot tub would just about do the trick. I figured I could take the opportunity to exfoliate, have a glass of wine, listen to some soft music. Ahhhhhhh!
Be forewarned! It all sounds a heck of a lot better than it actually is. When I think "bubble bath", I think of Eva Longoria on Desperate Housewives sinking into a deep clawfoot tub in a big beautiful bathroom.
Before I could embark on this journey of relaxation, I had to wash my dirty little munchkins. I gave them both quick showers and got them in their jammies. I put on a Curious George DVD, got them a snack and some chocolate milk and told them mommy would be in the bath.
Next I had to rinse the grime they left behind in the tub. Then I had to fill the darn thing, which took like 20 minutes. On TV, doesn't it seem like they turn on the water, walk inside, get undressed pour the wine and come back to a steaming hot bathtub filled with impossibly foamy bubbles?
I moved the big net full of bath toys that resides where I'd need to lie my head, got my exfoliant, a towel and my bath wrap. You know those pretty silky robes they have on TV? Mine is terry cloth and has a monkey on it.
I put some music on my iPod, climbed over the net of toys on the floor and sunk into the tub. "Sunk in" may be a bit of an exaggeration. I sat in an inadequate amount of water, with a scant amount of bubbles that didn't come anywhere close to covering me. I felt like a GIANT sitting in a puddle. There's nothing less glamourous than staring at your own naked, partially bubble covered body. Eva Longoria, I am not. And I bet she doesn't like to stare at herself either. Most women don't.
I didn't relax very much. I lay there, exposed, not knowing whether a munchkin could come barging in at any moment. If this were TV or the movies, my handsome husband or, better yet, the strapping young gardener (D.H. reference, again) would come in and help me "scrub my back". Instead, I made the best of my little splash pool, exfoliated, drank my wine and got the hell out of there!
This is just another example of Hollywood setting unrealistic ideals for us. We don't all look perfect as we slip out of silk robes. Our tubs aren't 3 feet deep. Our wine glasses are breakable. Our bubbles aren't plentiful. Our privacy is minimal. Our romantic lives are normal and that's okay.
My bath was okay too. Hey, I'm clean, my skin is soft and I've had a glass of wine. It's all good.