Since the long night of birthing in October, my bathroom has been delivery room, nursery, infirmary, dispensary and playroom. The floor has long been buried under layers of newspaper and the counters have been cluttered with baby wipes, dewormer, puppy formula, bottles, and cans of puppy food. Mascara? No clue where that is, but here's a syringe for administering medications.
Lately, the toilet paper has usually been shredded and any clothing I left hanging partially out of the laundry basket has been dunked in the water bowl.
The shower, though, that's the thing. There's a whole extra step in the process called the "pre-shower poop patrol" because, well, nobody wants to step out of the shower and into unpleasantness.
Undressing for the shower is different too- lots of help with your pant legs and shoestrings. And while you are finally, blissfully indulging in hot water and soap? Well, pupies are very, very busy hiding your slippers in new spots and plotting ways to reach the clean towel and drag it across the floor.
Today, though, it was just a shower. In, scrub, out with no fan club applauding my reemergence from the steam. The puppies are all adopted into their forever homes and my bathroom is just a bathroom again- a clean one.
The shower was kind of boring.
