This week the Baby Blues comic strip - full disclosure, I read the funnies before I read the rest of the paper - has been running a series about things that change once you become a parent. One was about how your expectation of privacy disappears and showed the parents getting ready for the day with three kids hanging out in the bathroom. B and I chuckled at the strip and how accurate it was, but then last night my lack of privacy hit a new high, or low, depending on how you look at it.
I have had a particularly rough few days; I'm just a bit overwhelmed by everything and by my not being able to get caught up and stay caught up with anything. So last night I decided to take a long bath and read this week's New Yorker. I drew the bath and popped in a Bombe de Bain that I won from Ann of Ann's Rants and hopped in.
A few minutes later I heard the pitter patter of little feet, and Ella, who was supposed to be in bed doing her nightly reading, arrived. This is our conversation, verbatim.
Ella: Have I read for long enough?
Me: Yes. Get back in bed.
E: Why are you taking a bath?
M: Because I wanted to. Get back in bed.
E: Why is it orange?
M: Because there are bath oils in it. Get back in bed.
E: Why is there dirt in it?
M: Those are dried mint leaves. Get back in bed.
E: Why are there dried mint leaves?
M: So that is smells good. GET BACK IN BED NOW!
Ella wisely scampered off at that point.
But my bath was ruined. Not only had I been interrupted, I had gotten the Spanish Inquisition. I really have got to remember to lock the door.