Into the bath with the lot of us.
Well, that was The Plan, but school aged boys are incapable of hearing the request the first 37 times, then get upset when they eventually get in and the bath is cold. So, it was in the bath with bubs and I. Figured I’d hope in if it wasn’t so loaded with penises and testosterone.
Enough bath, mostly due to fact that Chippie had splashed a fair amount of the water out, so I hopped out, wrapped self in towel, grabbed his towel and attempted to hop him out. Him wriggled, kicked, giggled and stood over in the far corner. Managed to wrangle him into his towel.
When I say “into” his towel, I mean I had it in my teeth and was holding him under the armpits and trying to drop towel on his head. Clearly not happy with being removed from the puddle that was now the bath, he screamed and kicked some, before grasping the knuckle on my thumb. Quite hard.
With his teeth.
Walking up the hall with a screaming, kicking, biting toddler in my hands (yes, he can scream and bite at the same time – kids are amazing!), my own towel working its way loose, the front door wide open thanks to my gorgeous husband and me yelling “STOP biting! It HURTS!”
Smile at neighbours through screen door whilst covering almost naked breast (just the one) with wriggler whilst he’s still attached to my hand.
He lets go when I place – it’s not a “drop” technically, is it, when he’s just a bit off the ground? – him on the floor, swear a bit, shake hand and examine fang marks embedded in the flesh.
No blood, but that’s not the point.
I walk to screen door and yell out to hubby “He bit me! It really hurt!”
“You didn’t drop him did you?”
Wha .. wha … whe .. wh … jdhvbkjdhgkahsgkshg (clearly speachless!)
Fuck him! He bit me. It really HURT!