Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane

 

A wee rub down with a damp chamois or perhaps  just the wire wool and carbolic?  Gentle reader, the choice is yours.

Hush your mouth, do not be alarmed. These terms serve to describe the level of personal care  I would offer my less ambulant patients of a morning.  Well, come to think of it, I would imagine they were a little alarmed too and may well have been considering a wee call to the Nursing and Midwifery Council.  Ah, day’s gone by. So, picture the scene as we move swiftly away from reminiscence therapy and come back into the slightly distorted  world of LP, YM and DD today…….

Of all the treasured, as opposed to the simply ordinary  times (though I haven’t found many of them really) I spend with LP, bath time has to be my favorite. I still fondly remember the first time I bathed LP. The code brown which bobbed up to the surface taunted me and acted as a pooie talisman which signified the, um, shape of things to come. This 20 minutes or so  of exclusivity with my LP does however  require planning and rehearsal prior to the live show.

Bath time is akin to a cabaret and the duck printed shower curtain comes up at 6.15 PM prompt.

Sadly, YM and I don’t really have any theatrical leanings. The realisation of this, for me, came as somewhat of a shock as many people had described me as a drama queen. YM, until LP came along, enjoyed a good drama too, if one is to consider Eastenders, Corrie and many other soap’s produced by our Antipodean Cousins. Alas not only has the watching of soaps gone out the window, YM has also cancelled her platinum subscription to Soap Opera Weekly which is a major loss to the print industry of the UK and purveyors of personalised, limited edition baubles which YM read about and lusted after in the pages therein.

Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane (DDT) or as I like to refer to it Daddy Daughter Time has nothing to do with pesticide you will be relieved to hear. DDT is the time that I get to spend with LP whilst YM and various friends and relatives get to laugh at my poor singing via the baby monitor outside the bathroom and my total inability to remember all the words to a song. I say total but what I actually mean is all bar one. For some reason I know all the words to Paradise by the Dashboard Lights. LP likes this and is particularly keen that, since bath time became  exclusively DDT, I am expected to do the female vocals too. Oh to see her little face light up…..

”let me sleep on it babe babe, let me sleep on it, let me sleep on it, I’ll give you an answer in the morning”…..

Anyways,  after tea and a quick play with various toy’s which now scatter every square foot of carpet and whilst I get my daily fix of Sky News and potter about on Facebook for 5 minutes, it’s bath time for LP.  It is fair to say that both YM and I are fans of social media. In truth, there has been occasions prior to the Stork delivering that LP, that YM and I have communicated with each other via the medium of Facebook whilst in the same room as each other. Gentle reader, armed with this knowledge, and a web link, the terrible truth is about to be revealed.  

A friend, who shall remain anonymous and really should have known better shared a link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jo6dkHgT6TI  and suggested that I might like to attempt this to entertain LP. For Shame Jenny, For Shame. I must admit that I was not expecting to be watching this rather obese and slightly sinister man smear baby shampoo over his mouth and then proceed to blow bubbles. Nor that, in  that instant, I would decide that  this would be a great idea and constitute LP’s bath time entertainment for the night. Strange days indeed.

 

Bath time for LP invariably commences with me adopting a booming Victorian voice and instructing YM to “Bring me the child”, YM scoops LP up and carry’s her upstairs as I busy myself running a bath for LP. As LP decided that today would be the day she would start to walk  I am pretty sure  carrying duties may be rendered obsolete in a short time. This is no bad thing really, though she will have to do a little better than 4 toddles and a fall on arse which she achieved on several occasions today.  I do wonder what will happen when she does achieve the grace and poise of a ballerina as YM was near incontinent with excitement over the 4 steps. I will continue to adopt an encouraging yet reserved approach in praising LP  in the sure and certain knowledge that this will spur her on to achieve greater things which will be useful in the care of YM and I as we head towards our twilight years.

Who am I trying to kid! YM’s first steps may not have been digitally recorded, however they have been etched in my memory.

The “Hands up babe Hands up” by Ottawan approach to undressing LP (as discussed previously) continues to be adopted at bath time. This is closely followed by the “Russian Roulette” approach in taking her nappy off. This approach adopts aspects of  the “no sniffing” model where the nappy is removed as LP stands holding onto the side of the bath without having prior knowledge of the content of said nappy.  The nappy is rolled up anticlockwise in an attempt to catch the entire code brown, if indeed it is a code brown, before some or all lands on the bathroom mat. After 4 months I feel I am becoming a skilled practitioner at this although it is also clear that fragments of stealth poo may become dislodged from the Motherload and then sat upon when I attempt to adopt the “no, it's the rubber ducks who is singing to you, not Daddy” pose as I hunker down and attempt to hide below the rim of the bath.

With nappy now off, LP is swung up and into a multitude of bubbles and a cornucopia of toys. Rubber ducks including a rather camp ‘Village Peoplesque’ one and a blue one which squirts water from its rubbery beak. The best of the many, many toys is a book which, wait for it, contain yourself, has whale’s which change colour when subjected to warm water. The piece de resistance is the fact that it also squirted water. LP is totally amazed by this. OK, OK I was and continue to be totally amazed by this.

Picture the scene. Me and my daughter, bubbles, ducks, songs, fun and laughter and a book that changes colour and squirts water. Why then did I choose this very moment to reach over and grasp a bottle of Johnson and Johnson no more tears baby shampoo and take a swig of it.

At this very moment the conviviality of this scene was shattered as I established conclusively that obese men with sinister smiles are, in general, not to be trusted.