There are moments when I catch myself astounded—and honestly, a bit intrigued—by the level of dirt and disarray I’m willing to tolerate before stepping out into the world. Quite often, I’m dressed in the same clothes I wore to bed, and let’s be real, probably still in yesterday’s outfit too.
I didn’t always have such lax standards when it came to personal hygiene. There was a time when daily showers and fresh outfits were a given. I can clearly recall the exact moment my grooming routine took a nosedive. Ah yes, that fateful day when I became a mother. Motherhood has a way of shifting priorities.
Though my kids are now 4 and 6, which has made things a tad easier, my showering practices have been streamlined to the essentials: jump in, wash the necessary parts, and attempt to rid my hair of the day’s grease.
As for shaving above the knee? Forget it. Not happening. And landscaping down there? You must be joking.
I’ve declared that one day a week, I will reclaim my shower time. From this point forward, during my “Saturday Shower,” unless there’s blood involved, my bathroom is off-limits.
Each Saturday Shower kicks off with the same announcement to my little ones and their father: “Listen up, family,” I announce, “Mommy is taking a shower now. No one is allowed in the bathroom during this time. Just stay with your dad, and better yet, don’t even leave this floor of the house, alright?”
They nod in agreement, and I shoot my husband a meaningful look that clearly conveys, “You’d better keep them out until I’m done, or you’ll be facing the consequences.”
With that, I dash upstairs, filled with excitement for my Saturday Shower. Once in the bathroom, I crank up the Billy Joel station on Pandora and belt out my favorite tunes.
“A bottle of white…”
“A bottle of red…”
Yes, Billy, maybe a bottle of rosé instead…
I crank the water temperature to nearly scalding—because it takes a lot to scrub away that “Mom grime,” right? As I survey the collection of shower products that have sadly accumulated soap scum over the week, I greet my pink body scrubs, fragrant shower gels, and fluffy loofahs with a wink. Hello, old friends; it’s been too long.
This is the Saturday Shower, and I’m determined to use every single product. I’ll even wash, rinse, and repeat with the shampoo and conditioner.
I wave at the array of luxurious lotions and makeup that await me post-shower, dreaming of the glorious primping I’m about to indulge in. When I finally emerge, I want to hear some tunes playing—perhaps “Pretty Woman” or that nostalgic song from the end of Sixteen Candles.
But just as I’m settling into my blissful routine, my child bursts into my sanctuary.
“Hey, Mommy!”
“What are you doing here, buddy? Where’s your dad?”
“I dunno.”
“Mommy is taking a shower, so… privacy please…”
“I’m just gonna go potty.”
“We have three other bathrooms. Go use one of those! Where’s your dad?”
“Nope, using this one.”
Before I can react, he drops his pants. When he didn’t bother to lift the seat, I realized what kind of “business” he was up to.
I tried to ignore him, continuing my singing, hoping he’d finish quickly. But instead of the sweet scent of vanilla sugar body scrub, the air shifted to something far less pleasant.
I scrunched my nose at the odor and yelped when he flushed, leaving me in a cloud of stench. Then, to my utter dismay, he snatched my phone from the counter, switched off my music, and exited, engrossed in a game.
Defeated and cold, my Saturday Shower had turned into a complete disaster. My kids have a knack for ruining things: my Saturday Shower, my flat stomach, my ability to run upstairs without worrying about an accident. While I can’t fix most of these, I can lock the door next Saturday and start the dishwasher and washing machine as soon as my husband steps into the shower on Monday morning.
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Summary
In the chaos of motherhood, the simple act of enjoying a peaceful Saturday shower becomes a cherished ritual for one mother. But just as she settles into her moment of tranquility, the inevitable interruptions of family life remind her that finding time for self-care is a constant battle.
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