Sorry about the waterboarding, kiddo!

I've been known for my clumsiness for most of my life. Like my mother, I always had some sort of scratch or bruise on my arms or legs from bumping my elbow on the wall that jumped out in front of me or tripping over completely solid, flat ground. So now, of course, I find myself apologizing to my son for this or that ever-so-smooth move or else, fortunately more often, thanking his lucky stars for a near-miss.

Case in point: bath time. Darrell already hates bath time. He screams as though I'm torturing him and yesterday, well, I guess I almost did, depending on where you fall on the "is-waterboarding-torture?" debate. I set him in the mini tub that fits into the kitchen sink and this time held him in place enough that he didn't knock his head on either side of it until my mom could place a towel around his head for cushioning. (I learned that lesson on his first bath... twice.) Then I filled a mini pitcher with lukewarm water to pour over his head, except I stupidly poured it too far forward so that his screaming was temporarily muffled by the water I just poured down his nose and throat. Oops. As he began coughing, I immediately picked him up and brought his head forward, patting his back while kicking myself for just about drowning my kid in not even an inch of water. "Sorry about the waterboarding, kiddo!" Yea, not sure he was in the most forgiving mood.

I used my hand to wash him for the rest of the bath since it's gentler (usually) than a washcloth and was a bit more careful not to pour water down his face or on his hair in such a way that the soap would run into his eyes. Of course, when we finished and lifted him out of the tub, I damn near knocked his head on the corner of the kitchen cabinet.

I take comfort in the fact that my mother is as notoriously clumsy as I am. If she managed to take care of me without giving me a concussion or breaking my neck, perhaps there's hope for me too.

This photo pretty much sums up little Darrell's opinion of bath time.