Yep, this really did happen.
I'm sure you are wondering how something like this goes down, since everyone knows that a baby should NEVER be left unattended around water; everyone knows that.
And, I'm sure that some of you are dying to type some chastising, you're-an-idiot-who-put-you-in-charge comment to make me question my ability to mother a gnat (don't bother, already slapped my face silly, just to teach myself a lesson).
All I can say is you're right.
Or, you would be if this were even remotely my fault, which it's not.
I didn't tell him to climb up the stairs, sneak into the supposedly child locked bathroom, and climb stealthily into the partially filled bath tub fully clothed (on the contrary, actually, I yelled repeatedly for him to get back to the kitchen post haste, I was wholeheartedly, and predictably, ignored).
I also didn't tell #2 to distract me with some ridiculous request, something about milkshakes and strawberries I believe, right at the precise moment that unattended baby was making his getaway.
And, I am in no way responsible for #1 tripping over...nothing, actually, he just ended up on the ground some how like he always does, and crying out in such contrived pain meant only to garner sympathy (and possibly gain a milkshake and strawberries, while also covering the sound of the desperate unattended baby's escape).
Nor can I be blamed for the entire moan fest of a day, featuring all levels of crying, complaining, whining, teasing, fighting, crapping, sweating, and a whole host of other undesirable verbs, which led to me being slightly put off my game.
Although unwilling to accept full responsibility for this event (it's actually a policy of mine that I never admit to anything until I see the cold hard proof, and by proof I mean a video, fingering me as the one and only culprit), I will admit that I was a bit put off by the days worth of frustrations and, therefore, perhaps not entirely in tune to my unbelievable desperate unattended baby and his evil plot to ruin any hope I had of salvaging the evening (really I just wanted to grab a bowl of ice cream and curl up in front of More to Love, followed closely by The Bachelorette, After the Final Rose. Thank goodness for my DVR!).
Oh, and Hubby was home too, so you can blame him (although you won't because, fight it though you may, you are all governed by this phenomenon, just can't help yourselves).
But, basically, it wasn't my fault.
It was the fault of the crazies I live with and the pressure of the hideous day they gifted me with that led to the break down in my defense, thereby allowing #3 to happily deposit himself into the bathtub, fully clothed, and quite proud of himself.
I spent the entire day wanting to cry out of frustration, never suspecting that I would instead end up crying out of joy. Because even though I was shocked, surprised, and slightly annoyed by his actions, he looked pretty dang silly sitting there in his street clothes all soaped up to his ears.
Mommyhood is kinda funny like that, right?!
