Ode to a Long, Hot Shower

He yawns and fusses a little in my lap, signaling his fatigue.  This is the moment I've been waiting for. I begin the dance. Up and down, back and forth, until his little head nods to my rhythm and his eyelids droop.  I settle him into the chair, turning on the vibration and gently bouncing it until his eyes close for good.

He sleeps.

I start the water running.  Hot.  As hot as I can stand it.

I shed my stained clothes and step over the barrier, my skin crawling with a mixture of chill and anticipation.  I immerse myself in the magnificent spray, letting it massage my scalp and drip down my back.  I shiver in its deliciousness.

I luxuriate under the building steam, slowly massaging the lather into my skin and hair.  I watch the suds slide down the drain, taking with them the smells of sour milk and unwashed hair. Rinsing away the sleeplessness of the previous night.

Do I have time to shave my legs?

I gently ease back the curtain and take a peek. Still sleeping.

I scrub and scrub, secretly hoping to annihilate the line of pigment that curves its way down my abdomen, and the one curiously lonely stretch mark I acquired during my first pregnancy.

Soon, too soon, it will be time to get out.  I will emerge, renewed, in a billow of steam just as the first little whimpers start.  I will quickly dry my hair and throw on my fluffy robe in time to scoop him up and drink in his special Mama smile, bright eyes, and new baby smell. 

I am at once relaxed and revitalized.  A fresh start.