A dash of Pepper…

…with a splash of Mint

Archive for April 11th, 2019

H for Hair

Posted by Pepper on April 11, 2019

We just got done with shampooing Cotton and Candy’s hair and I am so very glad we don’t have to go through this terrorizing experience again for another week. Yes, we wash their hair only once a week on average and if I had a choice, I would probably wash it once a month. Or never.

What is it about a hair bath that makes them shriek and cry like that? While Cotton is not so bad, Candy is a nightmare to deal with in the bath tub. Washing her hair is like going on a war. The entire bathroom turns into a war zone. Again, this war cannot be fought by either Mint or me alone. It needs both of us to team up as we try to tackle our opposition who will continually try to flee the battle field by climbing out of the tub.

The dreaded shampoo is our main weapon of destruction and leaves almost all of us injured, either mentally or physically. Candy cries so much, it results in her throwing up. Which causes in us a wave of panic because we have worked so hard to get her to eat. And we see our efforts going down the drain, literally. It leaves Mint and me soaked since the on going violence makes us lose focus of the hand shower. We resign as the spray continues to change angles and hits us in the face, on our arms, knees and whatever else that is left of us. We are a wet, sloppy mess. She continues to cry, threatening to throw up some more. How many casualties do we have to deal with?

To add to it, we have to go through this operation not once, but twice. The first time as we try to lather and wash her hair after a shampoo, and the second time as we go through it with a conditioner. Every time we feel thankful that our bathroom is not within ear shot by any means. No passer by or neighbour can hear her cries, or I’m afraid we would have Child Protection Services knocking on our door.

Why does it have to turn into a war every time? Why can’t she just look up when asked to? Why do we all feel so wounded by the end of it? For now, I just feel glad we survived. We bundle up a sobbing, hiccupping little girl and take her out to her very concerned brother who has been waiting for her to get freed.

Mint goes about picking up their bath toys and cleaning up the tub as I dry the kids and bury my nose in their freshly washed and conditioned hair. My sweet smelling babies have calmed down by now and are willing to give me a hug. A week is a long time, I tell myself. We don’t have to go through this again. Not very soon.

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