"I’m going to take a shower," I said to my husband. "A long one."
"Okay," he said.
I thought for another moment, taking in the empty bathroom. "Actually, maybe a bath."
What's the sexiest thing in the world? Sharing the mental load, of course. Post continues below.
He raised his eyebrows as I removed a bath bomb — a Christmas gift from one of the girls — from the cabinet.
In my house, it’s a serious thing for mama to take a bath. A sacred thing. It means I don’t want to be disturbed. I’m known to stay in the scalding water, soaking and reading and listening to acoustic pop covers on my phone, and maybe even having a drink, for long enough that people forget what I was doing in the first place.
I shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when my kids burst into the bathroom after about four minutes, brandishing a package, one of them exclaiming, "Mum! I think this is for me!" and neither of them seeming to register my condition.
"Girls! Leave mama alone!" came the call from the front steps.
"Shut the door!" I sang after my progeny as they followed the sound of my husband’s voice back out of the house. I sank down a little deeper, trying in vain to submerge my ever-knotted trapezius muscles in the hot water.
Another two minutes passed before the doorknob turned again. My husband entered and began rummaging through one of the drawers.
"Whatcha looking for?" I asked casually, as if I wasn’t sitting naked in a tub full of steaming water.
I wrinkled my eyebrows. "Everything okay?"