The Shower

This morning I told Emma she had to take a shower and wash her hair.

“One more minute,” came the response.  This is the standard response to almost everything asked of her.

“Okay.  One more minute,” I said.

“Don’t you make me come get you,” Emma said with a sly grin, the pronoun confusion in full swing.

“Oh I’m going to come get you!  I’m going to come get you right now!” I said, pulling her legs as she shrieked with laughter and flailed about.

Once in the bathroom, Emma turned on the shower, undressed and stepped in.  “Ewwww!  Too cold!  You have to wait,” she said as she retreated to the safety of the room.  Tentatively she put her hand in to test the water.  “Nice and warm,” she announced before stepping into the shower.

“Okay, Em.  Remember you have to take the shampoo bottle and open the top.”  As I spoke, reminding her of what the steps were, she did as I said.  She put shampoo on her head and stood still.  “You have to rub the shampoo in.  Remember?   You have to wash your hair,” I reminded her.

“You have to wash your hair,” Emma repeated.

With a little help, Emma managed to wash her hair.

“Towel!  I need a towel!” Emma said, using the correct pronoun.

“Here you are!” I said, offering her a washcloth, which she held over her eyes.  “You need to rinse your hair, Em.  You have to get all the soap out.”

“You need to rinse,” Emma repeated.

I then walked her through washing her body with soap, naming each body part, reminding her she needed to rinse the soap off.  A few weeks ago I received a phone call in the middle of our shower routine and when I returned Emma was standing in the shower covered with soap.  When she saw me she turned the water off and said, “Shower all done!”

“No Em!  You need to rinse the soap off,” to which she took the bar of soap and put it under the water spray – washing it off.  “Your body, Em.  You need to rinse the soap off of your body,” I corrected myself.

Once out of the shower, unless reminded Emma will simply get dressed or more likely, run to our bed where she will snuggle under the sheets, soaking wet.  “You have to dry off, Em.  Remember?”

Again I name all her body parts.   Upon hearing them, she dutifully dries each part and then runs to our bed, laughing.

“Emma washed your hair,” Emma announced when I joined her in our bedroom.

“Yes, Em.  You did a terrific job washing your hair,” I answered.

“Emma wash your hair again?” Emma said with a grin.  Without waiting for an answer she shouted, “No!  You cannot wash your hair again.  You already took a shower!”

This is Emma’s idea of hilarity.  And it is pretty funny watching her scream with laughter at the very idea of going back into the shower.

That’s our Emma.