Metamorphosis

I am turning into my mother.

When I was young, I used to barge into the bathroom while my mother was taking a bath. She would take a long, hot bath every night and read. Now, of course, I understand that she was trying to get away from us for a few, precious minutes. Then, however, I viewed this as the perfect time to corner her to ask really annoying questions. For example, we had The Talk in the bathroom, while she was in the bath and I was sitting on the toilet, because she and my father had recently told me and my sister about their being pregnant. I knew that my mother wouldn't discuss it in front of my sister (the Baby Mama), and I somehow understood that this would be a difficult topic for her, so, being the considerate, loving daughter that I was, I invited myself in while she was in the bath, sat myself down, and said, "All right, tell me how that baby got in there."

But I digress.

My mother used to spend hours in the bath. She would read and read until the water was cold, then she would drain the tub and read some more, wrapped in a towel. I remember thinking that this was so odd. I liked reading a lot, but why not sit on the sofa or in bed? It seemed so much more comfortable. Of course, the answer was ME, the loud and obnoxious kid that wouldn't leave her alone long enough to read even a sentence. And even the bathroom wasn't safe.

And I understand now more than ever. Last night, I put the baby to bed, drew a bath, and stayed in it for almost two hours. It was so indulgent, in fact, that I drained the water once it got cold, and then refilled the tub.

And I'm going to do it again tonight. Living the dream, folks. If you need me, I'll be in the bath. Please knock first.