Twinfamy

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in, Buddy?” my wife called from inside the shower.

I’d love to say the offer was directed at me in a completely different context (Giggity!), but in this case she was addressing my son.

On that particular evening my wife and I had decided that we simply were NOT into the whole bathtime ordeal, so in an effort to mix up the normal nighttime routine (and to get the kid-cleaning over with quickly) we opted for a co-shower approach, with my wife being the Wet Cop and me the Dry Cop.

My daughter, who thoroughly enjoys the shower, had already been sanitized and was now playing with her cherished set of three tiny blue rubber duckies on the shower floor, quacking happily to herself. My son, however, stood a few feet back from the glass shower door, scowling at it while wearing nothing but a diaper.

He shook his head. “No. No like shower. Scared.”

For some reason, my son has a shower phobia. I couldn’t tell you why, because he loves all other aquatic activities–baths, hand-washing, swimming, sprinklers, and especially our new water table, which, within his first ten minutes of use, prompted him to loudly declare the following rave review: “I’M HAVING FUN!!! I’M HAVING FUN!!!”

I just don’t get it. He watches us take showers daily and even stands just outside of the door demanding that I draw him pictures on the steamed-up glass. Every day, he sees me step out of the shower in one piece, so clearly it is not a life-threatening activity.

Yet, there he stood–just like he always does–resolutely refusing to enter the Great Glass Death-By-Sprinkling-Water Elevator.

“There’s nothing to afraid of, Buddy,” my wife insisted. “Mommy’s not going to let anything happen to you.”

There was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes as he took a few steps forward, perhaps to consider giving it a shot.

Then, as if on cue, my daughter turned in her seat at the bottom of the shower and leaned her back against the door, forcing it open and sending it swinging…

…right into my son’s face.

He held his head for a moment. I waited for the tantrum, but it never came. Instead, he looked right at my wife and said:

“THAT happened.”

He pointed at the open door, confirming his stance. “THAT happened, Mommy.”

Having made his point, he strutted smugly (and victoriously) out of the room.

And then Daddy gave him a bath.

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If not, watch out for swinging shower doors.