Dirty Bird

Can someone please, please, please tell me what my child has against washing her ass?

For reals.

What is this sudden aversion to bathing? It’s like she’s allergic to water. And soap. Is she like the Wicked Witch of the West (or East, I forget) and will dissolve into a puddle of goo should water touch her person?

Did I miss something? Where did my excited-to-have-a-clean-ass child go? We never had this problem before. We couldn’t get Kali out of the tub before. The water would be cold and dirty and she’d be begging for just, “Five more minutes,” so she could continue being a mermaid or Olympic swimmer or whatever fantasy she was in the midst of when the call to get out came.

Now, I have to trick, remind, and threaten her to wash her butt! I used to be that way. I remember hating my stepmother because she was the only one hip to my game of closing the door, sitting on the edge of the tub, sticking my hand in the water to make splashing sounds, and then coming out ten minutes later dry as a menopausal cooch. She began staying in the bathroom with me and bathing me! I was probably around Kali’s age when this happened. (10) Back then I used to think she was just mean. Now I see that she just had my own best interest at heart… and probably her own as she didn’t want to get carted off when the people came for my mother and father for neglect.

Thinking back, I have no idea what my problem was. Why did I hate bathing so much? It’s not like I liked the alternative – stinking. So, what gave?

I think part of it with Kali is thinking that she’s going to miss something. My little sister lives with us (she just turned 12 last week), but Kali is still operating like this is a visit. “I want Bruklyn to sleep with me.” “Girl, Bruklyn has her own room to sleep in. She’ll be here in the morning!” My mother just told me last night that sometimes Bruklyn will hang out with Kali while she takes a bath. That’s right. Kali will get in my garden tub to bathe while Bruklyn sits on the edge with her jeans rolled up and her feet in the water like she chilling on a pier. What the shit?

And even with my own history as prologue, it still didn’t occur to me that I have to check behind Kali after she gets out of the tub…. at least not until last week when I happened to really look at her.

“What’s that on your neck?”

“What?”

“That! Is that… dirt?”

Sure enough – right at that part of your neck where they would stick the ink tube in if you couldn’t breathe on some primetime drama and all they had to save your life was a pen, a knife, some tape, and their breath – Kali’s neck was dirty. Really dirty.

“Didn’t you take a bath?!”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you wash your neck?”

“I think so.”

“Do you think you used water and soap or just air and good intentions?”

“Huh?”

“Girl, go take a bath and this time scrub your neck before I get arrested for neglect. Look like you wearing a scarf of dirt.”

My mother was standing at the kitchen sink in tears with laughter.

It aint’ funny, y’all. I don’t like this one bit. I don’t like sending her to brush her teeth before bed, but her finding that her breath smells like hot garbage when she goes to kiss me goodnight. I heard the electric toothbrush whirring! I heard the water running! Why are you pulling one of my old numbers on me? Why don’t you, for the love of God, want to be clean?

I keep warning her, “You’re not gonna be happy until someone embarrasses you in school. Trust me. You don’t want to have someone say, ‘What’s that smell? Kali, is that you?’”

I have now vowed to be the bath/teeth Nazi. I will do surprise bath inspections. I will montior the occassional bath under the guise of, “Isn’t this a lovely time to catch up and talk about our day? Yes, Mommy will just sit right here on the edge of the tub and talk… and watch.” I will do a teeth check after so-called brushings. I will inspect the lady parts if I have to.

I’m not tryna have the people come knocking on my door ’cause Kali insists on going to school looking like a street urchin.