See that? It's another one of those baby doodads that a young, childless person spots in the home of a not-so-childless person and thinks to her childless self "damn, kids sure do ruin an otherwise perfectly styled house with a lot of ugly colorful junk...what the heck IS that, anyway?" Not that I speak from experience. Or, okay, maybe I do. Then I had a child and suddenly that semi-tacky looking plastic doodad was a baby noggin saver, preventing a nasty cut to baby's perfect, pretty little head by the unforgiving metal bath spout. I spotted it at BRU awhile back and felt a surge of excitement like I once felt for new lash lengthening mascara at Ulta, so I forked over the $15 doodad fee without a second thought and tried it out as soon as we got home. (I know. Lame.)
So see that? Same baby doodad. But it's the baby doodad after a certain monkeyish baby gets his monkeyish little paws on it. During his bath last night, he did a little rearranging. Which I somehow didn't notice. Until tonight, after I dashed into the bathroom, cranked on the water, and dashed right back out to grab A and handle a particularly messy (read: time consuming) diaper. Then back to the bathroom, squirmy naked babe in arms. THEN I noticed what he'd done. It was kind of hard to miss, what with the fountain of water shooting OUT of the tub toward the toilet and covering the bathroom floor with a good half inch of what was supposed to be A's bath water.