Having a Shower Before Kids vs After Kids


Stand under the silky, warm blanket of refreshing piped rainforrest and pure dreams.

Scrub, exfoliate, shave and moisterise.

Stand a bit longer.


Think of badass comebacks for arguments of the past.

Belt out numerous Mariah Carey albums. Allow the echo of the bathroom to lure you into the belief that you can actually sing. Imagine yourself headlining glastonbury as coconut oil seeps into the pours of your free soul. 

In your own time, step out of the shower smelling like summertime and mango.

Wrap yourself into the hug of a soft cotten fresh towel and relax. 

Having a shower after kids. 

Lep in through doors and immediately scauld the arse off yourself. Lep back out just as quick and allow the tempreture to get a grip of itself while you take off the soggy socks that you forgot to take off the first time you hoped in. 

Kick ducks and trucks over to other side of the base.

Hear a child crying so turn off shower.

Hear no child crying, so turn shower back on.

Start to wash.

Hear the screams of all your children together as if a scene of complete chaos is unraveling itself in your living room.

Turn off shower again.

Perk up ears like a dog and listen. When met by silence, turn back on shower.

Run a mac over half of your box before hearing a newborn cry.

Turn off shower again.

Suddenly remember that you dont have a newborn.

Turn on shower.

Wash your fairy in a Jojo Siwa glittertastic bath foam and use husbands lynx under pits. 

Cry as lynx runs in to the open wounds of your butchered ankles. 

Watch as small human busts in through doors uninvited and sticks their face up against the glass for inappropriote questions such as ” Why have you got 3 bellies mammy?” or ” Why does your arse have a beard?”

Convince yourself that you dont need to shave above the knee because he’s already witnessed you shite on a hospital bed so a bitta fuzzy thigh isn’t really gonna put him off. 

Hop out of shower and grab hooded paw patrol towel to wipe your regrets and shampoo out of your blood shot eyes. 

Run around the house in the nip looking for a clean pair of knickers while your children point and laugh and your saggy diddies. 

Feel a million bucks.

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