Sand Bath

This is inspired by a true story. My poor husband… Enjoy.

“I’m just going to run to the shop. He’s down to his last nappy, and I need to get a new tin of formula,” I said to my husband, as I picked up my phone and wallet, throwing them into my bag.

I pivoted around on the spot looking for my keys.

“In your back pocket,” he said, making faces at the squishy infant on his knees.

“Got them. Right, I won’t be long. She’s outside playing in the sand pit.”

It’s not really a sandpit, just a plastic tub with a lid, filled with sand. It keeps the cat from pooping in it. I blew her a kiss and waved goodbye, not really paying attention. Just hoping that she doesn’t realise that I was going to the shop.

“Okay,” he said moving on the lounge, so he could keep her in sight on the back patio. “Oh no,” he groaned.

“Daddy!” she called through the gauze door. “I’m having a sand bath.”

I froze and peeked over my shoulder. Yep, one naked four-year-old, sitting in the plastic sand tub, her knees squished up to her face.

I flicked my eyes to my husband and smiled. “Ah. Bye.” I made it down the stairs before he called out.

“How am I supposed to deal with this?”

“I don’t know, I’m not here.”

I closed the front door and ran to the car. He was waving goodbye through the front window, one tiny baby fist pulling at his beard, and a desperate look in his eyes.

“Hurry back,” he mouthed.

“Ha,” I chuckled. “Not a chance.”


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Photo by barockschloss via Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons



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