When Multitasking Goes Too Far

The first thing I notice when I step into the shower is Rodney's latte sitting on the window sill.

I look at him incredulously.

He shrugs, "I figured that I could drink my coffee while you were rinsing."

Just then Zora starts crying. Until we had a baby, I had no idea what an utter luxury a shower was. Time to read the shampoo bottle. Time to consider the soap scum patterns on the tiles. Now, I spend so little time bathing that my legs have become a veritable old growth forest of hair.

"I'll stick a pacifier in her mouth," Rodney says heading out the door.

Seconds later the crying stops.

Then it starts again. If I know my daughter, she's plucked the pacifier from her mouth is holding it in her chubby little paws. "I won't be silenced, thank you very much," her wail indicates.

Next, I hear the first few bars of the Bach melody coming from her mobile.

Zora counters with a defiant holler. Then, silence.

A minute later, Rodney pulls the shower curtain open and steps into the shower with a diaper-clad Zora. She takes one look at my sudsy head, turns a startling shade of persimmon, and bursts into tears.

"I think she's hungry," R says leaving with our shrieking daughter.

I finish my rinse cycle, and just as I'm stepping out of the shower, R returns with Z and a bottle of formula. I give him a cockeyed look.

"Were you really planning on taking a shower with Zora while feeding her and drinking your latte?" I ask.

His dark eyes widen and twinkle. "I thought it was doable," he says optimistically.