Bliss

Your assignment: write a first-person piece about either eating your favorite food or taking a shower - without using a personal pronoun.

There is a feeling of bliss that floods the body when the monitor is silent. 

A glance to the left reveals the bathroom door is cracked open with sunlight flowing in.  So inviting.

Tiptoeing in - the smallest creak in the worn wood floors of the vintage building could wake the baby! - the giddy feeling turns to overwhelming joy.  At last.  Maybe fifteen entire minutes to relax with hot water beating down on the body.

Clothing is quickly tossed to the side and the ceramic tile feels chilly on the toes.  With a whoosh the white shower curtain with lime, turquoise and black stripes is pulled tight.  Any gap would send water spilling over the edge, flooding the floor.

The chrome lever turns and instantly the water is healing, washing away the stress and the residual spit up a new mother wears on her sleeve. 

The mind wanders, transporting itself to the beach - the way the warm sun feels on the skin, the sound of waves crashing on land, a live band playing a familiar Buffett tune in the distance.

Shampoo is lathered, the smell of the Biolage is calming.

The physical needs of the shower have long been met - the body is squeaky clean, hair smells wonderful and legs are shaved - but something keeps those two feet planted firmly in the tub.  Perhaps the quiet realization that there are bottles that require hand washing in the kitchen sink, clothes overflowing in the hamper and a baby that will wake any moment needing to be changed, fed and entertained?  Yes, probably that.

A squeal breaks the trance.  Peeking at the bathroom clock, could it really have been 45 minutes?

One foot out, the other foot out.  The soft, fuzzy bathmat fills the gaps between the toes as limbs are blotted with a white towel.  The robe that has been hanging on the back of the door is quickly thrown on and the towel is expertly wrapped around the head.  It might be a while before there is a chance to actually pick up a brush and run it through the hair.

The feet that had kept still in the shower trance now propel the body forward. 

The squeals become louder. 

Suddenly, as the door knob is about to turn, the feel of bliss returns, more profound than earlier.  The door opens and there she is, more perfect than any picture the mind could imagine. 

Elizabeth is laying in her crib on her white sheet with mocha dots, Pink Poodle lovie in one hand, pacifier in the other, looking up at her Mama.

A long, hot shower is what made me feel human again in the early days of motherhood, what is/was your trick?