Shower Sauce

I watched a completely naked two-year-old sprint through the kitchen yesterday, double-fisting applesauce like his life depended on it and honestly I’ve never respected someone more.

My nephew, my bubs, just turned two and lately he’s really out here becoming a person. Opinions, routines, demands. The whole deal. And one thing about him, he is ride or die for applesauce. “Sauce.” That’s his thing.

Now this whole shower sauce situation… yeah I created that problem, sorry- not sorry! I gave him a taste of luxury and now he has standards. We did it one time when he was sick and pitiful and needed a little extra love and now it’s locked in. It is part of the routine. And not in a casual way. In a “this is essential to the experience” way.

Because he doesn’t just eat it. He brings it in the shower, turns it into a microphone, starts performing like he’s got a full audience. If he gets full, he’s not stressed about it. That sauce is getting repurposed. Walls, doors, wherever the moment takes him. Honestly… better the shower than literally anywhere else in the house.

So we’re getting ready for his shower. Water warming up, music going, he’s naked and dancing, already in performance mode. He looks at me and goes, “Get. It. Hot.” You got it, mister. He’s about to step in. And then he freezes. Turns and looks at me like he just remembered he forgot something.

And I see it happen. The realization. The horror. Because there is no performance without the sauce. “MY SAUCE!!!” And he is gone.

Bare ass, full speed, no hesitation. This is not a want, this is a requirement. Runs into the kitchen, flings open his snack drawer, grabs a sauce for each hand because- duh… and comes sprinting back yelling, “GOT MY SHOWER SAUCE, KATE!”

And I just… I can’t.