It Had to Happen Eventually.

So Ann and I bathe together.  It started when she was little; I tore my rotator cuff and couldn't support her weight in the tub from the floor.  And then it became a habit because I will use any excuse to have a bath.  I LOVE THEM.  It has always worked well as Ann neither pees nor poos in the bath (well, if she pees I haven't noticed and so I pretend she doesn't), and she and I bond over playing with her toys and singing bath songs.  Though there was one time when my little nephew came running in to say 'hi' to Ann and left traumatized- eyes wide and averted- when he discovered Auntie Nora was in there too.
The other night she was fishing around in the water as she whined "Mommy, this is bugging me!".  I expected it to be one of her playmobile nativity animals (you remember those)- they have pointy little legs that I'd figured she'd sat on- so I was very surprised when she produced a golf-ball sized rock.  It was tan-coloured and speckled with black and sort of imperfectly spherical, like the ones we'd brought home from the beach the day before.  And I thought "but how did it get into the bath with us?".  And then she dropped the rock into my open palm and I was surprised at how light it was.  And warm and soft and... OH MY EFFING GOD!  And then I was yelling and she was yelling and Adrian came barreling towards us from the kitchen, positive that Ann was drowning in the tub.  I yelled "The lid!  The lid!  Lift the toilet lid!", and he did- though he didn't understand why- and I lobbed the golf-ball poop across the room and into the bowl.  Realization dawned on poor Adrian's face- quickly followed by horror- as he dodged the backsplash from the toilet and then he was yelling too.  I don't think he could decide what he was the most grossed out about- that I had thrown poop towards him, or that Ann's poop had been in my hand, or that we were still stewing in Ann's poop soup.  And that's when Ann produced two more 'rocks' from the tub for me to put in the toilet.  After more yelling by everyone involved we were instructed by Adrian to scrub down in the shower.  While we recuperated from the trauma he scrubbed down the bathroom.  Adrian's revulsion towards germs is never to be underestimated, and I would not have been surprised had he asked me to sleep in Ann's bed.  He attacked that bathroom like Ann had polio.  The bath mat that our wet feet touched, the towels we used, the tub, and even the floor in case we had dripped on it; all were bleached. In his fervor he might have bleached the toilet as well, but that's what toilets are for Adrian.  To catch poop.

It wasn't until later that I realized- 'Hey.  You thought Ann might be drowning?  I was in the tub with her...how irresponsible do you think I am?'.  But I suppose that is a conversation to be had on a day when I haven't thrown poop around the house.

*Note:  In later discussion with Adrian, it turns out he did not, in fact, think that Ann was drowning.  Given my reaction, he thought there was a spider in the bath.  Which does make sense.