Last week, I made a solemn pledge not to gross you out with details about my pregnancy. I intend to hold to that. However, I never once promised not to gross you out with details about bathtub grime, so that is what I will do now.
A few weeks ago, I read with almost unseemly interest Robin's post on her New Year's cleaning frenzy. I say unseemly because for nearly as long as we've lived in our house (coming up on two years in June), I've been obsessed with the state of the bathtubs. The tubs are those pre-made enclosure jobbies, made of fiberglass or maybe just plastic. The one downstairs that Chip and I use has a slip-preventative, textured bottom, and let me tell you, I don't think that thing was ever cleaned by the previous owners. By the time we got here, all I could do was scrub heartily and futilely and often, knowing that the really deep-down grime was never going to come off, no matter how sweaty I got.
A few months ago my mom--knowing of my plight--sent along some articles she had found on Extreme Tub Cleaning (new Olympic sport) and I thought about trying some. But as they often included noxious chemicals on the level of oven cleaner--and we have been trying to de-chemicalize our house as much as possible due to Connery's ongoing asthma issues--I put it off. By then I was also a few months pregnant and Chip had forbidden me from spending my weekends hunched over the tub smelling Bon Ami and cackling insanely about how I would get those stains! someday! somehow!
This weekend, I got them. Robin had undertaken an overnight vinegar soak in her cleaning frenzy with good results. I emailed her for some clarifications--yes, you should use straight vinegar; yes, it will take a lot of vinegar; no, your bathroom will not smell like pickles until the end of time--and then poured three freshly purchased gallons of vinegar into the tub. When I went to check it the next morning, it looked exactly the same, until I took my handy scrub brush and moved it lightly across the bottom of the tub. Friends, six-plus years of grime came up with no more than a few brush strokes. The nastiness, she was gone!
So does my ridiculous level of happiness about this natural cleaning miracle reflect a high point in my pre-baby nesting instinct, the utter capitulation of my feminist self to the ideals of a 1950s-clean house, or the simple joy that comes from seeing a problem solved? Hard to say. Whatever the reason, it sure felt great to take a shower in a truly clean space for a change.
And now, with that out of my system, I promise never to gross you out again about pregnancy OR bathtub grime. You have my word.