You know that moment when you’re seven months pregnant, desperately need to pee, and you open the bathroom cabinet only to have half your toiletries crash onto the floor? Yeah, that was my Tuesday morning last week. Standing there watching Amara’s bath toys bounce around the tiny space while I’m trying to find my vitamins behind a fortress of half-empty shampoo bottles… I nearly cried. Proper ugly cry, right there in our shoebox bathroom.
Our bathroom is what the estate agent called “efficiently sized” when we bought the house. I mean, come on. It’s four feet by six feet on a good day, and that’s including the shower cubicle that Liam can barely fit into without his elbows hitting the walls. When we moved in two years ago, I genuinely thought we’d just keep things minimal. What a joke that turned out to be.
Turns out when you’ve got a toddler, minimalism goes out the window faster than you can say “bath time.” Suddenly you need seventeen different bottles for sensitive skin, toys that can’t have any small parts, step stools, potty training supplies… and that’s before you factor in my own pregnancy brain meaning I buy the same face wash three times because I keep forgetting I already have some.
The first thing I tried was one of those over-toilet storage units from Argos. Looked brilliant online, promised to solve all my problems. Didn’t account for our Victorian ceiling height though, did I? First morning after installing it, I stood up from the loo and smacked my head so hard I saw stars. Liam found me sitting on the bathroom floor holding my head, swearing like a sailor. That monstrosity got dismantled the same day, and there’s still a dent in the plaster where I yanked it off the wall in fury.
But you know what actually worked? Going up instead of out. Sounds obvious now, but when you’re sleep-deprived and everything’s chaos, obvious solutions don’t always… well, seem obvious.
The back of the bathroom door became my secret weapon. I found this clear shoe organiser at B&M for eight quid – one of those hanging things with loads of pockets. Sounds mad using it for toiletries, but each pocket holds different bits perfectly. Hair bobbles that usually disappear into some kind of black hole, travel bottles, spare toothbrushes for when Amara inevitably drops hers behind the radiator, plasters for when she decides to “help” with something sharp… everything’s visible and I can grab what I need even when I’m juggling a wriggly toddler.
The real game-changer was magnetic strips inside the medicine cabinet. You know those things people stick kitchen knives to? Same principle, but for tweezers, nail scissors, those tiny expensive eye creams that always get lost. Such a small thing, but when you’re trying to get ready while Amara’s having a meltdown about wearing clothes, having everything right there at eye level? Honestly saved my sanity.
I got a bit obsessed after that, started seeing storage opportunities everywhere. The space under the sink was this disaster zone of cleaning products and beauty stuff I’d forgotten I owned. Bought a tension rod from Wickes and hung the spray bottles from it, then squeezed some stackable drawers underneath. But the clever bit was sticking magnetic containers to the side of the sink unit – suddenly had space for cotton pads and cotton buds that didn’t take up any actual room.
Replaced our basic mirror with a proper medicine cabinet, but found one with a plug socket inside. Now Liam’s electric toothbrush charges out of sight instead of trailing wires across the counter where Amara can grab them. She’s got this thing about pulling cables at the moment, gave us both heart attacks when she nearly yanked the hairdryer into the sink last month.
Liam thought I’d properly lost it when I started eyeing up the space above the door frame. “That’s too high, love, you’ll never use it,” he said. Shows what he knows. Put a narrow floating shelf up there for backup loo roll, spare towels, those massive bottles of baby shampoo from Costco. Yeah, I need the step stool to reach it, but for stuff I don’t need daily? Perfect. Like having a tiny attic in the bathroom.
The shower was doing my head in. Those corner shelf things that stick to the wall with suction cups? Forget it. They’d be fine for weeks then suddenly crash down at six in the morning, scaring the life out of everyone and waking Amara up early. Nightmare. Got a tension pole thing instead – goes floor to ceiling with shelves that adjust up and down. Doesn’t need any drilling into our rental-quality tiles, and actually stays put even when Amara tries to swing from it.
Started using one of those skinny rolling trolleys between the toilet and sink. Sounds like it’d make the space feel even smaller, but this narrow thing fits perfectly and I can wheel it out when I need to clean. Bottom shelf holds towels, middle bit has our current products, little tray on top for my rings when I’m washing my face or helping Amara with something messy.
Had to rethink how we hang towels too. One towel rail was taking up loads of wall space but only holding two towels. Ripped it off and put up multiple hooks at different heights instead – same wall space but holds way more towels. Plus when you’re dripping wet and trying to grab a towel while keeping one eye on a toddler who’s decided the bathroom bin looks interesting, hooks are much easier than trying to fold things neatly over a rail.
Made some proper mistakes though. Installed these gorgeous glass shelves above the bath, looked amazing in the photos online. In reality? Every single water spot showed up, and cleaning them meant basically doing gymnastics. Lasted about eight weeks before I admitted defeat and took them down. Or the shelf I put over the sink that blocked half the mirror – seemed brilliant until I actually tried to use it. Sometimes the Instagram-worthy solution just isn’t the practical one when you’re living real life.
Best thing I bought was probably drawer organisers from IKEA. Those adjustable divider things turned our vanity drawers from complete chaos into actually functional storage. Lipsticks in one bit, makeup brushes in another, hair ties contained instead of scattered everywhere like some kind of craft explosion. Cost maybe fifteen quid and made such a difference.
The narrow gap between our toilet and the wall used to just collect dust and hair bobbles. Now there’s a skinny cabinet on wheels that holds cleaning supplies and extra toilet paper. Every weird corner got examined – what could fit there? How could I use that space?
Our bathroom’s still tiny, obviously. I can’t magic extra square footage. But now when I open a cabinet, stuff doesn’t avalanche out. When I need something while I’m getting Amara ready for nursery, I know exactly where it is. And when my mum comes round, I’m not mortified about the state of the bathroom anymore.
Sometimes the smallest spaces just need the most creative thinking. And maybe a step stool. Definitely need a step stool.
