Thursday, October 21, 2010

Bathroom Capers

Who does not like to commune with the commode or sing loudly under running water or have a luxurious soak in a moist mound of bubbles? God knows I L-O-V-E to do these things.  When I was single and had my own apartment, it was the highlight of my day to have "bathroom time".  It was an escape where I could light scented candles, read books and run cheap beer over my immature, alcoholic pallet. 

And then I got married...

And I got pregnant...

And I had, not one, but two children...

The getting married part was not so bad.  The husband respected my need to lock myself in the bathroom while I did my business.  He found it strange that I thought urinating in front of him was a no-no, especially since I had NO problem letting loose from the caboose. (We all have our strange insecurities.)

Pregnancy gave me a new found respect for indoor plumbing.  You hear stories about having to pee every 5-15 mins...and then you find out the stories are real.  And then you hate life for stealing that small pleasure of alone time when you pee because you go so often.  And you gain a new appreciation for the older generation and their high fiber, high water diet because sometimes, just because you feel like you need to do #2 doesn't always mean it's going to be a quick drop in the bucket and moving on with your day.  Oh no...having a bowel movement becomes an EVENT when you are pregnant.  Hormones do a number on you.

The children. I love them. They love me.  They love me SO much that the thought of being separated by both a door and a curtain sends them into a panick so bad that they have to poop. There is nothing like a nippy autumn morning, after I've gotten the boys cleaned and dressed and seated at the table with breakfast, where I think I have just enough time to get in a shower.  It is like my own reprieve from this cold cruel world, a small slice of bliss to make life more bearable.  I close the door and turn on the water. I get the bathroom all nice and steamed up.  The air is made warm by the heat of the water so when I get out I don't have to rush to lotion up.  I get in and let the water beat down on me.  I am greatful to the husband for installing the new wider shower head so that my entire back is being soothed by the heat and gentle pounding of the water.

But then I hear it.  I hear the stomps coming up the stairs...the badoomp, badoomp of someone whose legs are too short to really run up the stairs. I know where those footsteps are heading, but I am praying to whatever god will listen to me that those steps aren't really heading in my direction.  I can hear the panting as the steps get closer. And in the warm comfy confounds of my shower comes a thick blast of cold air followed by a, "MOMMY! I HAVE TO POOP!" And my first born child stands in the doorway, letting out all of my beautiful warm steam, waiting for me to give him permission to have a bowel movement.  Who am I to say no? Especially after everything that made the moment so tender and sweet has just left in a puff out the door and down the steps where his side kick is still in La-La Land enjoying his toaster waffle. 

I really don't think 15 minutes is a long time.  It's not like I was shampooing my hair.  It was really a quick and simple cleansing of the body. I want to shed a tear for my stolen moment.  But my big baby has to take a dump with great urgency...with the door open...and I can hear him making his deposit in the commode.

So I get out.  I turn off the water and get out of the shower. And I secretely hate my life as I feel the rush of cold air on my wet, naked my son, my first born son, giggles and exclaims how he can see my butt. He says it only in the way that immature boys can, as he stands there, with toilet paper hand, examining whatever came out of his own backside.

This happens frequently. Sometimes he wants to have a full converstion while doing his business. Sometimes, he brings the little one along...and they come with toys and books like I need a personal guard. Sometimes they fight over who needs to poop first. I don't care about none of it. All I think about is how I am being punished for doing the same stupid stuff to my mother.   And sometimes I call her and apologize because, dammit, I didn't know! I...did...not...know...


  1. Whoever gave you the idea to start blogging is a mastermind...can't wait for what's in store. you are hilarious!!!