As all parents know, the toilet is both a wonderful and a terrible place. It is wonderful as you watch your child finally conquer their bodily functions and put them in the appropriate place, because up until now they have been desperately determined to have a bowel movement anywhere other than the bathroom due to an apparent wild fear of toilet snakes. It is wonderful to watch your child grow and progress and be proud of themselves. And terrible...I don't think I need to go into graphic details about terrible.
Before you have kids, no one really warns you that your own bathroom time will suddenly become a family affair. On the cute little baby shower advice cards, no one writes, "Stock up on picture books for your toilet magazine rack, because this is the place where your children will suddenly and passionately need you to teach them to read." So, if you are reading this and you have yet to procreate, I am doing you a favor and telling you this now. Get comfortable with your body, whatever it looks like, because whenever nature calls and your children are around, you will feel like the Super Bowl half time show. When you are in a public restroom and your daughter shouts, "Wow, Mom! You have a big bum! Are you doing a big poop?" you will be able to exit the stall, wash your hands like a decent human being, and leave the bathroom with your head held high.
At home, my kids (like most, I think) have decided that Mommy's toilet time is a good time to come ask me things, often revolving around food. Judsen bursts through the door the other day. "Hi, Mom! What are you doing?" "Um, using the bathroom, honey." "Oh. Okay. Can I have this candy?" "Can it wait until I'm off the toilet?" He leaves for a second and then returns. "Will you open this, Mom?" "Jud! Please wait until I"m done!" Finally he comes back for a third time. "Mom, please open this and don't drop it in the toilet." I give in, but the impish prankster in me can't help but seize the opportunity for revenge. As I pull open the wrapper, I drop the candy through my pant legs to the floor, but from where he's standing, it looks as if I've done exactly what he reminded me not to do and my horrified face sends him into angry moaning. "No, Mom!!" I let him writhe for a minute, then pick up the candy, unsoiled, and hand it back to him. "Here it is, Jud, but don't ask me for food when I'm on the toilet anymore." Apparently it worked, because he hasn't come back when he knows I'm in the bathroom.
Felicity has no such qualms, however. She stands next to the ever-open bathroom door and plays restaurant. "What kind of pizza do you want, Mom?" Um, the quiet time special. She brings me a concoction of plastic shower toys, empty shampoo bottles and dirty washcloths and presents it with spectacular flair. "It's a chocolate pizza, Mom!" And I eat up, lest her feelings be hurt and she be discouraged from ever cooking again.
JJ uses her willpower-melting cuteness and just marches on in. And here I'm left with two awful options. One, I slide her out the door with my feet, shut it and listen while she cries and sticks her fingers underneath. Then she waits there until I try to come out but am trapped inside because she's sitting next to the door and my only choice is to use it to, as gently as possible, glide her away, across the floor like a tiny, sad hockey puck. Or two, I hold her on my lap while trying to take care of business because if she's left to her own devices, she'll smack things with the plunger and chew on the empty hemorrhoid cream tube that's been neglected behind the toilet for months. So I put her on my knees, singing the Mexican Hat Dance and To Market, To Market. She adores this and to show her appreciation, tucks her little head on my shoulder and settles in for some quality cuddling. Seriously?? You want to snuggle now?
The few times I am alone are somewhat like eating an entire chocolate cake. At first you can't believe your good fortune and you scarf down all you can, reading magazines like there's gold at the end and sticking it out until your feet fall asleep. But after about half an hour, you realize everything is silent and you begin to feel fairly sick to your stomach because that means either everyone is dead or all your belongings are so torn up you should begin filing the paperwork for your house to be declared a natural disaster zone.
I guess we'll just keep using the bathroom anyway, though, in spite of all this, partly because it seems there are few other options and partly because, darn it all, I love my kids regardless of what else I'm trying to accomplish.
No comments:
Post a Comment