Since the beginning of time… actually, just the beginning of potty training- it’s been commonplace to bring one of the kids to the bathroom with me.
Clearly, when they’re young, you can’t just leave them by their lonesome when you gotta go- and personally i’ve never been comfortable having them stand OUTSIDE the stall while i’m doing my business- so i’ve become accustomed to the close quarters of a tiny bathroom stall filled with two or more bodies. It’s a damn good thing I don’t get stage fright.
Never did I think in all my years that my #1s and 2s would become family events- but sometimes you just have to accept your fate and roll with it- so roll with it I did.
Over these years of ‘rolling with it’- I noticed an embarrassing little trend that would occur during these family bathroom stall pow-wows.
Even more exciting than coming with mommy to the bathroom, was what mommy was putting into the toilet in the bathroom. ENTHRALLING Discovery Channel level interest on what may have been coming out of me.
Having to take a shit in public is bad enough- the fear that people will hear you, laugh at you, gag at the horrendous smell or that all eyes will be ON you once you exit the stall you just blew up. The problem is: when you gotta go you gotta GO and it doesn’t matter where you are or how many people are occupying the bathroom with you. The option is shit with people around, or shit your pants. Which would you choose?
When you add a child to this equation, a child who is incredibly interested in the crime scene you’re creating in the toilet and has absolutely NO filter… well, that’s when things get complicated.
It can be slightly simple, depending on the power of the mud-butt you are experiencing, to keep it a secret from those around you. There’s the “fake cough when i’m sharting” cover-up, the “only releasing bowels as another toilet flushes” trick, and the trusted “safety flush” method.
NONE OF THESE WORK when you have an obnoxious breathing turd standing next to you who hears the rapid machine gun fire over all of these slights of hand and announces, as loudly as humanly possible:
“MOMMY! WHY ARE YOU GOING DOODOO??”
If ever there was a moment you reconsidered your decision to ever procreate- that would be it. The entire restroom goes silent, except for someone attempting to hold back their fit of laughter and failing miserably- and you’re left wanting to cry into the toilet, and refusing to leave the stall until you are POSITIVE everyone who overheard this tragic event has vacated (maybe the smell was good for something after all).
Even if they somehow manage to distract themselves while you’re destroying the toilet- the moment you stand up you suddenly hear this evil little voice announce “IS THAT DOODOO???”- and there’s no way i’m staying seated while a public toilet flushes and sprays shit water all over my ass. Talk about adding insult to injury.
Really, no matter which way you go– you’re fucked!
The above examples have happened to me SO MANY TIMES that starting yesterday, I forbade Holden from speaking while I am evacuating my colon or immediately following. What can I say, some alcoholic drinks the night before, sausage gravy and biscuits for breakfast mixed with a HOT day at a theme park and my ass was ANGRY. Although I attempted to convince the child he did not need to accompany me to the bathroom, as it is really NOT the fun time he’s certain that it is- he would not relent.
the rest went a little something like this: DON’T SAY A DAMN WORD! NO! SHH! SSHHHHH! I SAID SHH!
But mommy… why can’t I..
BECAUSE! SHH! DON’T SPEAK!
He seemed perplexed. He does not realize he has a loud embarrassing mouth- and I was most certainly not going to tell him that I didn’t want him talking about my POOP out loud or the reaction he’d have I am POSITIVE would be:
“BUT WHY DON’T YOU WANT ME TO TALK ABOUT YOUR DOODOO?”
There is not much that has me looking forward to my babies growing up- but getting out of the stage of finding Mommy taking a shit to be fascinating and in need of a full throated announcement to strangers? Uhhh yeah, I cant fucking wait until that’s over with. Then I can maybe, possibly, FINALLY shit in peace… or at least shit in secret.
Dear people writing articles on ways to get siblings to get along, I'll save you the time. The answer is "Don't let them play together"
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.
Parenthood is when you start counting the minutes to bed time before 11am.