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Perhaps I should consider a catheter and a portable poo bucket

The following statement may either make some of you red with a fiery rage, or green to the gills with total jealousy- but I must say it to you. Brace yourself. Are you sitting down? I hope you’re not walking reading this with a cellphone- that really is quite dangerous. Find a chair and sit. Unless someone is sitting in it- then don’t do that. Well, unless you’re single and the dude is good looking with no wedding ring on- then maybe sitting there would be a solid gold idea. Even a barstool or a step will do- just SIT THE HELL DOWN.

Alright, now that we’ve got your ass firmly planted- here we go:

My kids don’t bother me while I’m in the bathroom anymore.

I know. I KNOW! And before you jump out of your seat and try to wring my neck while yelling “WHY DON’T YOU RUB IT IN, BITCH?” only to realize you’re grasping a computer screen- I am not bragging. Seriously, I’m really not! This is not a good thing. It is not something to be happy about, or to even enter myself into the mom-lympics with (’cause you know some chicks compete over every little thing)- it is bad. It is bad for my insides.

Am I confusing you yet? Have you gotten back up and started to walk again? I hope you’re at least inside and not wandering around a city with peoples and cars and other things that can smack into you.

Here’s the thing: this whole “my kids don’t bother me in the bathroom” thing isn’t because they aren’t coming to the bathroom with me. Nope. It sure isn’t.
You see- the children aren’t coming to the bathroom with me anymore, because I’m never IN the bathroom… because they won’t even let me GO to the bathroom.

Have you noticed a lack of pooptacular stories around here lately? From a chick who wrote a book with an entire CHAPTER just for poop? My life has been sadly poo-free. My OWN poo, that is. Not theirs, of course. They still poo whenever they feel like it and expect me to wipe it up- but if I’m sitting with one of them working on homework or doing some activities on the computer and suddenly I feel the compelling urge to empty the shelves at the fudge factory? The answer is no. I didn’t even ASK, but the answer is no.

If I happen to disobey the silent orders- the moment I get comfortable enough for release (assuming it’s not just exploding out of me and I’m lucky to just get my pants down first. Don’t make that face- you KNOW it’s happened to you too)- such as yesterday, the first time I’ve been ‘allowed’ to poo while the kids are awake in about a week, I hear noises. The kind of noises that as a parent, make your ears instantly perk up. The kind of noises that you KNOW means your kid is fucking with something they have been expressly instructed NOT to- but you were instructed not to ever go to the bathroom EVER again- so it’s punishment.

Mommy was laying with me on the computer?? Clickity clickity clackity scroll. Clackity clickity. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

As I sit on the pot, unable to move as I am mid poo- I can only yell “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DON’T TOUCH MY COMPUTER!”

I hear a meek, but devlish “I’m not!” come from the kitchen where my laptop is perched on the table.

CLICKITY, clack clack clack BEEP!

“I SAID DON’T TOUCH IT!”

By this time, you’ve basically given up on finishing your poo or pee (and you know how unsatisfying and miserable it is when you don’t get it all out)- and you’re yanking your pants up and bolting out of the door- because you know this clicking, clacking, or the sound of things being rustled around in cabinets, or bins being dumped out, or any kind of loud crash that you can’t place as a familiar crash means one thing: TROUBLE.

Hope that poo was worth it.

It means your carpet is being ruined, house being trashed, pet being painted, walls being smeared with a substance you may not want to confirm the identity of- and in my case- one half a poo meant a ration of passwords being deleted out of the program we have that autofills them in. This is the digital age, people! I don’t remember all of my PASSWORDS! Not even I know how to do such a thing, but somehow a three year old managed to get it done in the time I spent pinching half a loaf.

Once you get the poo scared back into you- it is not easy to talk it into coming back out.

So what, pray tell, is the solution to this problem? Holding it. Damnit.
But at least I can say my kids don’t bother me in the bathroom anymore and piss people off… ’cause technically, if I never use it- I’m telling the truth.
Braggy Mom-lympics gold medal here I come!

Posted on November 13, 2012 by Holdin' Holden 1 Comment
Holdin' Holden

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