3 years ago
Monday, November 9, 2009
I'm Not Sure Why I'm Even Posting This, and Some of You May Never Be Able to Look at Me in the Eyes Again. Sorry, Grandma.
How do they always know?
They'll be happily ensconced on the couch, watching The Backyardigans. Or playing with trains in their room. Or eating a yummy snack. They should be content. They should stay put.
And then, invariably, just as I'm nice and nekkid, they walk in.
It doesn't seem to matter WHY I'm clothing-free at the time. I'll be in the shower, or just getting in, or just getting out. I'll be getting dressed in the walk-in. I'll be, Mr. Hanky help me, settling down for a nice leisurely--er, um, session--on the toilet.
It's all quite innocent on my part, you see. It's not like I'm running the place like it's Hedonism II (Hey, never been--just honeymooned down the beach a ways. Stop looking at me like that!) I'm just doing the ordinary everyday things that people do in their homes, generally in the area of the bathroom. And my little nosey parkers always manage to choose that particular time to locate me, because, apparently, that is exactly when The Widget suddenly needs a hug or DramaBoy has a pressing question that Cannot Wait, Mommy!
This was all very well and good when they were small beings who could barely remember how to put one foot in front of the other without rediscovering gravity. Time passed, and I kept convincing myself they wouldn't remember much of what they saw, and it was all natural and all, right? Even when the inevitable questions started regarding the differences between my body and theirs (after all, I'm the odd female out around here), I just answered them and figured it was all a good anatomy lesson.
(I'm still not sure DramaBoy understands how my body can possibly operate with such different plumbing. He gets worried about whether or not I can actually pee without a penis. I just explain I am built differently and can indeed accomplish this important task. I decline to show him the details.)
But...DramaBoy is turning four in just over two weeks, and he has become very much Boy lately. And I cannot continue to pretend he will not remember things, because that child has a mind and memory like a steel trap (well, for the things he wants to remember.) I'm starting to wonder just how much I really want him to remember about me in all my Botticelli glory.
Especially when it involves the toilet.
I've been trying to teach them about the need for privacy, but so far that seems to result in More Privacy For Them and no discernible difference in the level of Privacy For Me. I mean, by all means I am happy not to have to wipe DramaBoy's behind all the time, but doing laundry can be a bit disconcerting these days.
The other day I decided enough was enough and dared to (gasp) lock the doors to the bathroom.
Those hypersensitive ears of theirs must have heard the tiny clicks, because within nanoseconds there was a knocking on the door.
Mama? I need to come in!
No, DramaBoy. Mama needs some privacy!
Why is the door LOCKED, Mama?
Because I want some privacy, DramaBoy!!
But MAMA, I need to go POTTY!
Go downstairs. There's a perfectly good potty down there.
But I WANT to go potty in THERE!
But MAMA!!! I NEED to come IN!!!!
And then, of course, the wailing and gnashing of teeth began. Which was then magnified tenfold by The Widget, who was attracted to the scene of the crime and went into full blown Panicked Mama's Boy mode when he realized a wooden door was thwarting him from attaching himself to my nearest body part.
(Which is disconcerting when you're trying to--ahem--process things. Just sayin'.)
So tonight when I tucked DramaBoy into my bed because he has a touch of croup and I'll need to keep an ear out for his breathing, I denied his request to sleep nekkid, as is his wont. After all, I'll be next to him all night. There are lines, people.
Truth be told, he gets that from me. I just don't sleep clothing-optional much these days.
Not sure why I even care that much about these minor points of propriety. Because at this point their future therapists are already going to have a field day.
Am I the only one who experiences all this? Because if I am, I think I might take up showering in my bathing suit.
At least that way I won't keep bashing my delicate parts with various toiletries in my desperate attempts to maintain the dignity my progeny stole from me years ago.