Hey there, little ones! Your mom sometimes just wants to, you know, take care of business without a live audience.
As I stealthily slip away from the kitchen while you’re all busy, I feel like a ninja navigating through the house. I dart past the living room and bedroom until I reach what was once my sanctuary — the master bathroom. It boasts a gigantic soaking tub that could host a synchronized swimming team, double sinks, and a glass shower that practically vanishes when it’s sparkling clean. It’s a porcelain paradise, I tell you.
But after the baby arrived, the pristine white marble around the tub transformed into a makeshift changing station. That tub? It became an oversized pool for my little one, with me crammed in there too. The shower? Well, it’s practically a mirage now, just like my personal hygiene. Did I shower yesterday? Was it the day before? sniffing armpit
I carefully remove the monkey-shaped door stopper and quietly turn the knob, closing the door behind me. I’m sweating from the effort, but finally, I can relieve myself in peace. Until I realize… my phone is still in my sweatshirt. Oh sweet freedom, let the notifications begin!
Settled on the throne, I dive into my emails, Facebook, and texts. My fingers are racing. It feels glorious to escape the day-to-day grind and catch up on everyone’s weekend plans, nostalgic tales from old teammates, the latest deals at Target, and the latest political circus. I’m pumped. I’m in the zone. Then…
My instincts kick in. That tingling sensation creeps in my gut. I know what’s coming before I even hear it. It starts faint, but it’s getting closer. I stop breathing. I play dead. It’s getting nearer. I see a finger, then another, slip under the door. And then, the loud, heart-wrenching cry of “Maaaamaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” followed by a confused “Dada?” from my partner.
I’ve only been gone for a couple of minutes, but I can see why panic has set in. I could be lost, kidnapped, or worse. There’s an unaccounted absence from our routine, and answers must be found. Either something is seriously wrong, or it’s just a matter of nature calling. My little one is still baffled. I cover my mouth, stifling a chuckle. “Mommy’s coming,” I whisper, but before I can finish my thought, my partner reassures our child: “Moms poop too, buddy.”
And just like that, I’m hit with a wave of realization. Four years ago, I would never have uttered that word in front of my husband. I would’ve avoided mentioning anything bathroom-related like it was a curse word. “The litter box needs cleaning!” or “Um, you forgot to flush!” but never the “P-word.” My escape strategies were flawless — timing my bathroom visits for when he was out of the house or sneaking off to public restrooms.
But then came the C-section and the whirlwind of postpartum life. Suddenly, I was on medications that made me feel like a superhero with kryptonite. The truth came out, and my glamorous facade was shattered. “Moms poop too, buddy.”
Four years ago, I would’ve been horrified at such a declaration. But here we are now, parenthood has made us all a bit more human — in every way, beautiful and messy. And honestly, with so much interesting content to catch up on, and oh, that shower is looking more inviting by the second.
“Yes, Mama’s in the bathroom! I’ll be out in 10!”
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In summary, as parents, we often find ourselves in amusing and awkward situations that highlight the realities of family life. Embracing these moments is what makes our experiences unique and relatable.