I suppose that it is my own fault. At least to some extent.
When N~ was a baby, there was no way I would leave him alone for the few minutes it took me to use the restroom. Who knows what kind of trouble he may have gotten into? (I must say, though, that when I passed out in the bathroom when he was about nine months old, he didn’t leave my side.) And, once he was old enough to potty train, I followed the advice to let him (and his brothers after him) see us using the restroom so they would get the idea of how things were supposed to work.
But it has been five years. I want to take care of business alone.
C~ is probably my worst offender. Recently, when all of my kids were quietly playing, I slipped away and quietly closed the door. Within seconds, C~ was pushing it open.
“Out,” I commanded while pushing the door back closed.
He gave me his best devilish grin as he pushed it back open and walked in.
“Go,” I said, as he reached for the spray bottle sitting on the sink (probably planning to take advantage of my, ahem, sitting duck status).
I shooed him out and shut the door. With lightening speed, he returned. He was scribbling on a piece of fabric interfacing (???).
“Please give me a moment,” I pleaded, as he presented his interfacing masterpiece to me.
Mere seconds behind him, I walked out to see him writing in my book of fairy tales. I’ll admit, I may have snapped. Just a little.
Of course, he’s not the only one. I thought I was safe to head to the restroom yesterday while the kids were playing outside. Within seconds, N~ was running in the house, wanting me to come out to see something. Tonight, I had all of the boys in bed. The second I touched porcelain, N~ was yelling for a Tylenol to treat his headache.
It’s a cruel thing, really. Pregnancy weakens your bladder. Parenting requires a super-human ability to hold it.
That, or accept that you may never have privacy again.