Tales from the Bathroom: Longing for Privacy


I long for the days of going to the bathroom by myself.  It has been a while since I’ve been able to enjoy it in private.  I never “enjoyed” going to the bathroom so even saying that sounds absurd. 

But I think I might actually enjoy it if I were left to go on my own.  Even Cars 2 can’t keep the kids’ attention.  Invariably someone figures out I’m missing from the room and they go off in search of where I may be, checking the bathroom first.  And alas, my moment is gone.  But you know, if that’s the worst it gets, that’s not so bad, I thought to myself. 

Well, I recently found out what’s worse.  Nothing could be, you say to yourself.  But ahhhhh, there is…

We recently had our third child. There is something about having a baby, and it has to be the same for any woman that gives birth, C-section or not, your modesty goes out the window and you have to say screw it, I just want to have a healthy baby.  All of that is fine in the hospital but coming home again, it would be nice to come back to a little privacy.

Without going into too much “woe is me” here, my son hasn’t been nursing well so I’ve been pumping and doing all of his feedings from a bottle.  Well, have you ever pumped in front of 3 and 4-year-olds?  Its not so fun.

I’m pumping at least 7 or 8 times a day, more than half of them under scrutiny from these inquisitive little people.  “Mom, where is that coming from?” “Mom, you’re like a cow.”  “Mom, why does your boob do that?” “Mom, you’re a milking machine.”  The worst is when there is silence and they both have this perplexed look on their face.  I mean really, isn’t there a dog you could go and torment instead of standing here staring at me?  But of course, I act like it is totally natural and no big deal, hoping this will bore them and they’ll go off and find something else to do.  Which they do.  And it involves toilet paper and a toilet brush and as I’m yelling, pinned to my seat by these tubes and plastic pumper things, I watch the whole thing happen just a few feet away. 

Its starts with just a little toilet paper as my daughter goes to the bathroom and I happen to look away and then before I know it, it seems like the whole roll of toilet paper is in the toilet and they’re using the toilet scrub brush to try and cram it down the drain because its clogged.  Of course it’s clogged, I bought the fluffy toilet paper this time because I hate the single ply scratchy stuff; but it inevitably leads to me unclogging more toilets than its worth.  I happen to make that mistake every two years or so.  I splurge on the softer toilet paper and then my husband gets mad at me (if you know my husband, his mad is slightly perturbed) and I give in and go back to the crappy toilet paper just so I don’t have to plunge toilets. 

So they’re cramming and flushing and the water is getting higher and higher and before I can jump up from my seat (not advised while you are pumping) there is water rushing over the edge and onto the floor.  They’re laughing hysterically and I’m cursing at myself, wishing I hadn’t been so weak and had stuck with the single ply. 

As I pull myself together and get down to cleaning up their mess I fantasize about what it would be like to be living alone in a loft downtown with all the privacy in the world.  And then my kids run up and tackle me and start giggling and I think that loft life probably isn’t for me.



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