Privacy. It’s a precious commodity once you become a parent. Back when I spent my days working and living my life in blissful silence, I had no idea how good I had it. I was clueless to the fact at any given moment; millions of parents throughout the world are taking showers while tiny humans stand inches away watching like creepy little voyeurs. I have a peeper. She stands on the other side of the glass door while I shower and presses her face to glass to gawk. Her peeping is often peppered with a running commentary on the parts being washed. “Oh….boobies, Mama?” or “Feet! Feet!” The problem with these pint-sized peeping toms is that they aren’t at all secretive in their observation of your most intimate moments.
Once upon a time, I was able to utilize the bathroom without an audience. Now, it seems, there is a constant flow of traffic through the master bath. They like to be kept abreast of current events and feel entirely comfortable sharing your bathroom secrets with complete strangers. Why, just last week a lovely man was here cleaning our boiler and stupidly, I used the bathroom at the top of the basement stairs. Like a moth to a flame, it took only moments for Kate to begin pounding on the door. The clincher was her demanding and piercingly loud line of questioning. “You Poop, Mama?” No Kate, but thanks for planting that gem in the brain of Mr. Boiler Repairman. I tried to pretend it never happened as I handed him a check.
What’s the draw? Do they have radar? Is there some sort of universal beacon that alerts them when parents are indisposed? Seriously, they play alone for hours without showing their little faces, but the moment they hear that barely perceptible click as you close the bathroom door, they are overcome with the undying need to join you. The thing is, they don’t just join you – they observe. They soak it all in and at some point, they begin asking questions.
Gwen is simply dying to know why I occasionally wear diapers. Just last week, David overheard her take on panty liners.
“Joe… once I saw that mommy peed in her pants and now she needs to wear diapers.”
“I’m serious. She peed her pants.”
The worst part is when they sneak up on you. One day last week, I was fresh out of the shower and enjoying that the hairdryer was effectively drowning out kid-noise. My towel had dropped to the floor, but I was alone so it was A-Okay… until I suddenly I felt tiny fingers crawling dangerously close to…well, use your imagination. After I was done screaming in surprise, I looked down to see Kate who was enthralled with ‘the situation.’ There’s nothing quite as disconcerting as a surprise hand in your nether-region. Hey, Diddle Diddle… remind me to buy some locks for the bathroom doors.