Going to The Loo With an Audience

I have no doubt that parents everywhere will know exactly what I’m talking about here.

That moment when you try to sneak into the loo for a quiet release only to have a little chatterbox follow you in. Sometimes there’ll be more than 1 bogcrasher and you end up squeezed into the tiny space like a tin of sardines. All while you’re trying to do the do (or doodoo depending on the situation).

When Bear is at work and I’m on my own with Thing 3 and Thing 4 I kinda expect it, better they’re both safe in the loo with me than playing with the knives alone in the kitchen. This in itself takes some serious planning, I’ve learnt to start preparing for the big event well in advance to reduce the likelihood of me peeing my pants, or worse.

Firstly I have to move all of Thing 3’s toilet training equipment out of the way so I have room for Thing 4’s bouncer. Then I strategically place the bouncer so she’s close enough for me to be able to get to her if needed but far enough away that she doesn’t get a close-up view of her very first home!

Then in comes Thing 3 with her stool (nope, I’m not talking about poo yet), she has found the perfect (for her not me) spot for it so she can sit and chat to me while simultaneously winding Thing 4 up. Yay. Please remember I’m still trying to empty my bladder/bowels at this point and I’d actually quite like to concentrate on that thank you very much.

When Bear is home it doesn’t matter how frigging stealthy I am, I still can’t get in that room by myself. I’m starting to think Thing 3 can read my mind and knows where I’m headed. Maybe she thinks I actually want company while I’m going, that I need to be entertained. The other day I was treated to a wonderful roly poly performance as I sat there with my trousers round my ankles. Who said motherhood wasn’t glamorous?!

There was one time though, and I have no idea how I managed it, that I found myself in the loo. By MYSELF! I felt a bit confused and daydreamed for a little while. What was I doing? Oh yeah, going to the loo. But where was the chatter? Where were the gymnastics routines? It was a great moment and I swear I could hear angels singing as I washed my hands (again by myself, without a pair of little hands squirting Carex everywhere) and left the loo in a happy daze.

I may have won the battle but I’m pretty sure I know who’ll win the war.


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