Peek-a-poo!

When I was nineteen, I went out for lunch with my neighbor and her two children. I really liked this woman, I thought she hung the moon. She was a hip mom, she listened to cool music, drove a convertible, and dressed like a fox. She was the antithesis to my mother and the very image of the type of mother I hoped to oneday be. That was, until she finished off the half eaten, drooled-into-mush remains of a hamburger her two year old couldn't finish. I remember looking at her in horror, and her laughing at me. She told me when you are a mother, your kid's drool won't bother you. I didn't believe her then, but three kids and buckets of spit later, I do now.

I get that with mothering comes wiping green snotty goobers with kleenexes (or if it's an emergency, using your sleeve.) I even can eat the salivated mushy remains of their dinner (but let's face it, I am never that hungry that I feel the need to.) I don't flinch when a kid takes a swig of my drink and I watch as the backwash floats into my cup. You can sneeze on me, pee on me, even puke on me, and I understand this is what it means to be a mother.

I know that when there is a mutant turd in the tub, the job falls to me to clean it up. When a sliver needs extraction, a blister needs bursting, a wound needs washing, I know this is what a mom does.

I understand all this, I even invite it. I love being a mom. But I would just like to know, is why, oh why, can I not pee in peace? Is it too much to ask to be able to wipe my arse in private? Why must you ask me a question just as I am sitting on the throne? Did you not notice I was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet? Is the closed door really code for "throw the door wide open and barge in to ask if you can have yet another cookie?"

I signed on for a lot of things when I gave birth, but I must have missed the chapter on this.