Lack of Bathroom Bliss

Why is it every time a mother has to answer the call of nature, the children think it is a group therapy session?  If there is ever a time when you need peace, this is most definitely it.  My son can be completely tuned into a TV program, constructing/deconstructing something, whatever, and if I make any movements towards the bathroom, he is on my heels.  The only time I find peace in that sacred room of the house is if he takes a nap.  The minute I lay him down on his bed, I am bolting to the shower, stripping down as I go.  Oh, the wonderful solitude of a shower!  Oh, the beautiful sound of the water beating down and the sight of the steam misting up!  Oh, THE RARITY OF THIS MOMENT!  Why is this a big deal?  Oh, let me explain...

Normally, my showers end up like this...rush to the bathroom, strip down, while water heats up, step inside, try to wash face while holding the shower door shut.  "No, RJ! It isn't your turn! No, it isn't slippy time in the shower---"  Let me explain slippy time.  When my son finally figured out how to open the shower door, he hatched a plan to severely injure or kill me.  He waited for my shower to begin, stripped down and decided to join me.  When two year olds get wet, they are like slippery explosions.  You can't catch them.  All you can do is survive them.  He slipped all over the bottom of the shower trying to escape being thrown out, and I ended up falling out of the shower onto the cold tile floor.  He thought it was a fun game and now refers to it as slippy time.  When he isn't trying to have slippy time, he is trying to help me by placing odd objects in the floor of the shower.  This can be dangerous especially if the shampoo attacks your eyeballs while trying to explain that you really don't need that backhoe to assist with bodily cleansing.  I am feeling nodding heads on the other side of this screen!  I feel you sisters!

One of my worst bathroom experiences involved food poisoning.  RJ was about 18 months old at the time.  Richie and I went to a restaurant and I enjoyed a shrimp dish.  I did not realize the shrimp were bad until about maybe an hour later.  As I sat on my toilet, sweat beads running off my face, having lower intestinal feelings that brought to mind volcanic eruptions of the largest scale, my sweet child climbed on my lap.  He stood on my shaking knees, caressed my sweat drenched face, and then started beating me on the top of the head like I was a kettle drum.  There was nothing I could do!  NOTHING!  I needed every bit of my strength to keep from falling over.

If you know me well, you know I have a sharing spirit.  So, I am now trying to share these types of experiences with my husband.  As soon as I know he has entered the shower, "Oh, RJ!  Da-da is in the shower!"  Those little feet bolt for the bathroom.  Okay, so maybe it isn't sharing.  Like they say, misery loves company!