I know I’m not the only one who looked forward to days when I could have a few moments alone in the bathroom, without knocks on the door or little fingers wriggling underneath it.
My youngest still talks to me through the door occasionally, but I’ve actually been able to brush my teeth or take care of other things at times, without interruption. It’s a glorious phase of motherhood, when you can use the restroom all alone (and even use words like restroom instead of “potty”).
Is potty a noun or verb or both anyway?
Of course, I have tried to teach the concept of privacy, and that even family members who share a home still need privacy and space sometimes. That doesn’t mean I won’t still be asked my favorite color while in the bathroom, but I can cope with saying, “It’s still red,” another 1,000 times, better than I can cope with other disturbances.
At least nobody is lying on the floor looking under the door or sliding in notes with little boxes beside a big scribbled YES or NO with an earth-shattering question like, “Can I have chips?”
Well, just when I thought it was safe, when my kids started getting big enough to get the hint, when the last one went off to school, when I was ready to go in the bathroom all by myself just to wash my hands or something just because I could, even if I didn’t even need to go, my husband brought home a puppy.
Okay, so he is probably the cutest pup I’ve ever seen, but I’d really rather not see him when I go in the potty.
His little paw sliding beneath the door sends me back in time… if he starts writing notes, I might just have to move out.