On becoming parents we know we’re going to have to compromise on some things. We lose a little to gain a lot. We lose our identity (oh, you’re Emma’s mom), we lose sleep (yegads, you look like the walking dead), we lose our social lives (nope, can’t go out tonight, got to nebulize the baby), we lose our money (nappies cost HOW MUCH), we lose our minds (get your finger out of the dogs poop-hole, please!), we lose our fear of being pooped on, wee’d on, vomitted on and snotted on. And this is all okay. What I didn’t figure I’d lose was my privacy. And I’m not okay with that!!!
I love my privacy. I know you wouldn’t say so from reading some of my blogs, but I do. I have a lot of hang-ups and there are a whole lot of things I will not do with an audience of one or 500. I do not dress or undress in front of people. If I ever went to gym, I’d be the person doing a Harry Houdini in the tiniest cubicle just so I don’t have to have anyone see me naked. I suppose you could call me a never-nude. I go into the shower with a towel and I leave the shower with a towel…and this is at home!
In all our years together Mark has maybe heard me fart twice. Twice in ten years. Not bad at all. Mark on the other enjoys farting with an audience. He likes to blow the crowds away…literally. Emma has also been known to let rip with people around, but we’ll put that down to her age, for now. I don’t like eating in front of people.FEAR FACTOR for me is not about the horror of eating bugs, intestines or a pig’s bum. The horror for me lies in having to eat in front of a host, fellow contestants and a TV audience. I’d happily swim with sharks, with a towel wrapped around me because I ain’t changing into a costume. I don’t like eating in front of people. I don’t even eat in my car in case a driver-by sees me. I don’t sing in my car, for the same reason. .
Mark and Emma happily walk around topless, bottomless or both. Not me. As a never-nude, I’m, well I’m never nude. In the mornings I try sneak upstairs while Emma is pre-occupied with breakfast or dad or Estie and I quickly dress for work. If I need to use the loo, then I do while she’s downstairs. I’m tired of been asked “mom, what you doing?” while I’m having a pee or her pointing at my lady bits and asking “what’s that?” I’ve recently cut bathing with Emma down because I’m tired of getting my nipples pulled and tweaked because she seems to think they’re jelly tots.
I don’t like toilets and I don’t like body functions. Let’s just say I suffer from Corporophobia. If we go away and my sphinctre comes face to face with a new toilet bowl, it shuts down (or up) for as long as we’re away. Only once I’m home and Sphinctre recognizes her old buddy then things start working again.
So of course you can imagine my horror, when this morning, as I was getting ready to drop the kids off at the pool, Emma came rushing into the bathroom.”Ooooooh, what you doing mom?” she asked. “I’m on the toilet Emma, having a poo.” I answered, reluctantly. “Can I see?” she asked. “NO YOU CAN’T” I yelled. And then when I thought it couldn’t get worse, Mark walks in, with Emma’s breakfast. “Um, I’m busy here!” said I, from my throne. “And I wouldn’t imagine it’s very hygienic for Emma to eat her breakfast while I’m having a poo…” Mark takes Emma by the hand and says “come Emmie let’s go downstairs. Mom obviously doesn’t want us here.” What? Now I’m the bad guy!
Of all the things I miss the most, since becoming a mom, is having the bathroom to myself…