Thursday, 10 November 2011

Somebody's Watching Me

When I was a kid it used to embarrass me the way that my mother refused to use a change-room.  I'd stand there in horror as she avoided the line and tried on a blazer or blouse over what she was already wearing.  The only time that she'd line up was to try on pants, skirts or a dress (although I believe I have seen her try on dresses and skirts over clothes as well).  When ten year old me asked her why she didn't want to take advantage of the privacy of a fitting room she replied with some smart-ass comment about how she never got any privacy with us four chuckle-heads around the house anyway*.  I didn't understand why she would think that her three children invaded her privacy.

Having two three month old babies is a juggling act all the time because in the evenings and weekends it's one parent to one baby and during the day when my husband is at work they outnumber me and are surely plotting against me.  I have them on a fairly solid routine of feeding, walks, napping etc. where I try to stagger everything so I can get one on one time with each child.  What my routine doesn't consider is Wild Card situations.  

When we decided we were having kids I figured there would be a lot more contact with bowel movements via diapers and horror stories from other parents.  I didn't realize that I was a factor here.**

 Last week while I was giving Molly a bath I experienced insane I have to go now stomach cramps.  For months I have existed primarily on a diet of fruit, cereal and granola bars because it's easy and fast - the regularity that follows is a sometimes unwelcome side-effect.  So I had to sit there on the toilet beside my daughter in her infant tub while she watched me (judgingly) as I experienced violent and explosive diarrhea, all while making sure that she was within an arms length away from me should she run into any trouble in the bath.

Then there is being out in public.  Baby carriers are awesome.  Who ever invented them is amazing and has saved us hours of colic screaming allowing us to run errands, explore different areas of the city and go hiking.  What you forget about when you strap those suckers in is that sometimes you need to use the facilities.  The amount of times that I have squatted over a port-o-potty or public toilet while Jack is strapped to me is unreal.  Imagine using having to go into a public washroom while strapped to someone - it's horrifying for both parties involved. At least Jack can't talk.

So, yeah, trying on clothes over clothes in public - no big deal, Sorry mom.

*I honestly doubt that my mother would use the phrase "chuckle-heads" but that was the sentiment.  And yes, my father is included as the fourth "chuckle-head".
**If bathroom stories make you squeamish please stop reading here.

1 comment:

  1. Dag nab it - to get to ** I had to scroll through the bathroom story!