I quietly slip away from the chaos of the kitchen while the kids are preoccupied, moving like a stealthy ninja through the living room, past the bedroom, and into my once-sacred oasis — the master bathroom. It features a deep white soaking tub large enough for a synchronized swim team; dual sinks; and a glass walk-in shower that nearly vanishes from sight when it’s freshly scrubbed. Truly, it’s a porcelain paradise.
However, since the arrival of the baby, the elegant white marble around the tub has been repurposed as a makeshift changing station for seven months now. The tub? It’s transformed into an oversized kiddie pool for one, with my elbows joining the fun. And the shower? It might as well have dried up entirely; much like my personal hygiene routine. Wait, did I manage to shower yesterday or was it the day before? sniffs armpit
I carefully remove the monkey safety door stopper, slowly turn the knob, and close the door behind me with utmost stealth. Despite the sweat trickling down my brow, I’ve finally secured my moment of peace. Then it hits me… my phone is snugly tucked into my sweatshirt. Oh sweet freedom, ring.
I plop down on the toilet and dive into my emails, Facebook, and text messages. My fingers fly across the screen, and it feels glorious to reconnect with the outside world. I indulge in the weekend plans of friends, reminisce over old teammates’ stories, hunt for the latest deals at Target, and keep up with the latest political antics. I’m exhilarated, completely engrossed. And then…
A feeling of dread washes over me. I sense it before I hear it; a faint sound in the distance that’s quickly approaching. I hold my breath, trying to play dead. It’s getting closer. I know it’s coming for me. I spot a tiny finger, then two, creeping under the door. And just like that, I’m met with the glass-shattering, bone-crushing wail of “Moooooommmmmmmmmmm!” followed by the perplexed question of “Dada?”
I’ve probably only been gone a couple of minutes, but I can understand the panic. I could be in a dire situation; who knows, maybe I’ve been abducted by aliens, or worse. There’s a sudden gap in the morning routine, and answers must be found. It’s either an emergency or the literal number two. My sweet toddler looks confused. I cover my mouth to suppress a chuckle, thinking, “Save yourself,” but before I can respond, my partner chimes in to soothe the little one: “Moms poop too, buddy.”
And just like that, I realize how far I’ve come. Four years ago, I would have never uttered such a word in front of my husband. I would have waited until he left for the day to handle my business, timing my bathroom trips for public restrooms when we traveled. In fact, during pregnancy, I often ventured into the nursery or outside to avoid any embarrassment. It worked well for a time — he probably wondered if I even had a digestive system.
But then came the C-section. I was given medications that not even a superhero could withstand. There were moments of pure humiliation, like wearing diapers and enduring nurses inserting suppositories. The jig was up. The allure of being “sexy” was gone.
“Moms poop too, buddy.” Four years ago, I would have vehemently denied this. Parenthood has transformed us, making us more human in all our beautiful and not-so-pretty ways — and I’m completely okay with that. Besides, I’ve got way too much catching up to do, friends to connect with, and that shower is really starting to look appealing.
“Yes, Mama’s in the bathroom! I’ll be out in 10 minutes.”
In summary, parenting can often feel like a circus, especially when it comes to finding a moment of privacy. The struggles and transformations we experience are a testament to the realities of motherhood. For more insights on parenting and home insemination, check out our post on the at-home insemination kit and consult Intracervical Insemination for expert guidance. For further reading on pregnancy and home insemination, see this excellent resource.