When Kids Crap On Your Plans. Literally.

When Kids Crap All Over Your Plans. Literally.

We live in a 2 ½ bath house. Hubby is remodeling our main bathroom, so right now we actually live in a 1 ½ bath house.

The other night, I was craving warm water, some alone time with a book, and some peace and quiet. Hubby was getting the kids ready for bed, so I snuck into our only functioning full bath to enjoy a dip in the tub with The Death Cure. (Third book in the Maze Runner series. Yes, I’m a 15-year-old girl. Shush.)

Five minutes into my bath, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. It’s my youngest. “I really need to go to the bathroom!” I tell him to use the half-bath, but he insists that he won’t make it.

Fine. Come on in. I pull the shower curtain closed. My 7-year-old sits down on the toilet and starts talking to me about his plans for the next day. WHILE HE’S POOPING. He did not specify that need when he said he needed to use the bathroom, thankyouverymuch. He also does not seem the least bit interested in my need for peace and quiet.

I interrupt him repeatedly to ask if he’s done yet, because THIS IS THE LONGEST DEUCE DROP IN THE HISTORY OF MODERN PLUMBING, but he just keeps saying, “Almost!” and continuing to blabber. No embarrassment. No shame. Just chatting with mom and pooping.

Whatever. I’m a mother. I can handle this. He finally finishes his business, flushes and washes and kisses me goodnight. I regroup. Ahhhh. Back to my book.

Five minutes later, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. It’s one of my daughters. “I really need to go to the bathroom!!” I tell her to use the half-bath, but she says Daddy’s already in there and she REALLY needs to go.

Fine. Come on in. I’m thinking a quick pee and out of there. Ooooohhhh, no. This child starts talking to me through the shower curtain as well. WHILE POOPING. Seriously, people?? Do you not see that I’m trying to relax here? And didn’t we outgrow this stage YEARS ago? Is there, like, some magic lever that gets pressed when I step into the tub that makes everyone’s bowels kick into high gear?

I keep interrupting her to ask if she’s done yet, because it’s taking forever and she seems to have decided that this is a great time for a heart-to-heart, and DOES NO ONE IN MY HOUSEHOLD POOP UNLESS THEY ARE SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO ME? Finally, she’s done. She flushes and washes and kisses me goodnight.

I settle back into my bath, only now I’m sitting all shrivel-skinned in cool water in a smelly bathroom, and I’ve read the same paragraph so many times I’ve got the first two sentences memorized.

Can I really not get 30 minutes to take a bath without small people literally crapping all over it? I’m seriously considering calling HGTV because THIS IS NOT SOMETHING THEY WARN YOU ABOUT ON THE REMODELING SHOWS.

When our bathroom is done, I’m going to lock myself in there ALL DAY LONG and no child will be allowed to even say the word POOP within earshot of it.

They owe me, dang it.

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Annie writes about motherhood and other hilariously beautiful things. On good days, she enjoys juggling life with her husband and three children. On bad days, she binges on chocolate chips and dreams of traveling the world alone.

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