Welcome. And also, congratulations.
You’ve reached a point in your life where you’ve felt compelled to click on something with Toilet in the title. What brings you here? Not here specifically, although I’m glad to have you and all, but I mean, what state of affairs is your life in that you want to read about toilets?!
You know what brings you here. Your toileting habits have been changed, infiltrated, violated and you’re not sure how you’ll ever get back from the flushy edge. Thanks, kids.
I was minding my own business recently and casually scrolling through my Instagram feed when I came across this fantastic drawing by Emma of this_mama_doodles. (Check her out, amazing talent!) It was a scene I have become very familiar with. I related so hard to it, it inspired me to make a deposit with this post…! (Sorry!)
‘Things nobody tells you about..’ articles are in abundance when it comes to becoming a new mother. There’ll be a few lines on the glory of labour or birth… how you become accustomed to having vomit and other bodily fluids poured on you at unexpected times…. how you suddenly discover that you can in fact survive on much less sleep than you ever thought possible…that lovely unexpected surprise of your hair falling out three months after you’ve had the baby and you thought what else can they possibly do to my body?! But one of the things people rarely mention is how you’ll never get to use a bathroom on your own ever again.
At the start it’s a very rushed affair and only when you really have to. If you’re like me and produce babies that don’t like sleeping anywhere except in your arms, putting them down for the few minutes needed for a loo dash can cause a bit of anxiety as the wailing gets louder by the second. You get used to holding things in a bit and legging it as soon as any other human with arms in their possession appears so that they can take your place for the few minutes needed to go and relieve yourself.
See illustration above. They come crawling in after you. You place them in a corner surrounded by squishy things for safety with all the toys you possess in an effort to keep them sitting there for long enough, but no, as soon as you sit down to do your thing you can hear the little ‘pad pad pad’ of their sticky little palms on the floor, palming their way faster than they’ve ever moved to get into the bathroom after you. Once in there, you quickly assess what’s within reach and try and stop them from eating it as fast as you can. You usually fail.
God save us all.
MAAAAAAAMMMAAAAA WHEEERRE AARRREE YOOOUUUU?
You’ve put them in front of their favourite tv show and smugly thought that would buy you a bit of time. Let’s face it, by now toilet breaks have become more than just needing to empty your bladder or other sections of that area. They’re all about the peace and quiet. Or the dream of a few minutes peace and quiet at least! However, despite the fact that Thomas is facing an edge-of-the-seat exciting talking to from the Fat Controller, it doesn’t work. They’re coming to find you. And it doesn’t take long because the door is naturally wide open just in case , and you don’t live in a mansion, so they’re practically on top of you within seconds. Now, instead of hoping they don’t eat the toilet paper, you’re faced with something much worse.
Yes, I’m talking about none other than The ‘What’s That?’ game.
What’s that Mam? It looks different to mine. Where’s your willy? Where did it go? Why do you not have one? Why do I have one? Who else has one? Who else doesn’t have one? Why do we have them? What do they do?
At first you have your sensible parenting hat on and of course begin to attempt to explain where your willy went to. After a while though, and after many bathroom visits resulting in these questions, you realise it’s best to try and just distract somehow. It’s just less tiring!
My low point though, came while I was visiting a friend’s house. Yeah, you didn’t think of that, did you.
You thought you’d be safe, because your toddler is happily playing with some other kids, probably won’t even notice you’re gone. And he didn’t. Off I went delighted with myself at the thought of having the chance to use the facilities uninterrupted. That’s how sad you are now.
I’m so used to dashing into the bathroom at home and not closing doors behind me, it didn’t dawn on me to do it in someone else’s home either. By the time I realised it, it was too late. Definite footsteps approaching, by the time someone appeared right outside the bathroom door, staring at me, me staring back, neither of us knowing what to say, where to look, or who was the bigger weirdo – the person for staring, or me for using the loo and leaving the DOOR WIDE OPEN. Morto doesn’t even touch how I felt.
The days are long but the years are short….. the loo breaks are even shorter, that’s for sure.