Flamboyance.

Hello all, and welcome to my bathroom. Yes, I’m writing to you from my toilet.  I’m trying to use the facilities but since everyone else felt like inviting themselves to this splendid occasion I thought I’d invite you all in too. There isn’t much about my life that I keep private anymore. I’ve spent more time with my feet in stirrups, legs spread wide open in front of a room full of people staring right into glory zone than I care to discuss. These last five years, every shit i’ve taken has had an audience. Small, little people that I created. They just watch me. Every now and then Evie and Millie ball up their fists, clentch their teeth and pretend to push along with me. They’re no doubt encouraging me to hurry up so I can get back to attending to their needs.

 

Recently, I redecorated my bathroom for summer, because let’s face it, I just wanted to go back to Target. I wanted to get the flamingo shower curtain and bath mat. Who wouldn’t want to look at a bunch of flamingos, which, if you didn’t know, is called a FLAMBOYANCE of flaminogs.

 

Oh hey, I’m just doing my business with my flamboyance to my right.

Obviously that makes a trivial trip to the bathroom better.

After arguing with Evie for a half hour in Target, I caved and we got the ice cream set instead.

Who wants to think about ice cream while they poop? A four-year-old. That’s who. 
I think I made the bathroom too fun. Maybe that’s why they won’t leave me alone. There is a house FULL of toys, but they just want to watch me poop. Even my husband walks right into the bathroom without a second thought as to what I might be doing. Doesn’t matter if it’s a quick pee, a long drawn out  poop, or even that time of the month; he walks right in and starts up a conversation like we’re sitting at the dinner table.

 

Sure, I could lock the door, but there is nothing more pathetic than seeing fingers underneath the door, begging you to open up. No matter how many times I yell “Go away,”  Sean wont stop doing it. Some people might think its wonderful to be so desired, but let me tell you, it’s not. It’s as if I am the air they breathe. The second I leave the room, they begin to suffocate and immediately begin searching the home to breathe me back in.

You know who gets to poop alone? Daddy. He not only poops alone, but he does so multiple times a day. He either has a serious medical condition, or he’s avoiding us. One time I yelled at him and demanded to see the poop. That’s right, I’ve become that crazy lady who demands to see her husbands bowel movement just to prove a point. Even worse, it was there. The poop, his fifth poop that day, was there.
This is a trait he’s passed down to our oldest, Evie. Every night at bed time she has unbelievable bladder control. She pees before getting into her pjs, then she pees just a little bit another dozen times in order to get out of her bed and avoid actually going to sleep.

 

How is this my life?

 

I know one day I will be sad and lonely, pooping in peace with children who have all grown up and moved on to the next stage of life. Hopefully by then Sean will have hobby other than bugging me while I’m in the bathroom. I know every old lady at the grocery store says “It goes so fast,” and “Enjoy every minute”. Blah Blah Blah all that mushy crap. Well you know what, I do not want to hear about your zoo Evie, I do not care how cute you sound making an elephant noise Millie, and Liv pull it together and stop all the crying. Today, right now as I sit on this toilet, I will not enjoy your cuteness.

 

 

Damnit, don’t be so cute. Oh sweet baby don’t cry.  Ah, ok I’m done, I’m getting off.

  See… I shoulda just kept on pooping. Yeah yeah yeah Liv, smile it up. I guess I will poop in 17 years.

Song of the day: Motherhood…It’s a glamorous business!

 

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