I am watched. Constantly. Three miniature spies peek into every crevice of my life, processing it all behind innocent (appearing) eyes. And they have developed some sort of radar system between the three of them that sounds the alarm whenever I’m having a moment that most people* would consider private (*most people does not include moms, because we all know that the moment your child is born there is no longer any such thing as privacy).
Take, for instance, potty time. We all have it. We all need it. Some people even get to use it as a respite from the day (ahem, dudes that take twenty minutes “going to the bathroom” when we all know they’re just sitting there playing on their iPhones). But not me. Every SINGLE time I go near a toilet, my three year old follows behind me. This is our daily dialogue:
C: “Whatcha doin’?”
Me: “Going to the bathroom.”
Me: “Because I need to.”
C: “I want to watch you.”
Me: “No, Mommy needs privacy.”
C: (louder) “But I want to watch you!”
Me: “No, please let Mommy have a few minutes to potty. Go play.”
C: (even louder) “I WANT TO WATCH YOU!”
After a few minutes of battle, she reluctantly wanders off. I breathe a sigh of relief and sit in silence, until……
Pitter patter pitter patter
A little face appears at my knees.
C: “Whatcha doin’?”
C: “Oh. I want to watch you!”
Apparently “watching me” do anything private – especially going to the bathroom, showering, and, for some strange reason, taking out my contacts – is far more fascinating than anything in the world, including Toy Story, and she LOVES Toy Story (and believe me, I’ve tried to trick her into watching Toy Story so I can shower in private. It doesn’t work. The shower always wins).
I remember watching an episode of The Tonight Show where Jay Leno asked Dustin Hoffman what was the first thing he did when he officially became an empty nester. His answer? He took a shower, and stayed in for as long as he wanted.
Well, shower (and toilet) – it seems we have a rendezvous in about eighteen years.