“Dad? Daaaad?”
Lillie was shouting for me over the noise of “Fairly Odd Parents.”
The kids know not to shout for me. Unless they are vomiting or bleeding, they should walk to where I am.
At that particular moment, I was sitting on the toilet. “I’m in the bathroom,” I replied.
“Daaaad?” Lillie’s voice grew louder as she walked around the apartment, moving further from the bathroom. “Daaaaad?”
I leaned forward to lock the door, anticipating the next moment.
“Dad?” Lillie jiggled the bathroom doorknob.
“I’ll be out in a moment and I would like some privacy, please.”
“Dad, I’m hungry.”
“I’ll make breakfast in just a moment.”
“But I’m hungry now.”
“I can’t help you right this second, but I will make breakfast in a moment.”
Pause. “What are you going to make?”
“Lillie, can I have some privacy, please?”
“Okay . . .” She sat on the floor, tapping the door with her finger.
I remember crossing a threshold as a parent a few years back: sitting on the toilet, holding a sleeping infant in a Snuggly while conversing with the toddler standing in the doorway.
Parents learn a lot about shit when their kids are in diapers.
2 comments:
I have twin girls aged two. I have learned that unless I want comment and critique from my daughters about my genitalia I should lock the door immediately upon entering the bathroom. Not that I'm all weirded out by nudity, but I am a little uncomfortable with my girls telling everyone "daddies got a big bird" at our family get togethers.
True, Joe. I appreciate my children's natural curiosity about bodies. But if the little ones linger in the bathroom, trying to steal a peek as I shower, I bust them: "Take a picture, it will last longer."
Thanks for dropping a line--it introduced me to your fine blog!
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