I know it’s hard to understand, at just two years old with all your teeth, but sometimes I just want to be alone. I just want to hear nothing, to clear my head...
I know it’s hard to understand, because you pee wherever and whenever you want, and you find it really entertaining to follow me around when I feel that urge from my bladder. I know—you think it’s funny to sit on your potty and tell me all about your day while looking me in the eyes as I pee. But sometimes, I’d just like to be alone.
Yes, I definitely need to catch my breath every now and then. You see, I need some silence to remind myself that I’m a good mom, that I’m not perfect, but that my love is infinite. I need to be alone to cry from exhaustion or because my spaghetti sauce is too sweet. I need to be alone to receive life’s divine inspiration suggesting some crazy project that will take me centuries to pull off. I need to be alone—a bit like you sometimes—to do my little poop!
I know, it’s not easy to understand, but I have a public restroom phobia, you see. A task as simple as peeing causes me a lot of anxiety when we’re out at the mall. Finding the farthest stall, the one with the fewest people around, checking the latch—is the toilet empty, is it broken, etc.? It’s hell!
So, miraculously, I’ve agreed to let you come into the bathroom with me for my routine pee, but I’m not going to poop with you there! I have to do that all by myself!
Okay, fine—sometimes I’ll use a #2 as an excuse to unwind from your gloomy mood by playing Plants vs. Zombies on my phone… but that happens very rarely.
So don’t be mad at me for shutting the door right in your face. I’m sorry for making you cry—yes, yes, I can hear you, don’t worry. If it makes you feel any better, I know you probably can’t hear me through your torrent of angry tears, but sometimes I try to talk to you to ease your deep sadness at not being able to share the toilet with me—to lose myself for two minutes in this all-too-short 24-hour day.
I feel a little guilty, you know, for not being able to go in public so easily. Mom knows full well what a handful she’d be for a psychologist, but I’d rather keep that little detail of my life to myself. I just want two minutes—two tiny minutes—on my porcelain throne, far away from my dear subjects. Two minutes, and I promise I’ll be in a good mood when I come out. Two minutes, and we’ll go back to throwing flour everywhere, listening to your audiobooks, or painting our arms with your non-toxic felt-tip markers—the most washable ones in the world.
Two minutes, and we’ll forget all about it… until tomorrow!