The Wingman Falleth Away

There are many sacrifices that the good parent submits to when opening heart and home to a child.

Notice how I said good parent. Oh do not let what I assume make an ass of you and me.

Speaking of butt (how's that for a segue?), the sacrifice I'm talking about today is bathroom privacy or lack there of.

I've had my little porcelain wingman for over 28 months. I'm proud to say she has never had to hold my hair back from over-indulgence. That's my husbands job and she's usually asleep by that time anyway.

Anyhow...

In the early days Bumper lay on a blanket in the hall floor, letting the cats sniff her while she lay helplessly, waiting for mom to do her business. It was a good arrangement. She couldn't see anything, do anything, or create any problems.

Then gawd dammit, at an early age (the kind most parents would record but I'm not that kind of parent) she started flipping like a pancake. Look at me! FLIP! I'm over here now. I thought I had months before that would happen. Big Sigh.

So the blanket wasn't enough. In retrospect it was, but being a nervous newbie, I was certain she would roll away, get stuck to one of my dirty base boards, someone would phone child services and I'd be featured on the local evening news as the mom who left her helpless infant stuck to a baseboard to succumb to the evils of dust bunnies the size of bison. Dramatic, n'est pas?

She really started to get too active for being a strapped down door lurker. So I brought her into the library bathroom, supplied books, toys, and lively discussion topics for entertainment during "business" and bathing.

It worked for a short time until she discovered a new place to put and wash toys. So I started setting up gates in the hall outside, blocking the commode, and created a baby corral if you will, and all was good in the world.

Then somebody taught her how to talk. Nice one Dad. And the questions started. What are you doing mommy? What's that mommy? Oh you know the ones I'm talking about. The ones you don't want to answer while trying to conduct a successful business meeting.

Oh, and did I tell you about the time she threw the toilet brush into the shower while I was getting clean? I won't forget it nor will my legs - because I scrubbed them with BLEACH!

But I won't bog you down with details you already know and have experienced yourself.

Lately my wingman has spent time standing in the doorway, talking or reading or running around but never allowing me to close the door completely. Noooooooo! Mommmm-meeee! No door close! Ever since having my hoohaw on display for all to see in that hospital room many moons ago, I've really tried hard to get over the entire privacy thing and begrudgingly left the door wide open for her - I guess as reassurance that I'll come back out.

So I was over the moon (actually I was pulling a moon at the time) when she recently announced that I'm too stinky and that I need to close the door. Sweet bathroom of mine, you and I can be alone once more!

Apparently smell is the last sense to develop because OMG she just noticed?

Update to the sleep situation here at Casa Bump: She woke up 5AM this morning folks - which is a vast improvement over 4:30. It's kind of like being tortured but instead of being left hanging upside down 24/7, your captor gives you a five minute breather between sessions. Yup, it's just like that.