Wednesday, October 7, 2015

I Miss Pooping Alone



The ability to privately evacuate one’s bowels in one’s own home would appear to be a given, and it was, before my son became a toddler. Now, despite my attempts to clandestinely slip away for a solitary colonic egress, my son always seems to realize what is transpiring.

Cell phone in hand, I will just have begun to prepare for deployment when the door-knob slowly begins to turn. Invariably, I react to this by remaining motionless. I suppose I still operate under the misguided assumption that, like the T-Rex, my son’s vision is based on movement and that somehow if I remain still my presence will not register. 

Alas, this has yet to work. Instead, I will see his adorable face peek around the door while showcasing his I-know-what-daddy-is-doing grin. In the majority of cases, he will enter and close the door behind him. In a large space this would be simply uncomfortable, but in our master bathroom the toilet resides in its own closet. This means that there is barely enough room for a seated adult to clear their legs with the door. So my son’s insistence on witnessing the watery interment of Taco Tuesday quickly becomes a logistical nightmare.

Once inside the shire, he will remove several squares of toilet paper (the quantity appears to correlate to the session’s intensity) and gently place them into the coiled remnants of my trousers. Once an acceptable surplus has been amassed, he will insist upon leaving which necessitates another stance adjustment.

Once he emerges from the restroom, we enter the proclamation phase whereby he runs through the house announcing that “Daddy made a biiiiiiiiiiiiig poo-poo!” This phase generally concludes once everyone in the house has acknowledged receipt of this information and replied accordingly.

Not one to leave a job unfinished, he will return at the conclusion of my digestive evacuation in order to officiate the send-off. This normally entails a solemn flushing ritual followed by a jovial “bye-bye poo-poo!” The only pageantry missing is a formal salute and a lone bugler.

Despite the intrusive nature of a toddler’s presence during such a delicate time, I realize that one day (once he has moved out and begun a lucrative career as an hologram surgeon) I will miss the company. I suppose at that point I will simply have to walk through the house announcing my own bowel movements.

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