That Time I Tried to Use the Bathroom but Remembered I Have Kids….

Oh wait. That is every time.

I don’t care if you are a stay at home, a working mom, a traveling circus mom (I’m pretty sure those exist) going to the bathroom when you have kids is ridiculous.  And I will give a fair shout out – it happens to Dads just as much.

My mom once told me if she wanted to find her kids, she just picked up the phone or tried to go to the bathroom. Truer words… truer words.

When I had my daughter it was hard enough. I was a new mom. Every squawk she made made me nervous. And she wanted to be held all the time. So you know, I had a bathroom buddy. Like you do. And when she was a toddler I just put toys in there and accepted that ‘me time’ was really ‘we time’.

Then I had my son.

Firstly, my daughter is no angel. Let’s get the record straight. The first time she tried to potty by herself this happened:

But my son? My son is a velociraptor.

Remember this part of Jurassic Park?

Dr. Ellie Sattler: But the fences are electrified though, right?
Muldoon: That’s right, but they never attack the same place twice. They were testing the fences for weaknesses, systematically. They remember.

That’s my life.

When he was a little baby it wasn’t so bad. I was past the throes of mommy guilt and would let him fuss in his swing a couple minutes if I needed a bathroom break. The sane parent is always the better parent in my book.

But then he outgrew it. And he was crawling. Time to adapt. I busted out the jumperoo.

That worked….for awhile.

He could get out of that. Fine. Fine. So baby jail. (This is what my daughter calls the play yard).

And this worked because there is a clear line of sight from the bathroom to the playroom. But then he realized he could lift the gate up and crawl under it to escape.

So I went to my last line of defense to have maybe a few minutes of privacy when needed – the crib. But no. No. He vaulted out of that beast. At 18 months….

And I caved – bathroom buddy time again. Only this one wouldn’t sit and play nicely or read books. This one climbs. This one tries to brush his feet with my toothbrush. This one tries to scale cabinets. Once clonked his head on the toilet trying to get ‘up close and personal’ (omg child, really??). This one is what I imagine being locked in a room with an angry rabid wolverine would be like.

But, you know, at least he was contained. Until last week. Last week the beast learned to open doors. And all hell hath broken loose. At this point I’d love to tell you my piece of parenting advice on how to corral your Mad Max toddler but I got nada. Except crate training? (Kidding. Well 99.9% kidding).

Because yesterday the child escaped and literally in the course of 20 seconds was standing in the tub trying to turn the water on while holding the candle lighter I thought was out of his reach (the candle lighter for all those long luxurious candle lit baths I get to take…). That’s right, my son was simultaneously trying to drown himself AND set himself on fire.

Welcome to the jungle. I mean parenthood. Welcome to parenthood.