There is one place in my house that I consider mine. Even though there might be a rubber ducky sitting next to me along with a bottle of bath bubbles with Elmo on it and a toy boat, I still call this place my own. It one place that I can lock the door open up a magazine read it with no interruptions.
That is what I said before the Kid was mobile. Now that place is no longer a safe zone. If I close the door and lock it, the screaming two year old tantrums ensue. No use trying to read about the Dino Costa radio show in my Men’s Journal.
As a result I sit there in my God given glory I keep the door open so that a two year old can play in the bathroom as I do my business. Why he would is beyond me! There are times I can not stand it.
What the hell though, he isn’t really bothering me. I let him come in and play with some of his bath toys even though he isn’t taking a bath. I continue to read about the trials and tribulations of Dino Costa and his rise to being a DJ on XM/Sirius Radio.
I hear “poo” come from his mouth. Looking up from my magazine I see him there holding his toilet seat wanting to take my place.
“Do you really have to go poo?”
The next words are words I will remember forever. Why? Well for one I have never heard him place these two words together before. Two, well it was the reason why I had to hurry and do my business.
You know I was OK with it when the Kid would play but now he thinks just because I am doing it, he needs to do it.
All I want is some peace and quiet to do my business.