Saturday, September 26, 2009
Day 724 - Freedom of Feces
As a parent, you give up many of your freedoms. You no longer have your freedom of speech because you are unable to speak what's on your mind. For instance, if your kid accidentally sets fire to your left forearm, you're suppose to tell your kid you shouldn't play with matches or set people's appendages on fire, and then give the kid a hug. You can't say, "You f*#^ing a$$cun@! My f&*#ing arm is on fire, you sh*#!" You also no longer have the freedom of want because every single dime you make goes towards the kids. Goodbye, HD camcorder. Hello, piece of crap dollhouse that took me half a day to assemble.
And finally this brings me to the freedom of fear. I know this sounds strange, but I have a thing about pooping. Poop time is a very private and sacred time for me. I enjoy using this time to curl up with a good book and relax. And it's not as easy as it seems -- have you tried curling up on a toilet?
As strange as it may seem, I never had to contend with the kids bothering me during my poop time. But for the past week, my ass alarm has been set to 9am which has made this an awful predicament for me. Hold or release? Despite my fear, I went for it. I turned on the television for the kids, ran for the toilet, and kept the door slightly opened.
At first, it seemed like everything was going to be okay. But then the door opened. It was Emma.
"Wha Daddy doing?" said Emma.
"Oh...umm...Daddy going poo-poo," I said uncomfortably.
"Daddy go poo poo! Daddy go poo poo!" Emma said with laughter.
Annoyingly, Emma's laughter peaked Andrew's curiosity. Soon he came into the bathroom and looked very puzzled. Thankfully, Andrew doesn't talk as much as Emma. But Andrew is much more curious than Emma, so he sat down on his potty seat and just stared at me.
I told the kids to go watch television, but they were much more interested at what I was doing on the crapper. I tried not to engage them in conversation so they would be bored. Just as it seemed like the kids were going to leave, I had to drop one more kid off in the pool.
"Wha dat?" Emma questioned.
"Oh...umm...Daddy went poo-poo," I answered again.
"Daddy go poo-poo! Daddy go poo-poo!" Emma screamed with laughter again.
"HAHAHAHA!" joined Andrew.
I was rather annoyed at this point so I just wanted this whole thing to be over with. So I grabbed the toilet paper roll and proceeded with the last act. As I began to clean myself, the kids crowded around me. Emma was on my right, and Andrew was on my left. The more I tried to push the kids away, they became more intrigued with my toilet paper rolling and wiping. This claustrophobia I felt made it seem like I was crapping on a crowded Tokyo subway.
The most awful thing about this is that this happened for almost an entire week. Each day around 9am, myself and the kids had this bonding experience in the bathroom. Although I was always a little uncomfortable, by the end of the week I realized that this is the kind of stuff that only families can do. If the kids are comfortable with me wiping their privates six times a day, then I should be able to accept them watching me crap just once. But hell, I wipe Lisa's privates twice a day, but I don't let her watch. Maybe that's something we'll have to work on as a family.