For the Love of Privacy
Alright, well, that's all I have to say. Kidding.
It occurred to me last night how truly my space is invaded. I get it. Parents should be grateful for the little inconveniences that erupt daily and all the other crunchy parenting propaganda, blah blah blah. But seriously, like what the actual F? Moms need some White Claw and a nice cold tiled bathroom floor with some peace and quiet.
So as I am enjoying my bath, scrolling through Reels, and sipping on a Vizzy, here comes Raiden with hands full of blood and a lovely spit to the wall. Blood splatters everywhere. This little one got a bloody nose as he and his brother wrestled in one of their bedrooms. Blood on brand new carpet and little droplets throughout the house, making its way to my bathroom, where I am now about to just soak my head underwater. Slightly kidding.
As I make my way out of the tub, here comes my oldest, who has no regard for bare bodies, including mine. Thankfully, they're well-trained enough to know that mom will walk around the house in whatever she wants. However, just in this one instance, I wanted peace. It reminded me of the time right after Raiden was born. I was tearfully sitting on the toilet, naked, with a fussy newborn who desperately needed a bottle (Nope, I definitely did not breastfeed. That mom gene was missing), I was leaking and uncomfortable, my toddler was sitting across from me having a tantrum, and here walks in my husband. The sheer moment of embarrassment, vulnerability, and exhaustion all whirled into defeat. This was the exact moment when I realized there is no privacy.
Back to the story. A reminder that I need a robe.
At the moment of a towel wrapped around me, I am scrubbing a carpet, and a kid is standing in my bathroom with basically an entire roll of toilet paper covering his face. At this point, I will shove a tampon up his nostril, but I don't. He is now all free and able to leave as I proceed with my ritual of 24 million anti-aging night serums and creams. At the moment of my last step of putting on my glasses, here comes a kid with a thousand-question list. I wish I were joking.
Ultimately, my tried and true response is "Can I please just go pee alone?" I shut the door, just so he can barge right on in and ask his millionth question. And at this moment, I realize, the garage is my safe space. The space for all dads who somehow incoherently design a man cave to escape into has now turned into my mom dungeon. I don't even need a TV. I've got food, water, a washer and dryer, a car, and a golf cart. What else can I ask for?
To all the moms out there, find your space. Either the gym, a she-shed, a closet, a bathroom, or a garage. You're not alone in losing any ounce of peace and silence, but you are welcome to find your peace. Even in the most humid and dirty crevices of the house. It's quiet. That's all that matters.
P.S. I know. I should use "unnecessary" and not "inconvenience." I got you, my friend.
