Other moms know this, but they probably won't admit it.

Two things I have learned that no other mother has ever admitted to me.  I'm revealing ugly truths here people.  You're welcome.

Kids are annoying.

Before you have kids, you may not like them much.  They are loud and obnoxious and disruptive and just generally a buzz kill.  Other people’s kids are the worst.  Strange random kids in public, even more terrible than the wretched kids you know.  And then you have kids of your own.

Every mother (well, most mothers) are instantly in love with their kid.  That child is the most gorgeous, smartest, funniest, most adorable, most special kid EVER.  And that’s as it should be.  You may still find other kids annoying, but not your sweet, precious angel.  Oh no. That little nugget of joy could never, EVER, do anything wrong.

Lies.  Terrible, terrible lies that you tell yourself.

But here’s the thing.  You will feel all those delightful feelings of wonder.  You will think your child is the most amazing, awesome, totally fantastic thing to ever grace this earth.  And in that very same breath, you will also think that your child must have been spawned from demon seed because Oh My God, does he/she EVER stop/shut up/sit down/sleep?!?!?!  It happens.

Truth is, as wonderful as they are, kids are small mucous smeared, peanut butter coated, Cheeto dust sprinkled nightmares, out to destroy your sanity one moment at a time.  And you will actually, for the most part, be okay with that. 

They will make you late.  They will make you cancel plans at the last minute.  They will make you leave a party/restaurant/church (etc) early.  They will make you doubt your sanity in the grocery store.  And they will test the very limits of your patience at the playground. 

And just when you think you can’t take hearing your name another time that day without having a psychotic break, when you can’t possibly clean up another mess without sobbing in a heap on the floor, when there is just no conceivable way you can answer that same question AGAIN without putting your fist through a wall … that annoying little dirt covered creature will run up and hug you, tightly, and whisper that they love you, and all will be right with the world.

You will never again use the bathroom in private.

At first, you will put the tiny baby in the crib, and you will bring the monitor into the bathroom, and you will shower quickly as you listen for the slightest rustle or sigh on that speaker.  Then, you will get more comfortable.  You will put the baby in the crib or playpen and go take a normal shower, or poop in peace.  Then, they gain mobility.  Still, you can trap them in the playpen or crib long enough to run to the bathroom, and shower while they nap. 

But by now, vocal abilities have kicked in.  So, even though you are technically alone in the bathroom, you will still hear plaintive cries for your immediate attention.  Which will stress you out.  Because what if the baby is sick or hurt or neeeeeds you right that second.  You will adjust.  And still, there is some semblance of privacy.

By age 4, it is a lost cause.  You will settle the child in front of the TV, with the current most favorite cartoon playing to keep them occupied.  You will quietly, slowly, stealthily tiptoe away toward the bathroom.  As soon as you are out of their line of sight, you will sprint to the toilet.  You will sit down and commence with your business.

And there it is.  The Child.  There.  In the bathroom.  With toys.  Or a book.  They will not leave.  You will beg, bargain, cry, demand, yell.  But no.  They are steadfast.  They will build legos or color, you will read their favorite book.  If you are lucky, you will be able to distract them long enough, or send them on an important errand for a book/toy long enough to actually wipe your ass without an audience.  Other times, not so much.

At first you will be horrified.  Eventually, you will just accept it and go with it.  And as they get even older, you will learn to master this usage of time.  Because the child will run in, ask you what you are doing, and run out.

They will be back.  Running back and forth.  Telling you plot points of the cartoon.  Revealing random facts about what’s happening elsewhere in the house.  Demanding that you hurry so you can fulfill some need they have.  You will learn to gauge how much time you have between interruptions.  You will check your email, maybe play a level of Candy Crush or whatever the current thing is.  You will close your eyes, rest your elbows on your knees, your chin in your hand, and just take a few calming breaths.  It’s all you are probably going to get.

The lack of privacy will also extend to the shower because there is always something super important that they have to tell you.  Once those tiny hands learn the art of doorknobs, it’s all over with.  Unless you are willing to actually lock the bathroom door.  Personally, I just can’t do it.  I’d rather have him barging in and out twenty times than have that locked barrier between us.  At some point, I know he will get better at respecting boundaries, and actually heed my pleadings of “please, for once let Mama poop in peace”.  But for now, my bathroom time is never private.  And I really try to be okay with that.  Most days I almost succeed.

Conversely, once the child starts to potty train, they will want you to give them their privacy and be nowhere near the bathroom door.  The Minion wants me to sit on the bed and wait until he calls out that he’s finished.  He will randomly call out my name or a question, just to verify that I am still there, where he has told me to stay.  Then he expects me to inspect his wiping capabilities, tidy up any messes, and help him figure out how the heck to get his pants back from being wrong side out.

My child is a naked pooper.

He must strip completely naked in order to go.  I have no idea where it comes from, but he has a deep rooted fear of pooping on his clothing.  So, it all comes off.  Fine at home.  Acceptable at grandma’s.  NOT COOL at Walmart.  He’s also a leisurely pooper, content to sit there for a good 20 minutes if I let him, reading books and just generally being weird about it.  He gives me a running commentary on how the poop is progressing, how many he’s done, how many he has left.  And, if left totally to his own devices, he will manage to use about half a roll of toilet paper and flush about 6 times.  He keeps me on my toes.