You know, as a mother, there's one thing I'd just want to be able to do peacefully each day, and that's taking a shower. I just want 5 or 10 minutes to wash my hair and shave my legs so that I can tackle the world effectively. The one luxury I indulge in is sweet-smelling organic shampoos and soaps that I painstakingly pick for me and me only. I like starting my day with calming scents and hairless legs. Not too much to ask, right? I purposely get up before Brent does so that I can have these few minutes to do this one thing for myself.
So I can only assume that my little mind-reader has figured this out about me and is enjoying having something new to sabatoge. I can only assume.... because for the last two days as I'm lost in my smelly paradise, I suddenly feel a cold rush as the door flies open. "I NEED TO GO POTTY!!!!!!," he shrieks as he comes in. "I can pee pee standing up now mommy!!! Look!! I put the seat up this time!! Uh oh....mommy Doofie is in my way! MOMMY Doofie won't get out of my way so I can go potty!!! GO WAY DOOF! GO! GO! Okay mommy he's gone. Mommy I got pee pee on the floor mommy. Can you clean it? Can you clean the floor now mommy? Do you want me to turn the light off now? Are you in the shower mommy? Are you getting clean?"
(sigh)
This morning, I thought I would get up even earlier to try to avoid this scenario. Not what I'd prefer, but it's better than the alternative. So I was halfway through my shower when I hear Brent screaming. LOUDLY and SCARILY. I don't have to tell anyone how quick I was streaking through the house with a towel half around me toward him. I find him bleary eyed in front of his room, sobbing "Mommy Doofie is out of the house". I ponder this for a second, still waiting for some reason for the crying - the last of the bloody scenarios leaving my head slowly. "You mean Doofie is in your room?" which is usually what upsets him about the cat. "No, he's outside!". He walks out with me to the living room, where the front door stands wide open.
First of all, my main concern at this point is WHY THE HELL IS HE OPENING THE FRONT DOOR when I'm in the shower, and I'm having trouble getting past that to even deal with anything else. But since he is okay, I throw some clothes on and go out and find the cat. Finally I see him crouched under a bush and coax him back into the apartment. Brent is waiting for me on the couch, and before I can even begin to go into my long and loud spiel that was forming in my head, he runs into my arms and collapses into a sobbing heap. My sympathy is over-ridden by the fact that I know I need him to be scared and realize that he can't EVER EVER EVER open the door without me there. And I press this into him more firmly than my heart wants to, because I know it has to be done. In reality I know I will go get the hardware to put a chain up anyways, because I can't take that chance, but I'm hoping still that I can impress upon him the importance of what I'm saying. I want him to be as prepared for the world as he possibly can, no matter where he is or who he's with. And he's not always going to have chains on doors or someone to watch his every move.
Needless to say, until I do, I guess showers are going to be quick, unenjoyable, and probably held at 2 am until I get that chain up.
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