I can’t think of a single person in the world who has less privacy than a Mom. For example, this morning, the kids are quietly watching “Yo Gabba Gabba”, so I decide to sneak off to the bathroom to read yesterday’s paper (never got the chance to read it yesterday), while I answer nature’s call.  The second my pajama pants are down, and I open the first page, in barges my daughter, “Mom- I wanted to show you the painting I painted for you!” “Yes, Honey- that’s pretty, Mom’s going potty- you can show me in a minute.” I say in my “nice-mommy” voice as I shut the door, and remember to lock it this time. Where was I? Ahhh…yes…I sit back down open the paper, start to go…BAM! BAM! BAM! (bathroom door is being kicked by my son)…”Mooooo-mmmmmyyy! Sister said I a brat, Mom! Mom? MOM!  Are you in there?” My attempt at hiding and being quiet long enough so that his attention span would carry him off to something else to pester actually works once in about a hundred tries….any luck today? “MOM- I said are you in there? MOM!” he says with his little mouth pressed right up to the door, causing his little voice to reverberate through the whole bathroom. “Yes, Son! I am going potty- go be good until I get out….if you’re good, I’ll get you a treat when I come out!” Bribery almost always works when my little hide-and-be-quiet trick fails. Little footsteps pat-pat back down the hallway.

With a sigh, I open back up the paper, with a second attempt to relieve myself…”MOM!” I hear my daughter yell, which causes all of my muscles to tense back up…”WHAT?!?” I say in a less-than-friendly, impatient tone, which has become quite higher pitched, considering that I have now twice physically stopped my body from doing what it is supposed to do at least once a day in an s-shaped fashion (accoding to Dr. Oz and Oprah). “I need to come in there- my hair ties are in there.” she logically explains. I reach over, turn the doorknob, open the door and tell her to get everything she needs for the next five minutes so that I can go to the bathroom, and don’t ask or show me anything until I come out…please and thank you! She picks out three hair ties, and walks out. I shut the door.

I sit back down, don’t even bother with the newspaper, and just try to get down to business…at the worst moment possible in this whole endeavor, the door flings open, my son (who’s three) is standing at the threshhold of the bathroom door, wearing a construction hard hat and nothing else, “Mom- I working hard, Mom!” As cute as this normally would be, in my current state, I am unable to see the silver lining, and just try to keep on keepin’ on. “Mom- you going potty?” I nod, trying to concentrate…”Are you going pee, Mom?” I nod, force a half-smile…”And poo Mom?” I don’t answer…”Poo too, Mom? In there?” he says as he points to the toilet. “Yes, Son, pee and poo.” I say, defeated. My moment of the day to read for three minutes, and go to the bathroom by myself, with dignity, has once again turned into a spectator sport, and a race against time to finish my daily duty (yes- you’ve correctly caught my play on words there), without an audience, or having to play twenty questions about my bodily fluids.

Moms have the least privacy of any living thing…..