Nowadays, family routines are a little different from the way they used to be. Once I pick up Zane, we may have errands to run, or we may have soccer practice. There may be a PTO meeting at the school. My husband may or may not get home before 5pm. There's homework. Lots of variables, including my son.
The other day I made Zane something to eat after we arrived home. He likes to eat before he does his homework, and he'll sit at the table and watch shows on his tablet while he eats and I get dinner ready for Larry and I. I was just turning the oven on when I saw my son heading for the bathroom, tablet AND dinner plate in hand. I stopped him.
"What are you doing?" I had a pretty good idea what the answer to my question might be, but I had to ask.
"Going to the bathroom," came the reply.
"You cannot take your food into the bathroom," I said calmly. Well, calmly for ME.
"Why not?" I was a little shocked that my child would argue with me about this, but perhaps they had not covered this chapter of hygiene in the kindergarten yet.
"It's germy in there." Yeah, that was all I could think of to say. Go me.
"But you cleaned it!" My son was correct; I had cleaned the bathroom. I tried to be reasonable. I opened my mouth to explain about micro organisms and how they all lived in the bathroom and caused many diseases involving bodily fluids.
"NO!" The Mom Veto just popped right out of my mouth without explanation. Zane grumbled as he brought his food back to the table and left it before he returned to the bathroom.
To Zane's way of thinking, taking his food into the bathroom was the most efficient means of time management. He would be engaging in three different activities at once, after all. I was a bad Mama for not allowing him to engage in such efficient behavior. I should feel guilty about not giving in to his whims.
Not so much.
Showing posts with label bathroom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bathroom. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Embarrassment Galore
Mamakat's World-Famous Prompt: Share an embarrassing moment (these are always fun to read). This one was chosen by my husband.
I hadn't intended on giving birth that day. It had been my preference to wait at least two weeks longer. Unfortunately, my body had other plans, and my husband and I found ourselves driving straight from the perinatologist to the hospital on the other side of the Earth, my doctor calling every five minutes to ask where we were. As soon as we arrived, Larry went to park the car and I was whisked straight up to Labor and Delivery. I was in a hospital gown before I had even finished spelling my last name.
I found myself surrounded by a bevy of women, all in scrubs, their hair stuffed underneath those papery operating room caps. They pleasantly fussed over me, asking me matter-of-fact questions, sliding on a blood pressure cuff, placing the IV, hooking me up to the wires, and doing all that nurse-type stuff that people need at these times. I was the only patient at the time, my head facing the door, my lower half sort of exposed to anyone who passed by. The nurses closed the door to offer me a little privacy.
The anesthesiologist showed up. We discussed his work experience(it's a 'thing' with me), then my health issues(it was a 'thing' with him), and he decided that it would be best for me to have general anesthesia. I was on board with this decision; I was completely wigged out by the idea of being awake while someone was cutting into my body, and I was equally wigged out at the idea of a needle in my spinal column. General anesthesia meant that I could postpone the over-the-top panic attack I had planned for another time, like after I woke up as a parent. The anesthesiologist said that he would see me later, and the nice, matter-of-fact nurses handed me a cup to drink.
I drank what was in the cup. I did not ask what was in the cup before I drank it, because I was not in my right mind. I was very close to losing what little mind I had left, because suddenly it was all very real: I was going to be somebody's mother.
All of a sudden, I realized what had been in that little cup. It was the drink that cleans out your digestive system prior to surgery. I had to go. I announced this, and moved to get up to find the nearest bathroom, but the hovering nurses revealed their real purpose, which was to keep me right where I was. One of them explained that I could use a bed pan.
Bed pan? In front of all these people? I would die of embarrassment! Yes, it is a completely natural bodily function, everyone does it, but not in a bedpan in a room full of people! I didn't even do that in front of my husband, and we were supposed to be sharing everything!
Oh hell no, I started to say, and then I stopped myself. I really, really had to go. I knew with dead certainty that by the time I struggled off the gurney and pulled my IV stand into the bathroom, it would be all over, and that would be even more mortifying. I truly had no choice, I realized. The nurses lifted me and I put my reluctant backside in place just in the nick of time.
I was embarrassed, but there were only women in the room with me. I could get through this, I told myself. As discomfiting as this was, I could close my eyes and pretend that I was in my favorite stall in the ladies room instead of parked on a bedpan.
That is when the door to the pre-op swung open. In walked my doctor, with the anesthesiologist, and my husband...and my dad. They were in deep conversation, and were not looking at me and my exposed parts yet. At that moment, I wanted to sink down through all of the floors of the hospital and bury myself underneath it. My dad? I blushed fourteen different shades of red. Holy crap! I thought. I am NOT doing this with my DAD in the freakin' room!
"I need a LITTLE PRIVACY HERE!" I hollered to the entire hospital. I was horrified to be using a bedpan in front of an audience, and I was on the verge of hysteria. My doctor didn't even blink. He turned completely around and marched right back out into the hallway, herding the rest of the menfolk ahead of him.
I hadn't intended on giving birth that day. It had been my preference to wait at least two weeks longer. Unfortunately, my body had other plans, and my husband and I found ourselves driving straight from the perinatologist to the hospital on the other side of the Earth, my doctor calling every five minutes to ask where we were. As soon as we arrived, Larry went to park the car and I was whisked straight up to Labor and Delivery. I was in a hospital gown before I had even finished spelling my last name.
I found myself surrounded by a bevy of women, all in scrubs, their hair stuffed underneath those papery operating room caps. They pleasantly fussed over me, asking me matter-of-fact questions, sliding on a blood pressure cuff, placing the IV, hooking me up to the wires, and doing all that nurse-type stuff that people need at these times. I was the only patient at the time, my head facing the door, my lower half sort of exposed to anyone who passed by. The nurses closed the door to offer me a little privacy.
The anesthesiologist showed up. We discussed his work experience(it's a 'thing' with me), then my health issues(it was a 'thing' with him), and he decided that it would be best for me to have general anesthesia. I was on board with this decision; I was completely wigged out by the idea of being awake while someone was cutting into my body, and I was equally wigged out at the idea of a needle in my spinal column. General anesthesia meant that I could postpone the over-the-top panic attack I had planned for another time, like after I woke up as a parent. The anesthesiologist said that he would see me later, and the nice, matter-of-fact nurses handed me a cup to drink.
I drank what was in the cup. I did not ask what was in the cup before I drank it, because I was not in my right mind. I was very close to losing what little mind I had left, because suddenly it was all very real: I was going to be somebody's mother.
All of a sudden, I realized what had been in that little cup. It was the drink that cleans out your digestive system prior to surgery. I had to go. I announced this, and moved to get up to find the nearest bathroom, but the hovering nurses revealed their real purpose, which was to keep me right where I was. One of them explained that I could use a bed pan.
Bed pan? In front of all these people? I would die of embarrassment! Yes, it is a completely natural bodily function, everyone does it, but not in a bedpan in a room full of people! I didn't even do that in front of my husband, and we were supposed to be sharing everything!
Oh hell no, I started to say, and then I stopped myself. I really, really had to go. I knew with dead certainty that by the time I struggled off the gurney and pulled my IV stand into the bathroom, it would be all over, and that would be even more mortifying. I truly had no choice, I realized. The nurses lifted me and I put my reluctant backside in place just in the nick of time.
I was embarrassed, but there were only women in the room with me. I could get through this, I told myself. As discomfiting as this was, I could close my eyes and pretend that I was in my favorite stall in the ladies room instead of parked on a bedpan.
That is when the door to the pre-op swung open. In walked my doctor, with the anesthesiologist, and my husband...and my dad. They were in deep conversation, and were not looking at me and my exposed parts yet. At that moment, I wanted to sink down through all of the floors of the hospital and bury myself underneath it. My dad? I blushed fourteen different shades of red. Holy crap! I thought. I am NOT doing this with my DAD in the freakin' room!
"I need a LITTLE PRIVACY HERE!" I hollered to the entire hospital. I was horrified to be using a bedpan in front of an audience, and I was on the verge of hysteria. My doctor didn't even blink. He turned completely around and marched right back out into the hallway, herding the rest of the menfolk ahead of him.
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