When I slowly began to emerge from that haze of postpartum depression and actually deal with the fact that I indeed had a child who would soon be mobile, I began the process of childproofing my home. Electric outlets were covered with a contraption I could hardly remove, breakable objects were moved to higher homes (that weren't safe for very long), the stove door was secured, and sharp corners were covered- I'm still trying to remove the glue from the TV stand.
But for an unknown reason, I decided not to childproof the bathroom. I had some crazy idea that the bathroom would be my refuge; my one baby-free space since my house is tiny and Lou and I share a room. I put on a door handle cover that I could barely operate and called it a day.
Little did I know that there is no such thing as a refuge, and I would never be needed more than when I was in the bathroom.
And it's not just Lou. EVERYONE, it seems, needs me as soon as I go in there. As I tried to get a few moments of peace yesterday I was mentally blocking out the chaos. Lou came in, all dolled up in one of my fancy dresses that I will never wear again, teetering dangerously in the heels I feel too ridiculous in to ever wear again. She brought her blanket and doll with her.
And of course the dogs joined us. Chowder stood there with her head practically in my lap. Gidget stood blocking the doorway, pleading with her mournful hound eyes. She left for a few moments and brought back a rope just in case I felt like playing tug-of-war. I wonder if the fish were sad that their tank wasn't more mobile so that they could join the party too.
And you should've seen the looks on all their faces when I asked for a little privacy. You'd think I just told them all that I had cancelled a much anticipated trip to Disney World.
I know, I know, she's not going to want to hang out with me in the bathroom forever, I should really try to enjoy this unique bonding time. But what about the dogs? Will they do this forever? Am I destined to never pee alone again?
Probably.
Oh well, I'd probably just get lonely anways.
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Gus has a "routine" that he has to follow when I go into my refuge. He tries to lick my hand as I pull my pants down, then sits nicely and puts his paw up to shake as I pee. If I reach out my hand as I'm on the throne, he puts both his paws up around my wrist and sits there like a circus dog...very proud of himself too. If, once in a while I feel like peeing in solitary, he looks at me with the saddest look when I shut the bathroom door. I guess they don't have the same sense of time as us, but really, I'm never in there THAT long!
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