Ode to the Bathroom

I hope by now, it is evident to all of you who graciously read this blog how much I love my daughter. Every minute with her is pure joy. Even when she's crying or irritable there is satisfaction and an odd sort of peace knowing that it's my job to soothe her and comfort her. I don't ever tire of caring for her, and I really don't miss all of the "me" time I had before she entered our lives.

Having said that, I do frequently become exhausted with being "on" all the time. I am constantly (and I do mean constantly) on the lookout for choking hazards, making sure she doesn't fall and hurt herself, planning her daily nutritional intake, inventing new games to play with our same old toys, trouble-shooting diaper rash, redirecting her away from the shoe mat/oven/computer/toilet/garbage can/dishwasher, etc. etc. etc. There is a particular tightness in my chest just trying to keep all of these balls in the air all day long, and even though I don't necessary feel stressed, I know my brain never stops racing.

That is, until I get to go to the bathroom. I started realizing several weeks ago that a wave of relief--even excitement!--would wash over me every time I was on my way to the bathroom (on my WAY to the bathroom, people, not IN the bathroom...good grief...). I have come to the conclusion that the bathroom is a mom's home base for the game of tag that is parenting--you are blissfully off limits. Whether I've put her in her crib with a toy or two or Kurt is home and watching her in the family room, I know I have a few precious minutes of time that is guaranteed to be undisturbed, generally quiet, and guilt free (using the bathroom is a necessity, after all).

So here's to you, bathroom. Many thanks.