Mommy's Private Time

I love my pets, don't get me wrong (okay, I spend most of my time hating them, but there is an undercurrent of love) - but sometimes I need them to go away. Bathroom time is usually that time. All three of them want to be there in my most private moments, for some reason. Chairman climbs up on the tub and tries to get in my lap. His claws + my exposed bits = pissed off Sarah. Splinter comes in whining and flopping around, desperate to get petted. And Khat thinks that because I've walked past the food it's feeding time, so she gets in on it with meowing and begging... Pah!

Now for all you people with kids (who am I kidding, the three people that read this don't have kids), I don't want to hear about how much worse it is when you have a toddler all up in your bidness. Partially because I don't want another reason to not want kids, but also because I can well imagine. I babysat my niece (Baby M) a week or so ago, and I needed to potty. I'm always entertained by the selection of reading material in my sister's bathroom. They did not disappoint this time - a pamphlet about artificial insemination of goats. So there I am, at my weakest, reading about goat AI while my fifteen-month-old niece alternates between staring at me and trying to drink chemicals.

I feel like I had a third pooping story (now you know I was talking about poo, instead of just assuming you hateful creatures), but I can't think of it. So you'll be spared. And now you have more ammunition to throw at me when you say I talk about poop all the time. You're welcome.

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