Once upon a time in a land far, far, away, lived a beautiful young woman who loved her bathroom time. With books and magazines galore, she would spend many glorious hours, indulging her fantasies in luxurious baths or taking care of *ahem* basic needs. Whatever the event, she spent as much time as possible taking care of herself, without worrying for a second about what anyone thought or who might need to use the bathroom after her. Life was beautiful in that tiny bright room; time seemed to run just a bit slower.

Fast forward twenty years and the beautiful young woman is now a settled in, loving mother and wife. Bathroom time has quickly diminished to quick showers and public displays of peeing, oftentimes shared with an audience of her children. No longer are the baths slow and rejuvenating; they are now lukewarm and communal with the occasional child asking, "Uh Mom, is it not ok if I peed in here?" Private areas of bathroom virtue are now shared and critiqued by her children and she wonders if she'll ever get back at least five minutes of alone time...

So yeah, I'm that gal and no, I'm not naive enough to realize that bathroom alone time will happen again, especially now that I'm trying to potty train Gun-Gun. Every time I try to use the facilities, Gun-Gun chases behind me yelling, "Pawwwttteeee! Pawwwttteeee!" I sit down and he sits down (although he's fully clothed, refusing to shed his diaper) on his little potty chair. I try to ignore his intense staring and amazingly long arms with pokey fingers, and do my duty as quickly as possible. As he sits there, he's telling me that he's "Poofed" and I tell him what a wonderful, fantastic job he's doing. As we do our duty (although he doesn't do anything) he proceeds to demand several high fives and a couple of "knuckle-ups" while we're still both sitting there, looking at one another. I guess in another time, I might have thought that this was weird but unfortunately, it's becoming second nature.

He ends his potty dance but keeps me held hostage while I futilely hurry to finish up whatever I may be doing. After hopping off his potty he rushes to the light switch where he flicks it on and off, all the while I’m demanding he stop. It seriousy looks like some weird disco scene with Gun-Gun doing his signature "wiggle-wiggle" dance. Once done with the light switch, he moves on to my make-up bags where he proceeds to unzip them and steal my lipstick because evidently "Nutmeg" looks better on his luscious lips then they do mine. Again, he's corrected but only moves on to trying to sling one of his chubby little legs into the bathtub with one grubby hand on the faucet. Gun-Gun also loves a good bath, fully clothed or not. By this time, I'm normally done and cleaning up the mess he's left for me in just a period of two to three minutes. He’s long gone, running through the house shrieking like a banshee; looking for his next victim or room to destroy.

So yes, bitter I am. I relish my bathroom time and that's the one thing I look forward to getting back after my rugrats are born and living in places with their own bathrooms. Maybe, 20-30 years if I'm lucky?!