I'm pretty sure the neighbor kid saw me sitting on the toilet today. Our eyes met for just an instant, but it was long enough for us both to realize that we knew what was happening. It's mostly my fault because I did leave the door open and the window is right across the hall from the bathroom, but what the heck was he doing lurking around looking in windows anyway? I don't get to pee with the door closed anymore, I'm a mother! I have to break up fights, dress Barbie dolls, read stories, buckle shoes, comb hair, undress Barbie dolls, answer questions and do a hundred other things all while trying to answer the call of nature.
This event is just one more in a long list related to how Motherhood robs you of your modesty. I simply do not have time to care who sees what anymore. The UPS man has seen as much of my bosoms as a nursing baby would due to the fact that he visited often during those early, sleep deprived, live in your nursing bra and a pair of jammy pants days of postpartum delirium. I don't even know how many times I answered the door with my shirt half open or a newborn hanging off my boob. Last Spring, the Culligan man approached the front door just as I was dashing through the foyer mostly naked on my way to the laundry room to fetch a clean bra. The husband helped me install privacy film over the sidelight window after that incident. I have a long history of indecent exposure.
Even in the early days before my children crushed my abiilty to be discreet and I had only myself to worry about, I still managed to reveal my assets. One of the most mortifying revelations involved a very short, elastic waistband cowgirl skirt and a pair of white cowboy boots. When I was in High School I worked at a western restaurant as a hostess. Our uniform was this ridiculous ruffled, multi-tiered, very short skirt, a fringed shirt and white cowboy boots. The elastic waistband of the skirt made it difficult to keep the shirt tucked in so we all learned to tuck our shirt into our undies. One evening I was crouched down in front of the hostess stand fixing the letters on the sign that indicated the approximate wait time for a table with my back to a crowd of people waiting to be seated. As I stood up, my skirt got stuck under the heel of my boot and remained on the floor. So there I stood with my shirt tucked into my panties wearing nothing but white leather boots. Nobody made a sound, the horrible moment was over in an instant and it took me quite a while to work up the courage to come out of the ladies room and return to work. The next group I seated tried to downplay the embarrassing scene and this charming gentleman did tell me I had a nice hat. It was a noisy crowded restaurant and I didn't hear him clearly, but I thanked him because I'm sure he said "hat". I have gone over that mortifying moment a thousand times over the years, and I'm pretty sure he said "hat".
So back to the neighbor kid. Only time will tell if this episode affects our relationship.