Parental Dignity . . . or lack thereof.

As a parent, dignity, modesty and privacy essentially disappear. It starts right from the get go when that baby arrives. No matter how you look at it, labour and delivery involves putting yourself out there and making yourself as vulnerable as it gets. And I mean WAY out there. Exposing yourself in ways that is completely mind-numbing. In my experiences, my labour and delivery room was like a revolving door, complete with an entire nursing CLASS taking a peek and ultimately watching the entire delivery; or a heap of nurses shoving their hands in places I never thought possible in a desperate attempt to KEEP the baby from coming out until the doctor arrived. Then the repair work afterwards; and then the 'checking' of the said repair work in the days afterward. I'm sure by the end of that experience, my OB and nurses probably could recognize "other" body parts more than my face.

For our family, we chose to breastfeed, and of course that involves a certain element of 'exposure'. Getting that armour open and baby onto it means some form of indecent exposure, and no matter how discretely we try to feed baby, inevitably there will be a time or 2 when baby pops off leaving you COMPLETELY exposed, or worse, shooting liquid gold across the room, or at least all over the face of the poor nursing baby. For those NOT in the know, YES, that is a VERY real threat. Those things are like loaded weapons when they 'let go'.

Then there's the public diaper changes. Like when baby blows out and you get some on yourself. We're talking mustard seedy vomit yello baby poop on your sleeves. Or during a change when little baby BOY squirts like the fountain of youth all over you - hair and all. When baby is younger, one is fairly diligent in packing everything except the kitchen sink in that diaper bag, but how often do people remember to pack extra clothes for THEMSELVES?! Never. At those times, we wipe the best we can, brush our hair back, hold our heads high and continue on, wearing that poop and pee stain as though that is a badge of parenthood.

As kids get older, the level of privacy and dignity changes. Suddenly a trip to the washroom for Mom becomes a 3-ring circus. At first, toddlers watch with fascination as Mommy makes "tinkles" in the toilet, or if they're "lucky" enough to witness it, a "po-po". Heck, they become a help, sometimes chattering away so as to keep your mind off the business at hand, or they more than willingly pull the toilet paper off the roll. You know, ONE single sheet. Because that's definitely more than adequate. Or . . . the whole damn roll. And if you're REALLY lucky . . . they even offer to wipe for you (for the record . . . that is where I draw line. Heck, I literally DREW a line for my kids. They weren't allowed to step over a mark on the floor when I was perched high atop Mount Olympus, OK, so it's just Mt. American Standard, but same difference). At the end of such an event, there was much clapping and cheering, and often at least one kid ran off to get me a reward sticker. YAY me!! When they got even older and became aware of bodily functions, they'd get a little more bold with their offers. I recall one time when I was at a public washroom with my oldest. I was in one stall, she in the one next to me (that was one of those times where I had to choose my battles . . . and allowing her to use the stall alone was easier than the battle that would have ensued had I forced her to share with me. Besides, I had 'issues' going on. You know, that time of the month issues). Anyway, there was a steady flow of people coming and going in this facility. As I'm taking care of business, my darling daughter calls out in one of her best examples of an outside voice, "MOMMY!!! Do you need a toopon? EH? Mommy? Mommy? Do you need a TOOPON?! Or a Bum-bandaid?" I'm horrified so remain silent. She continues, only getting louder and louder, and then starts banging on the wall between us "MOMMY!!! DO YOU NEED A TOOPON OR A BUM-BANDAID STILL?!". Of course EVERYTHING else in that washroom fell silent. I quietly answered no, flushed the toilet and walked out hoping that no one would know that it was actually ME that she was talking to. No such luck, she emerged from her stall and ran to my side pulling on my shirt asking with much animation if my "bum was healing up". Fantastic. Another time both Imp and Banshee were in a stall with me. I had one of those "gotta go right now" moments, so bolted quickly to a family washroom with the pair of them. When I was finished and pulling up my pants, the one who hadn't been able to pull out toilet paper for me ran over to flush. To which he exclaimed with much excitement, "LOOK!!! Mommy's po-po grows corn". A few hours later, in another trip to the potty with one of the kids, it's clear that the person in the stall next to us is doing more than a 'tinkle'. I glare at the kids and put my finger up to my mouth, silently pleading with them to be quiet about it. I mean let's face it, they know; I know; and the pooper knows it, we don't need to say it, right?! When the woman comes out of the stall Imp very seriously asks her if HER stinky poop has corn in it. Funnily enough . . . she didn't find the humour in that. Not at all. In fact she GLARED at me. Tight ass. Obviously she doesn't have children.

Showers and bathing are another time where there is no privacy. I can be sitting alone and decide to have a shower, and suddenly EVERYONE has a problem that needs to be solved at that exact moment. I turn the water on, strip down and step into the shower. Almost simaltaneously to the curtain settling, the door to the bathroom bursts open and someone is peeking their head around the curtain. Or they need to poop. *RIGHT* there beside me, chattering away the entire time. Or they come and tell me a story. Or they come and tell me that they HAVE to bring stuff for the bake sale - even though their bus is about to leave in 5 mins. Or better yet . . . they decide THEY are having a shower too and before I know it, a naked little body jumps in with me. And EVERY single time there is much scrutiny and discussion between differences between their body and mine. And often a lot of tittering and tee-heeing about it. A funny little aside . . . when Imp was much smaller, if you were to ask him the difference between girls and boys, he'd quickly answer "PLUMBING!". My "favourite" statement was always "is there another baby in there?" as they pointed to my belly. Or Banshee seriously asking "why aren't MY boobies big and ginormous like yours". Or the times when I'm perched on the throne or in the shower and they bring me the phone, as if it's commonplace to sit and chat while dropping a few pounds or with shampoo oozing into my eyes. Oh yes - shower time is fantastic. I won't even touch on some of the statements made to my other half, save for one . . . at one point Imp walked in while my other half was using the facilities. Imp watched, impressed at the force used and sound made by his Daddy. At the end of it, Imp exclaimed "Daddy! LOOK at your CUTE little baby peanut". Honestly, I think that has maimed my other half for life - hee hee!

And people wonder why I don't want to sit and lounge in the wonderful jacuzzi tub we have . . . Hmmmm . . . I wonder.

There have been times where I've gone to try on clothes. With the kids in tow. I'm not a fan of clothes shopping at the best of times - in the past I've been disgusted by my plump stature and easily got frustrated when I had to run out for a bigger size, but in recent times, I've got opposite problems. It's become a necessity to buy clothing that fits better because I've been known to lose my pants just by walking. Unfortunately, shopping typically includes the presence of at least one kid, and they're always willing to make statements, such as "I see your underwears Mom" or "WOW! Your undies are Ha-UGE Mommy!" or "I don't THINK so Mommy" or even better, when they laugh hysterically. More often than not they open the door wide open - typically when I'm stripped right down to my undies, or they crawl under the door to escape, requiring me to run out after them in various states of disrobement. Oh - and on more than one occassion the door automatically closes and LOCKS. While I'm outside. And my stuff is INSIDE. Oh yes . . . no dignity remaining after that. It's at those moments that they scramble back under the door, but for some reason can't open the latch anymore.

Then there are activities that parents engage in when the children aren't around. No matter how much we try to avoid these activities crossing paths with childrens paths, it almost ALWAYS happens at least once. One unknowingly (to all parties) prances on in and *ahem* kills the mood. It's one thing to have a cat perched at the end of the bed, or a dog *RIGHT* there panting with his nose on the edge of the bed, but it's a whole 'nother thing when a jovial and excited little voice calls out "Ohhhh . . . wrestling! Can I play too?!". Yeah, right. Talk about a reality check. We need to get a lock on that door. Or just give up on those activities until the kids move out. Unfortunately, THESE type of things are EXACTLY what the kids like to repeat. A lot. Have I mentioned that my children have memories like elephants?! They never forget anything. Or at least things of importance (in my mind).

Over the years, my children have divulged MUCH information to friends and strangers alike about my personal life that perhaps I'd like to keep to myself. There are NO secrets with my offspring walking this earth. They willingly tell folks about any bodily functions, embarrasing events or mishaps I may have had. In great detail. Over and over. Sometimes people like teachers look at me and I KNOW they're suppressing their laughter. However, likewise, doing what I do (looking after kids), I am privy to many of those stories myself. Sometimes it's all I can do to not bust a gut when Mom or Dad comes to pick up those kids. Oddly enough, I probably know WAY more about their personal lives than they do. Or at the very least, they have NO clue that their kids know and 'share' what they do. One time many years ago, when Teen was just a young thing, we were at a family event. It was back in the days when Rugrats was the 'in' show for children. You know - the scary-ass cartoon characters with Dill, Chucky, the twin 'babies' and the bossy little girl named Angelica. Anyway. Teen was infatuated with this program and had acquired a doll of one of the main characters, Dill. This doll took batteries and spoke and moved, much like every other character doll out there. If I so much as TOUCHED that doll to move it or put it away, it would spring to life and chatter away. It actually creeped me out . . . the doll was SCARY. As a result, it drained batteries fast and often. Anyway, in the midst of an extended family gathering, with most of my cousins and aunts and uncles in the room, my darling daughter randomly spouts off about the fact that "Mommy ALWAYS wears the batteries out of my Dill-doll". If you haven't figured out the 'impact' of this statement, Say it quickly and really listen to what it sounds like. You can well imagine the wave of reaction THAT kind of statement would illicit. Of course it caused a huge kafuffle, and since Teen was an attention whore, she sucked it all up, and continued on about Mommy ALWAYS plays with her Dill-doll and wears out the batteries. The cousins of course are HOWLING. Me?! What else could I do, but play along, although I was glad when that conversation ended. Even happier when her Dill-doll met his untimely demise.

I suppose embarrassment, humiliation and lack of privacy are just part of being a parent. While my kids DO sometimes say and do things that appall, embarrass, and sometimes frustrate or aggravate me (OK, who am I kidding - there are things that make me want to crawl under a rock and die), the reality is, a day will soon arrive where they won't be around much at all. Suddenly I'll have all the privacy in the world when I'm in the shower or on the toilet. I won't have someone offering me too-pons and showing great concern about my 'disability' with respect to that. They won't spout off "highly classified" personal information; they won't jump in the shower with me and giggle and teehee at my 'ginormous boobies'. Suddenly, all that privacy, dignity and modesty that I so craved as a mother of young children is mine again.

Sadly enough, I think I'll miss the lack of it. In a big bad way.