Mom Incoming

They say confession is good for the soul, so here's mine: I stand outside restroom doors and listen while my male children are inside. If they take too long, I open the door a smidge and call their names. If they don't respond, I knock loudly on the door and yell "MOM INCOMING!!" and go in. I've surprised more than one poor guy, and I honestly hope I didn't cause a raging bladder infection or unfortunate zipper trauma. I sincerely apologize for any injury or embarassment I may have caused.

This is a bit of a quandry for parents with opposite sex children, and I can't really think of a better way to handle the situation.


Until recently, I made them come in the women's restroom with me. My younger one probably still would, but my oldest child, who is perilously close to puberty, would rather wear lacy pink pantaloons to school than enter a women's restroom. I can't blame the kid. He's at that age when a Victoria's Secret commercial on the television makes him turn eight shades of red; I doubt he could survive the embarassment of hearing a woman tinkle...or...god forbid...pinch a loaf. That's courtesy of my increasingly enlightened firstborn. Eloquent, isn't it?

So, sensitive though I am to his issues, I can't shake my fear of what or whom might be lurking in a public restroom waiting for a hapless child to wander in. When my firstborn was just a few months old, there was a news story about a child who was raped and murdered in a park restroom while his family picnicked nearby. I was horrified and sickened and thought about it endlessly for weeks. It was the first time that I really understood that there was more to keeping my child alive than making sure he was well fed, up to date on his vaccinations, and prevented from sticking pointy metal objects into electrical outlets. I not only had to be on gaurd against my own bumbling ineptitude, but the malevolence of others as well.

My husband, as he often does, thinks I am borrowing trouble. I counter by reminding him of that time I stole the baby from him to prove a point. He is a wonderful father; loving, playful, patient, and involved. But I don't think men have the same nose for danger that women do. We can smell it, taste it...feel it in our guts. And I think we are all to aware that the guilt would destroy us if our children were to be harmed through some fault of ours, either directly, or because we ignored that feeling that something was very wrong, and dismissed it as being "overprotective".

So that's my compromise. Mom Incoming. Guys, I hope you understand, and I swear to you, at my age, a penis is a penis. Unless, of course, it exceeds the normal length/girth expectations, in which case, I reserve the right to gape openly.


(Post Script: Apologies for the rather banal offering today. I realize it isn't up to my usual standards. Mommy brain strikes even the most querolous bloggers, I guess.)