don’t know what it is. I’m sure my son isn’t the only 3-year-old to make these demands, but for the life of me I can’t figure out why, every single time, Episode V needs me to go in and sit by him in the bathroom when he’s… unloading.
Does he need moral support? Is he lonely? Does he need advice? Is it a pride thing? Does he expect to show off his creation? I’ll tell you this, although conversation durring those times isn’t limited to the subject, he quite enjoys discussing the finer points of color, consistency, aroma, texture… He peers down between his knees and reports on the developments like a network news reporter on the scene. When that conversation runs dry he moves on to whatever fanciful things occupy his 3-year-old mind at the time. Some of the best conversations we’ve had were during the course of his… evacuation.
It makes me more than a little uncomfortable. From my perspective that is a time of solitude. It’s a time for deep thought and reflection. It’s a time to be alone with your thoughts in a way you just can’t do anywhere else in the house. Absent that, it’s a great chance to cruise the internet and/or check Email on your smartphone, ’cause goodness knows the kids ain’t gonna let you do that once your out of your sanctuary. One thing that time is *NOT* is social hour. My son seems to miss that point. “Daddy!” he shouts from across the house. “I have to go! Come sit with me!”
I don’t know from whence this phenomenon came, though I have my suspicions. There may very well be a genetic component at play. A very prominent person in my family has NO problem carrying on extended phone conversations while (s)he’s in the water closet. Others in my family and I learned long ago that if we we’re having a protracted phone conversation with him/her and then all of a sudden a conspicuous echo appeared around his/her voice – hang up immediately and call back in 15 minutes. (S)he has no compunctions about freely moving from the livingroom to the kitchen, to the backyard, to the garage, to the loo — all during the course of one phonecall. Call me uptight, but please don’t talk to me while you’re doing that.
Mom, I know you like to play the “Who-Does-Your-Grandkid-Get-That-From” game. I’m pretty sure you can figure this one out.