Pribacy, Please!

This morning, "Crazy" (AKA Diana, 4 years old) and I had a discussion. Now, I understand that having a discussion with a four year old is kind of like arguing with a mirror, or talking to an Echo (she moves her head like me, she puts her hand on her hip like me, she repeats the last word of every sentence I utter. I'm telling you, those Greek story-tellers were talking about a toddler when they passed on the tale about Narcissus and Echo, I just know it!)

"Listen, Pumpkin, why don't you find your sippy cups?"I tell her as she walks in just as I sit down on the toilet. It's time she learns a little respect for the closed door. I mean seriously, nothing says, Mommy needs her MF Mommy Time! like That Time of the Month. I really cannot get into this discussion with her at 4 years old. Just ... no, absolutely not, no way. My luck, she's going to wonder where my 'owie' is and ... Just no.

"I already looked, and looked, and looked. I looked everywhere, but no sippy cup! I'm gonna need your help, Mommy!" ( We gotta find a pawprint, that's the first clue...) She gets this freaky shit from her kids shows. If I had a dick, I would tell Steve to suck it! I used to admire these shows, now they're just super-fucking-annoying! Bite me Blue! Here's a clue for you... Sorry. Anyway.

"Well, why don't you go see if Daddy can help you?" I ask as I desperately try to ensure my derriere is covering up the entire toilet opening - and she's trying to look in! (WHY?! I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO FRICKIN' IDEA!)

"I need your help, Mommy! This is serious, you have to help me!" (Wonder pets, wonder pets, we're on our way...)

OK, now you've pissed me off! I am making plans as we speak to feed those Wonder Pets to the dogs! "Honey, just go in your bedroom and look for it. Mommy'll be out in a minute, and then I'll help you find your sippy cups, OK?"

And I swear I saw her ears perk up. Wait a minute, I've seen that look before - it's the one that says, Mommy is hiding something. Like cats, dogs, and probably every small animal on this earth, she senses weakness and calculates her best possible zone of attack. She is Riki-Tiki-Tavi, just waiting for her moment to strike. And ... Yep, it's now - "What are you doing, Mommy?" she asks, still trying to look in the commode behind me. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to sit where you cover the entire toilet bowl? And how in the fuck did she get it that fast? Am I that obvious? Or is she just that smart? I know which I hope, but I just don't think I'm that lucky.

"I'm going potty, sweetie," I answer.

"But why do I need to leave?" she asks me, which proves that she is smarter than she lets on.

"Mommy needs privacy for just a little bit, then I'll come in and help find your sippy cup, OK? I just want privacy for few minutes," I tell her, a little desperately. Why didn't I lock that GD door when I closed it? This whole fiasco could've been avoided entirely if I'd just locked the stupid door.

"Pribacy?" she asks. "What's 'pribacy' Mommy?"

"People who want pri-va-cy want to be alone for a while, that's all."

"But, why does peoples want to be alone?"

"Well, sometimes, when peoples -I mean people- are going potty, they want to be alone. Don't you want to go potty by yourself?"

"No, I don't want pribacy, I want you with me, Mommy, so that you can wipe my butt." Why did I have kids again? Oh yeah, as my mother told me once when I was complaining to her - It's the fucking you get for the fucking you got. Get used to it. I know, poetic, right?

Back to our regularly scheduled program: "Well, the boys need privacy, I need privacy, Daddy needs privacy. You don't come in when Daddy goes potty, right?"

"No..." She knows somehow she's losing this fight, she just can't quite see it yet.

"Well, Mommies need privacy too sometimes when they potty. And Mommy really really wants privacy right now. So go on outside and close the door." She walks out crying a quiet little whine, closes the door, and stands right behind the door, crying just loud enough for me to hear. The Whole. Frickin. Time. When I'm done, she comes back in, stops crying, and it's like nothing every happened. Un-fricken-believable, she can turn the tears off at will!

Later that evening, her Dad and I are verbally bouncing her back and forth (Why don't you go ask Daddy to get you a drink? Why don't you see if Mommy will let you play on her scream? [AKA iPad]) and I come up with a brilliant move: "Tell Daddy what 'privacy' means."

"Pribacy is when peoples want to be alone!"

"Yes, but it's pri-va-cy, not pri-ba-cy."

"Pri-ba-cy."

"Pri-va-va-va-va-cy. Vee vee vee vee."

"Pri-va-cy."

"Right!"

There's got to be a children's show about 'privacy,' right?