I like social media for all the reasons you’d expect me, too. I’m not just extroverted, but I obsessively crave interaction, at least until I’ve had enough. Facebook and the like, are perfect for me. I can dive right in, comment on one friend’s dinner, another’s choice of outfit for date night, wish a college pal happy birthday, peek at a high school acquaintance’s newborn grandchild (yes, that’s right), see who is moving where, who has a new job, who is going back to school, whatever. I never worry that I’m intruding because this stuff was put out there, right? If you post it for me to see, I get to see it. It’s a really nice arrangement. I post stuff for your to see and I hope you’ll comment, or “like” or maybe even repost. Every post tells you a little something about me, and though I try to be mindful of what I’m saying about myself with each post, I don’t overly obsess about it. Just like in real life, I don’t worry too much about the impression I’m making beyond making an effort to be nice to everyone and not be offensive. I’m honest and authentic, though, I’m sure some think a bit loud mouthed. But you know where I’m coming from, right?
My husband, on the other hand, has a completely different approach to socializing, and thus to social media. He has a few trusted friends who really know who he is and how he ticks. He posts very infrequently on Facebook, and I’m pretty sure he’s never set up a Twitter or Instagram account. The thought of taking pictures of what he is eating for dinner or his new shoes nearly disgusts him. We are just very different in that way. So, I try to be respectful of our differences. I have this blog, but I never use his name here, though if you know me, you obviously know his name. I post pictures of the kids, but not standing out in front of our house or near the street number. I won’t tell you in advance that we will be out of the house at any given time. He does tend to take things to a whole other level, though. He closes the back blinds when we watch TV at night so that the neighbors behind us don’t know we’re watching TV, or what we’re watching. I’m just not that funny about stuff.
So, when I post this picture, you will know what? That my toddler gets bathed? That we have slippery tub requiring a mat in the bottom? That I like to let him play a little before I dump water on his head and soap him up? That’s not the intrusion, I guess. I just wanted to take a shot of that happy face and post it on Facebook, via Instagram. So, I did. But now I’m going to tell you that one thing about today. That one thing that took it to a whole other level of parenting ickiness. This sweet, cherub-faced darling got up on all fours just seconds after this picture was taken, looked me in the eye and said, “Sorry, Mommy.” Then he pooped in the bathtub.
Yup, in nine plus years of parenting, this has never happened, and actually, I was sort of proud of that. Yeah, we’ve had some diaper disasters, both kid designed and accidental, but never has one of my kids pooped in the tub. I was sure it would happen someday when the big kids were little, but then after this kid turned two I quit worrying. Now that he has enough awareness to go hide in a corner to do the deed, even if he can’t seem to go to the actual potty, it never occurred to me that I should worry about this. And to make matters worse, I panicked and attempted to scoop it up, but missed and ended up smearing it on the bottom, causing me to have to remove the child from the tub, leave him screaming in the cold while I drained, scrubbed, rinsed, and refilled the tub. Yes, a good time was had by all.
I’m having a drink now.