As we pulled out of our driveway to embark on an 8-hour road trip up to Canada, my husband announced to me that our sons are “too old to go with Mommy into the bathroom.” He will be officially “on-point” for all bathroom breaks. “But, they are only eight and a half years old,” I argued. “They are hardly aware of gender differences in the potty.” I was also concerned that he would go crazy if he, and he alone, has to go every time one of our twin boys announce that he has to go potty. After all, it is a long drive, and a long week ahead. My mind also raced to a future “what if” question: What if there is no male grown-up around to take my sons to a public potty, do they still go on their own?
My first emotional response was sadness. There’s something sort of sweet about my little boys accompanying me into the “Ladies’ room.” This is intimate time. We have always shared the tasks of daily grooming with ease, and chatter.
I was also struck by my singularity now. As a mommy of boys, I would no longer have any company. I felt lonely at this thought. I will be on my own, alone, while the three of them go together. I will be missing out on time together, on simple but still connecting conversations. Like being left out of an inside joke, I would go my own way.
But, my husband would not budge on his strong opinion that it is time for our boys to be in the Men’s room only. None of my arguments were taking hold here.
An hour later, it was time to pit stop. Another hour later, another one of our boys had to go. Two hours later, it was lunch time, another opportunity to go. My alone-ness was for real. But, then it was also sort of free-ing. I was no longer on-point for this particular physical need for our kids. I was free to even “rest” at a rest stop. I had time to get a coffee. Do I dare admit that it was even relaxing?
As the week went on, there were so many bathroom stops, too many to count, and each and everyone became “my time,” my own down-right giddy downtime. My husband spent a lot of time shuffling one or the other of our sons to the potty. His task was tiring. But, supportive glances were all I could offer, the tide had turned.
A turning point indeed in my mothering has occurred. A separation imposed by gender, and social constructions has amassed in my maternal world. With this change, comes worry that others are not far behind. Will we soon need to practice increased modesty around our home? Will our gender differences rear other less obvious separations? My head has certainly started spinning about these separations and individuations up ahead.
But, for today, this change has also freed me up in one dimension. And I have started to enjoy my new found potty-liberation. I am no longer jumping up every time one of my little guys needs to go.
