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“Just lock it from the outside,” you’d probably tell me.
And I’d be forced to point out that the eldest child often requires the use of that room without much advance notice. The middle child, having only recently learned to put her potty products in the correct location, needs absolutely unrestricted access to the bathroom. There’s just no time for locks.
So for the past couple of months I’ve been trying to keep my son out of the bathroom both when it’s in use and when it’s not. I’ve had no success at this project.
None.
If I fail to lock the door from the inside, he barges in while I’m peeing. Just to say hi, you understand. “Mommy needs privacy, baby,” I tell him.
“Pi-ra-see, pi-ra-see,” he repeats while backing out the door. The victory is brief. Before the flow stops he’s peering in again, or trying to play in the sink, or endeavoring to unroll the toilet paper.
It’s worse when his sister is using the facilities. She (thank goodness) doesn’t yet know how to lock the door from the inside, nor does she know how to wedge her legs into a make-shift doorstop. So the boy wanders brazenly in, possibly with a mind to help her pee.
He’s really not that much help. “He just wants to learn how to use the bathroom,” my mother tells me, and if I saw any evidence of this, I’d be happy to let him observe.
But he doesn’t observe. He pokes, he prods, he splashes. He pumps slippery streams of soap on the floor. He dips towels into the bowl. He makes puddles, jumps into them, then falls down screaming.
He’s headstrong enough that he will not be dissuaded, not by trips to the corner, nor distraction, nor talk, nor redirection, nor even swats to the hand. Being in the bathroom is worth whatever discomfort it causes, and any treats offered for staying out are no match for the charms of that room.
One day last week I found him there, holding a long-handled wooden spoon that had gone missing from the kitchen some weeks before. The spoon was wet, as was his shirt. The toilet lid was up and the tap was running. The boy was poised between these two sources of water, the dripping spoon partway to his lips, an expression of shock on his face as he saw me burst into the room.
He wouldn’t have been… No. Surely not. Right? My boy wasn’t… ? Was he?
I’m at a loss as to how to dissuade him. The only alternative that might work would be to set up a system like this and strap the collar around his neck. But that would be wrong.
Right?



