My husband and I have this long standing tension over the use of the bathroom. We live in a tiny one bedroom apartment. We share a bathroom. You can foresee an occasional overlap in lavatory schedule. It's quite common especially in the morning if two individuals needs to rush out the door. In our case, I swear nearly every time I'm in the bathroom, I'm interrupted.
With a toddler at home, I understand that my days of going to the bathroom, taking a shower and even brushing my teeth in peace, alone and without a play by play commentary are long gone. What I didn't expect is that my husband would subtract the 'me' time I get in the bathroom.
I'm not sure if it has always been the case but since I gave birth it is more apparent to me.
My husband's argument is that he doesn't need the bathroom more than the average male and that I take on average 20 minutes in the bathroom. "You say you're going to brush your teeth but 20 minutes later you're still in there." I'm sure he's exaggerating but I may take 10 minutes to brush my teeth? Why? Because, I'm not just brushing my teeth and flossing It's important to floss.. While I'm brushing my teeth, I'm putting away bath toys, taking stock of supplies I may need to replenish, wiping the sink, mirror or other surface that irks me. I'm multi-tasking not just on items that pertain to the house but to personal items.
If I can pop into the shower, I"m also shaving, brushing my teeth and maybe if I'm lucky scrubbing the shower.
My husband thinks it's a case of me joshing him on his bathroom time. As if he had an allotment of bathroom time, I mock him for overages. Honey, if we did have bathroom minutes, we'd have a family plan and the lack of bathroom time I do get would be rolled over to you.
"You're absolutely right, honey. I hold in my crap until I hear you in the bathroom."
Well, it sort of feels that way. It's dead quiet in the living room where you are. Not a peep which means you're engrained in something online. I beeline to the bathroom and all of a sudden, a knock on the door. "Whatcha doing?"
One day I need to respond to this all too familiar question with something like, "Waiting for you to tell me you need the bathroom."
In all seriousness, it's getting bad. I'm ready to move my toothbrush and some toiletries to the kitchen. Mid-brushing, I get a knock. Mid-peeing, I get a knock. Mid-shower, I get a knock.
I have two theories to the mysterious bathroom corollary: 1. Like some primitive innate response, DH has to exert his alpha male dominance. I've been around dogs too much. 2. After 13 years of coupledom, our biorhythms have become in sync. Like a sorority house, we now are on the same cycle for waste management.
It's probably a little of both. I'd test my theory but it would require data tracking and I have enough poop tracking in my life with a toddler and a geriatric dog.
For now the tiniest room in our apartment will remain the most sought after.