Privacy? What’s that? Is it that thing I had before having children? I’m uncertain. It’s been eighteen years, so I seriously don’t recall anymore. Since they’ve been born, I’ve shared my life with them, my home with them, my bedroom with them. When they were infants, I always had to share bathroom time with them. I remember taking them into the bathroom, strapped in their car seats, so I was able take a shower.
Privacy is undoubtedly a thing of the past when you are a single-parent with twins. As they grew older, I took showers without them in the actual bathroom. But I still lack privacy in other ways. It’s been an adequately long time since I’ve had a date, but when I do, sharing the details with my kids is expected. Without kids, I could readily write of the date in my journal and leave it at that. If I experience a lousy day at work, I must share this with my kids (otherwise they drive me insane with their constant bickering with each other).
Even when I am writing I lack privacy. My daughter constantly asks me what I am writing. Often she reads my work. (Only when writing in a journal is my world private with her.)
I realize how terrible this sounds. Virtue can be found in lacking privacy after having children. I am never alone, which means I never need to be lonely. My children ask for details of my day at work because they are genuinely interested in my life. They never leave me alone because they want to be near me (few people with eighteen-year-olds can say the same of their children). My daughter is the best critic one might ask for regarding my writing. She regularly gives valuable critiques of my work and helps make my work better for it.
I enjoy the lack of privacy. But every now in again, it might be nice to experience utter silence.
*Sigh* That is not likely to happen in my lifetime.