Guide me, O Lord, that I may refrain from oversharing on the Internet every blessed detail of the trials and tribulations of potty training; May neither Blog nor Facebook nor Twitter bear witness to my joy at the sight of poo in the potty, nor my frustration over the invariable pee-pee in the pants.
Dear God, grant me Restraint and Self-censorship, that friends and family and loyal readers alike may be spared the tedious ramblings surrounding potty trips, soiled underwear, potty schedules, soiled carpets, business done in the potty, unfortunate-yet-inevitable accidents, soiled furniture, number of books read or songs sung while on the potty, and/or how many stickers were awarded each day for going tinkle vs. chocolate treats for doing poops. May such rhetoric instead be contained to phone calls with grandparents, for this is why Thou created them.
Bestow upon me the knowledge, O Lord, that the only people who give a damn what kind of underpants my little girl is wearing are the pedophiles who may at some point in their miserable lives be busted in a massive child pornography sting. But should these pervs somehow elude the watchful eye of Chris Hansen in collaboration with the FBI and now come a-creepin’ courtesy of SEO and the Almighty Google, may Thou conjure a rabid honey badger to suddenly appear and chew off their junk. Because honey badger don’t care, Lord. He just don’t give a shit.
And be my conscience, God, that I may pause and reflect before [again] posting to the World Wide Web a photo of my child sitting bare-assed on the toilet, no matter how cute her expression, and instead ask myself, “Would I want to be violated like that?” (And Lord, that the answer be no – because let’s face it, some people are into that sort of thing.)
Indeed, Almighty God, help me bear in mind that one’s time spent in the bathroom is both sacred and private. And that the topic of bodily waste is neither adorable nor appropriate to the world at large, even when framed in the context of a toddler’s baby-soft bum, as opposed to a grown man’s giant, hairy ass.
And finally, Lord, may I look upon my child at times with objective eyes rather than maternal ones, that I should see her no longer as an infant, but as a little person – one with genuine thoughts and feelings and an unmitigated right to basic privacy.
Hear these pleas, O Lord, and lead me not into Stupidity. For it is in Thy name I pray, forever and ever.
Did you set any personal guidelines for what you would and would not share online with regards to your kids and that most sacred of acts performed in the bathroom?