MOMAHA COLUMN // Wipe My Bottom Please: An Ode to Our Mothers

I'd like to say I was too young to remember it, but unfortunately I was old enough to remember it vividly. I'm pretty sure my age wasn't in double digits, if that helps make you feel any better.

It’s not that I couldn’t wipe my own bottom, thank you. There were many times I tried. It’s just that, to be honest, my heart was never really in it. Several pairs of skid marked undies and multiple dollops of itch cream later, the writing was on the wall.

Wiping my bottom adequately just wasn’t one of my many childhood gifts.

Now, much of what I remember during this time wasn't the wiping, necessarily, but mostly being abandoned there. Left on a toilet seat. For what seemed like hours. Without food or water. Soiled. Stranded. 

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